A week later, on November 16, Erich Ludendorff disguised himself with a false beard and a pair of blue spectacles and sneaked away to Denmark. Recognized in Copenhagen, he fled again, this time to Sweden, where he lived for three months in a country house near Stockholm before returning to Germany. He met Adolf Hitler and in 1923 marched at his side in the unsuccessful Munich Beer Hall Putsch. In 1924, Ludendorff was elected to the Reichstag as a Nazi deputy and in 1925, Hitler persuaded him to run for president of Germany. Of 24 million votes cast, Ludendorff received 280,000.
The German delegation returned to Compiègne on Sunday, November 10, and was received at midnight. At 5:10 a.m. on November 11—the 1,586th day of the Great War—the weary delegates finally signed the document ending hostilities that day at 11 a.m. Before signing, Erzberger looked at Foch and said, “The German people, who stood steadfast against a world of enemies for fifty months, will preserve their freedom and unity no matter how great the external pressure. A people of seventy millions may suffer but it cannot die.” Steadily gazing back, Foch said, “Très bien.”
That afternoon, in the Firth of Forth, the Grand Fleet Commander-in-Chief ordered all ships to “splice the main brace”—to serve the men an extra ration of rum. The exceptions to Beatty’s order were the American ships, which were dry. At seven that night, the men in the anchorage were deafened by a continuous din of foghorns, sirens, and steam whistles. Sky rockets and colored signal bombs burst in the air, while searchlight beams swept across water and sky, finding and fixing on White Ensigns and American flags. On the big ships, bands played and sailors mobbed sacrosanct quarterdecks. Queen Elizabeth’s crew came in a body to the admiral’s cabin where Beatty and his staff were sitting down to dinner. “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” rose from hundreds of throats. The men invited the officers to dance, and captains, commanders, and lieutenants waltzed, fox-trotted, and did the military polka with seamen and marines until two o’clock in the morning. At one point, a picket boat from Inflexible came alongside New York to take a group of American officers to the battle cruiser where they could drink champagne.
It was agreed by all the Allied powers that the entire German submarine fleet would be surrendered with no possibility of return. The British and French governments also wanted the German surface fleet surrendered to the Allies. The Americans were less eager for this; they did not want the ships, but preferred that neither the British nor the French have them. Instead, the United States proposed temporary internment of the surface vessels in neutral ports until a final decision was made at the peace conference. This course was adopted and two neutral governments, Norway and Spain, were approached. Both declined to receive the German ships, now seething with mutiny. Accordingly, the Allied Naval Council accepted Wemyss’s suggestion that all seventy-four surface ships be interned at Scapa Flow under the supervision of the Grand Fleet. There, German skeleton crews would remain on board because, under international law, interned ships still belonged to the German government. Little time was allowed for delivery. If the ships designated for internment were not ready to sail on November 18, the Allies said, Hel-igoland would be occupied. On the night of November 12, a radio message from Beatty requested that a German flag officer come to the Firth of Forth to make arrangements. The next afternoon, Hipper’s representative, Rear Admiral Hugo Meurer, left Wilhelmshaven for Scotland on the new light cruiser Königsberg.
At seven o’clock on the evening of November 15, Meurer and four other German officers walked up the gangplank of Queen Elizabeth. Around them, a black night and thick fog in the Firth of Forth hid the shapes and lights of the rows of dreadnoughts near Beatty’s flagship. Reaching the quarterdeck, Meurer was received in silence by two British officers assigned to escort him to the Commander-in-Chief. Powerful electric lights created a path across the quarterdeck to Beatty’s quarters; outside the path everything was darkness, but along its edge stood a line of marine sentries, light gleaming off the steel of their fixed bayonets. Beatty and his officers sat at a large dining room table with their backs to a wall hung with prints of Nelson’s victories. On the table was a small bronze lion, a reminder of the admiral’s years with the battle cruisers. When the Germans entered, Beatty stood and, looking straight at Meurer, said, “Who are you?” “Rear Admiral Hugo Meurer,” the German replied. “Have you been sent by Admiral von Hipper to arrange the details for carrying out the terms of the armistice which refer to the surrender of the German fleet?” Beatty asked. “Yes,” said Meurer. “Where are your credentials?” Beatty asked. These were produced, and Beatty said, “Pray be seated.” Beatty then read his prepared instructions. “They were greatly depressed,” Beatty wrote afterward to Eugenie, “and I kept feeling sorry for them, but kept repeating to myself, Lusitania, Belgian atrocities, British prisoners of war. . . . Meurer, in a voice like lead with an ashen grey face, said, ‘I do not think the Commander-in-Chief is aware of the condition of Germany,’ and then began to describe the effect of the blockade. Germany was destroyed utterly. I said to myself thank God for the British navy and told them to return with their answers in the morning.” Meurer then informed Beatty that three delegates of the Sailors’ and Workers’ Council were on board Königsberg and insisted on accompanying him and taking part in the discussions. “I naturally said I knew them not and did not intend to know them better,” Beatty reported, telling Meurer that no one but the German admiral and his staff would be allowed to leave Königsberg. This “seemed a source of relief to the stricken party.” At 9:00 p.m., the Germans stepped back into the darkness to begin the twelve-mile trip to their ship. Beatty went to bed “and was nearly sick.”
