On 14 November 1918 a light cruiser flying the Imperial German Naval ensign and a rear admiral’s flag entered the Firth of Forth, receiving the curious stares of British service personnel and civilians alike. She was the Konigsberg, the replacement for the cruiser that had been destroyed in the Rufiji River during the war’s early days. The spectators noted a handsome ship with two very tall masts, three funnels, the foremost of which was higher than the other two, and eight 5.9-inch guns. Having taken up a position close to Queen Elizabeth, Admiral Beatty’s flagship, Konigsberg dropped anchor. Her admiral’s barge was called away and rowed across to the British flagship, where Rear Admiral von Meurer and his small staff climbed the accommodation ladder, exchanged stiffly formal compliments with those waiting above, and were led below.
The Armistice ending the Great War had been signed three days earlier. Its provisions required the Imperial German Navy to hand over for internment under the supervision of the Royal Navy eleven dreadnought battleships, five battle cruisers, eight light cruisers, fifty destroyers and all its surviving U-boats. There was no question of Meurer negotiating any improvement on these terms; he was aboard Queen Elizabeth to receive orders from Beatty as to how they were to be implemented and returned to Konigsberg knowing that his service was to be totally and very publicly humiliated.
The seeds that had germinated into mutiny and revolution had been present for a while. It was not just the long periods of idleness that had followed Jutland, although they had contributed to the rot. In some respects the social structure of the Navy mirrored that of the Army. Deck officers tended to be drawn from the upper classes and looked down on engineering and technical officers. Likewise, seamen were drawn from the merchant service and the fishing fleet, while men in the engineering branch were recruited in the country’s industrial areas. Promotion to petty officer tended to be awarded to regulars rather than conscripts. At sea, living conditions were crowded, to the extent that in harbour a proportion of crews were housed in barracks. The winter of 1917/18 became known as the ‘turnip winter’ as little else was available to eat and cooks became adept at serving the vegetable in various guises. Even in better times good food was in short supply and was not distributed fairly. On the mess decks, bread was baked from potato flour, while the officers enjoyed wheaten rolls, plus cakes on Sundays. One senior officer with a weakness for fried eggs had them cooked and carried to the wardroom along the mess decks, where the men may not have seen an egg for weeks. Naturally, such things were resented and did nothing to improve morale.
Having spent so much time in harbour, the seamen could see that the civilians were even worse off than they were. The influence of the Russian revolution began to spread throughout the mess decks, where the most commonly held opinion was that, since Germany’s allies were collapsing round her and the Army had failed to win victory during the recent offensives, the war was a complete waste of time. Among those expressing this view most forcefully were those who had just returned from the Belgian coast.
At the beginning of August 1918 Scheer became Chief of Admiralty Staff and Hipper assumed command of the High Seas Fleet. Watching events, he recognised beyond doubt that the Army was being roundly beaten and would disintegrate before long. In October he planned one final sortie which would prove that the Navy was still a power to be reckoned with. Some, but by no means all, senior officers, supported the idea, which would involve an operation similar to those with which the war had begun. On the mess decks, however, the agitators spread the word among the seamen that they were being taken on a death ride for the sake of the Navy’s honour, and that was something the seamen were simply not prepared to tolerate.
As the fleet began assembling at Schillig Roads on 27 October, serious acts of sabotage took place to prevent its sailing. These included the deliberate absence of stokers, the extinguishing of furnaces, the opening of water cocks and the jamming of capstans so that anchors could not be hoisted. By the evening of 29 October all the battleships and light cruisers were affected. Aboard the Thuringen and Helgoland the red flag of revolution was hoisted. Officers were simply told to stay out of the way. On 31 October naval infantry and smaller warships were called in to restore order. For a while there was a standoff and a serious risk that blood would be shed. Finally, those involved in the disturbance surrendered. Some 1,000 of them were arrested and marched off, weakening the crews to the extent that the fleet could not put to sea anyway.
