AT SEA WITH THE BRETON PATROL
When the _Corsair_ arrived on the French coast there was nothing to
indicate the vast American organization, military and naval, which was
soon to be created with a speed and efficiency almost magical. Supply
bases, docks, fuel stations, railroads were, at the outset, such as
France could provide from her own grave necessities. Marshal Joffre and
Lord Balfour had convinced the Government at Washington that if the
United States delayed to prepare, it might be too late. Troops were
demanded, above all else. Man power was the vital thing. And so these
early divisions were hurried overseas to Pershing with little more than
the equipment on their backs.
The Navy was aware of its own share of the problem which was to extend
its fighting front to the shores of France as well as to the Irish
Sea. To protect the ocean traffic to and from the United States,
small, swift ships were required by the dozens and scores, but they
could not be built in a day, and, as a British admiral expressed it,
“This rotten U-boat warfare had caught all the Allies with their socks
down.” Of the naval escort with the First Expeditionary Force, the
cruisers returned to the United States for further convoy duty and the
destroyers went either with them or were ordered to join the flotilla
at Queenstown. For a short time the _Corsair_ and another large yacht,
the _Aphrodite_, were left to comprise the American naval strength
on the French coast. On June 30th, Commander Kittinger received the
following instructions from Rear Admiral Gleaves:
When in all respects ready for sea, proceed with the vessel under
your command to Brest, France, and report to the Senior French Naval
Officer for duty. Exhibit these orders to the Senior United States
Naval Officer in Brest. Upon the arrival of Captain W. B. Fletcher,
U.S. Navy, report to him for duty.
The tenor of these orders indicated the wise and courteous policy
which Vice-Admiral Henry B. Wilson was later to develop with brilliant
success—that of coöperation with and deference to the French naval
authorities instead of asserting the independence of command which, in
fact, he exercised. At this time Captain Fletcher had been appointed to
organize the American “Special Patrol Force,” and he was daily expected
to arrive in the yacht _Noma_. The ancient port of Brest was selected
as the chief naval base because the French had long used it for this
purpose, maintaining dockyards, repair shops, and arsenals, and also
because the largest transports afloat could be moored in its deep and
spacious harbor. Saint-Nazaire and Bordeaux became the great entry
ports for cargo steamers during the war, while into Brest the huge
liners carried twenty thousand or forty thousand troops in a single
convoy.
[Illustration: WINNING BOAT CREW IN FOURTH OF JULY RACE WITH APHRODITE]
[Illustration: “THE BRIDGE GANG”]
The _Corsair_ steamed into Brest on July 2d in company with the
_Aphrodite_ and duly reported to Vice-Admiral Le Brise, of the French
Navy. Two days later a fleet of other yachts arrived from home and
were warmly welcomed, the _Noma_, _Kanawha_, _Harvard_, _Christabel_,
_Vidette_, and _Sultana_. With this ambitious little navy it was
possible to operate a patrol force which Captain Fletcher promptly
proceeded to do, acting in concert with the French torpedo boats, armed
trawlers, submarines, and aircraft.
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.
_July 20th._ Back at Brest. The _Harvard_ came in with survivors
of two torpedoed ships. One crew had been blown up twice within
twenty-four hours. They had been picked up and then the rescuing
ship was sunk. The submarine took the captain and the gunner along
as prisoners.... _21st._ At sea. This has been a very exciting day.
We have seen three submarines. We fired at one periscope and either
hit it or near it. When the splash cleared away the submarine had
disappeared. We were at our battle stations almost all day. We passed
a great deal of wreckage, some of it barrels of oil and gasoline. Also
passed an upset lifeboat with two masts and a beautiful big life-raft.
We always cruise around such objects before approaching them, as
they may be submarine bait. I stood the midnight watch and sighted a
light which we headed towards. It turned out to be a large American
schooner, deserted and on fire. The masts were gone and it was a
complete wreck. We met a British Naval Reserve ship bound to Africa,
a funny-looking craft for ocean work, flat-bottomed with side wheels.
_July 23rd._ To-day we had lots of excitement. In my watch I
discovered an object five miles off which looked exactly like a
periscope. I sounded the alarm and we approached it very carefully. It
turned out to be a large piece of wreckage with a ventilator on top.
