[Footnote 58: Written in 1900. (_Naval_Annual_, 1901.)]
Had the expression 'real war' been introduced into the title of
this chapter, its introduction would have been justifiable. The
sources--if not of our knowledge of combat, at least of the views
which are sure to prevail when we come to actual fighting--are to
be found in two well-defined, dissimilar, and widely separated
areas. Within one are included the records of war; within the
other, remembrance of the exercises and manoeuvres of a time of
peace. The future belligerent will almost of a certainty have taken
a practical part in the latter, whilst it is probable that he will
have had no personal experience of the former. The longer the time
elapsed since hostilities were in progress, the more probable and
more general does this absence of experience become. The fighting
man--that is to say, the man set apart, paid, and trained so as
to be ready to fight when called upon--is of the same nature as
the rest of his species. This is a truism; but it is necessary to
insist upon it, because professional, and especially professorial,
strategists and tacticians almost invariably ignore it. That which
we have seen and know has not only more, but very much more,
influence upon the minds of nearly all of us than that of which
we have only heard, and, most likely, heard but imperfectly. The
result is that, when peace is interrupted and the fighting man--on
both sea and land--is confronted with the problems of practical
belligerency, he brings to his attempts at their solution an
intellectual equipment drawn, not from knowledge of real war,
but from the less trustworthy arsenal of the recollections of
his peace training.
When peace, especially a long peace, ends, the methods which it
has introduced are the first enemies which the organised defenders
of a country have to overcome. There is plenty of evidence to prove
that--except, of course, in unequal conflicts between highly
organised, civilised states and savage or semi-barbarian
tribes--success in war is directly proportionate to the extent
of the preliminary victory over the predominance of impressions
derived from the habits and exercises of an armed force during
peace. That the cogency of this evidence is not invariably recognised
is to be attributed to insufficient attention to history and to
disinclination to apply its lessons properly. A primary object
of the _Naval_Annual_--indeed, the chief reason for its
publication--being to assist in advancing the efficiency of the
British Navy, its pages are eminently the place for a review
of the historical examples of the often-recurring inability of
systems established in peace to stand the test of war. Hostilities
on land being more frequent, and much more frequently written
about, than those by sea, the history of the former as well as
of the latter must be examined. The two classes of warfare have
much in common. The principles of their strategy are identical;
and, as regards some of their main features, so are those of
the tactics followed in each. Consequently the history of land
warfare has its lessons for those who desire to achieve success
in warfare on the sea.
That this has often been lost sight of is largely due to a
misapprehension of the meaning of terms. The two words 'military'
and 'army' have been given, in English, a narrower signification
than they ought, and than they used, to have. Both terms have
been gradually restricted in their use, and made to apply only
to the land service. This has been unfortunate; because records
of occurrences and discussions, capable of imparting much valuable
instruction to naval officers, have been passed over by them
as inapplicable to their own calling. It may have been noticed
that Captain Mahan uses the word 'military' in its right sense
as indicating the members, and the most important class of
operations, of both land- and sea-forces. The French, through
whom the word has come to us from the Latin, use it in the same
sense as Mahan. _Un_militaire_ is a member of either a land
army or a navy. The 'Naval _and_ Military Intelligence' of the
English press is given under the heading 'Nouvelles Militaires'
in the French. Our word 'army' also came to us direct from the
French, who still apply it equally to both services--_armée_de_
_terre,_armée_de_mer_. It is a participle, and means 'armed,'
the word 'force' being understood. The kindred words _armada_ in
Spanish and Portuguese, and _armata_ in Italian--equally derived
from the Latin--are used to indicate a fleet or navy, another
name being given to a land army. The word 'army' was generally
applied to a fleet in former days by the English, as will be
seen on reference to the Navy Records Society's volumes on the
defeat of the Spanish Armada.
This short etymological discussion is not inappropriate here,
for it shows why we should not neglect authorities on the history
and conduct of war merely because they do not state specially
that they are dealing with the naval branch of it.
A very slight knowledge of history is quite enough to make us
acquainted with the frequent recurrence of defeats and disasters
inflicted on armed forces by antagonists whose power to do so
had not been previously suspected. It has been the same on the
sea as on the land, though--owing to more copious records--we
may have a larger list of events on the latter. It will not be
denied that it is of immense importance to us to inquire how this
happened, and ascertain how--for the future--it may be rendered
highly improbable in our own case. A brief enumeration of the more
striking instances will make it plain that the events in question
have been confined to no particular age and to no particular
country.
