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! CHAPTER IV TRAGEDIES AND RESCUES