The British Navy in Battle

by Arthur Joseph Hungerford Pollen

THE NORTH SEA

The engagement off Heligoland had no successor until the spring of 1916, when the attack on the island of Sylt took place. A second sweep some days after the first was made in the same waters, but nothing of the enemy was seen. Whether such sweeps were repeatedly made in 1915 without the public being informed, we do not know. By this I do not imply that no incursions into German waters were made—I mean only that we heard of none, and presumably that, if any were made, there was no result.

But two points in this connection may be borne in mind. The affair off Heligoland took place on August 28, 1914. After losing three cruisers by exposing them to Sir David Beatty’s and Commodore Goodenough’s forces, the Germans managed their affairs very differently. Perhaps from this time on no German craft ventured into the North Sea at all, except when the whole fleet came out in force. And they did not come out in force very often, nor at all, except at night or when the weather was clear enough for the fleet’s scouts, either in the form of airships, destroyers, or cruisers, to give long warning of the presence of danger. The two raiding expeditions and Von Hipper’s excursion of January 28 are undertakings of a very different character.

The Bombardments.—Whatever the explanation, there was no more fighting in home waters for exactly five months, but the Germans made two expeditions in force right across to the English shores. Early in November a squadron of cruisers appeared off Yarmouth, fired at the Halcyon, let off some rounds, without doing any damage, on the town, and retreated precipitately, dropping mines as they went. A British submarine unfortunately ran foul of one of these and was lost with all hands at once. Halcyon, perhaps the smallest and least formidable vessel that ever crept into the “Navy List”, engaged the enemy imperturbably when they fled, losing one man from a fragment of shell, though practically unhurt herself. Private letters speak of salvoes falling short and over in the most disconcerting manner, and of the ship being so drenched with water as to be in danger of foundering. The old story of the very accurate, but ineffective, fire of the German ships, was thus repeated. But no official or detailed information on this subject has been given. In December a second and much more successful raid was made. Scarborough, the Hartlepools, and Whitby were bombarded by a squadron, whose composition was never officially announced. The American papers have printed letters from Germany stating that the Von der Tann and Moltke, the Yorck and the Bluecher, with smaller cruisers, constituted the force. The visitors to Hartlepool experienced the hospitality of that flourishing port in its warmest form. The garrison artillery dealt faithfully with Von der Tann, and her disappearance was credibly attributed to injuries sustained in a collison, which damage to her steering gear, effected by the north country gunners, had prevented her evading. The squadron that bombarded Yarmouth made off in the thick weather. It was obvious from the terms in which the Admiralty announced the fact that the bombardment had taken place that it was considered quite certain that they could not escape a second time. Unfortunately, however, they did; but they lost the Yorck by a German mine when re-entering harbour. The details of the arrangements made for anticipating them were quite properly kept secret, but it became known that a sudden fog explained why these arrangements did not succeed.

Both in the case of the Yarmouth and the Scarborough raids the enemy appeared at daylight. He had evidently crossed the North Sea during the night. From Whitby to the mine-fields off Heligoland is about 275 miles, a distance which each of the ships employed could cover quite comfortably in thirteen or fourteen hours. Had the squadron left Heligoland an hour before dark it could have fetched the English coast by daylight, hardly using more than three-quarter power. If it started for home at 8:30 it would have nine hours of daylight before it. At twenty-five knots 225 miles could be covered. This would bring them within fifty or sixty miles of the minefields, and it is probable that at some greater distance from Heligoland than this a rendezvous for submarines and destroyers had been arranged.

These raids were doubtless planned on the theory that the battle-cruiser fleet would be based on some point so far north that no difference in speed between the British and German ships would enable the former to overtake them before the mine-fields, or at least the waiting submarines and destroyers were met. And it may well have been hoped that an exasperated English Admiral, if he came up with them then, would not willingly give up the hope of an engagement. It may have seemed a very feasible operation to draw him either on to the mines themselves or within range of the submarines. It is, it seems to me, not difficult to reconstruct the German plan for both the Yarmouth and the Whitby raids.

It has often been pointed out—and with perfect justice—that in shelling open and undefended towns, and even a commercial port like Hartlepool that did have a 6-inch gun or two to defend it, the Germans were employing their fleet to no immediate military purpose whatever. It has been suggested that there might have been the very excellent military object of keeping our battle-cruisers in home waters and so securing Von Spee a free hand abroad. What has not been so often insisted on is that had there been any military centre, fort, or magazine worth attack, the fugitive character of the bombardments robbed them of any probable hope of hitting it.

There have been ample experiences during this war of ships bombarding distant objects on shore. And it is finally proved to be one of the most difficult operations conceivable. The case of the Koenigsberg was altogether exceptional. And many as were the difficulties to be faced in that action, there was yet this favourable element present, that the people in the aeroplanes could not possibly make any mistake as to the target that was to be bombarded, nor from the fact that it was a small ship lying in a considerable expanse of water could the observers, spotting all the different rounds, fail to give to the fire-control parties on board very accurate indications how to correct their sights for the next round. At the Dardanelles when isolated forts were attacked on a point on land, where one ship could lie off nearly at right angles to the line of fire and mark the fall of shot and the firing ship correct the fire for line, exact corrections of the same character as at the Rufigi were made possible. But when it came to correcting the fire by captive balloons and aircraft, when forts and gun positions had to be picked out in the folds of the hills, and still more where forts had to be engaged with no other corrections than the men in the control tops of the firing ship could supply, it became practically impossible to ensure sustained effective firing.

When, therefore, the German ships lay off Lowestoft, Hartlepool, Whitby, and Scarborough and bombarded for half an hour or so without any attempt to select particular targets, or if such were selected, to adopt any scientific means of directing their fire on to them, it became perfectly clear that their military object was about as defined as that of midnight bombing raids with Zeppelins. One is driven to the conclusion, therefore, that the primary object of these adventures was mere frightfulness, and that perhaps the secondary object was to draw the pursuing ships into some catastrophic trap.

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CHAPTER XVII
The Action off the Dogger Bank

The two bombardments of the early winter of 1914 have been variously explained. They may have been meant to force us to keep our main forces concentrated: or simply to cheer up the Germans and depress our people. Both were organized so that the German squadron could start its race for home within an hour of daybreak.

It is more difficult, however, to explain the events of January 28. The precise point where Sir David Beatty encountered Admiral von Hipper’s fleet has not been authoritatively made known, but it seems to have been on the northeastern edge of the Dogger Bank. They were encountered at seven o’clock in the morning. Von Hipper’s presence at this point cannot, then, explain his being out on an expedition analogous to the former two. And I have some difficulty in understanding exactly why he took this risk. It is, of course, possible the Germans had had reports to the effect that the North Sea was clear on the 27th. It may have been so reported on several occasions, and it is possible that aircraft had verified this fact, when the weather permitted of their employment for this purpose. The Germans, who are fond of jumping to conclusions on very insufficient premises, may have exaggerated the effect of their submarine campaign on British dispositions. We know, for instance, that the alarm undoubtedly felt by the public in September and October was very greatly exaggerated in the German press. At any rate, immediately after the battle of the Falkland Islands a good deal of rodomontade appeared about the British being driven from the North Sea, and the German seamen may have felt bound to act as if this rodomontade were true. Or a much simpler explanation may suffice. Von Hipper may have come out to look for the British ships and draw them into prepared positions and to engage them on the German terms. The defeat of Von Spee may have made a naval demonstration necessary.

Whatever the explanation of the Germans being where they were, it was only by mere chance that they escaped annihilation. Had Sir David Beatty—as it might well have happened—been to the east of them when they were sighted, not a single German ship would ever have got home. It was unlucky, too, that his squadron was temporarily deprived of the services of the Queen Mary. A fourth ship of a speed superior to that of Lion, Tiger, and Princess Royal, and armed like them with 13.5 guns might have made the whole difference in the conditions in which the fight took place. Besides, Queen Mary was much the best gunnery ship in the Fleet. Once more, then, the Germans had quite exceptional luck upon their side.

The moment Von Hipper’s scouting cruisers found themselves in contact with Commodore Goodenough’s squadron the German battle-cruisers turned and made straight for home at top speed. They had a fourteen-miles’ start—say, six miles beyond effective gun range—of the British squadron, and Admiral Beatty settled down at once to a stern chase at top speed. The chase began in earnest at 7:30, the Germans, fourteen miles ahead, steering S.E., the British ships on a course parallel to them, the German ships bearing about twenty degrees on the port bow. In an hour and twenty minutes the range had been closed from 28,000 yards to 20,000. Von Hipper was evidently regulating the speed of his squadron by that of the slowest ship, Bluecher. Admiral Beatty disposed of his fleet in a line of bearing, so that there should be a minimum of smoke interference, and the flagship opened fire with single shots to test the range. In ten minutes her first hit was made on the Bluecher which was the last in the German line. Tiger then opened on the Bluecher, and Lion shifted to No. 3, of which the range was 18,000 yards. At a quarter past nine the enemy opened fire. Soon after nine, Princess Royal came into action, took on Bluecher, while Tiger took No. 3 and Lion No. 1. When New Zealand came within range, Bluecher was passed on to her. This was at about 9:35. So early as a quarter to ten the Bluecher showed signs of heavy punishment, and the first and third ships of the enemy were both on fire. Lion was engaging the first ship, Princess Royal the third, New Zealand the Bluecher, while Tiger alternated between the same target as the Lion and No. 4. For some reason not explained the second ship in the German line does not appear to have been engaged at all. Just before this the Germans attempted a diversion by sending the destroyers to attack. Meteor (Captain Mead), with a division of the British destroyers, was then sent ahead to drive off the enemy, and this apparently was done with success. Shortly afterwards the enemy destroyers got between the battle-cruisers and the British squadron and raised huge volumes of smoke, so as to foul the range. Under cover of this the enemy changed course to the northward. The battle-cruisers then formed a new line of bearing, N.N.W., and were ordered to proceed at their utmost speed. A second attempt of the enemy’s destroyers to attack the British squadron was foiled by the fire of Lion and Tiger.

