“Well, we’re probably not such big fry,” Jack commented, “but we’ve done as much—­and a whole lot more—­than a good many of them, if you ask me.”

“My sentiments exactly,” declared Frank.  “And for that reason we’re just as much entitled to be in at the finish as any of the rest.”

“More so,” said Jack quietly.

“Well, we’ll be there.  So we have no kick coming.”

All day great vessels of war continued to arrive and take their places in the line.  As far as the eye could see long gray shapes lay in the water—­two lines of them—­with perhaps half a mile between.  Through this space the German warships would pass when they came out to surrender.

When the eye could no longer see ships, the presence of other vessels was noted by smudges of smoke on the horizon.  The line of ships, or rather the two lines, Jack and Frank knew, stretched almost to the distant shore.

“Yes,” said Jack, “it’s going to be quite an event.”

Suddenly the guns of every ship burst out with a roar.  The flagship of Admiral Beatty was approaching down the line from shore.  Aboard it, every man of the great fleet knew, besides the admiral, were King George and Queen Mary of England; and it was the royal salute that was being fired.  Even the American ships joined in the greeting.

The guns of Admiral Beatty’s flagship were kept busy acknowledging the salutes.  On every deck handkerchiefs and caps waved frantically as the flagship passed.

As the vessel drew abreast of the Essex, Jack and Frank, standing together on the bridge, made out the forms of the King and Queen of England on the bridge.

Both lads doffed their caps, and Jack ordered the royal salute fired by the big guns of the destroyer.

The vessel trembled under the detonation and the crew seemed to go wild as they cheered at the top of their voices.

The flagship passed on.

A mile or so to the east, the flagship slowed down and turned into line.

“And that’s where I suppose she will remain until after the surrender,” said Jack.

The lad was right.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SURRENDER

Germany’s sea surrender began at dawn on November 20, nine days after the signing of the armistice.

Out in this misty expanse of the North Sea the allied battleships had taken up their positions in a fifty-mile line of greyhounds.  Aboard the allied battleships every eye was strained to the east; every man was on the alert.  The British and allied war vessels presented a noble sight, stretched out as far as the eye could see, and beyond.

Every ship was stripped for action.  Crews were at their posts.  Not until the surrender was an accomplished fact would the vigilance of the British naval authorities be relaxed.  Not until the German vessels were safe in the hands of the allies would British officers and crews be certain that the enemy was not meditating trickery up to the last moment.