rmaster.

Kapitan Schwalbe was on deck in a trice, closely followed by his
subordinate. For a few moments, he kept his binoculars focused upon
the indistinct grey object, then three miles off.

"It is the _Tremendous_," he announced in an undertone to the
Unter-leutnant. "Another ten minutes will see the business through."

He spoke with confidence, but it was a confidence inspired by a liberal
dose of brandy. He felt that he had already passed the Rubicon. There
could be no turning back.

A whistle trilled shrilly. At the signal the men again doubled aft,
and joined up in a double line.

"Where are the English boys?" enquired Kapitan Schwalbe.

"Coming," replied Ross. For the first time on board he omitted to add
the word "sir". His omission was deliberate. Utter contempt for the
German captain consumed him. Schwalbe, too, noticed the manner in
which he had replied. He smiled grimly, imagining that now the lads
thought themselves about to be free they could afford to be curt.

As the chums passed the lifebuoys, they deftly heaved them overboard.
They fell with hardly a splash, dropping close to the side of the
motionless submarine.

No one noticed the act. The attention of the crew was centred upon a
little ceremony that was taking place. Bareheaded, the men stood at
attention. Their voices broke into the song of "Die Wacht am Rhein" as
the emblem of German sea-power was slowly lowered from the ensign staff.

The men sang sonorously and in perfect cadence. They firmly believed
that it was their last tribute as free men to their Fatherland. As the
last bar terminated, the petty officer smartly hoisted the white flag.
For an instant it hung limply, confined by one of the halliards; then
like a square of stretched canvas it blew out in the steady breeze--a
modern counterpart of the kiss of Judas.

And standing just behind the Kapitan, within arm's reach of the ensign
staff, were Ross Trefusis and Vernon Haye.

CHAPTER XII

The White Flag--and Afterwards

H.M.S. _Tremendous_, super-Dreadnought of 24,000 tons displacement, and
mounting ten 13.5-inch guns as her principal armament, was tearing
up-Channel at 21 knots.

She looked far different from the spick-and-span battleship which had
left Portsmouth only six weeks previously.

Her armoured sides still showed unmistakable traces of the impact of
Turkish shells. Her grey paint was blotched, blistered, and stained.
Her after funnel ha