It may be said that the more elaborately organised and trained
in peace time an armed force happened to be, the more unexpected
always, and generally the more disastrous, was its downfall.
Examples of this are to be found in the earliest campaigns of
which we have anything like detailed accounts, and they continue
to reappear down to very recent times. In the elaborate nature
of its organisation and training there probably never has been
an army surpassing that led by Xerxes into Greece twenty-four
centuries ago. Something like eight years had been devoted to
its preparation. The minute account of its review by Xerxes on
the shores of the Hellespont proves that, however inefficient
the semi-civilised contingents accompanying it may have been,
the regular Persian army appeared, in discipline, equipment,
and drill, to have come up to the highest standard of the most
intense 'pipeclay' epoch. In numbers alone its superiority was
considerable to the last, and down to the very eve of Platæa its
commander openly displayed his contempt for his enemy. Yet no
defeat could be more complete than that suffered by the Persians
at the hands of their despised antagonists.
As if to establish beyond dispute the identity of governing
conditions in both land and maritime wars, the next very conspicuous
disappointment of an elaborately organised force was that of the
Athenian fleet at Syracuse. At the time Athens, without question,
stood at the head of the naval world: her empire was in the truest
sense the product of sea-power. Her navy, whilst unequalled in size,
might claim, without excessive exaggeration, to be invincible. The
great armament which the Athenians despatched to Sicily seemed, in
numbers alone, capable of triumphing over all resistance. If the
Athenian navy had already met with some explicable mishaps, it
looked back with complacent confidence on the glorious achievements
of more than half a century previously. It had enjoyed many years
of what was so nearly a maritime peace that its principal exploits
had been the subjection of states weak to insignificance on the
sea as compared with imperial Athens. Profuse expenditure on its
maintenance; the 'continued practice' of which Pericles boasted,
the peace manoeuvres of a remote past; skilfully designed equipment;
and the memory of past glories;--all these did not avail to save
it from defeat at the hands of an enemy who only began to organise
a fleet when the Athenians had invaded his coast waters.
Ideal perfection as a regular army has never been so nearly reached
as by that of Sparta. The Spartan spent his life in the barrack
and the mess-room; his amusements were the exercises of the parade
ground. For many generations a Spartan force had never been defeated
in a pitched battle. We have had, in modern times, some instances
of a hectoring soldiery arrogantly prancing amongst populations
whose official defenders it had defeated in battle; but nonesuch
could vie with the Spartans in the sublimity of their military
self-esteem. Overweening confidence in the prowess of her army
led Sparta to trample with ruthless disdain on the rights of
others. The iniquitous attack on Thebes, a state thought incapable
of effectual resentment, was avenged by the defeat of Leuctra,
which announced the end of the political supremacy and the military
predominance of Sparta.
In the series of struggles with Carthage which resulted in putting
Rome in a position enabling her eventually to win the dominion
of the ancient world, the issue was to be decided on the water.
Carthage was essentially a maritime state. The foundation of the
city was effected by a maritime expedition; its dominions lay on
the neighbouring coast or in regions to which the Carthaginians
could penetrate only by traversing the sea. To Carthage her fleet
was 'all in all': her navy, supported by large revenues and
continuously maintained, was more of a 'regular' force than any
modern navy before the second half of the seventeenth century. The
Romans were almost without a fleet, and when they formed one the
undertaking was ridiculed by the Carthaginians with an unconcealed
assumption of superiority. The defeat of the latter off Mylæ,
the first of several, came as a great surprise to them, and, as
we can see now, indicated the eventual ruin of their city.
We are so familiar with stories of the luxury and corruption of
the Romans during the decline of the empire that we are likely
to forget that the decline went on for centuries, and that their
armed forces, however recruited, presented over and over again
abundant signs of physical courage and vigour. The victory of
Stilicho over Alaric at Pollentia has been aptly paralleled with
that of Marius over the Cimbri. This was by no means the only
achievement of the Roman army of the decadence. A century and
a quarter later--when the Empire of the West had fallen and the
general decline had made further progress--Belisarius conducted
successful campaigns in Persia, in North Africa, in Sicily, and
in Italy. The mere list of countries shows that the mobility and
endurance of the Roman forces during a period in which little
creditable is generally looked for were not inferior to their
discipline and courage. Yet they met with disastrous defeat after
all, and at the hands of races which they had more than once
proved themselves capable of withstanding. It could not have been
because the later Roman equipment was inferior, the organisation
less elaborate, or the training less careful than those of their
barbarian enemies.