The chase continued on these lines more or less for the next hour, by which time the Bluecher had dropped very much astern and had hauled away to the North. She was listing heavily, was burning fiercely, and seemed to be defeated. Sir David Beatty thereupon ordered Indomitable to finish her off, and one infers from this, the first mention of Indomitable, that she had been unable to keep pace with New Zealand, Princess Royal, Tiger, and Lion, and therefore would not be able to assist in the pursuit of the enemy battle-cruisers.

The range by this time must have been very much reduced. If between 7:30 and 9:30 a gain of 10,000 yards, or 5,000 yards an hour, had been made, between 9:30 and 10:45 a further gain of 6,250 yards should have been possible, if the conditions had remained the same. But with Bluecher beaten, the German battle-cruisers could honourably think of themselves alone. Unless their speed had been reduced by our fire, while we ought to have gained, we should hardly have caught up so much as in the first hour and a half. But there had, besides, been two destroyer attacks threatened or made by the enemy, one apparently at about twenty minutes to ten, and one at some time between then and 10:40. It is highly probable that each of these attacks caused the British squadron to change course, and we know that before 10:45 the stations had been altered. Each of these three things may have prevented some gain. Still, on the analogy of what had happened in the first two hours, we must suppose the range at this period to have been at most about 13,000 yards. At six minutes to eleven the action had reached the first rendezvous of the German submarines. They were reported to and then seen by the Admiral on his starboard bow, whereupon the squadron was turned to port to avoid them. Very few minutes after this the Lion was disabled.

[(LARGER)]

The Dogger Bank Affair. Diagram to illustrate the character of the engagement up to the disablement of Lion

What happened from this point is not clear. We know that as Sir David stopped he signalled to Tiger, Princess Royal, and New Zealand to close on and attack the enemy. Bluecher had been allotted to the Indomitable some twenty minutes before. The squadron passed from Admiral Beatty’s command to that of Rear-Admiral Sir Archibald Moore. In a very few minutes it was, of course, out of sight of the Vice-Admiral himself. Sir David called a destroyer alongside and followed at the best pace he could and, soon after midday, found the squadron returning after breaking off the pursuit some seventy miles from Heligoland. Bluecher had been destroyed, but the three battle-cruisers had escaped. Of the determining factors in these proceedings we know little. Such data as there are will be examined in the next chapter.

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CHAPTER XVIII
The Dogger Bank II

There are several matters of technical and general interest to be noted about this action. In the two torpedo attacks by destroyers on Sir David Beatty’s fleet, we see the first employment of this weapon for purely defensive purposes in a fleet action. It is defensive, not because the torpedo is certain to hit, and therefore to remove one of the pursuing enemy, but because if shoals of torpedoes are fired at a squadron, it will almost certainly be considered so serious a threat as to make a change of course compulsory. This is of double value to the weaker and retreating force. By compelling the firing ships to manœuvre, the efficiency of the fire control of their guns may be seriously upset, and hence their fire lose all accuracy and effect. To impose a manœuvre, then, is to secure a respite from the pursuers’ fire. But it does something more. By driving the pursuer off his course he is thrown back in the race, and his guns therefore kept at a greater distance. If the pursuer has then to start finding the range, and perhaps a new course and speed of the enemy, all over again, an appreciable period of time must elapse before his fire once more becomes accurate. And if he is prevented closing, the increase of accuracy, which shorter range would give, is denied him. Apart altogether, then, from quite good chances of a torpedo hitting, the evolution is of the utmost moment to the inferior force. It was employed in this action for the first time.

Again, for the first time we find the destroyers getting between the pursuing ships and the chase, and creating a smoke screen to embarrass the pursuers’ aiming and fire control. Finally, we find that Von Hipper has directed his flight to a prearranged point, where certainly submarines had been gathered and possibly mine-fields had been laid. This of course was a contingency that had always been foreseen. In an article published in the Westminster Gazette a week or two before the action, I dealt with Von Tirpitz’s remark, that “the German Fleet were perfectly willing to fight the English, if England would give them the opportunity,” and interpreted this to mean, that the Germans would be willing to fight if they had such a choice of ground and position as would give them some equivalent for their inferior numbers. And writing at that time, I naturally set out what may be called the general view of North Sea strategy. No good purpose would have been served by questioning it—even if such questioning had been permitted. Nor, in view of the very narrow margin of superiority that we possessed in capital ships, had I any wish to question it.

I began with the supposition that the enemy might attempt, on a big scale, exactly what, on a much smaller scale, we ourselves had attempted in the Bight of Heligoland five months before.

“Assuming,” I said, “that it is a professed German object to draw a portion of the English Fleet into a situation where it can be advantageously engaged, what would be the natural course for them to pursue? The first and perhaps the simplest form of ruse would be to dangle a squadron before the English Fleet, so that our fastest units should be drawn away from their supports, and enticed within reach of a superior German force. If we suppose the Scarborough raid to be carried out by a squadron used for this purpose, we must look upon that episode not merely as an example of Germany practising its much-loved frightfulness, but as an exercise in wiliness as well. That the Admiralty had taken every step it could think of to catch and destroy this squadron, we may safely infer from the character of the communications made to us. The measures adopted were, we also know, frustrated by the thick weather, so that no engagement actually took place. Is it not highly probable that the Germans, not knowing the character of the English counter-stroke, may have concluded that our failure to bring their squadron to action was brought about quite as much by prudence as by ill-luck? At any rate, it is rather a curious phenomenon that the German papers during the last two weeks have been filled with the most furious articles descanting upon the pusillanimity of the British Fleet. To our eyes such charges, of course, seem absurd, nor when we know how welcome the appearance of the German Fleet in force would be to Admiral Jellicoe and his gallant comrades can we conceive any sane man using such language; but if we interpret this as the expression of disappointed hopes, as evidence of the failure of a plan to catch a portion of our Fleet, a reasonable explanation of what is otherwise merely nonsense is afforded.

“The average layman probably supposes that a fleet action between the English Grand Fleet and the German High Seas Fleet would be fought through on the lines of previous engagements in this war, and of the two naval battles of the Russo-Japanese war. They would expect the contest to be an artillery fight in which superior skill in the use of guns, if such superiority existed on either side, would be decisive; and if equality of skill existed, that victory would go to the side possessing a superior number of guns of superior power. But other naval weapons have advanced enormously in the last eight years. We not only have torpedoes that can run five and six miles with far greater accuracy and certainty than the old torpedo could go a third of this distance, but we know that Germany—almost alone amongst nations—has carried the art and practice of sowing mines to a point hitherto not dreamt of. When the first raid was made on Yarmouth, it will be remembered that the German ships retreated from a British submarine, and that the submarine ran into and was blown up and sunk by a mine left by the German ship in its wake. Again, after the North-Eastern raid, many ships—some authorities say over a dozen—were blown up by running into German mines left in the waters which the raiders had been through. The German naval leaders are perfectly aware that in modern capital ships they have an inferiority of numbers, and that gun for gun their artillery force is inferior to ours in an even greater degree. It is certain, therefore, that in thinking out the conditions in which they would have to fight an English fleet they are fully determined to use all other means that can possibly turn the scale of superiority to their side. Just as they have relied on the torpedo and the mine to diminish the general strength of the English Fleet, while it was engaged in the watch and ward of the North Sea, so as to redress the balance before the time for a naval action arrived; so, too, they have counted, when actually in action, on crippling and destroying English ships by mines and torpedoes, so that the artillery preponderance may finally be theirs. If we suppose that the German admirals have really thought out this problem, and we must suppose this, it is not difficult to see that with a fast advance battle-cruiser squadron engaged in mine laying, the problem of so handling a fleet as to pursue and cut off this squadron without crossing its wake must be extremely intricate and difficult. If further we imagine that this fast squadron has drawn the hostile squadron towards its own waters, where mine-fields unknown to us have been laid, we have not only the problem of the mines left in the wake of the enemy, but the further difficulty of there being prepared traps, so to speak, lying across the path which the attacking squadron would most naturally take. If we imagine the problem still further complicated by an attack on a battleship line by flotillas of fast destroyers firing high-speed, long-range torpedoes, to intersect the course that that squadron is taking, we have the third element of confusion. It does not need much imagination then to see that with mines actually dropped during the manœuvres that lead up to or form part of the battle, with mine-fields scattered over the chosen battlefield, and with the possibility of a battle fleet being rendered liable at the shortest notice to a massed attack of long-range torpedo fire, a naval battle will be a totally different affair from the comparatively simple operations that took place in the engagement of August 10, or at the battle of Tsushima.

