THE MORAL INFLUENCE OF UNDER-WATER WARFARE
“I think that the enthusiasm with which in some countries, the
studies and the building of submarine boats have been accompanied is
in great part due to the feeling implanted in human nature, by which
danger appears the greater in proportion as it is more mysteriously
and insidiously able to threaten the existence of its adversaries”
(Rear-Admiral BETTOLO, in “All the World’s Fighting Ships,” 1901).
It was once said that the principal value of all methods of submarine
warfare was analogous to that of the notice board which tells the
would-be burglar to “Beware of the dog.”
In the face of a warning such as this the burglar is forced to take a
rapid survey of the situation. In the first place, he cannot tell
whether there really is any dog on the premises at all, and secondly he
has no means of discovering whether the animal, if there be one, is old,
blind, or decrepit and thus worthy of being disregarded. Which is his
best plan? to take his chance and trust to luck or leave the place
severely alone and look out for some other establishment where no such
notice meets his eye?
Some burglars might take one course and some another, according to their
individual temperament, but at any rate the warning serves this purpose,
that it causes the would-be house-breaker to pause before he commits his
crime, even if it does not act as a complete deterrent.
What the notice board is to the burglar, the mine, the torpedo, or the
submarine boat is to the naval officer, and in laying his plans he must
take into consideration the possibility of being blown up by one or
other of these methods of under-water attack. “The King’s Navee” has no
lack of brave men ready to risk their lives at a moment’s notice, and a
British officer if told to accomplish any task would as soon think of
replying that there were mines, torpedo-boats, and submarines in the
path of his advance as he would of going into action in a frock coat and
a silk hat.
He will undertake his task cheerfully and instantly, and he knows he can
rely on the support of his crew, but at the same time it is impossible
both for captain and crew to disregard absolutely the unseen dangers
that may lie in their way.
Though this will not prevent a British warship from going wherever it is
bid, yet the knowledge that they may at any moment be sent to the bottom
by the explosion of a submarine mine or by the blow of a Whitehead
torpedo, must of necessity make them nervous and will very likely have a
bad influence on their powers of shooting straight. “The presence of
mines,” says a naval writer, “has a moral effect upon crews which does
not altogether improve their shooting.”
So great has been the recent improvement in the _matériel_ of
under-water warfare that we have no chance of gauging accurately its
potential effect from a moral point of view. The mines, torpedoes, and
submarines hitherto employed in naval engagements are excessively crude
when compared with their modern equivalents, and the countries which
have used them have not been those most skilled in the practice of such
weapons. There is, however, sufficient evidence both from naval wars and
also from mimic battles to show that the mine, the torpedo and the
submarine will exercise a considerable moral influence when the next
great fight on the seas takes place.
There have been those who have declared that those who handle such
weapons will be far more subject to moral and indeed physical effect
than those against whom they are directed, and though this may be true
of certain navies it is certainly not true of the British.
It would be possible to quote many instances, both of cases in which
submarine defences have prevented the carrying out of certain operations
and also of other cases where they have been disregarded. Just as there
have been audacious burglaries in spite of “Beware of the dog” notices,
so there have been daring attacks in spite of known submarine defences.
There is always in warfare the possibility that the mine may fail to act
at the critical moment, that the torpedo may not succeed in firing its
mark and that the submarine boat may miss its prey.
The first occasion on which the moral influence of modern under-water
methods of warfare made itself felt was during the American Civil War.
The story of Admiral Farragut’s entrance into Mobile Bay, on August 5,
1864, is a well-known instance of a commander advancing in spite of
known dangers beneath the waves. It has been admirably told in the life
of the Admiral by Captain A. T. Mahan. The channel was known to be sown
with mines and one of his ships, the _Tecumseh_, had been sent to the
bottom already by one of these unseen weapons. The Admiral reasoned
thus: “The chances are that I shall lose some of my vessels by torpedoes
or the guns of the enemy, but with some of my fleet afloat I shall
eventually be successful. I cannot lose all. I will attack regardless of
consequences and never turn back.” As the _Hartford_ passed the
_Brooklyn_ a warning cry came from the latter that there were torpedoes
ahead.
“Damn the torpedoes!” shouted the Admiral in the exaltation of his high
purpose. “Four bells! Captain Drayton, go ahead. Jouett, full speed!”
The _Hartford_ and her consort crossed the line about 500 yards from
Mobile Point, well to the westward of the buoy and of the spot where the
_Tecumseh_ had gone down. As they passed between the buoys the cases of
the torpedoes were heard by many on board knocking against the copper of
the bottom, and many of the primers snapped audibly, but no torpedo
exploded.
The _Hartford_ went safely through, the gates of Mobile Bay were forced,
and as Farragut’s flag cleared the obstructions his last and hardest
battle was virtually won.