Though it is held by some in these days that the naval power
of Spain in the latter part of the sixteenth century was not
really formidable, that does not appear to have been the opinion
of contemporaries, whether Spaniards or otherwise. Some English
seamen of the time did, indeed, declare their conviction that
Philip the Second's navy was not so much to be feared as many
of their fellow-countrymen thought; but, in the public opinion
of the age, Spain was the greatest, or indeed the one great,
naval state. She possessed a more systematically organised navy
than any other country having the ocean for a field of action
had then, or till long afterwards. Even Genoa and Venice, whose
operations, moreover, were restricted to Mediterranean waters,
could not have been served by more finished specimens of the
naval officer and the man-of-war's man of the time than a large
proportion of the military _personnel_ of the regular Spanish
fleet. As Basques, Castilians, Catalans, or Aragonese, or all
combined, the crews of Spanish fighting ships could look back
upon a glorious past. It was no wonder that, by common consent
of those who manned it, the title of 'Invincible' was informally
conferred upon the Armada which, in 1588, sailed for the English
Channel. How it fared is a matter of common knowledge. No one
could have been more surprised at the result than the gallant
officers who led its squadrons.
Spain furnishes another instance of the unexpected overthrow of
a military body to which long cohesion and precise organisation
were believed to have secured invincibility. The Spanish was
considered the 'most redoubtable infantry in Europe' till its
unexpected defeat at Rocroi. The effects of this defeat were
far-reaching. Notwithstanding the bravery of her sons, which
has never been open to question, and, in fact, has always been
conspicuous, the military superiority of Spain was broken beyond
repair.
In the history of other countries are to be found examples equally
instructive. The defeats of Almansa, Brihuega, and Villaviciosa
were nearly contemporary with the victories of Blenheim and
Ramillies; and the thousands of British troops compelled to lay
down their arms at the first named belonged to the same service
as their fellow-countrymen who so often marched to victory under
Marlborough. A striking example of the disappointment which lies
in wait for military self-satisfaction was furnished by the defeat
of Soubise at Rossbach by Frederick the Great. Before the action
the French had ostentatiously shown their contempt for their
opponent.
The service which gloried in the exploits of Anson and of Hawke
discerned the approach of the Seven Years' war without misgiving;
and the ferocity shown in the treatment of Byng enables us now
to measure the surprise caused by the result of the action off
Minorca. There were further surprises in store for the English
Navy. At the end of the Seven Years' war its reputation for
invincibility was generally established. Few, perhaps none, ventured
to doubt that, if there were anything like equality between the
opposing forces, a meeting between the French and the British
fleets could have but one result--viz. the decisive victory of
the latter. Experience in the English Channel, on the other side
of the Atlantic, and in the Bay of Bengal--during the war of
American Independence--roughly upset this flattering anticipation.
Yet, in the end, the British Navy came out the unquestioned victor
in the struggle: which proves the excellence of its quality. After
every allowance is made for the incapacity of the Government,
we must suspect that there was something else which so often
frustrated the efforts of such a formidable force as the British
Navy of the day must essentially have been. On land the surprises
were even more mortifying; and it is no exaggeration to say that,
a year before it occurred, such an event as the surrender of
Burgoyne's army to an imperfectly organised and trained body of
provincials would have seemed impossible.
The army which Frederick the Great bequeathed to Prussia was
universally regarded as the model of efficiency. Its methods were
copied in other countries, and foreign officers desiring to excel
in their profession made pilgrimages to Berlin and Potsdam to drink
of the stream of military knowledge at its source. When it came in
contact with the tumultuous array of revolutionary France, the
performances of the force that preserved the tradition of the great
Frederick were disappointingly wanting in brilliancy. A few years
later it suffered an overwhelming disaster. The Prussian defeat
at Jena was serious as a military event; its political effects
were of the utmost importance. Yet many who were involved in that
disaster took, later on, an effective part in the expulsion of
the conquerors from their country, and in settling the history
of Europe for nearly half a century at Waterloo.
