_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.