More empty lifeboats to-day, and no clew to tell where they came from.
At night Captain Kittinger sighted a strange ship which he swore was a
submarine. It proved to be a British destroyer and the joke was on the
skipper.
_July 26th._ In port. To-day as per our weekly schedule we coaled
ship with the usual results. Filth and coal dust everywhere. Instead
of coaling I had to stand a twelve-hour signal watch. In sending a
semaphore message to the _Vidette_ I was nearly killed. A Spanish
freighter was between the two ships and I had to climb into the
rigging about fifty feet above the deck. As I could not hold on with
either hand, only with my feet, it was ticklish work. I slipped and
started to fall, but luckily caught hold of the rigging in time and
saved myself. It was too close for comfort. A torpedo missed the
_Noma_ by ten feet. Wow!
_July 27th._ Sailed this morning to meet and escort U.S. troop-ships.
The _Aphrodite_ is supposed to be with us, but she blew a boiler tube
and has gone back. We had a pretty close shave this afternoon. Ran
into a mine field, but zigzagged through it and, thank God, dodged
them all. A mine would blow every one of us to kingdom come without
a chance to get a boat over.... _29th._ Left the transports we were
convoying at Saint-Nazaire and then put out to patrol our regular
area. Escorted several ships to-day, most of them British. One of
the Limies was an awful bonehead and when we demanded to know his
nationality he showed no colors. We hoisted our battle flag at the
fore, but he came to and ran up his ensign just as we were about
to throw a shot across his bow. We convoyed a big Cunarder, the
_Tuscania_, carrying mail and supplies from America to Falmouth and
dropped her at the end of our patrol area. Our Queenstown destroyers
probably picked her up after we left her.... _31st._ Early this
morning a Greek steamer got mixed in her bearings and nearly ran into
us. We had to stop and back at full speed. This is the roughest day I
have ever seen on the ocean. The waves are half as high as the mast.
We are shipping water almost constantly and it is dangerous to walk on
deck.
_August 2nd._ Left Saint-Nazaire convoying the _Bohemian_. This is
the largest cargo ship afloat, and it is quite a feather in our
cap to be given the escort duty. The roughest sea yet and it is
impossible to enter our compartment below. Almost everybody seasick.
A big wave carried away our hatch ventilator and mess gear last night
with a terrible crash. I was asleep, and when the noise came and
the water poured down on us I thought we were sinking. I grabbed my
life-preserver and started for my station, but got word that all was
well, so went back to my bunk. It was soaked, with six inches of water
on the deck under me, but I slept anyhow.
[Illustration: STARTING THE SWIMMING RACE FROM A MOORING BUOY]
[Illustration: WATER SPORTS ON THE FOURTH OF JULY. THE RACE BETWEEN
LIFE-RAFTS WITH COAL SHOVELS FOR PADDLES]
_August 15th._ Convoying the _Celtic_. We had been at sea only two
hours when the fo’castle began shipping water which lavishly deluged
the “hell-hole” below, as usual. I slept in the motor sailer and
got wet, as usual. It rained on me all night and all I had was one
blanket. My clothes dried out in the wind.... Left the _Celtic_ and
started for Brest. Got an S.O.S. call and headed for it. Found
three ships there, but no sign of a torpedoed vessel. I understand
that she was not sunk, but got away under her own steam. I slept in a
boat again. Couldn’t stand it below decks. Hear we coal to-morrow and
put to sea again at night. Hope it’s a lie.
_August 19th._ Got liberty after coaling ship and went ashore. Was
hungry, so bought quite a dinner—one omelette, two steaks, two orders
of peas and potatoes, tomato salad, three plates of ice-cream, five
small cakes, two peaches, coffee, and some champagne. Wasn’t at all
hungry when I got through. The life begins to agree with me.
