SOME OF THE OFFICERS AND CREW, BEFORE LEAVING NEW YORK] Among the bluejackets was a Princeton undergraduate, Arthur Herbert Coffey, rating as a seaman, whose misfortune it was to suffer serious trouble with his eyes, so that he was sent home shortly after the _Corsair_ reached France. Later he entered the aviation service and died of influenza on December 31, 1918, greatly mourned by his former shipmates. He wrote, at some length, his impressions of the voyage and so entertainingly caught the spirit of it that he must be permitted to tell you how they went rolling out to find the “Bay of Biscay, O”: I shall never forget the morning of June 14th as long as I live. It was three A.M. and very foggy when our bos’n’s mate roused us from our hammocks and told us to “rise and shine” as we were going to shove off. I’ll admit that I had many fears and misgivings at these harsh words, “shove off.” I had never been out of sight of land before in my life, and to cross the ocean on your first trip in a yacht three hundred feet long seemed to me to be some adventure, just then. Up to that time I hadn’t given it much thought. In fact, I had been impatient for the event, like the rest of the men, but as I was pulling on my socks that morning (and three A.M. is a rotten time of day anyhow), I began to reflect that perhaps I had been just a little bit hasty in rushing into the war. And I couldn’t help thinking how pleasant it would be to be snoring in a good, soft bed at Princeton with nothing between me and complete enjoyment of the day excepting a ten-thirty recitation hour. Well, I got dressed anyway and turned to. We dropped down the river slowly and anchored off the Battery, for the fog was so thick that you could hardly see your hand before your face. All about us there was the moaning of fog-horns and I felt forlorn inside. But soon the fog lifted a bit and that, together with Bill Rahill’s grin, made things feel a little bit better. “Well, we are off for the big stunt,” I said to myself. “I wonder when we’ll see this old town again.” I had the watch in the crow’s nest that afternoon, from two to four, and enjoyed myself very much. It had turned out to be a fine day, the sun was bright, and we had lots of company, seven ships in all, four transports, a cruiser, and two destroyers. After an hour in the crow’s nest I happened to glance down at the deck and noticed some very odd actions among the crew. Several of them were leaning over the rail and appeared to be staring very intently at something in the water. I watched them for a while and then suddenly it occurred to me that they were seasick.