CHAPTER XIX

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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