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."