The brilliancy of the exploits of Wellington and the British
army in Portugal and Spain has thrown into comparative obscurity
that part of the Peninsular war which was waged for years by
the French against the Spaniards. Spain, distracted by palace
intrigues and political faction, with the flower of her troops
in a distant comer of Europe, and several of her most important
fortresses in the hands of her assailant, seemed destined to
fall an easy and a speedy prey to the foremost military power in
the world. The attitude of the invaders made it evident that they
believed themselves to be marching to certain victory. Even the
British soldiers--of whom there were never many more than 50,000
in the Peninsula, and for some years not half that number--were
disdained until they had been encountered. The French arms met
with disappointment after disappointment. On one occasion a whole
French army, over 18,000 strong, surrendered to a Spanish force,
and became prisoners of war. Before the struggle closed there
were six marshals of France with nearly 400,000 troops in the
Peninsula. The great efforts which these figures indicate were
unsuccessful, and the intruders were driven from the country. Yet
they were the comrades of the victors of Austerlitz, of Jena,
and of Wagram, and part of that mighty organisation which had
planted its victorious standards in Berlin and Vienna, held down
Prussia like a conquered province, and shattered into fragments
the holy Roman Empire.
In 1812 the British Navy was at the zenith of its glory. It had
not only defeated all its opponents; it had also swept the seas of
the fleets of the historic maritime powers--of Spain, of France,
which had absorbed the Italian maritime states, of the Netherlands,
of Denmark. Warfare, nearly continuous for eighteen, and
uninterrupted for nine years, had transformed the British Navy
into an organisation more nearly resembling a permanently maintained
force than it had been throughout its previous history. Its long
employment in serious hostilities had saved it from some of the
failings which the narrow spirit inherent in a close profession
is only too sure to foster. It had, however, a confidence--not
unjustified by its previous exploits--in its own invincibility.
This confidence did not diminish, and was not less ostentatiously
exhibited, as its great achievements receded more and more into
the past. The new enemy who now appeared on the farther side of
the Atlantic was not considered formidable. In the British Navy
there were 145,000 men. In the United States Navy the number
of officers, seamen, and marines available for ocean service
was less than 4500--an insignificant numerical addition to the
enemies with whom we were already contending. The subsequent
and rapid increase in the American _personnel_ to 18,000 shows
the small extent to which it could be considered a 'regular'
force, its permanent nucleus being overwhelmingly outnumbered
by the hastily enrolled additions. Our defeats in the war of
1812 have been greatly exaggerated; but, all the same, they did
constitute rebuffs to our naval self-esteem which were highly
significant in themselves, and deserve deep attention. Rebuffs
of the kind were not confined to the sea service, and at New
Orleans our army, which numbered in its ranks soldiers of Busaco,
Fuentes de Onoro, and Salamanca, met with a serious defeat.
When the Austro-Prussian war broke out in 1866, the Austrian
commander-in-chief, General Benedek, published an order, probably
still in the remembrance of many, which officially declared the
contempt for the enemy felt in the Imperial army. Even those
who perceived that the Prussian forces were not fit subjects of
contempt counted with confidence on the victory of the Austrians.
Yet the latter never gained a considerable success in their combats
with the Prussians; and within a few weeks from the beginning of
hostilities the general who had assumed such a lofty tone of
superiority in speaking of his foes had to implore his sovereign
to make peace to avoid further disasters.
At the beginning of the Franco-German war of 1870, the widespread
anticipation of French victories was clearly shown by the unanimity
with which the journalists of various nationalities illustrated
their papers with maps giving the country between the French
frontier and Berlin, and omitting the part of France extending
to Paris. In less than five weeks from the opening of hostilities
events had made it certain that a map of the country to the eastward
of Lorraine would be practically useless to a student of the
campaign, unless it were to follow the route of the hundreds
of thousands of French soldiers who were conveyed to Germany as
prisoners of war.
It is to be specially noted that in the above enumeration only
contests in which the result was unexpected--unexpected not only
by the beaten side but also by impartial observers--have been
specified. In all wars one side or the other is defeated; and it
has not been attempted to give a general _résumé_ of the history
of war. The object has been to show the frequency--in all ages
and in all circumstances of systematic, as distinguished from
savage, warfare--of the defeat of the force which by general
consent was regarded as certain to win. Now it is obvious that
a result so frequently reappearing must have a distinct cause,
which is well worth trying to find out. Discovery of the cause
may enable us to remove it in the future, and thus prevent results
which are likely to be all the more disastrous because they have
not been foreseen.