“Such conditions as these demand extraordinary sagacity on the part not only of the Commander-in-chief, but of all the squadron commanders under him. It requires insistent vigilance; but then, for that matter, such vigilance is the daily routine of the Navy always. Finally, it makes demands on the art of gunnery of which we have hitherto had no practical experience at all. For reasons that hardly need discussion, all practice gunnery is carried out in conditions almost ludicrously unlike war, and quite absurdly unlike the kind of naval engagement that seems to me probable. The principal difference between the two is that it is impossible to practise with the big guns at a fast target. There is no way of manœuvring and running a target at high speed unless it is propelled by its own power, and that power is kept supplied and is got by human agents, and obviously you cannot fire at a ship which is full of people. And when you fire at a towed target the differences are, first, that no target can be towed beyond perhaps a third of a battleship’s speed, and next, that it cannot be manœuvred as a ship can. Lastly, the firing ship, so far as I am aware, is never called upon to fire while executing the kind of manœuvres, or subject to the kind of limitations, that would be incident to a modern battle.

“To sum up my argument. The present indications are that Germany, carrying out its previously expressed intentions, has made a first, and is now aiming at getting the information for a second, attempt to draw the English Fleet into fighting on ground which she can mine before we are drawn on to it, and to fight in conditions in which she can use a fast advance squadron to compel our ships to adopt certain manœuvres, and to turn that advance squadron into mine-layers, so as to limit our movements or make them exceedingly perilous. She will try to make the battlefields as close as she can to her own ports, both so as to facilitate the preliminary preparation by mines and to surprise us with unexpected torpedo attacks. I interpret the fulminations of Captain Persius and others as expressions of their anger at the failure of their first attempt, and I interpret the air raids as attempts to get information for making a second.

“We can, I am sure, rely upon Sir John Jellicoe being at no point inferior to his enemy, either in wiliness or in resources. It is to be remembered that, so far as we are concerned, much as we should like to have all anxiety settled by hearing of the definite destruction of the German Fleet, its continued existence is nevertheless perfectly innocuous, so long as it is unable to affect the transporting of our troops or the conduct of our trade.”

The foregoing article, I think, fairly represents what the Spectator, in referring to it, called the case for “naval patience.” But it did not mean, nor was it intended to mean, that it would be improper in any circumstances for a British ship to face any risks from torpedoes and mines, nor that to fight the Germans in their own waters was necessarily the same thing as fighting them on their own terms. It is indeed clear that I expected the British commanders to be more their equal to circumventing the enemy’s ingenuity. But no resource can rob war of risk—and if it were made a working principle that risks from torpedoes and mines were never to be faced, then the clearing of the British Fleet out of the North Sea would be a very simple process. It would only be necessary for the enemy to send out a score or so of submarines to advance in line abreast when, ex hypothesi, the Fleet would have no choice but incontinent flight.

My object was first to show the public that the problem of the naval engagement was far more complicated than was generally supposed, and that the ingenuity, resource, and vigilance of the Admiral in command would be taxed. It seemed to me important that a sympathetic understanding of these anxieties should be created in the public mind. Next, however, it was not less important to discount any extravagant expectation in the matter of naval gunnery. We had not at that time any full accounts of the Battle of the Falkland Islands; but it seemed clear that, in this respect, the performance of the two battle-cruisers had been disappointing. If in the North Sea an action was to be fought in poor light, with the ships made to manœuvre by torpedo attack and the enemy from time to time veiled in smoke screens, it seemed quite certain that a task would be set to the service fire-control with which it would be quite unable to deal.

And if these were the weaknesses of our fire-control, it was further highly desirable to keep before our eyes the certainty that, if the opportunity arose and a fleet action, intended to be decisive and pushed to a decision, took place, we were almost bound to lose ships by torpedoes and mines. At any rate, it seemed as if such a risk must be run if our own gunfire was to be made effective. And for such losses the public should be prepared.

This being the situation, it seems to me most unfortunate that the Admiralty followed the course they did in communicating their various accounts of this action to us. For there were three accounts given, and no two of the three agreed as to the reason why the pursuit was broken off! For two days we were not told that Lion was injured, and for four days were ignorant of the fact that the control of the British Fleet had passed out of Sir David Beatty’s hands some time before the action was ended. It was not till March 3—that is, five weeks after the action—that we were told the name of the officer on whom command had devolved when Lion fell out of line! This suppression was really extraordinary. To be mentioned in despatches had always been an acknowledged honour. To be ignored was a new form of distinction. How was the public to take so singular an omission? Had it ever happened before that an officer had been in command of a fleet at so grave a crisis and the fact of his being in command suppressed in announcing the fact of the engagement? No one quite knew how to take it. The discrepancies in the communiqués are worth noting. In the first, of January 25, was this curiously worded paragraph:

“A well-contested running fight ensued. Shortly after one o’clock Bluecher, which had previously fallen out of the line, capsized and sank. Admiral Beatty reports that two other German battle-cruisers were seriously damaged. They were, however, able to continue their flight, and reached an area where dangers from German submarines and mines prevented further pursuit.”

Did whoever drafted this statement suppose that the Bluecher was a battle-cruiser? We are now, however, more concerned with the reasons given for breaking off the action. An area was reached where “dangers from German submarines and mines prevented further pursuit.” The communiqué of January 27 was silent on this point. On the 28th was published what purported to be “a preliminary telegraphic report received from the Vice-Admiral.” The paragraph dealing with this matter is as follows:

“Through the damage to Lion’s feed-tank by an unfortunate chance shot, we were undoubtedly deprived of a greater victory. The presence of the enemy’s submarines subsequently necessitated the action being broken off.”

In this statement the excuse of mines is dropped. In the despatch published on March 3 the end of the action is treated by the Vice-Admiral as follows:

“At 11:20 I called the Attack alongside, shifted my flag to her at about 11:35. I proceeded at the utmost speed to rejoin the squadron, and met them at noon retiring north-northwest. I boarded and hoisted my flag in Princess Royal at about 12:20, when Captain Brock acquainted me with what had occurred since Lion fell out of line, namely, that Bluecher had sunk, and that the enemy battle-cruisers had continued their course to eastward in a considerably damaged condition.”

Here observe no mention was made of submarines necessitating the action being broken off, nor of an area being reached where dangers from submarines and mines prevented further pursuit. The whole incident is passed by the Vice-Admiral without comment, unless indeed the phrase about the accident to the Lion, in the telegraphic report, is a comment. Did the Vice-Admiral imply that had he remained in command he would have seen to it that his specific orders—viz. that Indomitable should settle Bluecher and the other ships pursue the battle-cruisers—were carried out?

A very unfortunate situation resulted from these reticences and contradictions. Naval writers in America were naturally enough amazed by the statement attributed to Admiral Beatty in the telegraphic report, for, if the presence of submarines could stop pursuit, could not submarines drive the British Fleet off the sea? These authors naturally expressed extreme astonishment that an admiral capable of breaking off action in these conditions, and publicly acknowledging so egregious a blunder, was not at once brought to court-martial. No one in his senses could have supposed that Sir David Beatty, who dealt with submarines without the least concern in the affair of Heligoland and earlier in the day on January 28, could possibly have accepted the dictum that the presence of a German submarine would justify pursuit having been broken off. It was then quite evident that the quotation from the Vice-Admiral’s telegraphic report could not have represented the Vice-Admiral’s opinion on a point of warlike doctrine. What the actual facts of the case were, we do not to this day know. Rear-Admiral Moore did not continue long in Sir David Beatty’s squadron after this, but there was no court-martial nor any public expression of the Admiralty’s opinion by way of approval or disapproval of his proceedings. In a speech made a month after the action in the House of Commons, Mr. Churchill passed over the fact that the action had not been fought out, as if such a thing was of no exceptional importance or interest whatever. Soon afterward it became known that the Rear-Admiral in question had got another and very important command elsewhere, so that it became plain that his conduct had not met with their Lordships’ reprobation.

War in modern conditions undoubtedly makes it exceedingly important to keep the enemy as far as possible in ignorance of a great many things. It imposes too a continuous strain upon practically the whole personnel of the Navy, and these two things taken together have been quoted to explain why the old rule of holding a public court-martial on the captain of every ship that was lost, or on every individual officer whose action in battle gave rise to uncertainty or question, has virtually been abrogated. But it is doubtful whether the Navy has not lost more by the abandonment of this wholesome practice than the enemy could have gained by its Spartan application.

This point came in for a good deal of public discussion at the beginning of 1915, and I venture to quote a contribution to it. Looking back upon this controversy, it is easy enough to see now wherein lay the chief disadvantage of the suppression of courts-martial. There was no general staff at the Admiralty, representative of the best Service opinion, and, deprived of court-martial, the Navy had no means of expressing a corporate judgment on the vital issues as they arose. The doctrine with regard to torpedo risk, which seems to have been acted on at the close of this action, was evidently one which either the Admiralty had laid down, or at least accepted as correct. Could it have been referred to the corporate judgment of the Service and had that judgment not endorsed it, the history of the war might have been altogether different.

