“After the first hour, when our gunners had settled down,” said he gruffly, “their practice was exceedingly good. They hit when they could see, which was seldom. If the light had been even tolerable no German ship would have got back to port.”
“I agree,” cried the Maker of Guns and Ships. “We did as well as the light allowed. Fritz was all to pieces. The bad torpedo practice was Fritz’s, not ours. The worst of the gunnery was his, too. We have lots to learn still—as you rightly say, naval gunnery is still in its infancy—but we have learned a lot more than anyone else has. That is the one thing which matters to me.”
“Have we not reached another conclusion,” I put in, diffidently, “namely, that big-ship actions must be indecisive unless the light be good and the sea space wide enough to allow of a fight to a finish? We can’t bring Fritz to a final action in the lower part of the North Sea unless we can cut him off entirely from his avenues of escape. In the Atlantic, a thousand miles from land, we could destroy him to the last ship—if our magazines held enough of shell—but as he can choose the battle ground, and will not fight except near to his bases, we can shatter him and drive him helpless into port, but we cannot wipe him off the seas. Is that proved?”
“Yes,” said the Gunner, who had recovered his usual serenity. “In my opinion that is proved absolutely.”
“One talks rather loosely of envelopment,” explained the Maker, “as if it were total instead of partial. The German Fleet was never enveloped or anything like it. What happened was this: As the Germans curved away in a spiral to the south-west our line curved in with them, roughly parallel, also to the south-west, keeping always between Fritz and the land. We were partly between him and his bases, but he could and did escape by getting round the horn which threatened to cut him off.”
“Could not Jellicoe,” I asked, “have worked right round so as to draw a line across the mouths of the Elbe and Weser, and to cut Scheer completely off from the approaches to Wilhelmshaven?”
“Not without immense risk. He would have had to pass into mine fields and penetrate them all through the hours of darkness. He might have lost half his fleet. Our trouble has always been the extravagant risk involved by a close pursuit. When the Germans retire to their protected waters we must let them go. The Grand Fleet is too vital a force to be needlessly risked. When Jellicoe’s final stroke failed, owing to the bad light and the German retirement, the battle was really over. Jellicoe’s blow had spent itself on the air. The Germans were almost safe except from our torpedo attacks, which were delivered during the night with splendid dash and with considerable success. But that night battle was the queerest business. When the sun rose the enemy had vanished. Fritz says that we had vanished. I suppose, strictly speaking, that we had. At least we were out of his sight, though unintentionally. Touch had been lost and the enemy had got safely home, taking most of his damaged ships with him. Nothing remained for us to do except to return to our northern bases, recoal, and refit. The Jutland Battle was indecisive in one sense, crushingly decisive in another. It left the German Fleet undestroyed, but left it impotent as a fighting force. Thereafter it sank into a mere guard for Fritz’s submarine bases.”
“And the gunnery in the third part?” I asked with a sly glance towards the Gunner. He rose at the bait.
“I do not doubt that, measured by the percentage of hits to rounds fired, Copplestone would call it wasteful and inefficient. But the Navy regards the gunnery in the third part as even better than in the second, as proving our superiority over the Germans. They were then at their worst while we were at our best; we rapidly improved under the test of battle, they as rapidly deteriorated. The facts are certain. The enemy ships were hit repeatedly both by our battleships and battle cruisers, several were seen to haul out of the line on fire, and at least one battleship was observed to sink. Throughout all the time—two hours—during which Jellicoe’s main fleet was engaged his ships were scarcely touched; not a single man was killed, and three only were wounded. Is that not good enough for you?”
“You have forgotten the Invincible,” remarked that candid critic whom I have called Salt Horse. “She took station at the head of Beatty’s line at 6.21. Her distance from the enemy was then 8,000 yards. It was a gallant service, for Beatty needed support very badly, but by 6.55 the Invincible had been destroyed. The Iron Duke passed her floating bottom up. She must have been caught by the concentrated fire of several enemy ships. It was a piece of luck for Fritz; the last that he had. Apart from the downing of the Invincible, I agree that the third part of the battle showed our gunnery to be highly effective, and that of the Germans to be almost wholly innocuous. It was his torpedoes we had then to fear, not his guns.”