From a Private Log

THE CONTRIBUTORS’ CLUB

WELL, things have been sort of moving lately. It is very hard to realize that the war is over, even though a great German fleet of battleships, battle-cruisers, light cruisers, and destroyers is lying at anchor, with flags lowered, under our guns. The new Emden is only about three cables from us at the present moment!

The armistice was signed on the 11th, but except for a little exuberance that night when we ‘spliced the main brace,’ everyone (of course, I am only talking about the fleet, not of people ashore) took the news and the fact very quietly — indeed, you would n’t have known that anything out of the ordinary had happened. Of course, the German Fleet was still very much a ‘fleet in being,’ and so there was no relaxation possible on our part, and we just carried on as if nothing had happened,— did our usual drills and firing, — and last Sunday the Sydney did what I suppose was the last North Sea patrol during the war.

Early on Wednesday morning, the 20th, we got back to our anchorage, dirty and bedraggled-looking, and got the news that the King was going to inspect the Grand Fleet that morning. This meant a real hustle and polishing and tidying up; but by 11.30, when he came round, we were n’t looking so bad. At 12.30 it was all over, and then our programme was, dinner, prepare for coaling, coal ship, tea, clear ship, supper, and prepare for sea.

At 1.40 Thursday morning, November 21, we sailed — the whole Grand Fleet steaming out, squadron by squadron, nearly 200 ships in all — 33 battleships (including the 6th Battle-Squadron— the American squadron), 9 battlecruisers, 5 special-service cruisers, 32 light cruisers, and a hundred or more destroyers. At daylight that morning, we formed into two divisions in line ahead, six miles apart,— cleared for action, with all hands at their battlestations, — and in this formation we steamed to meet the German High Sea Fleet, coming to surrender ignominiously without firing a shot.

At about 9.30 the Cardiff, a British light cruiser, was sighted leading a long line of German ships disappearing in the far distance over the horizon. For a fortnight we had had nothing but dense fog day and night, but on this one morning Nature rose to the occasion, and though it was n’t absolutely clear, the sun was shining, the sea was almost like glass, and the visibility varying from about four to six miles.

The two fleets met, steaming in opposite directions, the Germans passing down the centre between the two lines, with British airships low down overhead — and then at a given signal all squadron leaders altered the course 180 degrees outward from the German line, the remaining ships of each squadron following round in succession. This brought the Grand Fleet round in the same formation as before, but steaming in the same direction as the Germans, and the course was set for the Firth of Forth.

Sir David Beatty, in the Queen Elizabeth, led the Battle Fleet of the Northern line, and abreast him was the Seidlitz, flying the broad pennant of Commodore Tägert, leading the German battle-cruiser squadron of five ships. Astern of the rear ship, the Von der Tann, came the German Commander-in-Chief, Admiral von Reuter, flying his flag in the Friedrich der Grosse, and followed by the remaining eight ships of the battle squadron. Then came a gap, bridged by the King Orry, once an Isle of Man pleasure steamer, but now flying the White Ensign and acting as a connecting link for signaling purposes; and then, led by the Phaeton, a British light cruiser, came Commodore Harder and his seven light cruisers.

Astern of the rear German light cruiser followed what can only be described as swarms of destroyers — British, then 49 Germans, then more British.

I’ve no words to describe it. It was stupendous, magnificent, wonderful; and this huge fleet — such a fleet as the world has never before seen manœuvred, or even in company — was handled with such precision, with such absolute accuracy and absence of ’flaps,’ that it might have been a huge clockwork toy, devised mechanically to do certain things at definite times. There was not an accident or the vestige of a hitch in the whole proceedings, and it was really a triumph of accuracy and skill.

By 3 P.M. the German Fleet was at anchor in the Firth of Forth east of Inchkeith, guarded by sufficient units of the Grand Fleet. Each ship of the guarding force then had to send an inspection party, under a commander, to a corresponding German ship, to search for possible explosives, and to give the commanding officers their instructions. Rather appropriately, the Emden fell to the lot of the Sydney, as her predecessor had done four years ago, though in a somewhat different manner!