Mr. Churchill’s speech in the official reports is entitled ‘British Command of the Sea: Admiralty Organization.’ It would have been as well if this description had been given out before the speech was made, for, as it happened, many thought it was intended as a survey of the first epoch of the war and were disappointed that, in so eloquent and forceful a review, there was hardly a word of tribute to the incomparable services of our officers and men. There was lavish praise of the generosity of the House of Commons; of the foresight of Lord Fisher; of the excellence of the Admiralty’s preparedness at every point; of the amazing scale and success of the provisioning with coal and supplies of a vast fleet always at sea; of the astonishing perfection of the work of the engineering branch. But there was singularly little of the work of the fighting men. The officers were dismissed simply as ‘painstaking.’ No doubt the tribute will be made at another time. Is there any time, however, which is not the right time for acknowledging these services? On Tuesday we learned that between 300 and 400 officers have died for us—and over 6,000 men. Is it gracious to postpone their eulogy? And the absence of eulogy was emphasized by the forceful manner in which the First Lord asked that he and his colleagues should be entrusted with the most absolute and dictatorial powers. Indeed, he excused the departure from the Service custom of holding courts-martial whenever a ship was lost on the ground that modern conditions called for instant action, with which courts-martial were incompatible. But the court-martial, as I have before pointed out, is the palladium of the Navy’s liberties. To abolish it is like suspending the Habeas Corpus. It is so extreme a measure because it ignores the great unwritten law of the Navy, which is that, in spite of the authority of Whitehall over the Navy, of an admiral over a fleet, and of a captain over a ship’s company, being necessarily and in each case absolute, yet there must always be an appeal from authority to the profession itself. If this is necessary for the protection of subordinate officers and men against arbitrary action by a captain, against arbitrary and prejudiced action by an admiral in a fleet, how much more necessary is it as a protection of naval standards and traditions against arbitrary action by the Board? For a captain is at any rate an entirely naval authority; an admiral is certainly an officer of large naval experience, acting generally with at least one other admiral. But the Board is largely a lay body. Indeed, it is now by a majority a lay body. And like all boards, it is liable to be the mouthpiece of its strongest personality. If this, as sometimes happens, is a seaman, he may be a partisan—I say it in no invidious sense—of certain policies and so prejudiced against brother officers who differ. If the stronger character is a layman, he may be ignorant of, or see no danger in waiving, naval traditions that are embodied in no statute or regulation, but are not embodied simply because their cogency has never been questioned. In other words, the autocracy of the Admiralty is a necessity of executive administration, but can only be exercised safely if its enforcement is continuously tested by professional opinion.

How many people, I often wonder, really appreciate how singular a body is that which is made up of admirals, captains, commanders, and lieutenants of the Royal Navy? The accomplishments that make the seaman confuse the landsman by their strangeness and intricacy. Indeed, if one wishes to express the extremity of bewilderment, he does so best by the metaphor which describes the sailor’s normal environment. When we say we are “at sea,” we do so because language expresses no greater helplessness. To master these conditions calls for forms of knowledge and proficiency that are only acquired by a lifetime’s familiarity. But these conditions are not only baffling, they are incredibly dangerous. If steam has done much to lessen the perils of the sea, speed, the product of steam, has added to them. The sailor then, even in times of peace, passes his days, and still more his nights, encompassed by the threat of irreparable disaster. An oversight that may take thirty seconds to commit—and a hundred deaths, a wrecked ship, and a shattered reputation reward thirty years of constant and unblemished devotion to duty. To face a life and responsibilities like these calls for more than great mental and physical skill, though nowhere will you find these in a higher degree or more widely diffused than in the Fleet. It calls for moral and spiritual qualities, for a development of character in patience, unselfishness, and courage which few landsmen have any inducement to cultivate. A life lived daily in the presence of death must be a unique life, and it is not surprising that men bred to these conditions—always as hard and ascetic as they are uncertain and unsafe—grow to be a body quite unlike other men, with standards and traditions of their own, and a corporate spirit and capacity that are unique, wonderful, and to most landsmen incomprehensible.

Their standards and traditions can only be maintained and can only be enforced by themselves. And the great peril that follows from excluding all reference to them of the accidents and failures of war is that, failing this reference, we have no security that naval action will be judged as it should be, solely by the highest naval standard.

Much was said in the House of Commons about the loss of ships. Mr. Churchill assumed that the only motive for asking for courts-martial was to find a scapegoat. Lord Charles Beresford only made clear that a court-martial was as much for clearing the character as for finding criminals. There was a significant phrase in Mr. Churchill’s speech that raises, it seems to me, a point in this connection of far greater importance. The battle of the Dogger Bank, he said, was “not fought out because the enemy made good their escape into waters infested by submarines and mines.” The officer who had to call off a fleet in these circumstances was necessarily faced by a grave and almost terrifying responsibility. To be too bold was to risk everything, to be too cautious was to throw away a victory. Can any tribunal, except the Navy, judge whether this responsibility was rightly exercised? When we remember that in our greatest days hardly a naval battle took place that was not followed by courts-martial, it seems to me a most perilous thing to allow these tremendous issues to go by the board because unless they are adjudicated upon by the profession itself they are not adjudicated upon at all.

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CHAPTER XIX
The Battle of Jutland
I. NORTH SEA STRATEGIES

The battle off Jutland Bank, which took place on May 31, 1916, was the first and, at the time of writing, has been the only meeting between the main naval forces of Great Britain and Germany. It was from the first inevitable that we should have to wait long for a sea fight. It was inevitable, because the probability of a smaller force being not only decisively defeated, but altogether destroyed in a sea fight, is far greater than in a land battle, and the consciousness of this naturally makes it chary of the risk. Sea war in this respect preserves the characteristic of ancient land fighting, for—as is luminously explained in Commandant Colin’s incomparable “Transformations of War”—it was a common characteristic of the older campaigns that the main armies would remain almost in touch with each other month after month before the battle took place. He sums up his generalization thus:

“From the highest antiquity,” he says, “till the time of Frederick II, operations present the same character; not only Fabius or Turenne, but also Cæsar, Condé, and Frederick, lead their armies in the same way. Far from the enemy they force the pace, but as soon as they draw near they move hither and thither in every direction, take days, weeks, months in deciding to accept or to force battle. Whether the armies are made up of hoplites or legionaries, or pikemen or musketeers, they move as one whole and deploy very slowly. They cannot hurl themselves upon the enemy as soon as they perceive him, because while they are making ready for battle he disappears in another direction.

“In order to change this state of affairs we must somehow or another be able to put into the fight big divisions, each deploying on its own account, leaving gaps and irregularities along the front.

“This, as we have seen, is what happened in the eighteenth century.

“Up to the time of Frederick II, armies remained indivisible during operations; they are like mathematical points on the huge theatres of operations in Central Europe. It is not possible to grasp, to squeeze, or even to push back on some obstacle, an enemy who refuses battle, and retires laterally as well as backwards. There is no end to the pursuit. It is the war of Cæsar, as it was that of Condé, Turenne, Montecuculi, Villars, Eugène, Maurice de Saxe, and Frederick. It is the sort of war that all more or less regular armies have made from the remotest antiquity down to the middle of the eighteenth century.

“Battle only takes place by mutual consent, when both adversaries, as at Rocroi, are equally sure of victory, and throw themselves at one another in open country as if for a duel; or when one of them, as at Laufeld, cannot retreat without abandoning the struggle; or when one is surprised, as at Rossbach.

“And certainly to-day, as heretofore, a general may refuse battle; but he cannot prolong his retreat for long—it is the only means that he has for escaping the grip of the enemy—if the depth of the theatre of operations is limited. On the other hand, an enemy formerly could retire laterally, and disappear for months by perpetually running to and fro, always taking cover behind every obstacle in order to avoid attack.”

But at sea a fleet has to-day precisely the same power of avoiding action that an army had in former days. It cannot disappear for months by “running to and fro,” but it can disappear for years by burying itself in inaccessible harbours. It can, in other words, take itself out of the theatre of war altogether while yet retaining liberty at any moment to re-enter it. How, in view of these potentialities, did the rival fleets dispose their forces?

On April 25, 1916, some German cruisers made an attack on Lowestoft, similar in character but far less considerable in result to those made in the autumn of 1914, on the same small town, on Scarborough, Whitby, and the Hartlepools. As in 1914, there was considerable perturbation on the East Coast, and the Admiralty, urged to take steps for the protection of the seaboard towns, made a somewhat startling announcement. While this was going forward in England, the German Admiralty put out an inspired commentary on the raid, which dwelt with great exultation over the picture of “the Island Empire, once so proud, now quivering with rage at its own impotence.” These two documents, the First Lord’s and the German apology, led to a good deal of discussion, which I dealt with at the time in terms that I quote textually, as showing the general conception of naval strategy underlying the dispositions of the British Fleet.

“The directly military employment of the British Fleet has during the last week been made the subject of discussion. Mr. Balfour has written a strange letter to the Mayors of the East Coast towns, which foreshadows important developments; an inspired German apology for the recent raid on Yarmouth and Lowestoft has been published, and both have aroused comment. Mr. Balfour’s letter was inspired by a desire to reassure the battered victims of the German bombardment. He realized that the usual commonplace that these visits had little military value no longer met the case, and proceeded to threaten the Germans with new and more effective methods of meeting them, should these murderous experiments be repeated. The new measures were to take two forms. The towns themselves would be locally defended by monitors and submarines, and, without disturbing naval preponderance elsewhere, new units would be brought farther south, so that the interception of raiders would be made more easy. But for one consideration the publication of such a statement as this would be inexplicable. If the effective destruction of German raiders really had been prepared, the last thing the Admiralty would be expected to do would be to acquaint the enemy with the disconcerting character of its future reception. Count Reventlow indeed explains the publication by the fact that no such preparations have indeed been made. But the thing is susceptible of a more probable explanation.

