What are the considerations which properly enter into any just estimate of
a people's naval power?
In the _first_ place, this certainly is a vital question: Are the people
themselves in any true sense naval in their tastes, habits, and training?
Do they love the sea? Is it a home to them? Have they that fertility of
resources and expedients which the emergencies of sea-life make so
essential, and which can come only from a long and fearless familiarity
with old Ocean in all his aspects of beauty and all his aspects of terror?
Or are they essentially landsmen,--landsmen just as much on the deck of a
frigate as when marshalled on a battle-field? This is a test question. For
if a nation has not sailors, men who smack of the salt sea, then vain are
proud fleets and strong armaments.
I am satisfied that the ordinary explanation of that naval superiority
which England has generally maintained over France is the true
explanation. Certainly never were there stouter ships than those which
France sent forth to fight her battles at the Nile and Trafalgar. Never
braver men trod the deck than there laid down their lives rather than
abase their country's flag. Yet they were beaten. The very nation which,
on land, fighting against banded Europe, kept the balance for more than a
generation at equipoise, on the water was beaten by the ships of one
little isle of the sea. In the statement itself you have the explanation.
The ships were from an isle of the sea. The men who manned them were born
within sight of the ocean. In their childhood they sported with its waves.
At twelve they were cabin-boys. At twenty, thorough seamen. Against the
skill born of such an experience, of what avail was mere courage, however
fiery?
A similar train of remarks may with truth be made about our Northern and
Southern States. No doubt, the Rebel Government may send to England and
purchase swift steamers like the Alabama, and man them with the reckless
outcasts of every nationality, and send them forth to prey like pirates
upon defenceless commerce. No doubt, in their hate, the Rebels may build
sea-monsters like the Merrimack, or the Arkansas, or those cotton-mailed
steamers at Galveston, and make all stand aghast at some temporary
disaster. These things are unpleasant, but they are unavoidable.
Desperation has its own peculiar resources. But these things do not alter
the law. The North is thoroughly maritime, and in the end must possess a
solid and permanent supremacy on the sea. The men of Cape Cod, the
fishermen of Cape Ann, and the hardy sailors who swarm from the hundred
islands and bays of Maine, are not to be driven from their own element by
the proud planters of the South. Naval habits and naval strength go hand
in hand. And in estimating the resources of any power, the first question
is, Has she sailors,--not men of the land, but men of the sea?
* * * * *
There is a _second_ question, equally important. What is a nation's
capacity for naval production? What ship-yards has it? What docks? What
machine-shops? What stores of timber, iron, and hemp? And what skilled
workmen to make these resources available? A nation is not strong simply
because it has a hundred ships complete and armed floating on its waters.
"Iron and steel will bend and break," runs the old nursery-tale. And
practice shows that iron and steel wrought into ships have no better
fortune, and that the stoutest barks will strand and founder, or else
decay, and, amid the sharp exigencies of war, with wonderful rapidity. Not
what a nation has, then, but how soon it can fill up these gaps of war,
how great is its capacity to produce and reproduce, tells the story of its
naval power.
When Louis Napoleon completed that triumph of skill and labor, the port of
Cherbourg, England trembled more than if he had launched fifty frigates.
And well she might. For what is Cherbourg? Nothing less than an immense
permanent addition to the French power of naval production. Here,
protected from the sea by a breakwater miles in extent, and which might
have been the work of the Titans, and girdled by almost impregnable
fortifications, is more than a safe harbor for all the fleets of the
world. For here are docks for the repairs I dare not say of how many
vessels, and ship-houses for the construction of one knows not how many
more, and work-shops and arsenals and stores of timber and iron well-nigh
inexhaustible. This is to have more than a hundred ships. This is to
create productive capacity out of which may come many hundred ships, when
they are wanted. The faith men have in the maritime greatness of England
rests not simply on the fact that she has afloat a few hundred frail
ships, but rather on this more pregnant fact, that England, from Pentland
Frith to Land's End, is one gigantic work-shop,--and that, whether she
turn her attention to the clothing of the world or the building of navies,
there is no outmeasuring her mechanical activity. The world has called us
a weak naval power. But the world has been mistaken. We are strong almost
as the strongest, if not in fleets, then in the capacity to produce
fleets. Three hundred armed vessels, extemporized in eighteen months, and
maintaining what, considering the extent of coast to be watched, must be
called a most efficient blockade, will stand as an impressive evidence
that capacity to produce is one of the best of nautical gifts.