Professional military writers--an expression which, as before
explained, includes naval--do not help us much in the prosecution
of the search which is so eminently desirable. As a rule, they
have contrived rather to hide than to bring to light the object
sought for. It would be doing them injustice to assume that this
has been done with deliberate intention. It is much more likely
due to professional bias, which exercises over the minds of members
of definitely limited professions incessant and potent domination.
When alluding to occurrences included in the enumeration given
above, they exhibit signs of a resolve to defend their profession
against possible imputations of inefficiency, much more than
a desire to get to the root of the matter. This explains the
unremitting eagerness of military writers to extol the special
qualities developed by long-continued service habits and methods.
They are always apprehensive of the possibility of credit being
given to fighting bodies more loosely organised and less precisely
trained in peace time than the body to which they themselves
belong.
This sensitiveness as to the merits of their particular profession,
and impatience of even indirect criticism, are unnecessary. There
is nothing in the history of war to show that an untrained force
is better than a trained force. On the contrary, all historical
evidence is on the other side. In quite as many instances as are
presented by the opposite, the forces which put an unexpected
end to the military supremacy long possessed by their antagonists
were themselves, in the strictest sense of the word, 'regulars.'
The Thebans whom Epaminondas led to victory over the Spartans at
Leuctra no more resembled a hasty levy of armed peasants or men
imperfectly trained as soldiers than did Napoleon's army which
overthrew the Prussians at Jena, or the Germans who defeated the
French at Gravelotte and Sedan. Nothing could have been less like
an 'irregular' force than the fleet with which La Galissonnière
beat Byng off Minorca, or the French fleets which, in the war
of American Independence, so often disappointed the hopes of
the British. The records of war on land and by sea--especially
the extracts from them included in the enumeration already
given--lend no support to the silly suggestion that efficient
defence can be provided for a country by 'an untrained man with
a rifle behind a hedge.' The truth is that it was not the absence
of organisation or training on one side which enabled it to defeat
the other. If the beaten side had been elaborately organised and
carefully trained, there must have been something bad in its
organisation or its methods.
Now this 'something bad,' this defect--wherever it has disclosed
itself--has been enough to neutralise the most splendid courage
and the most unselfish devotion. It has been seen that armies
and navies the valour of which has never been questioned have
been defeated by antagonists sometimes as highly organised as
they were, and sometimes much less so. This ought to put us on
the track of the cause which has produced an effect so little
anticipated. A 'regular' permanently embodied or maintained service
of fighting men is always likely to develop a spirit of intense
professional self-satisfaction. The more highly organised it is,
and the more sharply its official frontiers are defined, the
more intense is this spirit likely to become. A 'close' service of
the kind grows restive at outside criticism, and yields more and
more to the conviction that no advance in efficiency is possible
unless it be the result of suggestions emanating from its own
ranks. Its view of things becomes narrower and narrower, whereas
efficiency in war demands the very widest view. Ignorant critics
call the spirit thus engendered 'professional conservatism'; the
fact being that change is not objected to--is even welcomed,
however frequent it may be, provided only that it is suggested
from inside. An immediate result is 'unreality and formalism of
peace training'--to quote a recent thoughtful military critic.
As the formalism becomes more pronounced, so the unreality increases.
The proposer or introducer of a system of organisation of training
or of exercises is often, perhaps usually, capable of distinguishing
between the true and the false, the real and the unreal. His
successors, the men who continue the execution of his plans,
can hardly bring to their work the open mind possessed by the
originator; they cannot escape from the influence of the methods
which have been provided for them ready made, and which they are
incessantly engaged in practising. This is not a peculiarity of
the military profession in either branch--it extends to nearly
every calling; but in the profession specified, which is a service
rather than a freely exercised profession, it is more prominent.
Human thought always has a tendency to run in grooves, and in
military institutions the grooves are purposely made deep, and
departure from them rigorously forbidden. All exercises, even
those designed to have the widest scope, tend to become mere
drill. Each performance produces, and bequeaths for use on the
next occasion, a set of customary methods of execution which are
readily adopted by the subsequent performers. There grows up in
time a kind of body of customary law governing the execution of
peace operations--the principles being peace-operation principles
wholly and solely--which law few dare to disobey, and which
eventually obtains the sanction of official written regulations.
As Scharnhorst, quoted by Baron von der Goltz, said, 'We have
begun to place the art of war higher than military virtues.'