“When Mr. Churchill, in the high tide of his optimism, addressed the House of Commons at the beginning of last year—he had the Falkland Islands and the Dogger Bank battles, the obliteration of the German ocean cruising force, the extinction of the enemy merchant marine, the security of English communications to his credit—he explained the accumulated phenomena of our sea triumph by the splendid perfection of his pre-war preparedness. The submarine campaign, the failure of the Dardanelles, the revelation of the defenceless state of the northeastern harbours, these things have somewhat modified the picture that the ex-First Lord drew. And, not least of our disillusions, we have all come to realize that in our neglect of the airship we have allowed the enemy to develop, for his sole benefit, a method of naval scouting that is entirely denied to us. That the British Admiralty and the British Fleet perfectly realize this disadvantage is the meaning of Mr. Balfour’s letter. He would not have told the enemy of our new North Sea arrangements had he not known that he could not be kept in ignorance of them for longer than a week or two, once they were made. The letter is, in fact, an admission that our sea power has to a great extent lost what was at one time its supreme prerogative, the capacity of strategical surprise.

“But this does not materially alter the dynamics of the North Sea position, although it greatly affects tactics. The German official apologist will have it, however, that another factor has altered these dynamics. Admiral Jellicoe, he says, may be secure enough with his vast fleet in his ‘great bay in the Orkneys,’ and, between that and the Norwegian coast, hold a perfectly effective blockade line, but all British calculations of North Sea strategy have been upset by the establishment of new enemy naval bases at Zeebrügge, Ostend, and Antwerp. He speaks glibly, as if the co-operation of the forces based on the Bight with those in the stolen Belgian ports had altered the position fundamentally. This, of course, is the veriest rubbish. So far no captured Belgian port has been made the base for anything more important than submarines that can cross the North Sea under water, and for the few destroyers that have made a dash through in the darkness. Such balderdash as this, and that the German battle-cruisers did not take to flight, but simply ‘returned to their bases’ without waiting for the advent of ‘superior forces,’ imposes on nobody. It remains, of course, perfectly manifest that our surface control of the North Sea is as absolute as the character of modern weapons and the present understanding of their use make possible.

“The principles behind our North Sea Strategy are simple. One hundred years ago, had our main naval enemy been based on Cuxhaven and Kiel, we should have held him there by as close a blockade as the number of ships at our disposal, the weather conditions, and the seamanship of our captains made possible. The development of the steam-driven ship modified the theory of close blockade and, even without the torpedo, would have made, with the speed now attainable, an exact continuation of the old practice impossible. The under-water torpedo has simply emphasized and added to difficulties that would, without it, have been insuperable. But it has undoubtedly extended the range at which the blockading force must hold itself in readiness. To reproduce, then, in modern conditions the effect brought about by close blockade in our previous wars, it is necessary to have a naval base at a suitable distance from the enemy’s base. It must be one that is proof against under-water or surface torpedo vessel attack, and it must be so constituted that the force that normally maintains itself there is capable of prompt and rapid sortie, and of pouncing upon any enemy fleet that attempts to break out of the harbour in which it is intended to confine it.

“The great bay in the Orkneys’ may, for all I know to the contrary, supply at the present moment the Grand Fleet’s main base for such blockade as we enforce. But there are a great many other ports, inlets, and estuaries on the East Coast of Scotland and England which are hardly likely to be entirely neglected. Not all, nor many, of these would be suitable for fleet units of the greatest size and speed, but some undoubtedly are suitable, and all those that are could be made to satisfy the conditions of complete protection against secret attack. Assuming the main battle fleet to be at an extremely northerly point, any more southerly base which is kept either by battle cruisers, light cruisers, or submarines may be regarded as an advance base, if for no other reason than that it is so many miles nearer to the German base. The Orkneys are 200 miles farther from Lowestoft than Lowestoft is from Heligoland. An Orkney concentration while making the escape of the Germans to the northward impossible, would leave them comparatively free to harry the East Coast of England. If, approaching during the night, they could arrive off that coast before the northern forces had news of their leaving their harbours, they would have many hours’ start in the race home. It is not, then, a close blockade that was maintained. This freedom had to be left the enemy—because no risk could be taken in the main theatre. It is assumed on the one side and admitted on the other, that Germany could gain nothing and would risk everything by attempting to pass down the Channel. The Channel is closed to the German Fleet precisely as the Sound is closed to the British. It is not that it is physically impossible for either fleet to get through, but that to force a passage would involve an operation employing almost every kind of craft. Minefields would have to be cleared, and battleships would have to be in attendance to protect the mine-sweepers. The battleships in turn would have to be protected from submarine attack, and as the operation of securing either channel would take some time, there would be a virtual certainty of the force employed being attacked in the greatest possible strength. In narrow waters the fleet trying to force a passage would be compelled to engage in the most disadvantageous possible circumstances. The Channel is closed, then, for the Germans, as the Sound is closed to the British, not by the under-water defences, but by the fact that to clear these would involve an action in which the attacking party would be at too great a disadvantage. The concentration, then, in the north of a force adequate to deal with the whole German Fleet—again I have to say in the light of the way in which the use of modern weapons is understood—remains our fundamental strategical principle.”

I then went on to reply to the critics who had said that the use of monitors for coast defence was the most disturbing feature of a very unwise series of departures from true policy, and then passed on to what seemed to me the more serious criticism, as follows:

“The attack on this part of Mr. Balfour’s policy is vastly more damaging. For it asserts that the policy of defensive offence, Great Britain’s traditional sea strategy, has now been reversed. The East Coast towns may expect comparative immunity, but only because the strategic use of our forces has been altered. It is a modification imposed upon the Admiralty by the action of the enemy. Its weakness lies in the ‘substitution of squadrons in fixed positions for periodical sweeps in force through the length and breadth of the North Sea.’ Were this indeed the meaning of Mr. Balfour’s letter and the intention of his policy, nothing more deplorable could be imagined.

“But what ground is there for thinking that this is Mr. Balfour’s meaning? He says nothing of the kind. He makes it quite clear that a new arrangement is made possible by additional units of the first importance now being ready to use. The old provision of adequate naval preponderance at the right point has not been disturbed. It is merely proposed to establish new and advanced bases from which the new available squadrons can strike. It stands to reason that the nearer this base is to the shortest line between Heligoland and the East Coast, the greater the chance of the force within it being able to fall upon Germany’s cruising or raiding units if they venture within the radius of its action. To establish a new or more southerly base, then, is a development of, and not a departure from, our previous strategy—it shortens the radius of German freedom. If there is nothing to show that the old distribution is changed, certainly there is no suggestion that the squadron destined for the new base will be ‘fixed’ there. If squadrons now based on the north are there only to pounce upon the emerging German ships, why should squadrons based farther south not be employed for a similar purpose?”

The foregoing will make it clear that the general idea of British strategy was to maintain, to the extreme north of these islands, an overwhelming force of capital ships. It was adopted because it economized strength and secured the main object—viz. the paralysis of our enemy, outside certain narrow limits.

The southern half of the North Sea—say, roughly from Peterhead to the Skagerack, 400 miles; from the Skagerack to Heligoland, 250; from Heligoland to Lowestoft, 300; and from Lowestoft to Peterhead, 350 miles—was left as a kind of no man’s land. If the Germans chose to cruise about in this area, they took the chance of being cut off and engaged by the British forces, whose policy it was to leave their bases from time to time for what Sir John Jellicoe in the Jutland despatch describes as “periodic sweeps through the North Sea.” But the German Fleet being supplied with Zeppelins, could, in weather in which Zeppelins could scout, get information so far afield as to be able to choose the times for their own cruises in the North Sea, and so make the procedure a perfectly safe one, so long as chance encounters with submarines and straying into British mine-fields could be avoided. Thus for the old policy of close blockade was substituted a new one, that of leaving the enemy a large field in which he might be tempted to manœuvre; and it had this value, that should he yield to the temptation, an opportunity must sooner or later be afforded to the British Fleet of cutting him off and bringing him to action. Meantime he was cut off from any large adventure far afield. He would have to fight for freedom. It gave, so to speak, the Germans the chance of playing a new sort of “Tom Tiddler’s ground.” The point to bear in mind is, that it left the Germans precisely the same freedom to seek or avoid action as the armies of antiquity possessed. Thus no naval battle could be expected unless—as Colin says—the weaker wished to fight, or was cornered or surprised.

Now, against surprise, the German Fleet was seemingly protected by Zeppelins. It could hardly be cornered unless, in weather in which aerial scouting was impossible, it was tempted to some great adventure—such as the despatch of a raiding force to invade—which would enable a fast British division to get between this force and its base. So that the chance of a fleet action really turned upon the Germans being willing to fight one. And they could not be expected to be anxious for this. “A war,” says Colin, “is always slow in which we know that the battle will be decisive, and it is so important as to be only accepted voluntarily.”