It may be noted that in these extracts from the day’s routine of
several weeks of active duty, the _Corsair_ was engaged in patrolling
a certain definite area of ocean and in escorting single ships through
her block, like a policeman on a beat, or in saving mariners and
vessels in distress. Incidentally she endeavored to lift the scalp of
Fritz whenever opportunity offered. These areas, as laid off on the
chart in degrees of latitude and longitude, would measure perhaps sixty
by one hundred miles. The same system was employed by the Queenstown
destroyer flotilla during the early months of its service. Some
protection was given shipping and the submarines were driven farther
offshore, but as an offensive campaign the patrol system was a little
better than nothing. Of the destroyer patrol, Admiral Sims had this to
say:
The idea is sound enough if you can have destroyers enough. We figured
that to make the patrol system work with complete success, we should
have to have one destroyer for every square mile. The area of the
destroyer patrol off Queenstown comprised about 25,000 square miles.
In other words, the complete protection of the trans-Atlantic trade
would have required about 25,000 destroyers.
The alternative and by far the more effective scheme was to group a
number of merchant vessels or transports and send them out from port or
take them in with a sufficient force of destroyers and yachts to screen
the convoy from submarine attack. Valuable ships could not be allowed
to run by themselves. This was the procedure worked out and generally
adopted after the United States had come into the war, and it made
possible the enormous task of placing two million men in France and
feeding a large part of Europe besides.
When the _Corsair_ was on the Breton patrol, in company with other
American yachts, it was difficult to realize how few U-boats were
actually cruising at one time and how great were the odds against
finding one in a designated patrol area.
Now in this densely packed shipping area [declared Admiral Sims],
extending, say, from the north of Ireland to Brest, there were seldom
more than eight or ten submarines operating at any one time. The
largest number I had record of was fifteen, but this was exceptional.
The usual number was four, six, eight, or perhaps ten. We estimated
that the convoys and troop-ships brought in reports of sighting about
three hundred submarines for every submarine actually in the field.
We also estimated that for every hundred submarines the Germans
possessed, they could keep only ten or a dozen at work in the open
sea. Could Germany have kept, let us say, fifty submarines constantly
at work on the great shipping routes in the winter and spring of 1917,
before we had learned how to handle the situation, nothing could have
prevented her from winning the war. Instead of sinking 850,000 tons in
a single month, she would have sunk 2,000,000 or 3,000,000 tons.
With such handicaps it was all the more creditable to the _Corsair_
and her sister yachts that they were able to accomplish so much in
the summer of 1917, before they were shifted to the troop and supply
convoys. It was knight-errantry, in a way, this work of the Breton
Patrol—rough-riders of the sea whose spirit was akin to that of the
impetuous regiment which Theodore Roosevelt led at Santiago. The Breton
pilots were eloquent in admiration, but shrugged their shoulders at
the notion of weathering a Bay of Biscay winter in these yachts, so
slender, so elegant, of such light construction, of a certainty built
for pleasure and _le sport_!
The programme of patrol duty sent the larger yachts out two and two,
each pair to be relieved after four days at sea. The _Corsair_ and
_Aphrodite_ were coupled as cruising in adjoining areas, and when they
returned to port the _Noma_ and _Kanawha_ went out to take the same
stations. The smaller yachts of the “Suicide Fleet” were assigned areas
nearer the Breton coast, where they guarded the shipping that flowed
alongshore between the Channel and the ports of France and Spain. The
Patrol Instructions included the following plan of operation:
When on an area patrol, vessels shall steer courses to cover the area
but the method adopted must be irregular. Do not proceed with such
regularity that the vessel’s position may be plotted.
When on a line patrol, vessels shall proceed along the line of patrol
until reaching its extremity when a return over the same line will be
made. The courses steered must be such that the advance of the vessel
will be along the _base course_.
When on patrol, vessels shall speak all ships sighted. Obtain the
following information:
(a) Name of vessel
(b) From where bound
(c) To where bound
(d) Character of cargo
(e) Nationality
(f) If defensively armed or not
(g) If escort is desired
If the vessel spoken is a valuable vessel, and is bound to a port on
the west coast of France, below Latitude 48° 30′ North, she may be
escorted. The fact that you have taken her under escort is to be sent
to the Base by radio, _in code_, in following manner:
Example: “BALTIC UNDER ESCORT, BOUND TO——”
When acting as escorting vessel, keep on exposed bow of convoy and
about 1200 yards ahead of her. Insist that all vessels zigzag day and
night. Escorting vessels to break joints when courses are changed.