* * * * *
But passing from these questions, which relate to what may be called a
nation's innate character and capacity, we come to a _third_
consideration, of perhaps even more immediate interest. One of the
elements which help to make a nation's power is certainly its available
strength. An important question, then, is, not only, How many ships can a
nation produce? but, How many has it complete and ready for use? In an
emergency, what force could it send at a moment's notice to the point of
danger? If we apply this consideration to European powers, we shall
appreciate better how young we are, and how little of our latent strength
has been organized into actual efficiency. In 1857 England had 300 steam
ships-of-war, carrying some 7,000 guns, nearly as many more sailing ships,
carrying 9,000 guns, an equal number of gun-boats and smaller craft,
besides a respectable navy connected with her East Indian colonies: a
grand sum-total of more than 900 vessels and not less than 20,000 guns.
Here, then, is a fleet, built and ready for service, which is many times
stronger than that which we have been able to gather after eighteen months
of constant and strenuous effort. And behind this array there is a
community essentially mercantile, unsurpassed in mechanic skill and
productiveness, and full of sailors of the best stamp. What tremendous
elements of naval power are these! One does not wonder that the remark
often made is so nearly true,--that, if there is any trouble in the
farthest port on the globe, in a few hours you will see a British bull-dog
quietly steaming up the harbor, to ask what it is all about, and whether
England can make anything out of the transaction.
* * * * *
There is another consideration which perhaps many would put foremost. Has
the nation kept pace with the progress of science and mechanic arts? Once
her superior seamanship almost alone enabled England to keep the sea
against all comers. But it is not quite so now. Naval warfare has
undergone a complete revolution. The increasing weight of artillery, and
the precision with which it can be used, make it imperative that the means
of defence should approximate at least in effectiveness to the means of
offence. The question now is not, How many ships has England? but, How
many mail-clad ships? how many that would be likely to resist a
hundred-pound ball hurled from an Armstrong or Parrott gun? And if it
should turn out that in this race France had outrun England, and had
twenty or thirty of these gladiators of the sea, most would begin to doubt
whether the old dynasty could maintain its power. The interest and
curiosity felt on this subject have almost created a new order of
periodical literature. You open your "Atlantic," and the chances are ten
to one that you skip over the stories and the dainty bits of poetry and
criticism to see what Mr. Derby has to say about iron-clads. You receive
your "Harper" and you feel aggrieved, if you do not find a picture of the
Passaic, or of Timby's revolving turret, or of something similar which
will give you a little more light concerning these monsters which are
threatening to turn the world upside down. Now all this intense curiosity
shows how general and instinctive is the conviction of the importance of
this new element in naval force.
* * * * *
The considerations to which we have alluded have already received a large
share of the public attention. They have been examined and discussed from
almost every possible point of view. Probably every one has some ideas,
more or less correct, concerning them. But there is a consideration which
is equally important, which has received very little attention in this
country, which indeed seems to have been entirely overlooked. It is this:
The degree to which naval efficiency is dependent upon a wise colonial
system.
If the only work of a fleet were to defend one's own harbors, then
colonies, whatever might be their commercial importance, as an arm of
naval strength, would be of but little value. If all the use England had
for her navy were to defend London and Liverpool, she would do well to
abandon many of her distant strongholds, which have been won at such cost,
and which are kept with such care. If all our ships had to do were to keep
the enemy out of Boston harbor and New York bay, it would not matter much,
if every friendly port fifty miles from our own borders were closed
against us. But the protection of our own ports is not by any means the
chief work of fleets. The protection of commerce is as vital a duty.
Commerce is the life-blood of a nation. Destroy that, and you destroy what
makes and mans your fleets. Destroy that, and you destroy what supports
the people and the government which is over the people. But if commerce is
to be protected, war-ships must not hug timidly the shore. They must put
boldly out to sea, and be wherever commerce is. They must range the stormy
Atlantic. They must ply to and fro over that primitive home of commerce,
the Mediterranean. Doubling the Cape, they must visit every part of the
affluent East and of the broad Pacific. With restless energy they must
plough every sea and explore every water where the hope of honest gain may
entice the busy merchantman.