The state of relative strength in May, 1916, was not such as to afford the Germans the slightest hope of a decisive victory if it brought the whole British Fleet to action. Nor was the naval situation such that there was any stroke that Germany could execute if it could hold the command of some sea passage for twenty-four hours or so. There was nothing it could expect to achieve if, by defeating or at any rate standing off one section of the British Fleet, it could enjoy a brief local ascendancy.

The argument, indeed, was all the other way. The professed main naval policy of Germany, viz., the blockade of England by submarine, though for the moment in abeyance, was being held in reserve until the military and political situation made the stake worth the candle. Now, deliberately to risk the High Seas Fleet in an action on the grand scale, when the chances of decisive victory were remote and the probability of annihilation extremely high, was to jeopardize not the fleet alone but also the blockade. For, with the High Seas Fleet once out of the way, the one stroke against the submarine which could alone be perfectly effective, viz., the close under-water blockade by mines, immediately outside the German harbours, would at once become feasible. So far, then, as military considerations went, the arguments against seeking action were far stronger than those in its favour.

But in war it is not always reasons which are purely military that operate; and as this war got into its second year there were many forces, each of which contributed something towards driving the German Navy into action. First, and in all probability by far the most powerful, would be the impatience of a large body of brave and skilful seamen—in control of an enormous sea force—with the rôle of idleness and impotence that had been imposed upon them. The German apologist, when uttering his pæans of triumph over the bombardments of Lowestoft, said, on May 7:

“It must not be assumed that this adventure was a mere question of bombarding some fortified coast places. It would also be a mistake to think that it was only an expression of the spirit of enterprise in our young Navy. The spirit is indeed just as fresh as ever, and is simply thirsting for deeds, and when one sees or talks to officers and men one reads on their lips the desire ‘If only we could get out.’ The sitting still during the spring and winter may also play their part in this. Only a well-considered leadership knows when it will use this thirst for action, and employ it in undertakings which keep the great whole in view. Our Navy, thank God, does not need to pursue prestige policy; the services which it has already rendered us are too considerable and too important for that.”

There is no occasion to quarrel with a word in this passage. The German admirals and captains in command of twenty-three or twenty-four of the most powerful ships in the world must certainly have been straining at the leash. This, then, would be a predisposing cause to a battle of some kind being voluntarily sought by the weaker force.

And in May, 1916, there were other causes as well. The German Higher Command, while ignorant perhaps of the exact points at which the Allies would attack, must have been very perfectly aware that attacks of the most formidable character, and on all fronts, were impending. It also knew that the resources of the Central Empires were to this extent relatively exhausted, that all the Allied attacks, when they came, must result in a series of successes, not of course immediately decisive, but such as no counter-attacks could balance or neutralize. Austria and Germany, in short, would be shown to be on the defensive. They would have to yield ground. It may not have seemed a situation bound to lead to military defeat. For the superiority of the Allies—at least so it may have appeared to the German command—in men and ammunition and moral, would have to be overwhelming to bring this about.

But the Higher Command had made the mistake of carrying the civil population with them in the declaration and prosecution of the war, first by the promise and then by the assertion of overwhelming victory. But the victory that was claimed did not materialize in the way that is normal to great victories. There was no submission of the enemy, and no sign of a wish for an honourable peace. What was worse, the defeated enemy had shown an almost unlimited capacity to starve and hamper their conquerors. It was bad enough that they should not acknowledge themselves beaten. It was worse that the flail of hunger should fall on those who should be fattening on the fruits of victory. What would the state of mind of the German people be if, on the top of all this, the conquered Allies were to evince a capacity for winning a few battles themselves? It was manifestly a position in which, at any cost, the moral of the German people should be braced for a new trial. Given a fleet impatient to get out and a higher command anxious for news of a victory, these are surely elements enough to explain the events that led to the action of May 31.

But the most powerful motive of all was this: Not only was German moral badly in need of refreshment, it was especially that Germany’s belief in her naval power needed to be confirmed. For, in the last week in April, the Emperor and his counsellors had been compelled to submit to a peremptory ultimatum despatched by President Wilson with the endorsement of both houses of Congress behind him. Towards the end of the winter 1915–16 the German people had been led to expect a decisive stroke against England by the new U-boats which the Tirpitz building programme of the previous year was reputed to be producing in large and punctual numbers. The Grand Admiral himself, amid the vociferous applause of the Jingoes and Junkers, announced that the campaign would begin on a certain day in March. The story how more cautious counsels prevailed, how the Grand Admiral was dismissed, how an agitation was thereupon organized throughout Germany, and how, finally, the campaign was begun, though its author was out of office, are well known. The point is that the sinking of the passenger ship Sussex led America to define the position and to inflict a public humiliation, not only on the German Government but on the German Navy. On the top of all the other predisposing causes, then, here was a special reason why the sea forces of the Fatherland should vindicate their existence by some signal act of daring.

We must then, I think, in considering the Battle of Jutland, start with the assumption that the German Fleet came out in obedience both to policy and to its own desire. But we should be wrong if we supposed that they came out with any hopes of achieving final and decisive victory. It has never been a characteristic of German military thought to build on the possibilities of an inferior force defeating its superior.

On the other hand, it was very confident that it could not be decisively beaten. Being an inferior force, the German Navy has been driven to giving the utmost consideration to all the methods of fighting that can add to the defensive in battle. It was not slow to realize, as we have seen, the enormous advantage that the dirigible airship offered in scouting, and from the first it has devoted itself with special energy and care to the practice and development of the defensive tactics which the long-range torpedo made possible. Nor is this all. For though the Germany Navy was the last of all the great navies to cultivate long-range gunnery, it very quickly appreciated the fact that its efficiency depended upon the visibility of the target, that it should be launched at periods when the rate of change was constant. It consequently made it a first step in its war preparations to supply itself with the finest optical instruments regardless of cost, so as to get the range and the rate with utmost accuracy and rapidity and to master all the means by which the enemy’s gunfire could be made nugatory both by devices that would hide its own ships from his view, and by imposing sudden manœuvres by torpedo attack. We have already seen, in the story of the Dogger Bank engagement, how the pursuing British battle-cruisers were hampered in their chase and indeed deflected from their course by submarines skilfully stationed for attack, and by the employment in action of destroyer flotillas. And, again, how when Bluecher was disabled, and two out of three battle-cruisers were on fire and their batteries useless, they were shielded in their final flight by the destroyers interposing themselves on the British line of fire and then raising huge volumes of smoke impenetrable to the eye.

Lastly, as German writers since the battle have never ceased to remind us, the German Fleet had never been built with the idea of its being able to fight and defeat the British Fleet, but with the idea of creating a force so formidable that the British Fleet would not face the risk to itself that would be involved in its destruction. That there was some justification for such a belief will become apparent when we consider the statements of various British naval authorities made after the action was over. I draw attention to it here because it was undoubtedly reliance on some hesitation of this kind that gave the Germans such confidence in the methods of evasion which they adopted when the two fleets met.

In asking ourselves why the Germans came out we must bear this extremely significant truth in mind. They believed that they could almost certainly avoid contact with the Grand Fleet, but they also believed that if contact were made, what with torpedo attacks and smoke screens, they could hold off their enemies long enough to make evasion possible. To the Germans, then, it was very far from being an irrational risk to come into the North Sea to look for the enemy, with a view to fight on the principle of limited liability.

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CHAPTER XX
The Battle of Jutland—(Continued)
II. THE URGENCY OF A DECISION

We can safely accept the German official statement, that their objective on May 31 was to cut off and chastise that portion of our advanced forces that had so often swept across to the Schleswig coast in the previous few months. The force they were looking for would naturally be the Battle Cruiser Fleet, for it had been this force that had always been nearest the German bases, even when the whole of both British fleets were engaged in sweeping. But it is not necessary to suppose that in every sweep both fleets took part. In coming out, then, the Germans would expect to meet the battle-cruisers, if anything, and they would count either upon the Grand Fleet not being in the field at all, or at any rate to be sufficiently far off to be of no immediate danger.

But how could the Germans expect to bring Sir David Beatty to action? The Battle Cruiser Fleet, before the Battle of Jutland, was exactly twice as numerous, and in gun power more than twice as strong, as the German fast division. In the Battle of Jutland it was reinforced by the Fifth Battle Squadron, ships to which Germany possessed no counterparts at all. Clearly, then, if Sir David Beatty’s force was to be brought to action and defeated it would be useless to rely upon Von Hipper alone. The whole German naval forces would be required. And according to enemy accounts sixteen modern battleships appeared on May 31. None of these had a greater speed than 21 knots, and, as they were said to be accompanied by six pre-Dreadnoughts, the speed of the whole fleet could not have exceeded 18 knots. The united German forces would, of course, have a fleet speed of the slowest squadron. How can an 18-knot squadron corner and chastise a 25-knot squadron—for 25 knots was an easy speed for the slowest of the Battle Cruiser Fleet?