The following morning, the Germans returned two hours late because of what Beatty described as “the thickest fog I have ever seen in the Firth of Forth.” It was arranged that the U-boats would surrender to Tyrwhitt at Harwich and the surface ships to Beatty in the Firth of Forth, from where they would proceed to Scapa Flow for internment. Meurer asked for extensions of time, pleading that German seamen would not bring the ships over. “The men will not obey. . . . I have now no authority. . . . We must have food.” Meurer “prated about the honor of their submarine crews being possibly assailed,” Beatty told Eugenie. “It nearly lifted me out of my chair. I scathingly replied that their personal safety would be assured.” It was a long day; the Germans remained on board until midnight. Finally, when it came to signing the required documents, Beatty thought Meurer “would collapse. He took two shots at it, putting his pen down twice [before he signed].” Before leaving the British flagship, the Germans were given a meal. “I saw a leg of mutton being taken in for the five officers,” said Ernle Chatfield, now the captain of Queen Elizabeth. Afterward, a steward told him, “They left nothing but the bone, sir!” As the Germans were leaving, a marine guard saw a German officer look around nervously and then stuff something inside his greatcoat. The officer was confronted and a large piece of cheddar cheese was found in his pocket.
The first defeated German warships to appear in British waters were the U-boats. During fifty-one months of war, German submarines had sunk a total of 5,282 British, Allied, and neutral merchant ships totaling 11,153,000 tons at the cost of 178 U-boats and 511 officers and 4,576 men. Three hundred and ninety-two submarines had been built before and during the war; therefore, the loss rate was almost 50 percent. At the time of the armistice, the German navy still possessed 194 U-boats, with a further 149 under construction. Britain wanted them all destroyed. Harwich had been designated as the port of surrender and Tyrwhitt was assigned to supervise the operation. When the Harwich Force cruisers and destroyers weighed anchor on November 20 and steamed to a rendevous point off Lowestoft, all hands were at action stations; Tyrwhitt was taking no chances. Out of the morning mist, a German transport that was to take the submarine crews back to Germany appeared, followed in a single line by twenty of the latest U-boats. Tyrwhitt had instructed his men that strict silence must be maintained when passing close to a U-boat and that there mus
t be absolutely no cheering. Nevertheless, as one officer watched “the low-lying, sinister forms of U-boats emerge from the mist,” his feelings overwhelmed him. He likened the moment to being in Piccadilly and “seeing twenty man-eating tigers walk up from Hyde Park Corner and lie down in front of the Ritz to let you cut off their tails and put their leads on.” Tyrwhitt’s force steamed past the submarines, detaching destroyers as they went so that each five U-boats had a destroyer in front and one on each beam. About 10 a.m., this line of ships reached a second rendezvous where two destroyers waited with British prize crews to put aboard the U-boats. The submarines anchored under the guns of the British destroyers; motor launches carried the British prize crews from the destroyers to the submarines. The boarding parties, each consisting of two or three armed officers and fifteen men, hoisted the White Ensign over the German flag. The German captains then were required to sign assurances that their boats were in an efficient condition, with torpedoes on board but torpedo warheads removed, and that no booby traps or other unpleasant surprises had been left aboard. The German crews, having been told that they would be taken into a British port, concluded that they were about to be paraded through the streets. Once assured that this was not so, they became communicative and helpful, explaining the intricacies of their boats to the British officers. “In nearly every case,” said Commander Stephen King-Hall, “the German officers seemed anxious to assist in every way possible and give as much information concerning the working of the boat as was feasible.” As each submarine proceeded into Harwich harbor with a prize crew in control and the German crew lined up on the forward deck, it passed through a swarm of small boats, crowded with spectators. Despite this assembly, Tyrwhitt’s order was obeyed and there was complete silence. At 4:00 p.m., a motor launch came alongside each U-boat, the Germans gathered their personal belongings, the German captain saluted, the salute was returned, and the Germans were taken to the transport ship waiting outside. Behind, “as the sun sank in a splendour of crimson and gold, the long line of twenty U-boats, harmlessly swinging around their buoys, reflecting the last rays of the sun from their conning towers, made a picture which will remain forever in the minds of . . . [those who saw them].”
