CHAPTER XXXI
THE GREAT SURRENDER
"SUPPOSING the Huns won't sign," remarked Wakefield, somewhatwistfully.
"They will," said Meredith reassuringly. "We've got themcold--absolutely."
"And the sooner the better," added Jock McIntosh. "It was a closething to say who would be fed up first--Fritz or us. Fritz did winthat, but by a short length."
"You are speaking for yourself, my lad," said Wakefield. "You cansee your release in sight, but I'll bet you'll be wishing yourselfback again before you're out six months."
It was the morning of the memorable 11th day of November. The threeM.L. skippers, just back from patrol, had foregathered in theward-room of No. 1497 during the period known as "stand easy."
The M.L.'s were lying in a fairly sheltered creek--one of thenumerous indentations of Scapa Flow. Beyond a neck of rocky groundcould be discerned a forest of tripod masts and lofty funnels,marking the war-time anchorage of the most powerful fleet that theworld has yet seen.
"You are a bit far-seeing, my festive," remarked Meredith.
"I am," admitted Wakefield. "After four years of it, are we going tosettle down to a humdrum life, rubbing shoulders with those blighterswho stayed at home and made pots of money out of the Empire's days ofsupreme trial? Can you imagine yourself, Meredith, on the beach withall your kit, demobbed and with nothing to do? It'll come to that.The Government were jolly glad to get hold of us, and when the war isover it'll be a case of 'Thank you and get out.' There will bethousands of young fellows, used to command and innured to peril, whowill be literally on their beam ends, because they never had thechance of completing their peace-time education."
"There's the sea behind us," suggested Meredith.
"Is there?" questioned Wakefield, "I doubt it, unless it's pottingaround in private yachts and small sailing-boats. We've learnt tohandle M.L.'s pretty efficiently, but after the war you try for apost as skipper of a trading steamer. Think you'll get it? You won't.You'll be up against all the red tape of Board of Trade officialdomand all that sort of thing. But Fritz hasn't accepted the terms ofthe Armistice yet."
"By the by," remarked Kenneth. "Have you heard any more news ofCumberleigh's pal, Karl von Preussen?"
"Now, how could I?" expostulated Wakefield. "Haven't we been onpatrol for umpteen hours? Just before we left we heard that he wasbeing sent under escort to London."
"He's a plucky fellow, in any case," observed McIntosh.
"Deucedly daring," corrected Wakefield.
"I don't know," remarked Meredith. "It may be pluck or daring, orboth. Hanged if I should like the job! Yet both sides employ spies.These fellows go about their work with the utmost certainty offinding themselves up against a wall and looking down the muzzles ofa dozen rifles if they're caught."
"Seems to me it's a despicable sort of job," said Wakefield, as herelit his pipe. "Sort of stabbing-your-foeman-in-the-back business.If, for instance, von Preussen hadn't been at Auldhaig the chancesare that Morpeth wouldn't have lost his arm, and a dozen or so Q171's men wouldn't have been killed in action."
"And yet, from von Preussen's point of view, his activities resultedin two Hun submarine-cruisers being prevented from being sent to thebottom," argued Meredith. "Put the boot on the other foot and imaginevon Preussen working for us, you'd say he was a dashed smart fellow.Hello! here's Cumberleigh coming alongside."
A dinghy had just brought the R.A.F. captain from the beach, andCumberleigh was looking down the ward-room ladder.
"Come down," sung out Meredith, who, since the informal gathering washeld on his M.L., was master of the ceremonies. "We're discussingyour friend, von Preussen. We were debating whether he were plucky ornot."
"He's slippery, at any rate," declared Cumberleigh, as he settledhimself in one comer of the settee and lit a cigarette. "You know Iwas warned as a witness at the court-martial. Rotten job givingevidence against a fellow. To my mind it's like murdering him in coldblood. I was to have left for London this afternoon, but this morningI had a wire postponing the most unpleasant duty. Then I learnt fromthe adjutant that von Preussen was at liberty again."
"Released?" asked Meredith and Wakefield in one voice.
"After a fashion," replied Cumberleigh.
"Details please?"
"There are none--except that he managed to escape. However, I don'tfancy von Preussen will count after to-day. The Armistice----"
"Has it been signed?" asked McIntosh.
Before Cumberleigh could reply there came a low roar of distantcheering, accompanied by the hooting of steam whistles and thelong-drawn boom of sirens.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Wakefield.
The four officers started to their feet and scrambled indecorouslyfor the ladder. Gaining the deck, they found the signalman of theanchored M.L.'s taking in a message from the swiftly moving arms of ashore semaphore.
"What is it, Signalman?" inquired Meredith.
"'Report rounds of quick-firing ammunition on board,' sir," was theunexpected reply.
But on the heels of the first came a second signal----
"ARMISTICE SIGNED."
The M.L. crews cheered lustily. Hostilities had ceased. Gone, for alltime presumably, were those long, tedious vigils on the grey NorthSea, those hazardous patrols through the mine-infested waters, thoseanxious nights when, blow high or blow low, the frail little crafthad to put to sea on an apparently trivial errand.
Germany had caved in. Without striking a blow, the powerful fleetwith which the Kaiser had hoped to wrest the trident from Britannia'sgrasp was to pass into inglorious internment. The strangle-hold ofthe British Navy had triumphed.
