Although we ourselves suffered no loss, we had some very narrow escapes. Three torpedoes were observed to pass us, one within a few feet. Four-inch shells, too, fell short or were ahead of us. The sea was alive with the enemy's submarines, which, however, did us no damage. They should not be underrated, these Germans. That cruiser did not think, apparently, of surrender. What naval warfare seems like to the "black squad" imprisoned in the engineroom is described by an engineer of the _Laurel_, who went through the "scrap" off Heligoland. Writing to his wife he says: It was a terribly anxious time for us, I can tell you, as we stayed down there keeping the engines going at their top speed in order to cut off the Germans from their fleet. We could hear the awful din around and the scampering of the tars on deck as they rushed about from point to point, and we knew what was to the fore when we caught odd glimpses of the stretcher bearers with their ghastly burdens. We heard the shells crashing against the sides of the ship or shrieking overhead as they passed harmlessly into the water, and we knew that at any moment one might strike us in a vital part and send us below for good. It is ten times harder on the men whose duty is in the engineroom than for those on deck taking part in the fighting, for they, at least, have the excitement of the fight, and if the ship is struck they have more than a sporting chance of escape. We have none. FROM A DYING FRENCHMAN. The most dramatic letters come from the French. On one of the fields of battle, when the Red Cross soldiers were collecting the wounded after a heavy engagement, there was found a half sheet of notepaper, on which was written a message for a woman, of which this is the translation: Sweetheart: Fate in this present war has treated us more cruelly than many others. If I have not lived to create for you the happiness of which both our hearts dreamed, remember that my sole wish is now that you should be happy. Forget me. Create for yourself some happy home that may restore to you some of the greater pleasures of life. For myself, I shall have died happy in the thought of your love. My last thought has been for you and for those I leave at home. Accept this, the last kiss, from him who loved you. Writing from a fortress on the frontier, a French officer says the Colonel in command was asked to send a hundred men to stiffen some reservist artillery in the middle of France, far away from the war area. He called for volunteers. "Some of you who have got wives and children, or old mothers, fall out," he said. Not a man stirred. "Come, come," the Colonel went on. "No one will dream of saying you funked. Nothing of that kind. Fall out!" Again the ranks were unbroken. The Colonel blew his nose violently. He tried to speak severely, but his voice failed him. He fried to frown, but somehow it turned into a smile. "Very well," he said, "you must draw lots." And that was what they did.