For the next eleven days, this remarkable procession continued. On November 21, the second day, nineteen more U-boats came over; a twentieth sank or was scuttled in passage. On the third day, twenty-one submarines arrived. One German captain told a British officer that, eight months after the sinking of Lusitania, his submarine had been within 400 yards of Mauretania, the destroyed liner’s sister, with all his tubes ready to fire, but, owing to the crisis involving the United States, he had not fired. And that, on his return to Germany, he had received a personal letter from the kaiser commending him for his discretion. On November 24, twenty-eight submarines came over; on the twenty-seventh, twenty-seven more arrived, including U-9, which had sunk Aboukir, Hogue, and Cressy four years before. On December 1, the arrival of eight more U-boats brought the total number delivered to 123. Meanwhile, another nine had been interned in neutral ports. This left Germany with sixty-two seaworthy U-boats and construction continuing on another 149. When these numbers were ascertained in December by the Allied Naval Council, an ultimatum was issued: every completed U-boat must be made seaworthy and brought to England immediately; those unable to proceed under their own power were to be towed; all boats under construction were to be destroyed. Eventually, 176 submarines were delivered to the British at Harwich. An additional eight foundered on their way across the North Sea although no crew member was lost. The operable U-boats reaching Harwich were divided up and distributed among the Allies: 105 to Britain, forty-six to France, ten to Italy, and two to Belgium. All were destroyed except ten of the forty-six allotted to France
Franz von Hipper refused to lead the German surface fleet to Britain and Rear Admiral Ludwig von Reuter was given the assignment. As Hipper watched his dreadnoughts leaving Schillig roads, he said, “My heart is breaking. I have nothing more to do.” Across the North Sea, the Grand Fleet was waiting. Before dawn on November 21, the light cruiser Cardiff slipped out of the Firth of Forth to meet the German ships and guide them to the rendezvous with Beatty’s fleet. Then, as the sun came up, battleships, battle cruisers, armored and light cruisers, and escorting destroyers—in all, 370 ships—manned by 90,000 men of the British, American, and French navies, left the harbor. It was a sunlit morning, with a light breeze to blow out the flags, although haze limited visibility to about five miles. British ships flew every White Ensign they possessed, as though they were going into action. The crews were at action stations, although, at Beatty’s command, all main turrets were trained fore and aft. Contact was made at 9:30 a.m. about forty miles east of May Island when Cardiff appeared, trailing a kite balloon with observers on board. Cardiff was followed in sunshine and mist by the battle cruiser Seydlitz, then the other German battle cruisers and a long line of battleships, their huge guns trained fore and aft. All told, there were seventy German ships: nine battleships, five battle cruisers, seven light cruisers, and forty-nine destroyers. In each type of ship, there was a deficiency of one in the numbers promised by the armistice agreement: one battleship, König, and a light cruiser, Dresden, had been left behind with engine problems; the new battle cruiser Mackensen, still under construction, was unready for sea; one destroyer, V-70, had struck a mine crossing the North Sea and sunk. Nevertheless, the approaching ships were the cream of the High Seas Fleet. The Allied fleet steamed past the head of the German line, then reversed course and took station in two long columns on parallel courses, one on either side of its former enemies, about six miles apart. Speed was 12 knots. In all Allied ships, fire-control directors were trained on the German vessels, with range and bearing constantly plotted. The turrets were not trained, but ammunition hoists were loaded and shells waited at the breeches of the guns. Targets at ranges of 3,500 and 5,000 yards were assigned and then passed along from one Allied ship to the next so that each German warship was always subject to coverage. Later, it was clear that these precautions had been unnecessary. All powder and ammunition had been removed from the German ships and, in some cases, range finders, gun sights, and breech blocks as well. Passing May Island, Beatty signaled one of the German squadrons to come to 17 knots and close up. The reply came back, “We cannot do better than twelve knots. Lack lubricating oil.”
