At 6 A.M., November 17th, I left the _Smith_ to go ashore to confer with the Naval Port Officer. At this time the tide was running about five knots ebb and the fog was so thick that objects could not be distinguished for more than a hundred yards distant. The boat missed the landing and fetched up on the beach at Le Petit Taraict. I walked ashore and reported to the Naval Port Officer about 9.30 A.M. He informed me that he had no news, and calls were made at the Army Base and upon the Commandant Marine. No information of importance was obtained at the latter place. Afterwards a call was made at the Bureau de Renseignements which was found closed. An appointment was made for me to get the latest news at this office at 1.00 P.M. Upon my return at that time the office was still closed. About 2 P.M. the fog lifted and I returned to the _Smith_ in the captain of the port’s launch. On going aboard I found that urgent engine repairs were being made which would delay the ship for two hours or more. As it was impossible to get to Quiberon and hold conference in time to move the convoy that night, I decided to delay sailing until the following morning. An appointment was made for a visit at the Bureau de Renseignements at 7 A.M. on the 18th, by the Naval Port Officer. I reported at that time and found the office was closed. I communicated by telephone with the office of the Commandant Marine and received no further news. Returned to _Smith_ and got under way for Quiberon. Six months of service in the _Corsair_ had hammered most of the greenhorns into rough-and-ready sailor-men who had come to know the ways of a ship and the feel of the sea. A few still suffered and were pallid about the gills when the waves rolled high, but it was everlastingly to the credit of these unfortunates that they made no effort to be shifted to shore duty and were resolved to stick it out to the bitter end. The war bred many kinds of heroes and among them is to be rated the sailor who continued to be seasick. One youth in the _Corsair_ confessed that he could never sleep below, but in all weather, month after month, he curled up on deck, in a boat, or wedged himself in odd corners, wet or shivering, nor had he any other intention than to stay with the ship until she flew her homeward-bound pennant. [Illustration: BOATSWAIN’S MATE HOUTZ IN THE NAVY’S STORM CLOTHES] [Illustration: SWOLLEN SEA, FROM THE FORWARD CROW’S-NEST]