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| 21 November 1918 |
By F. Perrot of The Guardian
About 9.30 precisely came the great moment–the first glimpse of the captive German fleet. The lookout man at the masthead called down the tube to the captain's bridge: 'German fleet in sight on the starboard bow.' We were fifty miles out to sea east of the opening of the Firth of Forth. 'Der Tag,' murmured the chief yeoman of signals, as he leveled his telescope on the incredible thing. First of all we saw a kite balloon towed along by the Cardiff, our light cruiser, in the proud job of marshaling the prisoners. Behind the Cardiff we saw a faint silhouette, dark gray against the gray haze, like something cut out of paper. 'Seydlitz,' said an officer. "When I saw her last she was fairly battered. Jutland.' So the five battlecruisers were marching first to prison.
Over the Seydlitz one of our North Sea airships kept watch and ward. The leading German ships showed great plumes of smoke. After the Seydlitz came the Moltke, Derfflinger, Hindenburg, and Von der Tann. They were about three miles from us.
'What a target!' said our captain regretfully, and he made a rapid calculation of how long it would take our thirty-three battleships to sink their nine. The nine now loomed out of the haze, all moving as at some peaceful maneuvers. They were in this order: Friedrich der Grosse, flying the flag of Admiral von Reuter; Kaiser, Konig Albert, Prinzregent Luitpold, Kaiserin, Bayern (the very latest), Grosser Kurfurst, Markgraf, Kronprinz Wilhelm.
The grandest sight was that of the nine battleships towering in the misty light, magnificent and also ignominious. Soon after they were visible the sun burst out fully and made a path of rippling dazzle between us and the Germans. The phlegm of the British sailor was proof even against this miracle. Round me, the officers were calmly identifying the ships from their silhouette-books–'See the Derfflinger's tripod masts,' and so on. Our sailors showed no emotion at all. There was not a cheer in all the British fleet, although everywhere, on every turret and ledge, the men stood thickly, gazing silently or with some casual jest.
One man who said to me, 'This is what we've been waiting for all these years' was an exception. The sailorman thought of peace to come and leave at last. There was chivalry in his heart for a beaten foe. I heard one say: 'It's a fine sight, but I wouldn't be on one of them ships for the world.' An officer said to me: 'We all feel this is an unparalleled humiliation to a great fleet. The High Seas Fleet has fought well, and we have nothing against it. The submarines are another story. We have won the greatest and the most bloodless victories in the history of the world.'
There was a gap of three miles between the battleships and the seven light cruisers. These we could not see at all, nor the fifty German destroyers, all of the latest type, that closed the pageant. . .
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