More than that. The Freedom of the Seas was established more firmlythan before. In the subsequent words of Sir David Beatty, "Thesurrender of the German Fleet has secured the Freedom of the Seas forsuch as pass thereon upon their lawful occasions, and is a testimonyto the value of sea power which the people of the British Empire willforget at their peril."
A week later the vast anchorage of Scapa Flow was practically empty.The Grand Fleet had left for the Firth of Forth to arrange the actualsurrender of the pick of Germany's battleships, cruisers anddestroyers. Of the U-boats the first batch of a total of 120 was dueto arrive at Harwich on the 20th, but "Beatty's Day" was fixed forthe 21st.
"Here's luck, Meredith," exclaimed Wakefield. "Five of us are torepresent the M.L. flotillas, and have a joy-trip to meet Fritz. TheS.N.O.'s just drawn the names. You're one, and so am I, so pack upand get ready. We're to be temporarily accommodated on board the_Lion_."
The Day dawned grey and misty as the mighty steel-clad battleshipssteamed eastward to meet their surrendering foes. Grey predominatedeverywhere, from the leaden-coloured skies to the leaden-hued waterchurned by the propellers of a hundred grey-hulled warships. Thefluttering White Ensign and the Admirals' flags flying from theleading ships of each division provided a fitting contrast to theotherwise sombre yet soul-inspiring pageant of "Might and Right."
"We're taking no risks," thought Meredith, as a bugle rang for"Action Stations." "It only shows how low a Hun's honour is rated."
Silently yet rapidly the battle-cruiser's ship's company fell in attheir appointed stations. The securing chains of the huge turretswere cast off and the monster guns trained and elevated to test theintricate mechanism. The quick-firers were manned and trained abeam,ammunition was sent up from the magazines, torpedoes launched homeinto the under-water tubes, fire hoses were coupled up and watertightdoors closed. Officers and men, with gas-masks ready to hand, werekeenly on the alert, those whose stations prevented them from seeingwhat was going on without plying their more fortunate comrades witheager questions.
Kenneth and Wakefield were standing just under the fore-bridge. Abovethem every tier of "Monkey Island" bore its quota of sightseers, alllooking steadily ahead into the grey mirk in a kind of competition asto who should first discern the masts of the expected Hun ships.
"Think they'll show up? If so, will they fight?
" asked Wakefield.
A naval officer standing by answered him.
"They'll show up all right. As to fighting, it's a toss up. Judgingfrom our standpoint, I shouldn't be surprised if they did; but, byJove! they will be smashed in twenty rounds."
The whirr of an aerial propeller sounded overhead, and a largeseaplane, literally skimming over the fore-topmast truck, racednoisily eastward, and was lost to sight in the grey dawn. Another,passing well to windward, followed, and then a huge airship, heryellow gas-bag glinting in the pale light, sailed serenely overheadat a great height. The scouts of the modern navy were at work.
"They're coming, sir!" announced a messenger, as he flung himself atthe bridge ladder. "Airship's just wirelessed through."
"Then that's done it--one way or the other," murmured the navalofficer. "I look like getting Christmas leave after all."
Approaching rapidly, came the line of pale-grey Hun battle-cruisers,led by the British light cruiser _Cardiff_. As far as could be seen,they flew no ensigns. Either in fear or in shame they hesitated tohoist the dishonoured Black Cross--the battle-cruisers had figuredprominently in the raid on Scarboro' and Hartlepool, and the Hunswere far from comfortable at the thought of their reception.
The German vessels had rigorously carried out the conditions ofsurrender. Their guns were trained fore and aft. The slightestdeviation from that position would invite a veritable tornado ofshells into the vitals of any ship that disregarded that command.Their own supply of ammunition had been left ashore, together withthe war-heads of their torpedoes. The huge warships were like pythonswith their poisonous fangs removed--formidable in appearance yetpowerless to do harm.
From the British flagship a string of bunting streamed in the wind.With mathematical precision the two parallel columns turned sixteendegrees in succession, so that the head of each line was parallel toand on the same course as the leading German vessel.
Simultaneously the Huns hoisted their colours. Surrounded by a galaxyof White Ensigns, the Black Cross fleet was being shepherded intocaptivity, while the British battle-cruisers, led by the _Lion_,formed a supplementary column betwixt the Hun vessels and the Britishbattleships following the mighty _Queen Elizabeth_.
The "Cat Squadron" had been within sight and within range of theGerman battle-cruisers on more than one previous occasion, but forthe first time since the outbreak of war the former were almostwithin hailing distance of the hitherto elusive but much-sought-after_Seidlitz, Derfflinger, Moltke_, and _Von der Tann_.
And so into the Firth of Forth passed the Hun Armada on the firststage of the final journey to Scapa Flow. One signal did the gallantBeatty make. It was brief, peremptory, and left in its exactitude nopossibility for doubt. It was sent to Admiral von Reuter, theCommander-in-Chief of the surrendered fleet:
"The German Flag is to be hauled down at 15.57 to-day, Thursday, andis not to be hoisted again without permission."
Precisely at sunset, the time mentioned in the signal, the BlackCross Ensign fluttered down on every Hun ship--but von Reuter had histongue in his cheek.
It was a fitting climax to the Bloodless Trafalgar of November 21,1918.