The procession entered the Firth of Forth and by noon, the German ships were anchored under the guns of the Inchkeith fortifications. Hardly had the anchors been dropped when German seamen appeared at the rails with hook and line to try to catch their dinner. Boats of every description—steamers, yachts, fishing boats, and rowboats—milled about, their passengers staring up at the gray steel ships. Ethel Beatty in her yacht, Sheelah, passed very close to Seydlitz, drawing mocking laughter from the German crew, which enraged the admiral’s wife. Meanwhile, the Grand Fleet steamed past the Germans, proceeding to its anchorage above and below the Forth bridge. Last of all came Queen Elizabeth and Beatty, who signaled, “The German flag will be hauled down at sunset today and will not be hoisted again without permission.” Beatty had ordered silence in the presence of the defeated enemy, but after the Germans anchored, Queen Elizabeth pulled out of line and stopped. As the whole Allied fleet passed by, each vessel cheered, colors dipped, guards presented arms, and bands struck up the national anthems of Britain, France, and the United States. Then, said Ernle Chatfield, “I took the fleet flagship to her buoy above the bridge and told the commander to assemble the crew on the quarterdeck. I walked aft with the admiral and asked him to say a few words to them. ‘I don’t think that there is anything I can say,’ he said. But as he turned to go down the ladder to his cabin with the ship’s company’s cheers ringing in his ears, he faced them and said with a smile, ‘Didn’t I tell you they would have to come out?’ ”
At 3:37 p.m., sunset in the Forth, a bugle sounded on Queen Elizabeth and the White Ensign was lowered throughout the fleet.
Simultaneously at Inchkeith, the German imperial flag came down on seventy warships. At six o’clock, Beatty attended a thanksgiving service on the quarterdeck of his flagship and then sat down to dinner with thirty-two guests including Admiral Sims and a French admiral. Not present were the two greatest British admirals of that era: John Arbuthnot Fisher, who conceived and created the Grand Fleet, and John Rushworth Jellicoe, who commanded it through the greater part of the war. No one was willing to say whether these men had been slighted intentionally or whether the Admiralty simply forgot to invite them.
Over the next several days, the interned ships left the Firth of Forth in groups for Scapa Flow. Two German destroyer flotillas went first, on November 22, and the light cruisers and remaining destroyers followed over the next two days. The dreadnoughts started moving on the twenty-fourth, accompanied by British battleships and battle cruisers; by Wednesday, November 27, all seventy German warships were anchored at Scapa Flow. The battleship König arrived from Germany on December 6 along with the light cruiser Dresden and the destroyer V-129, sent as a replacement for the mined V-30. The seventy-fourth and last German ship interned was the new battleship Baden. She arrived on January 9, 1919, as a substitute for the unfinished battle cruiser Mackensen, which the Allies had demanded but which was never sufficiently completed to go to sea.
At Scapa Flow, all radio equipment was removed from the interned ships and the crews were reduced to maintenance size. Twenty thousand men had brought the ships across the North Sea. On December 3, 4,000 returned to Germany on two ships bringing supplies from Wilhelmshaven. Another 6,000 went home on December 6 and 5,000 more on December 12. This left behind a total of 4,815 men, scattered through the anchored fleet. Each battle cruiser kept 200 men on board, battleships 175, light cruisers 80, and each destroyer 20, enough to maintain the ships and to enable them to steam at reduced speed. This provision was important to the Germans because they still hoped that the ships might be returned to Germany on the conclusion of a peace treaty. Thereafter, the thinning out continued and an average of a hundred men went home on the supply ships every month of the internment.
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