See what new and trying conditions are imposed upon naval power. A ship,
however stanch, has her points of positive weakness. She can carry only a
limited supply either of stores or of ammunition. She is liable, like
everything else of human construction, to accidents of too serious a
nature to be repaired on ship-board. If, now, from any reason, from
disasters of storm or sea, or from deficient provisions, she is disabled,
and no friendly port be near,--and in time of war no ports but our own are
sure to be friendly,--then her efficiency is gone. And this difficulty
increases almost in the ratio that modern science adds to her might. The
old galley, which three thousand years ago, propelled by a hundred strong
oarsmen, swept the waters of the Great Sea, was a poor thing indeed
compared with a modern war-ship, in whose bosom beats a power as
resistless as the elements. But its efficiency, such as it was, was not
likely to be impaired. It had no furnace to feed, no machinery to watch,
only the rude wants of rude men to supply, and rough oars to replace. A
sailing ship, dependent upon the uncertain breeze, liable to be driven
from her course by storms or to be detained by calms, gives no such
impression of power as a steamship, mistress of her own movements,
scorning the control of the elements, and keeping straight on to her
destination in storm and calm alike. But in some respects the weak is
strong. The ship is equal to most of the chances of a sea-experience. If
the spar break, it can be replaced. If the storm rend the sails to
ribbons, there are skilful hands which can find or make new ones. But the
steamer has inexorable limitations. Break her machinery, and, if there be
no friendly dock open to receive her, she is reduced at once to a sailing
ship, and generally a poor one, too. Nor need you suppose accidents to
cause this loss of efficiency. The mode of propulsion implies brevity of
power. The galley depended upon the stalwart arms of its crew, and they
were as likely to be strong to-morrow as to-day, and next month as
to-morrow. The ship puts her trust in her white sails and in the free
winds of heaven, which, however fickle they may be, never absolutely fail.
But the steamer must carry in her own hold that upon which she feeds. You
can reckon in weeks, yes, in days, the time when, unless her stock be
renewed, her peculiar power will be lost.
What a tremendous limitation this is! A passenger-boat, whose engines move
with the utmost possible economy, having no cargo but the food of her
inmates, will carry only coal enough for thirty-three or -four days'
consumption. This is the maximum. The majority cannot carry twenty-five
days' supply. And when we add the armament and ammunition, and all that
goes to make up a well-furnished ship, you cannot depend upon carrying
twenty days' supply. Put now, in time of war with a great maritime power,
your ship where she would be most wanted, in the East Indies, and close
against her the ports of the civilized world, and the sooner she takes out
her propeller, and sends up her masts higher, and spreads her wings wider,
the better for her. That is, under such circumstances, modern improvements
would be worse than useless; a sailing ship would be the best possible
ship. Or come nearer home. Here is the Alabama, swift as the wind, the
dread of every loyal merchantman. How long would she remain a thing of
terror, if she were shut out from all ports but her own, or if our ships
were permitted to frequent British and French ports for her destruction,
as she is permitted to frequent them for our destruction? Or consider
another case equally pertinent. We are told, and no doubt truly, that the
loss of Norfolk, at the commencement of the war, was an incalculable
injury to us. That is to say, the removal of our place of naval supply and
repair only the few hundred miles which divide the Chesapeake from the
Hudson was an untold loss. Suppose it were removed as many thousand miles,
what then? One single fact, showing what, under the best of circumstances,
is the difficulty and expense of modern warfare, is worth a thousand
theories. In 1857, then, it took two hundred thousand tons of coal to
supply that part of the English fleet which was in the East,--two hundred
thousand tons to be brought from somewhere in sailing ships. If ever a
contest shall arise among great commercial powers, it will be seen that
modern science has made new conditions, and that the first inexorable
demand of modern warfare is coal depots, and docks and machine-shops,
established in ports easy of access, and protected by natural and
artificial strength, and scattered at easy distances all over the
commercial world. In short, men will appreciate better than they do now,
that the right arm of naval warfare is not mail-clad steamers, but
well-chosen colonies.
* * * * *
The sagacity of England was never more clearly shown than in the foresight
with which she has provided against such an emergency. Let war come when
it may, it will not find England in this respect unprepared. So thickly
are her colonies scattered over the face of the earth, that her war-ships
can go to every commercial centre on the globe without spreading so much
as a foot of canvas to the breeze.
