Equally interesting are some of the letters from men with the fleet.
Tom Thorne, writing to his mother in Sussex, says:
Before we started fighting we were all very nervous, but after we
joined in we were all happy and most of us laughing till it was
finished. Then we all sobbed and cried.
Even if I never come back, don't think I've died a painful death.
Everything yesterday was as quick as lightning.
We were in action on Friday morning off Heligoland. I had a piece of
shell as big as the palm of my hand go through my trousers, and as
my trouser legs were blowing in the breeze I think I was very lucky.
* * * * *
A gunroom officer in a battle cruiser writes:
The particular ship we were engaged with was in a pitiful plight
when we had finished with her--her funnels shot away, masts
tottering, great gaps of daylight in her sides, smoke and flame
belching from her everywhere. She speedily heeled over and sank
like a stone, stern first. So far as is known, none of her crew was
saved. She was game to the last, let it be said, her flag flying
till she sank, her guns barking till they could bark no more.
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.