The Great Surrender
"Think the beggars will put up a fight after all?" asked Lieutenant
Alec Seton, D.S.C., as he raised his binoculars to sweep the misty
eastern horizon.
"Not they," replied Lieutenant-Commander Trevannion of H.M.T.B.D.
_Bolero_. "What little stuffing they did have has sunk into their
boots. But, by Jove! I never thought they'd chuck in their hands so
completely. Try to imagine a British seaman showing the white feather
like that--you simply couldn't, for the very good reason that it's
not in his nature. Hullo! The flagship's signalling."
It was a brand new _Bolero_ of which Lieutenant-Commander Trevannion
was skipper; Seton, on promotion, being appointed his
second-in-command. The _Scena_ was in the North Sea some miles to
the east'ard of Harwich; the time, dawn of the 20th day of November,
1918.
"The Day"--der Tag--was at hand. As Beatty had prophesied, the Huns
had to come out, although the manner of their coming was greatly
different from that which had been expected. Everyone was firmly
convinced--it was an erroneous tribute to an upstart navy without a
single tradition--that the German Navy would emerge at the last to
commit _felo-de-se_ under the guns of the Grand Fleet. It seemed
incredible that the array of battleships and cruisers, ostensibly
built to wrest the trident from Britannia's grasp, would tamely
surrender without firing a single shot. But such was the case. The
handing over of the German battleships, cruisers, and destroyers had
already been arranged, and the White Flag Armada was due at Scapa
Flow on the following day.
But the 20th of November was Tyrwhitt's Day--a fitting reward after
four years of anxious watching, mingled with a few glorious scraps
when Fritz did show his nose out of harbour. The first batch of 150
U-boats was due to arrive, officered by recreant Huns who, had they
lived in a different age, would have been promptly hanged in chains
at Execution Dock as common pirates.
So incredible to the British seamen did the tame surrender appear
that many of them fully expected Fritz would put up a fight even for
the sake of "saving his face" in the eyes of the world. After months
of "Kolossal" boasting the Hun would surely not chuck up the sponge
without resistance, even of the most treacherous kind.
But Admiral Tyrwhitt was a man who took no undue risks. Every vessel
of the British squadron appointed to accept the surrender was cleared
for action, while precautions had to be taken, before the U-boats
left Germany, to draw their stings--in other words to remove the
warheads from their torpedoes. In addition the German crews were
ordered to fall-in on deck.
Covered by a hundred guns their fate would have been swift and sure
had they foolishly given way to one act of treachery.
"U-boats in sight bearing E. by N.1/2N., distant three miles," came
the welcome signal.
Very shortly afterwards Seton picked up with his glasses the first of
the long line of German submarines--submarines no longer, since they
were to keep on the surface until they passed into the hands of the
ship-breakers. At the masthead of each flew a flag that throughout
the Great War had never been flown from a vessel under the White
Ensign, a rectangular white flag, bare in its simplicity and craven
in its significance.
There was a fairly high sea running, the waves at times breaking
completely over the approaching U-boats. Direct communication was
impossible without risk of life and limb, so, except in a few
instances, the act of taking over the prizes had to be deferred until
they were within the limits of Harwich Harbour.
Overhead flew some of the gigantic British airships, while the air
was "stiff" with seaplanes stunting daringly in sheer exuberance, for
it was the airman's day almost as much as it was the navy's. Both the
R.N. and the R.A.F., working in perfect co-operation, were
responsible, for the successful climax to their strenuous labours.
As the first of the U-boats drew abreast of Tyrwhitt's flagship, the
head of each of the double line of British light-cruisers and
destroyers turned inwards through sixteen points of the compass;
while each craft in succession, as she drew level with her
corresponding prize, likewise circled, until the long line of German
submarines was shepherded by two formations of British vessels each
in line-ahead.
On board the German submarines there were many anxious faces. For the
most part the officers looked sullen and felt uncomfortable. They
were not altogether too sure of the nature of their reception. Some
had consciences that had developed amazingly during the last few
days. They remembered the hospital ships and unarmed merchantmen that
they had sunk without pity, helpless boats' crews massacred in order
to carry out the policy of _spurlos versenkt_, and now they were
regretting those brutal acts, not because they were brutal, but
because there is such a thing as reprisal. Others, hopeful that
Englishmen would be ready to shake hands and forget the past, were
more cheerful. In any case the war was over, and with it the great
chance of being sent to the bottom by the explosion of one of those
dreadful depth charges.
No fraternization was the British Admiral's order. The hand of the
cowardly Hun was too dirty to be grasped by that of a British tar.
For all time the record of Germany on the sea will remain, and its
effect will be seen in the aloof demeanour of all honest seamen
toward the descendants of the Hun pirates.
On the signal: "Board, and take over the prizes", the boarding
officers rowed off to their "opposite numbers". Seton, in the
_Bolero's_ whaler, ran alongside a large U-boat, whose six-inch guns
and lofty conning-tower proclaimed her to be one of the latest type
of fully 300 feet in length.
Punctiliously the U-boat kapitan-leutnant saluted, then held out his
hand. Returning the salute, but ignoring the proffered welcome, Alec
himself received a surprise, for the German was an old acquaintance,
von Kloster.
The recognition was mutual. The German's sallow features turned
ashy-grey. His frame shook with the emotion of fear. Never had he
expected to come face to face with his former prisoner. He had been
confident in the belief that Seton had been blown to atoms on
Zeebrugge Mole.
"Mercy, mercy!" exclaimed von Kloster. "I vill amends make."
"Stow it!" interrupted Seton brusquely. The exhibition of panic
angered him. "You've nothing to be frightened about. Now, sir, where
are your papers?"
The formal deed of surrender was accomplished, but von Kloster seemed
persistent to make a statement.
"Well, what is it?" asked Alec.
"You Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert remember?" asked von Kloster
in broken English.
"I think I recall the name," admitted Seton grimly. "Where is
the--er--fellow?"
"He is dead," declared the kapitan-leutnant.
He paused, hoping to catch a sign of satisfaction in Alec's face at
the tidings. Seton's features betrayed nothing.
"He opposed to der surrender vos," continued von Kloster. "It vos at
Wilhelmshaven. He would make der unterseebooten put to sea to make
fight, but der seamen make mutiny and threw him into der sea. It vos
Count von Brockdorff-Giespert who order me to you place on der Mole
at Zeebrugge."
"Then he did me a very good turn," rejoined Seton.
The British lieutenant turned on his heel and rapped out an order.
From the ensign staff the black cross of infamy was contemptuously
hauled down by one of the _Bolero's_ men. To the halliards was
toggled another ensign, somewhat similar in design but infinitely
cleaner in its records and traditions.
Seton glanced at his watch, and then at the forest of bare poles of
the surrendered U-boats. In another half minute----
From the flag-ship a single gun boomed. As one, a galaxy of bunting
rose in the grey, misty air, and on each of the surrendered U-boats
fluttered the Black Cross Ensign once again, but with a vast
difference. Floating proudly in the breeze above the flag of beaten
Germany was the emblem of the true Freedom of the Seas--the glorious
White Ensign.
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