The German colors were still flying from each German ship, but at 3.57, as I stepped on board at the head of my small party of officers and men, the ‘sunset’ bugles sounded, and down they came with a run, never to be hoisted again — at least, until the peace conference decides what is to be done.

On my arrival on board, I was received by the commander, being piped over the side with peace-time formality, and went straight to the captain’s cabin, where the captain, Becker, was waiting. It was a trying business and I hope I shall never have to go through anything like it again; for, in spite of all the devilish cruelty the Huns have indulged in, I could n’t help feeling terribly sorry for him. Here was a man forced by circumstances to surrender his ship without firing a shot, and I couldn’t help putting myself in his position — or rather trying to. I did n’t succeed, for such a thing is so entirely outside all our training and upbringing, all our traditions, that it was, and is, impossible to imagine it. With a British Fleet it just could n’t have happened — either there would have been a fight, or our ships would have been blown up.

I think the Germans wanted to be perfectly friendly, but though, of course, one was absolutely courteous, there could be no fraternization, and I limited conversation strictly to necessary questions and answers; but I could n’t help feeling rather a beast. Captain Becker offered me his hand and also a cigarette, both of which I of course refused — the first by having both my hands occupied sorting out papers, and the second by ‘I don’t smoke, thank you! ’

After collecting the information I wanted, and leaving the Commanderin-Chief’s instructions in writing, I did a quick inspection of the ship, just going through her magazines, shell-rooms, torpedo-rooms, and so forth, and finding them all empty. The next morning at 9 o’clock I again went on board and made a thorough and complete examination of every hole and corner in the ship, which took some hours; but there was nothing at all in the way of arms or explosives on board — even the breech-blocks of the guns had been landed at Wilhelmshaven. There seemed to be plenty of food and clothing, but otherwise the ship was practically empty.

Before leaving for the last time I went to the captain and thanked him for the assistance his officers had given me; and I was rather touched when he thanked me for the ‘great discretion and consideration ’ I had shown in the way I had ‘carried out a duty which must have been very distasteful’ to me! It was distasteful, for I had the feeling the whole time that I was hitting a man when he was down, and also, when going round the ship and seeing all the various devices, I felt as if I were looking over my opponent’s hand at cards, or reading someone else’s letters! However, the business had to be done, and was done thoroughly, and with due dignity and formality.

The situation on board was interesting. There was discipline of sorts, and men obeyed their officers, but it had relaxed considerably, and orders were obeyed in a slack manner. This was the general impression I received; but it was also very noticeable that there was a section of men on board, cleaner and smarter-looking than the remainder, who still held to the old traditions of discipline and loyalty to their officers. When we were in the captain’s cabin he called an orderly and asked if a certain form had been completed, and the orderly replied, ‘How should I know?’ in a most insolent manner. The captain turned to me and said in English, with rather a despairing shrug of the shoulders, ‘ They have all gone mad — mad! ’ Some few men had blacked out the ‘S.M.S.’ on their cap-ribbons, leaving only ‘Emden.’

The German ships and destroyers are now leaving in batches for Scapa, and our turn comes on Monday to escort the light cruisers up there — and then I don ’t know what we shall do. I hope the powers that be won’t think it necessary to keep us there too. I’ve certainly seen enough of Scapa in the winter to last me for the rest of my life.

This ‘ neither - one - thing - nor - the - other ’ period — neither peace nor war — is worse than either! It’s curious how it affects people. While war was on, everyone was happy and cheery, however uncomfortable the conditions — the ship was just a happy family; but now everybody’s nerves seem to be rather on edge, and I spend half my time soothing people down and smoothing over stupid little quarrels which just could n’t have happened a fortnight ago. I feel it myself, too, and find I have to exercise an enormous amount of self-restraint to avoid damning people up hill and down dale without real rhyme or reason! It is the relief from strain I suppose — strain that one has n’t noticed much, but that must have been felt almost unconsciously; and, too, there is the feeling of staleness, — that everything now is flat and unprofitable, — but probably the first ‘leave’ will cure all that! It has n’t been possible to get ashore much lately. I think I’ve only landed about three times this month, and that tends to make one rather irritable.