There is the Mediterranean Sea. A great centre of commerce. It was a great
centre as long ago as when the Phoenician traversed it, and, passing
through the Straits of Hercules, sped on his way to distant and then
savage Britain. It was a great centre when Rome and Carthage wrestled in a
death-grapple for its possession. But England is as much at home in the
Mediterranean as if it were one of her own lakes. At Gibraltar, at its
entrance, she has a magnificent bay, more than five miles in diameter,
deep, safe from storms, protected from man's assault by its more than
adamantine rock. In the centre, at Malta, she has a harbor, land-locked,
curiously indented, sleeping safely beneath the frowning guns of Valetta.
But from Southampton to Gibraltar is for a steamship an easy six days'
sail; from Gibraltar to Malta not more than five days; and from Malta to
the extreme eastern coast of the sea and back again hardly ten days' sail.
Take the grand highway of nations to India. England has her places of
refreshment scattered all along it with almost as much regularity as
depots on a railroad. From England to Gibraltar is six days' sail; thence
to Sierra Leone twelve days; to Ascension six days; to St. Helena three
days; to Cape Colony eight days; to Mauritius not more; to Ceylon about
the same; and thence to Calcutta three or four days. Going farther east, a
few days' sail will bring you to Singapore, and a few more to Hong Kong,
and then you are at the gates of Canton. Mark now that in this immense
girdle of some twelve or fifteen thousand miles there is no distance which
a well-appointed steamer may not easily accomplish with such store of coal
as she can carry. She may not, indeed, stop at all these ports. It may be
more convenient and economical to use sails a part of the distance, rather
than steam. But, if an exigency required it, she could stop and find
everywhere a safe harbor.
What is true of the East Indies is true of the West Indies, England has as
much power as we have to control the waters of the Western Atlantic and of
the Gulf of Mexico. If we have Boston and New York and Pensacola and New
Orleans and Key West, she has Halifax and the Bermudas and Balize and
Jamaica and Nassau and a score more of island-harbors stretching in an
unbroken line from the Florida Reefs to the mouth of the Orinoco. And if
our civil war were ended to-day, and we were in peaceable possession of
all our ports, she could keep a strong fleet in the Gulf and along our
coast quite as easily as we could.
* * * * *
But it is not simply the number of the British colonies, or the evenness
with which they are distributed, that challenges our highest admiration.
The positions which these colonies occupy, and their natural military
strength, are quite as important facts. There is not a sea or a gulf in
the world, which has any real commercial importance, that England has not
a stronghold in the throat of it. And wherever the continents trending
southward come to points around which the commerce of nations, must sweep,
there, upon every one of them, is a British settlement, and the cross of
St. George salutes you as you are wafted by. There is hardly a little
desolate, rocky island or peninsula, formed apparently by Nature for a
fortress, and formed for nothing else, but the British lion has it secure
beneath his paw.
This is literal fact. Take, for example, the great overland route from
Europe to Asia. Despite its name, its real highway is on the waters of the
Mediterranean and Red Seas. It has three gates,--three alone. They are the
narrow strait of Gibraltar, fifteen miles wide, that place where the
Mediterranean narrows between Sicily and Africa to less than a hundred
miles wide, and the strait of Bab-el-mandeb, seventeen miles wide. England
holds the keys to every one of these gates. Count them,--Gibraltar, Malta,
and at the mouth of the Red Sea, not one, but many keys. There, midway in
the narrow strait, is the black, bare rock of Perim, sterile, precipitous,
a perfect counterpart of Gibraltar; and on either side, between it and the
main-land, are the ship-channels which connect the Red Sea with the great
Indian Ocean. This England seized in 1857. A little farther out is the
peninsula of Aden, another Gibraltar, as rocky, as sterile, as
precipitous, connected with the mainland by a narrow strait, and having at
its base a populous little town, a harbor safe in all winds, and a central
coal-depot. This England bought, after her fashion of buying, in 1839. And
to complete her security, we are now told that she has purchased of some
petty Sultan the neighboring islands of Socotra and Kouri, giving, as it
were, a retaining-fee, that, though she does not need them herself, no
rival power shall ever possess them.
As we sail a little farther on, we come to the Chinese Sea. What a beaten
track of commerce is this! What wealth of comfort and luxury is wafted
over it by every breeze! The teas of China! The silks of farther India!