Leave patrol and return to Base in time to arrive at or about
scheduled time.
[Illustration: A WET DAY FOR THE DECK WATCH]
[Illustration: FRENCH AND UNDERHILL ARE DOLLED UP FOR THE CAMERA]
Calls for assistance from vessels will be answered and in case of
disaster crews are to be rescued if possible. Report rescue of
survivors by radio in order to receive instructions.
Ordinary cruising speed of the faster vessels should be at least
twelve knots. Fires should be kept under all boilers. The slower
vessels should maintain a speed of nine knots or over.
Ships returning from patrol will signal, using numerals, the amount of
coal and water needed. Coaling may commence upon arrival in port or be
done the day after arrival.
When it was desired to have the _Corsair_ find and escort some
particular ship or assemblage of them through part of the danger zone,
such instructions as the following were sent to her commander:
_United States Patrol Squadron, Flag Office
Brest, France, 27 July, 1917_
Group Operation Order No. 2.
Force:—Group D.—CORSAIR, APHRODITE.
American convoy, speed 12 knots, escorted, should arrive Saint-Nazaire
27 July. Make preparations so that it can be piloted to destination
without anchoring and without stopping at sea. Saint-Nazaire has been
informed. Proceed in company as far as practicable, 28 July, to a
position about 50 miles west of Belle Isle, relieving _Kanawha_ and
_Noma_.
Communicate with and join convoy. Radio FFK and FFL for IL (use AFR)
the probable hour of the entrance into the Loire. Pilot the convoy
as far as G’d Charpentier where river pilots will be ready. Unless
otherwise ordered, steer to pass south of Belle Isle. The convoy must
not stop at sea or anchor.
The _Corsair’s_ log-book and the official War Diary, which was sent as
a record to the Navy Department, are so laconic and technical that one
might conclude the Breton Patrol to be lacking in all adventure. They
serve to check up the yarns spun by the crew, however, and have the
merit of accuracy. Omitting the daily entries of courses, position, and
speed which could interest nobody, the commander’s record of the first
cruise out of Brest reads like this:
_July 14, 1917._ Under way from Brest for patrol area. Spoke to
British steamer _Ardandeary_ bound for Falmouth with general cargo.
_15th._ Speed 14 knots to investigate intercepted S.O.S. Spoke to
British steamer _Itola_ for Falmouth with general cargo. Spoke to
Danish steamer _Alf_ from Montreal for Havre, course east, speed 9
knots, with general cargo. She was not zigzagging and was making a
great deal of smoke.
_16th._ Exchanged recognition signals with three French destroyers,
escorting cargo ships. Intercepted S.O.S. from British steamer _Devon
City_, light, for Newport News. She had sighted a periscope and fired
five rounds at same and it disappeared. Fired one shot from No. 2 gun
at a floating barrel, making a hit, distance about 400 yards. Arrived
south limit of patrol area. Changed course to west, parting company
with steamer _Devon City_.
_17th._ Headed for steamer on horizon. Spoke to British steamer
_Medford_ for Plymouth with cargo of mineral phosphate. Changed course
to escort _Medford_. Held target practice on floating wreckage.
Changed course to east, speed 12 knots, making best of way to Brest.
_18th._ Moored at Base.
_19th._ Coaling ship.
_20th._ Cleaning ship and preparing for cruise.
Two more cruises were made in the month of July, but they furnished
no thrilling episodes beyond the discovery of the burning American
schooner _Augustus Weld_ which, no doubt, had been shelled by a
U-boat. What had become of her crew was left to conjecture. This noble
four-master was one of many Yankee sailing vessels which dared the
war zone, tempted by the chance of fabulous profits, until the War
Risk Board refused to grant them insurance. The easiest marks in the
world for submarines, they loafed along in infested waters, at the
whim of the fickle winds, or drifted becalmed with towering canvas
that was visible for many miles. Some of them were sailed by sun-dried
skippers from Maine and Cape Cod who vowed they “would take her to hell
and repeat if the bonus was big enough.” The episode of the blazing,
derelict schooner profoundly impressed the crew of the _Corsair_. It
was their first glimpse of the heartless havoc of the U-boat.