Mines had been plentifully sown by the Confederates, and across the deep
water 180 had been placed in a double line. The most effective were
those made of lager beer kegs coated with pitch and fitted with a number
of sensitive primers; the others had tin or iron covers, but they
corroded in the water and quickly became harmless. In addition, there
were three electro-contact mines which were to be exploded from Fort
Morgan. Had the mines been in an efficient state Admiral Farragut and
his fleet would assuredly have gone to the bottom. He took the risk—and
won.
Turning now to the other side of the picture it will be found that
hidden enemies are always the most dreaded, and that the history of
naval operations affords many examples of their moral influence
hindering the carrying out of certain operations.
In the actions off Charleston, in the American Civil War, the mines and
obstructions so influenced Admiral Dupont that he was content to
maintain the blockade instead of risking his ships against them.
One of the clearest cases of the moral influence of submarine mines
occurred during the Franco-Prussian War, when the French fleet were
prevented from entering Prussian harbours simply through fear of
submarine dangers. The naval campaign of 1870 consisted solely of the
watching by a strong French squadron of North German ships which had
taken refuge behind a reputed impassable barrier of subaqueous defences.
“The power of the French steamships,” writes Admiral Cyprian Bridge, “to
stand in within practicable range of their heavy guns, and do enormous
mischief to the rising naval establishment of the Bund as it then was,
was completely set at nought by the subaqueous defensive system which
the weaker force had devised to redress the inequality between it and
its rival. We shall do well to mark the results; the stronger navy did
and could do practically nothing; the smaller one preserved itself from
injuries, and at the close of the war still existed intact, as a nucleus
for that splendid force, which is now (October, 1878) third amongst the
navies of the world.”
During the Franco-German war the French fleet was kept off a fort by a
harbour protected by dummy mines. The story goes, that when the mines
arrived, the burgomaster was afraid to charge them, and laid them out
empty. At the completion of the war, when the dummies were taken up, the
burgomaster was congratulated by several consuls on the masterly way in
which he had performed his perilous task, no loss of life having been
caused.
There are so many instances of mines failing to explode or if exploding,
doing no damage, that naval officers may well declare that the submarine
mine is nothing but a “military bugbear.” In 1863, during the American
Civil War, the _New Ironsides_ halted off Fort Sumner, and just over a
submarine mine containing 2,000 lbs. of powder, which failed to explode
when fired from the battery, as one of the wires had been accidentally
severed by a waggon passing over it.
Instances of the moral influences of the torpedo are afforded by the two
most recent naval wars, the Chino-Japanese and the Spanish-American, and
by the manœuvres of the fleets of Great Britain, France, Germany, and
Russia.
Although the Chinese officers were quite unable to use the torpedo with
any effect, and evidently regarded the weapon as of more potential
danger to themselves than to the enemy, the Japanese commanders on more
than one occasion decided against certain movements, owing to a fear of
the Chinese torpedo flotilla.
During the Spanish-American war, the Americans suffered severely from
“torpedoites,” and were continually fancying they saw Spanish
torpedo-boats, and firing on them, when in reality there were none
present.
As an American officer remarked, “whatever the actual shortcomings of a
torpedo-boat flotilla, it must always act at least as an admirable
anti-soporific.” As to the Spaniards they appeared to dread the mines
they had themselves laid more than did the Americans.
One of the most amusing cases of the moral influences of torpedo warfare
was related by Vice-Admiral Sir Nowell Salmon at the Royal United
Service Institution in 1892.
Sir Nowell was discussing the question of the value of the electric
searchlight on battleships in warding off torpedo attack. He was
inclined to think that he would rather not have it at all, for on any
occasion that he had seen, whether it had been at a fixed station on
shore or whether it had been a fixed station on board, making a
quadrangle within which ships might lie, the torpedo station had always
been the point of attack, and had always suffered. In one case in which
he put a squadron inside four ships to make a path of light round them,
the ships showing the light were of course at once the point of attack,
and were all attacked and sunk; one commander indeed said that he was
sunk no less than seven times.
“I can remember a little incident in which I took part. It shows how
very curiously the electric light may act in some cases. The squadron
inside the rectangle of light was in total darkness, and my boat in
which I was inspecting the preparations happened to get within the beam
of one of the ships showing the light. Just as this happened, I saw a
boat inshore of me. I thought she was one of the attacking boats
steaming up inshore. Of course I set to work to cut her off, as I was
commanding the defending squadron. I steamed as hard as ever I could. I
got my muskets ready and so on. Still she went past me, going inshore as
I thought, and it was not until I recognised my own shadow shaking its
fist at the engineer for not clapping on more steam, that I found I was
chasing the shadow of my own boat thrown on the cliff. In a very few
seconds I should have been hard and fast ashore.”
“The real strength of the destroyer,” wrote a special correspondent with
the British fleet during the 1901 manœuvres, “consists not so much in
what she can do against large ships, certainly not in what she ever has
done so far, but in the fear entertained by her adversaries of the harm
she is held to be capable of doing. Her menace is tremendous, and really
paralysing to some minds.” This probably applies quite as much to
submarines as to destroyers.