It is clear, then, that Von Hipper’s fleet would not be able to get into action with Sir David Beatty’s fleet, unless the British Admiral chose to engage. Before the news of the battle was three days old, the suggestion had been many times made that the loss of Queen Mary, Indefatigable, and Invincible was to be explained by their having been employed in “rash and impetuous tactics,” and set to engage a superior force by the “over-confidence” of the Admiral responsible for their movements. And one critic went so far as to say that the opportunity for the German Commander-in-Chief to overwhelm an inferior British force with greatly superior numbers was exactly what the enemy was looking for. With the justice of this as a criticism of Sir David Beatty’s tactics I will deal later. But that Admiral Scheer fully expected that if Sir David Beatty found him he would engage him, we may take for granted. Just as he and his own officers and men were anxious for action, so must Sir David and his fleet be burning with a desire to get to grips. He banked, that is to say, on Sir David attacking. If he did, the German position and prospects were distinctly good. There would be twenty-one ships against nine or ten, and if the fast battleships were with the British Vice-Admiral, against fourteen or fifteen. The preponderance in force would certainly be on the German side. It should not be difficult to escape defeat. With luck, serious loss might be inflicted on the British before it was compelled to break off battle and retreat, especially if it sought close action. It might indeed be compelled to continue the battle, if some of its units were wounded, for the Vice-Admiral would certainly hesitate to desert them.

As to the danger of the situation being reversed—by the Grand Fleet turning up—in the first place, Zeppelins might save him from that. If they did not, he always had the card up his sleeve, that he could stand the British Fleet off by torpedoes, and shield himself by smoke from the very long-range gunnery which the torpedo attacks would make inevitable. So much for the German plan. Now how about the English plan?

It is a little difficult to say exactly what the British plan was, if by plan we mean a definite understanding existing between the Higher Command in London and the Commander-in-Chief at sea. For as to this no information whatever has been given to the public and we can only arrive at its tenor by the fact that the Admiralty after the event expressed itself completely satisfied with the Commander-in-Chief’s conduct after the fight—a matter to be gone into in greater detail later. For the moment the only indication we have of the general policy which has inspired Whitehall, is that given by Mr. Churchill in an article contributed to a popular magazine a few months after the action was fought. In this he laid down the following as the sea doctrine that should guide our naval conduct:

From the first day of the war, he said, the British Navy had exercised the full and unquestioned command of the sea. So long as it really remained unchallenged and unbeaten the superior fleet ruled all the open waters of the world. From the beginning it had enjoyed all the fruits of a complete victory. Had Germany never built a Dreadnought, or if all the German Dreadnoughts had been sunk, the control and authority of the British Navy could not have been more effective. There had been no Trafalgar, but the full consequences of a Trafalgar had been continuously operative. There was no reason why this condition of affairs should not continue indefinitely. Without a battle we had all that the most victorious of battles could give us. This was the true starting point of any reflections on the war by sea. We were content! As for Jutland, there was no need for the British to seek that battle at all. There was no strategic cause or compulsion operating to draw our battle fleet into Danish waters. If we chose to go there it was because of zeal and strength. A keen desire to engage the enemy impelled, and a cool calculation of ample margins of superiority justified, a movement not necessarily required by any practical need. The battle must, therefore, be regarded as an audacious attempt to bring the enemy to action, arising out of consciousness of overwhelming superiority!

A little consideration will, I think, convince us that Mr. Churchill was altogether wrong in supposing that a decisive action was not highly important to us at this time. For obviously the German Fleet came out to do something, and if my suggestion is right—that its mission was to raise German moral—we had first the obvious duty of preventing the German Fleet doing anything it wished to do, and next an insistent duty to depress German moral, at least as much as Admiral Scheer wished to raise it. Apart from any material or directly military results, a second Trafalgar, had it really broken the hearts of German civilians, might have been an element decisive of the power of the German people to endure the privations that the prolongation of war inflicts upon them. It might finally have broken down the whole structure of lying bluff that the Emperor’s government has maintained. This would have been a military object of the first value and importance. If the war is to end by the collapse, not of the German Army but of the German people, the value of such a victory and such a result can be measured by the number of days of war that it would have saved at a cost in men and treasure that it is hard to calculate.

But apart altogether from this, there were other considerations, some economic and some military, so immensely serious, as would certainly have justified Sir David Beatty in risking, not three, but all his battle-cruisers, if by so doing he could have insured the entire destruction of the German Fleet by Sir John Jellicoe’s forces. To realize this point we must carry our consideration of the naval strategy of the two sides in this war a little further. We have seen that our method of disposing of our forces in the North Sea gave the German Fleet a certain limited freedom of manœuvre in the irregular quadrilateral formed by Peterhead, the Skagerack, Heligoland, and Lowestoft. Outside of this area there was not, after December 8, 1914, a single German warship afloat that was not a fugitive or in hiding, nor has any surface ship ventured outside this area since. When the careers of Karlsruhe and Emden terminated, the period of systematic capture of our trading ships closed also. But Von Tirpitz was very far from being satisfied with the situation so created.

The Grand Admiral was wildly wrong in the kind of navy that he built for Germany, and hopelessly at sea in his forecast of the action England would take in the kind of war that Germany intended to provoke. But when the events of the first few months showed that the war would be a long one, it is not certain that he was not the first European in authority to realize to the full the rôle sea-power would play. In a long war, the merchant shipping of the world—and it was immaterial whether it was belligerent or neutral—would obviously be the one thing by which the Allies, by importations of raw material, and the manufactures of America, the British colonies, and Japan, could counterbalance the vastly superior organization of the Central Powers for working their industries and factories. Shipping was at once the source of supply of the whole Alliance and the military communications of the most formidable of them. The German submarines had had a small initial success against British warships. It was disappointing from the point of view of the attrition that Germany had hoped for. But it opened Von Tirpitz’s eyes to the immense possibilities of a submarine attack on trading ships. He saw, then, both the necessity of cutting the Allies off from the sea, and the means of cutting them off. The plan was an outrageous one from the point of view of morals. But Von Tirpitz’s conception of the importance of sea supplies to the Allies was perfectly correct, and in organizing an attack upon it he was striking straight at the heart of our power of carrying on the war.

This campaign had a very direct bearing upon our North Sea strategy, for at the date at which the Battle of Jutland was fought, about two and a half million tons of British, Allied, and neutral shipping had been sunk by submarine and mine. Had the war imposed no other attacks upon merchant shipping, the percentage lost would not have been very formidable. In the eighteen months that had elapsed since the first organized submarine attack on trade, it represented a rate of sinking of less than a million and three-quarter tons a year, a loss which the Allies and neutrals could easily have counteracted by more energetic building. But more than half of Great Britain’s ocean-going shipping had been commandeered for various war purposes and already in 1916 it had become obvious that the remaining stock of ships could not seriously be diminished without grave embarrassment, either to civil supply, to our financial position, to our military power abroad, or to all three. What was much more serious was this: It was a well-known fact that immediately after the German Government decided to blockade by submarine, a very large building programme was put in hand. The programme, as we have seen, had begun to materialize at the beginning of 1916, and it was Germany’s resources in new ships that was Tirpitz’s justification for risking a quarrel with America, so certain did the ruin of England seem, were ruthlessness of method combined with the employment of larger and larger numbers. The Higher Naval Command, then, in this country were fully aware of the extreme importance of being able to deal drastically with this menace, should it once more arise to threaten our sea communications. They also knew that it was certain to arise. And, again, they knew that the under-water threat could only be completely met by an under-water antidote. In the nature of things, as we have seen, there could be no complete reply to the submarine except by mines laid in continuous barrage outside the German harbours, and this in turn was a thing that could not be done unless the German Fleet were destroyed. Whatever reason there may have been in 1914 and 1915 for holding the Churchill doctrine that a victory was unnecessary, the brief submarine campaign of 1916 must have undeceived the blindest. For this campaign had not only shown that ruthlessness could double the rate of sinking, it had also shown that our stock counter-measures were ineffective to thwart it. It was, then, a matter of the very highest military importance to the cause of the Alliance that the German Fleet should be disposed of, so that the renewal of the German submarine campaign should be virtually impossible.

Had this indeed been the result, it is difficult to calculate the profound influence it must have had upon the course of the war, for within a year of the Battle of Jutland over five and a half million tons of shipping were destroyed and throughout that year a very high percentage of British shipbuilding capacity had necessarily to be devoted to purely military purposes.

The continued existence of the German Fleet made it impossible to curtail, made it indeed obligatory to increase and accelerate, the building of war ships of all sizes. The effect of this on the capacity to build merchant ships was felt immediately. In pre-war days the shipyards of Great Britain had turned out over a million and a quarter tons of merchant shipping and a quarter of a million tons of naval shipping. The same yards, had their industry been organized as a national activity, could under the pressure of war undoubtedly have produced two and a half million tons a year. The complete destruction of the German Fleet at Jutland, then, would have made the difference of nearly eight million tons of shipping before another year was out. What would this have meant in the saving of treasure, in man-power, in every other form of military strength to the Allies? But apart from these, there were further military objects of a very striking kind that might well have been within reach.

We have just seen, in discussing the North Sea strategy, that the kind of blockade we have maintained over the Germans was a long-range sort, leaving the German fleets an area of, say, 60,000 square miles in which to manœuvre. If there had been no fleet of German battleships something very like the old close blockade could have been maintained. It is well known that it is not mines and submarines that close the Channel and the Sound to the German and British fleets. It is the fact that the operation of clearing these things away must expose the force doing it to battleship action. The converse also holds true. If there were no German battleships the operation of confining the German cruisers, destroyers, as well as the German submarines, within waters of comparatively narrow limits, by mines, nets, &c., might not have been impossible. Certainly the opening of the battle would have been comparatively simple. There are many kinds of operations in which it would be folly to risk a battle-fleet so long as the enemy’s battle-fleet was in being. But with no hostile enemy fleet in existence a whole vista of new possibilities is opened up to naval and amphibious force. It is unnecessary to enumerate them.