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.
[Illustration: THE BURNING AMERICAN SCHOONER AUGUSTUS WELD]
[Illustration: 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.
Shore liberty at Brest was diverting as a respite from the crowded ship
and its routine, but the novelty was soon dispelled. It was picturesque
and colorful to ramble in the Rue de Siam where the soldiers and
sailors of many races jostled each other, but until the Y.M.C.A.
established its social centre in the port there was not much else to do
than eat and loaf and drink white wine and red. Of the three days in
port, coaling ship consumed so much time and energy that leisure hours
ashore were brief. There was no coaling machinery at this important
French naval base, and the American yachts had the back-breaking job
of filling baskets from barges alongside and heaving the fuel aboard
to be stowed in the bunkers. The grimy slaves of the shovel envied the
Queenstown destroyers when these smart, immaculate craft tarried to
fill their fuel tanks with oil by inserting a hose in the deck and
then fled back to their own base.
Among the songs inspired by the day’s work it is no wonder that the
fo’castle or the “black gang” quartets should have led the close
harmony in such stentorian plaints as the following:
C-O-R-S-A-I-R,
Spells the old _Corsair_.
At home she used to be hard to coal,
And always made us swear;
But since we crossed the ocean
We have coaled at Saint-Nazaire!!
Wow!
C-O-R-S-A-I-R,
Spells the old _Corsair_.
* * * * *
COAL ON THE CORSAIR
(Tune of “Cheer for Old Amherst”)
Coal on the Corsair
Fill every bin,
We work like hell, boys,
Till it’s all in.
_Boom, boom, boom!_
We’ll never rest, boys,
When we’re in Brest, boys,
_Corsair will coal to-day_!
There were temptations enough, Heaven knows, to live recklessly when
the liberty boats hit the beach, but the _Corsair’s_ record was
excellent and her officers were proud of it. During July and August
of 1917, when the crew was new to the game and the tendency to run
wild was perhaps strongest, almost all the offenses for which the
commander held mast and which were passed upon by deck court-martials
comprised overstaying liberty by a narrow margin of minutes and other
small infractions of the strict disciplinary code of the Navy. And it
should be mentioned that the enlisted force was permitted to be ashore
no later than nine-thirty o’clock in the evening. During the whole
sojourn of the Corsair in foreign waters, not a member of her company
was punished by a general court-martial. By way of indicating how naval
justice was dispensed, the entries in the log will be found to read
like this:
20 minutes overtime from liberty. Lose pay amounting to $5.00
35 ” ” ” ” ” ” ” ” ”
47 ” ” ” ” ” ” ” ” ”
Smoking below decks. ” ” ” ” ”
Disorderly and creating a
disturbance after pipe down. ” ” ” ” ”
Insubordination and insolence
to a warrant officer. Warned.
Not keeping an efficient lookout. ”
Not making up bunk. ”
Not relieving watch on time. Excused.
[Illustration: “COAL ON THE CORSAIR, FILL EVERY BIN.”]
[Illustration: “WE WORK LIKE HELL, BOYS, TILL IT’S ALL IN.”]
As was bound to happen, an occasional “drunk and disorderly” was
included in these lists, but there were many kinds of men aboard
and such entries were amazingly infrequent when one considers the
circumstances. And the exiles of the _Corsair_ learned that there
was possibly as much truth as poetry in the jingle which ran through
the ships of the Breton Patrol: “The Guy that Rates the _Croix de
Guerre_”:
’Tis not the man who, single-handed,
Kills ten or fifteen raging Huns,
’Tis not the man who safely landed
A bomb on Wilhelm’s long-range guns;
’Tis not the darling Red Cross sister
Who nursed the wounds in No Man’s Land,
’Tis not the ingenious mister
Who makes the lion lick his hand.
We must admit that all these guys are there.
But take the guy that crosses over
And lives in Brest a year,
The one who to a wife or lover
Returns with conscience clean and clear,
Who daily walks through Rue Guyot,
Gives icy stares to girlies wild,
And when approached, says, “Little Willie
Is mother’s darling angel child.”
NOW HE’S THE GUY THAT RATES THE CROIX DE GUERRE!