On 3 November a demonstration by seamen, soldiers, workers and their wives took place in Kiel, demanding the release of the arrested men. The demonstration was followed by a march towards the city centre. Its progress was blocked by an officer’s patrol which opened fire when the crowd refused to disperse, killing eight of the demonstrators and wounding 29. During the night of 4 November the seamen formed councils, disarmed their officers and took control of their ships and barracks. Professional political agitators arrived to organise them and during the next few days they spread across Germany, being welcomed wherever they went. At the top of their list of demands were the abdication of the Hohenzollerns and the release of their comrades.
In Berlin, law and order broke down. The Kaiser had left Potsdam for his headquarters at Spa in Belgium on 29 October and the situation in the capital had deteriorated steadily ever since. During the days that followed he seemed divorced from reality. Having been informed that the Army was not prepared to fight any longer, he suggested that after the armistice had been signed he would personally lead the troops back to Germany. When told that this was not an option he demanded confirmation from the generals commanding the various German armies along the front and was horrified when this was forthcoming. He finally accepted the inevitable when a telephone call from Berlin confirmed that revolution had broken out and that the Berlin garrison, including the Kaiser’s favourite regiment, the Kaiser Alexander Garde Grenadier Regiment No. 1, had gone over to the revolutionaries and that his abdication had become essential if civil war was to be avoided. He replied that he would abdicate as Emperor of Germany but not as King of Prussia, but was told that this was not acceptable. On 10 November he signed a deed of abdication and left for exile in Holland the following day. It was one of history’s greatest ironies that the fleet that he had brought into being, nurtured and protected should be the principal instrument that brought about his downfall.
The date for the fleet’s internment was set for 21 November. Included in the orders given to Admiral Meurer by Beatty was that those ships involved would unload all their ammunition, remove the breech blocks and gun sights from their guns and render their central gunnery control equipment inoperable. These tasks were completed during the evening of 18 November and at noon the following day Meurer led his ships out on their last voyage across the North Sea.
The rendezvous with the Grand Fleet was to take place at 08:00 on 21 November at May Island off the Firth of Forth. Over 240 British warships and an American squadron were drawn up in lines through which the Germans would have to pass. The High Seas Fleet arrived exactly on time and was escorted to its temporary anchorage in the Forth. Throughout, the Allied crews remained at Action Stations with their guns trained on their former opponents. Inspection teams then boarded the German ships to verify that Admiral Meurer had carried out his orders. During the afternoon Beatty despatched a signal to Meurer: ‘The German flag will be hauled down at sunset today and will not be hoisted again without permission.’
Starting on 23 November and continuing for the next four days units of the High Seas Fleet reached Scapa Flow and were directed to what would be their last anchorages. Only skeleton crews were permitted to remain aboard and in due course the remainder were taken back to Germany in liners. Elsewhere, U-boats entered Harwich in small groups before being despatched to the breaker’s yard.
For the officers and men remaining at Scapa Flow a hard winter lay ahead, followed by months of boredom in which they were not allowed to set foot ashore. Denied up to date news, it appeared to them that the armistice would expire on 21 June 1919 and that the British would seize their ships. As internment differed from capture, Admiral von Reuter, commanding the Germans at the Flow, felt that he could not allow his country’s warships to fall into British hands. Lacking the means to resist, he devised a plan in great secrecy to scuttle the ships simultaneously upon a given signal. No one bothered to tell him that the expiry of the armistice terms had been extended by two days. Consequently, at 10:40 on 21 June the signal was given. Having opened then smashed the sea cocks and hoisted their ensigns for the last time, the German crews took to their boats with their personal possessions while spectators around the anchorage watched in astonishment as over seventy warships began sinking simultaneously.
In due course the crews, having spent a period in prison camp, were repatriated. Attempts to salvage the sunken wrecks met with mixed success. In some cases they were raised and towed away for breaking; in others the technical difficulties involved were immense and salvage was not even attempted. The latter remain, rusting steadily away until their steel crumbles and mingles with the silt producing reddish stains on the bed of the Flow. That is all that remains of the High Seas Fleet, once the pride and joy of Wilhelm Hohenzollern.