The spices of the East! What ships of every clime and nation swarm on its
waters! The stately barks of England, France, and Holland! Our own swift
ships! And mingled with them, in picturesque confusion, the clumsy junk of
the Chinaman, the Malay prahu and the slender, darting bangkong of the Sea
Dyak! Has England neglected to secure on a permanent basis her mercantile
interests in the Chinese Sea? At the lower end of that sea, where it
narrows and bends into Malacca Strait, she holds Singapore, a little
island, mostly covered with jungles and infested by tigers, which to this
day destroy annually from two to three hundred lives,--a spot of no use to
her whatever, except as a commercial depot, but of inestimable value for
that, and which, under her fostering care, is growing up to take its place
among the great emporiums of the world. Half-way up this sea is the island
of Labuan, whose chief worth is this, that beneath its surface and that of
the neighboring mainland are hidden inexhaustible treasures of coal, which
are likely soon to be developed, and to yield wealth and power to the hand
that controls them. At the upper end of the sea is Hong Kong, a hot,
unhealthy, and disagreeable island, but which gives her what she wants, a
depot and a base from which to threaten and control the neighboring
waters. Clearly the Chinese Sea, the artery of Oriental commerce, belongs
far more to England than to the races which border it.
Even in the broad and as yet comparatively untracked Pacific she is making
silent advances toward dominion. The continent of Australia, which she has
monopolized, forms its southwestern boundary. And pushed out from this,
six hundred miles eastward, like a strong outpost, is New Zealand; itself
larger than Great Britain; its shores so scooped and torn by the waves
that it must be a very paradise of commodious bays and safe havens for the
mariner; and lifted up, as if to relieve it from island tameness, are
great mountains and dumb volcanoes, worthy of a continent, and which hide
in their bosoms deep, broad lakes. Yet the soil of the lowlands is of
extraordinary fertility, and the climate, though humid, deals kindly with
the Anglo-Saxon constitution. Nor is this all; for, advanced from it north
and south, like picket-stations, are Norfolk isle and the Auckland group,
which, if they have no other attractions, certainly have this great one,
good harbors. And it requires no prophet's eye to see, that, when England
needs posts farther eastward, she will find them among the innumerable
green coral islets which stud the Pacific.
Turn now your steps homeward, and pause a moment at the Bermudas, "the
still vexed Bermoothes." Beautiful isles, with their fresh verdure, green
gems in the ocean, with airs soft and balmy as Eden's were! They have
their homely uses too. They furnish arrowroot for the sick, and ample
supplies of vegetables earlier than sterner climates will grant. Is this
all that can be said? Reflect a little more deeply. Here is a military and
naval depot, and here a splendid harbor, land-locked, amply fortified,
difficult of access to strangers,--and all this as near to the whole
Southern coast as Boston and New York are, all this within three or four
days' sail of any one of the Atlantic ports North or South. England keeps
this, no doubt, as a sort of halfway house on the road to her West Indian
possessions; but should we go to war with her, she would use it none the
less as a base of offensive operations, where she might gather and hurl
upon any unprotected port all her gigantic naval power.
We have asserted that England holds all the Southern points in which the
continents of the world terminate. Examine this statement, and see how
much it means. Take your map of the world, and you will find that the
land-surface of the globe culminates at the south in five points, no
more,--America at Cape Horn,[5] Africa at the Cape of Good Hope, Asia in
Ceylon and the Malayan peninsula, and Australia in the island of Tasmania.
Is it not surprising that these wedges which cut into the steady flowing
stream of commerce, these choice points of mercantile and naval advantage,
are all in the hands of one single power? Can it be of chance? Or rather,
is it not the result of a well-ordered purpose, which, waiting its time,
seizing every favorable opportunity, has finally achieved success?
[Footnote 5: It is not absolutely true that England holds Cape
Horn; for the region is unfit for the residence of civilized man.
And were it not so, the perpetual storms leave no secure
anchorage. But Great Britain does hold the nearest _habitable_
land, the Falkland Islands,--and notwithstanding the rudeness of
the climate, Stanley, the principal settlement, does a
considerable business in refitting and repairing ships bound round
the Cape.]