We may take it, then, as axiomatic that, if any chance of bringing the German Fleet to action was offered, it was the first business of the British Navy, and on purely military grounds, no less than those of economic and moral advantage, to force it to decisive action, and that very heavy losses indeed would be justified by complete success.

But a further word must be added. If every admiral at every juncture is to regulate his action by nice calculation of policy and chance, is there not a risk that the balancing of pros and cons may be pushed so far as to confuse the main issue? It is not on these principles that, when it comes to fighting, brave men with an instinct for war do in fact act. It is almost true to say that the example of Hawke and Nelson, no less than those of the light cruiser and destroyer captains in the battle we are about to consider, prove that the best way of diminishing the risk of loss is to take the risk as boldly and as often as you get the chance. Something seems to be due to fighting for fighting’s sake. What was it that Nelson said about no captain could go far wrong who laid his ship alongside an enemy’s! or as Napoleon has it, “the glory and honour of arms should be the first consideration of a general who gives battle!”

In summing up the situation on May 31, the elements appear to be as follows: The German Government was in double need of a stroke to restore the moral of its people. A Russian revival was possible, the British army in France and Flanders was growing to formidable dimensions, the blow at Verdun had failed. The German Government, and particularly the Imperial Navy, had been humiliated by the surrender to America, so that everything pointed to a stroke at sea, if one could be planned that did not involve too great a risk. Admiral Scheer and his officers of the High Seas Fleet were full of eagerness to justify themselves to their force. They believed the British naval strategy to be such that it would be possible for them to inveigle the fast division of the British Fleet into an action with greatly superior numbers, when serious damage might be inflicted on them. They counted, and with confidence, on Sir David Beatty’s eagerness to fight, and they trusted to being able to defeat him before he could break off action or could be supported by forces with whom engagement would be hopeless. They relied upon their air scouts to save them from surprise, and had no intention of coming into contact with Sir John Jellicoe if it could possibly be avoided. At the same time, however, they recognized that the defensive tactics which smoke screens and the new torpedo made possible would not only prevent contact with superior numbers being disastrous, they believed here, too, either that the British would avoid the risk of torpedo disaster, or that the keenness of the British Fleet for action must expose them to very formidable losses by under-water attack, while their gun-fire could be rendered harmless by the obscuration of the target and the manœuvres the torpedo could force upon them. And in these conditions the evasion of an artillery fight at decisive range should present no difficulties. Finally, such risks as were involved were well worth the incalculable enhancement of German prestige that would follow if a not-too-untruthful claim could be made to a naval victory. The world that has a natural sympathy with the weaker force would be inclined to regard even the escape of the German Fleet as something very like a German success.

It was the manifest duty of the British Fleet first to thwart any German naval design, whatever it might be, and, secondly, to remove from the theatre of war the only formidable sea force that the enemy possessed. For to do this would make a close investment of his ports possible, would to a large extent cut down the possibility of his submarine successes by mining them into their harbours and channels instead of netting them out of ours, would open the Baltic to British naval enterprise, and would set the whole resources of the Clyde and the Tyne free to produce merchant shipping.

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CHAPTER XXI
The Battle of Jutland (Continued)
III. THE DISTRIBUTION OF FORCES

In the afternoon of May 31 the main sea forces of Great Britain and Germany were all in the North Sea. The Grand Fleet, under the command of Sir John Jellicoe, accompanied by a squadron of battle-cruisers, two of light cruisers, and three flotillas of destroyers, were to the north; the Battle Cruiser Fleet—of two squadrons—three squadrons of light cruisers, and four destroyer flotillas, supported by the Fifth Battle Squadron, all under the command of Sir David Beatty, were scouting to the southward.

The British Fleet was out “in pursuance of the general policy of periodical sweeps through the North Sea.” The disposition of the forces and the plan of operations were the Commander-in-Chief’s own. Neither was dictated from Whitehall. The despatches describing the operation do not—as some of those relating to the events off Heligoland in August, 1914—say that the ships were following Admiralty instructions. The fact has considerable importance in view of the fears expressed earlier in the spring that Whitehall was interfering with the Commander-in-Chief’s dispositions. Note also that the fleet was here in pursuit of the general policy followed since the early days of the war. This hunting for the enemy is not described as taking place at regular intervals, but as “periodic.” These searching movements would be made at the times when there was a greater likelihood of there being an enemy to find.

[(LARGER)]

The official plan of the Battle of Jutland. Note that the course of the Grand Fleet is not shown to be “astern” of the battle-cruisers, but parallel to their track

There was a considerable interval between the forces—just how great we do not exactly know. But at the point at which the story in the despatches opens, Sir David Beatty’s force was steering northward, that is, toward the Grand Fleet. At 2:20 Galatea, the flagship of Commodore Alexander Sinclair, reported the presence of enemy vessels. The light cruisers were spread out on a line east and west, ahead of the battle-cruisers. When Sir David Beatty got news that the enemy had been sighted on the extreme right of his line of cruisers, he at once altered course from north to S.S.E., that is, rather more of a right angle and a half, steering for the Horn Reefs, so as to place his force between the enemy and his base. It is to be noted that the Vice-Admiral at once adopted not the movement that would soonest bring the enemy to action, but that which would compel him to action whether he wished it or not. Observe he does not wait to do this till he has ascertained the enemy’s strength. A quarter of an hour later smoke was seen to the eastward—that would be on the port bow—which would confirm the Galatea’s account that the enemy was still to the north of the line that Sir David Beatty was steering. The distance of the battle-cruisers from the Horn Reefs was such that the enemy’s escape from action would still be impossible, even if he altered course to cut him off sooner. This, accordingly, he did, steering first due east and then northeast and, in less than an hour, sighted Von Hipper’s force of five battle-cruisers, probably almost straight ahead. When, at 2:20, the battle-cruisers headed for the Horn Reefs, the First and Third Light Cruiser Squadrons changed their direction also without waiting for orders, and swept to the eastward, screening the battle-cruisers. The Fifth Battle Squadron, which we must suppose originally to have been on Sir David Beatty’s left, was coming up behind the battle-cruisers as fast as possible. The Second Light Cruiser Squadron, leaving the screening functions to the First and Third, made full speed to take station ahead of the battle-cruisers, where two flotillas of destroyers were already. While these movements were proceeding, a seaplane was sent up from Engadine which, having to fly low on account of clouds, pushed to within 3,000 yards of the four light cruisers of Von Hipper’s advance force. Full and accurate reports were thus received just before the enemy was sighted in the distance.

At 2:20, when the enemy’s scouting advanced craft were first seen by Galatea, Von Hipper was seemingly to the south of them, and according to the German account went north and east to investigate. While then Sir David Beatty was travelling southeast, east, and then northeast, we shall probably be right in supposing that Von Hipper was executing an approximately parallel series of movements out of sight to the northeast of him. Both advance forces were increasing their distance from their main forces. At any rate, neither was approaching his main force when they came into sight at 3:30, Von Hipper a few miles north of Sir David Beatty.

What was the distance at this period that separated the battle-cruisers of each side from their supporting battle-fleets? At 3:30 the German battle-cruisers headed straight for their main fleet at full speed, and met them an hour and a quarter afterward. If Von Hipper’s speed was 26 knots and Admiral Scheer’s 18—he had pre-Dreadnoughts with him, and it was not likely to have been greater—there would have been fifty-five sea miles separating the German forces. According to the despatch, Sir John Jellicoe at 3:30 headed his fleet toward Sir David Beatty, and came down at full speed. He came into contact with the battle-cruisers on their return from their excursion to the south at 5:45. Sir David Beatty would by this time have returned approximately to the same latitude he was on at 3:30. Had he then at 3:30 closed Sir John Jellicoe at full speed, he would have come in contact with him in, say, fifty minutes. The British fleets at 3:30, then, may have been between forty and forty-five sea miles apart, against the German fifty-five.

POSITION OF THE OPPOSING FLEETS AT 3.30 P.M.

It has been said that both sides fell into a strategical error in dividing their forces. This criticism has been prominent in the neutral Press; but it arises from a confusion of thought. On neither side were the battle-cruisers considered as anything but scouting forces, which in all sea campaigns have been, because it is a necessity of the case, maintained at suitable distances from the main force. The only division of forces proper on the British side was the presence of four battleships with Sir David Beatty. But as we see from the despatch, for some reason a squadron of three of Sir David’s battle-cruisers was with the main fleet, and the Fifth Battle Squadron seems to have been taking its place.

The only evidences of a strategical blunder in the disposition would be, first, a failure of the chosen plan to bring the Germans to action, next a failure to defeat them when brought to action, because of inability to concentrate the requisite strength for the purpose at the critical point. It is surely a sufficient reply to say that the German Fleet was brought to action, and that any incompleteness in the victory arose, not from there being insufficient forces present, but owing to circumstances making it impossible to employ them to the greatest advantage.