The topic is not exhausted, but the facts already adduced prove clearly
enough that somewhere in the English government there has been sagacity to
plant colonies, not only at convenient distances, but also in such
commanding positions that they do their part to confirm and perpetuate her
maritime supremacy. Can any one fail to see how immeasurably this system
increases naval force? Of course such strongholds, wherever placed, would
be of no use to a power which had not ships. They could not be held by
such a power. But, given a fleet as powerful as ever rode the waves, given
seamen gallant and skilful as ever furled a sail or guided the helm, and
these depots and havens, scattered, but not blindly, over the earth,
quadruple the efficiency of the power which they could not create.
* * * * *
The number of the English colonies, their happy distribution, and, above
all, their commanding position, furnish subjects of exceeding interest.
But the patience with which England has waited, the skill with which she
has seized the proper moment for success, and especially the fixed
determination with which she has held her prizes, are topics of equal or
greater interest.
The history of the Rock of Gibraltar, one of the earliest of these prizes,
supplies a good illustration. This had many owners before it came under
British rule. But none of them seemed to know its true value. All held it
with a loose grasp. Its surprise and capture by the sailors from Admiral
Rooke's fleet, creditable as it was to its captors, who swarmed up the
steep cliffs as they would have swarmed up the shrouds and yards of their
own frigates, leaping from rock to rock with fearless activity, was
equally discreditable to its defenders, who either did not appreciate the
worth of their charge or else had not the courage to hold it as such a
trust should have been held. But when England closed her strong hand upon
it, nothing could open it again, neither motives of profit nor motives of
fear. In 1729 Spain offered no less than ten million dollars for its
return. A great sum in those times, and to offer to a people who had been
impoverished by long wars! But the descendants of those sea-kings, Drake,
Hawkins, and Frobisher, who had carried England's flag and England's
renown into every sea, would not part with the brightest jewel in her
crown, and for a price. Three times, too, the besieger has appeared before
Gibraltar, and vainly. From 1779 to 1782 France and Spain exhausted all
their resources in a three-years' siege, which is one of the most
remarkable episodes in military history. By sea and by land, by blockade,
by bombardment, by assault, was it pressed. But the tenacity of England
was more than a match for the fire and pride of France and Spain, and it
ended in signal and disastrous failure.
Glance for a moment at the history of the seizure of Malta. For
generations the value of this citadel had been known. All the strong
nations of Europe had looked with covetous eyes upon it. But it was a
difficult thing to find any pretext for its capture. It was held by the
Knights of St. John, the decrepit remnant of an order whose heroism had
many times been the shield of Christendom against the Turk, and whose
praise had once filled the whole earth. They were now as inoffensive as
they were incapable. Their helplessness was their true defence,--and the
memory of their good deeds. At last, in 1798, Napoleon, on his way to
Egypt, partly by force and partly by treaty, obtained possession of it. So
strong were its fortresses, that he himself acknowledged that the knights
needed only to have shut their gates against him to have baffled him. Two
years after, the English, watching their time, by blockade, starved out
the French garrison. Its new owners held it with their usual
determination. Rather than surrender it,--though they had made
treaty-stipulations to that effect,--they deliberately entered upon a
ten-years' war with France. The indignation which Napoleon felt, and the
language which he used, show that he knew the value of the prize for which
he was struggling. "I would rather," said he, "see you in possession of
Montmartre than in possession of Malta." "Malta gives the dominion of the
Mediterranean; I thus lose the most important sea in the world, and the
respect of Europe. Let the English obtain a port to put into; to that I
have no objection; but I am determined that they shall not have two
Gibraltars in one sea,--one at the entrance, and one in the middle."
Nevertheless he was forced to yield to destiny stronger than his own iron
will. Eleven years more found him in sad exile, and the British flag still
waving over the Valetta.
Nothing better illustrates the firmness with which England holds her
purpose than the fate of Aden. This is the halfway station between England
and her East Indian possessions. It commands the Red Sea. It is the best
spot for a coal-depot in the East. Properly defended, it is almost
impregnable. The wide-roving eye of mercantile England had long ago
searched out and in fancy possessed it. Hear what one of her own
historians has said:--"Eager eyes had long been turned toward this spot."
To find an excuse, real or apparent, for its appropriation was the
trouble. The Sultan of Lahidge, its owner, was indeed little better than a
freebooter. But, though wild, lawless, and of piratical tendencies, he had
for a long time the wisdom not to molest British traders. In 1839,
however, whether from ignorance of its nationality, or from recklessness,
is uncertain, he seized and pillaged a native Madras boat sailing under
British colors. The East Indian government at once took advantage of the
opportunity thus afforded. An ambassador was sent to demand remuneration,
and this remuneration was--Aden. The Sultan was at first disposed to
accede to this demand, but soon kindling into rage, he attempted to lay
violent hands upon the ambassador. The reply was--a fleet and a military
force, which first cannonaded and then stormed the stronghold at the point
of the bayonet. So Aden passed into the hands which had been waiting for
years to grasp it. It is said by some writers that a compensation has been
made to the Sultan; but the sum is not mentioned, nor the authority for so
doubtful a statement given.
Hong Kong furnishes another illustration. Most, no doubt, are familiar
with the general outlines of the first Chinese War: how England stormed,
one after another, the ill-constructed and worse-defended Chinese forts,
until the courage and insolence of the Lord of the Central Flowery Kingdom
alike failed. Why, now, did not England retain military possession of
Canton, or some other important commercial town? That would have given her
much trouble and little profit. She chose rather to retain only one
sterile island of a few miles in diameter, whose possession would awaken
nobody's jealousy, but which would furnish a sufficient base for
operations in any future wars.
One more example. Until about the beginning of the present century, Ceylon
and Cape Colony were Dutch possessions. This is the history of their loss.
Soon after the French Revolution broke out, Holland, with the consent of a
portion of her people, was incorporated, if not in name, yet in reality,
into the French Empire. During the long wars of Napoleon, she shared the
fortunes of her master, and when continual defeats broke the power of both
on the sea, her colonies were left defenceless. Ceylon and Cape Colony
fell into the hands of the English; but so, too, did Java, Sumatra,
Borneo, Essequibo, Berbice, and, indeed, with but little exception, all
her colonial possessions, East and West. At the peace of 1814, England
restored to Holland the larger portion of this territory, though not
without many remonstrances from her own merchants and statesmen. But
Ceylon and Cape Colony she did not restore. These were more to her than
rich islands. They were links in a grand chain of commercial connection.
As Aden is the half-way station on the overland route, so Cape Colony is
the half-way station on the ocean route; and Ceylon, while it rounds out
and completes the great peninsula of which it may be considered to be a
part, furnishes in Point de Galle, at the south, a most needed port of
refuge, and on the east, at Trincomalee, one of the finest of naval
harbors, with dock-yards, machine-shops, and arsenal complete. Even
England could be generous to a fallen foe, whose enmity had been quite as
much a matter of necessity as inclination. But by no mistimed clemency
could she sacrifice such solid advantages as these.
This steady march toward the control of the commercial waters of the
earth, some of whose footsteps we have now traced, reveals the existence
of as steady a purpose. This colonial empire, so wide, so consistent, and
so well compacted, is not the work of dull men, or the result of a series
of fortunate blunders. Back of its history, and creating its history,
there must have been a clear, calm, persistent, ambitious policy,--a
policy which has usually regarded appearances, but which has also managed
to accomplish its cherished purposes. And the end towards which this
policy tends is always one and the same: to enlarge England's commercial
resources, and to build up side by side with this peaceful strength a
naval power which shall keep untarnished her proudest title,--"Mistress
and sovereign of the seas."
* * * * *
With justice England is called the mightiest naval power in the world. And
well she may be. She has every element to make her mighty. The waves which
beat upon all her coasts train up a race of seamen as hardy, as skilful,
as courageous as ever sailed the sea. In her bosom are hidden
inexhaustible stores of iron, copper, and coal. Her Highland hills are
covered with forests of oak and larch, growing while men sleep. Her
borders are crowded with workshops, and her skies are dark with the smoke
of their chimneys, and the air rings with the sound of their hammers. Her
docks are filled with ships, and her watchful guardians are on every sea.
Her eyes are open to profit by every invention. And her strong colonies,
overlooking all waters, give new vigor and a better distribution to her
naval resources. A mighty naval power she is, and, for good or evil, a
mighty naval power she is likely to continue. The great revolutions in
warfare, which in our day are proceeding with such wonderful rapidity, may
for a time disturb this supremacy; but in the end, the genius of England,
essentially maritime, and as clear and strong on the sea as it is apt to
be weak and confused upon the land, will enable her to stand on her own
element, as she has stood for centuries, with no superior, and with
scarcely a rival.
* * * * *