The eminent authority who thus expressed himself wrote the words
before the great catastrophe of Jena; and, with prophetic insight
sharpened by his fear of the menacing tendency of peace-training
formalism and unreality, added his conviction that 'this has
been the ruin of nations from time immemorial.'
Independently of the evidence of history already adduced, it
would be reasonable to conclude that the tendency is strengthened
and made more menacing when the service in which it prevails
becomes more highly specialised. If custom and regulation leave
little freedom of action to the individual members of an armed
force, the difficulty--sure to be experienced by them--of shaking
themselves clear of their fetters when the need for doing so arises
is increased. To realise--when peace is broken--the practical
conditions of war demands an effort of which the unfettered
intelligence alone seems capable. The great majority of successful
leaders in war on both elements have not been considerably, or
at all, superior in intellectual acuteness to numbers of their
fellows; but they have had strength of character, and their minds
were not squeezed in a mould into a commonplace and uniform pattern.
The 'canker of a long peace,' during recent years at any rate,
is not manifested in disuse of arms, but in mistaken methods.
For a quarter of a century the civilised world has tended more
and more to become a drill-ground, but the spirit dominating
it has been that of the pedant. There has been more exercise
and less reality. The training, especially of officers, becomes
increasingly scholastic. This, and the deterioration consequent
on it, are not merely modern phenomena. They appear in all ages.
'The Sword of the Saracens,' says Gibbon, 'became less formidable
when their youth was drawn from the camp to the college.' The
essence of pedantry is want of originality. It is nourished on
imitation. For the pedant to imitate is enough of itself; to
him the suitability of the model is immaterial. Thus military
bodies have been ruined by mimicry of foreign arrangements quite
inapplicable to the conditions of the mimics' country. More than
twenty years ago Sir Henry Maine, speaking of the war of American
Independence, said, 'Next to their stubborn valour, the chief
secret of the colonists' success was the incapacity of the English
generals, trained in the stiff Prussian system soon to perish
at Jena, to adapt themselves to new conditions of warfare.' He
pointed out that the effect of this uncritical imitation of what
was foreign was again experienced by men 'full of admiration
of a newer German system.' We may not be able to explain what
it is, but, all the same, there does exist something which we
call national characteristics. The aim of all training should
be to utilise these to the full, not to ignore them. The naval
methods of a continental state with relatively small oceanic
interests, or with but a brief experience of securing these,
cannot be very applicable to a great maritime state whose chief
interests have been on the seas for many years.
How is all this applicable to the ultimate efficiency of the
British Navy? It may be allowed that there is a good deal of
truth in what has been written above; but it may be said that
considerations sententiously presented cannot claim to have much
practical value so long as they are absolute and unapplied. The
statement cannot be disputed. It is unquestionably necessary
to make the application. The changes in naval _matériel_, so
often spoken of, introduced within the last fifty years have been
rivalled by the changes in the composition of the British Navy.
The human element remains in original individual character exactly
the same as it always was; but there has been a great change in
the opportunities and facilities offered for the development of
the faculties most desired in men-of-war's men. All reform--using
the word in its true sense of alteration, and not in its strained
sense of improvement--has been in the direction of securing perfect
uniformity. If we take the particular directly suggested by the
word just used, we may remember, almost with astonishment, that
there was no British naval uniform for anyone below the rank of
officer till after 1860. Now, at every inspection, much time
is taken up in ascertaining if the narrow tape embroidery on
a frock collar is of the regulation width, and if the rows of
tape are the proper distance apart. The diameter of a cloth cap
is officially defined; and any departure from the regulation
number of inches (and fractions of an inch) is as sure of involving
punishment as insubordination.
It is the same in greater things. Till 1853--in which year the
change came into force--there was no permanent British naval
service except the commissioned and warrant officers. Not till
several years later did the new 'continuous service' men equal
half of the bluejacket aggregate. Now, every bluejacket proper
serves continuously, and has been in the navy since boyhood. The
training of the boys is made uniform. No member of the ship's
company--except a domestic--is now allowed to set foot on board
a sea-going ship till he has been put through a training course
which is exactly like that through which every other member of
his class passes. Even during the comparatively brief period in
which young officers entered the navy by joining the college
at Portsmouth, it was only the minority who received the special
academic training. Till the establishment of the _Illustrious_
training school in 1855, the great majority of officers joined
their first ship as individuals from a variety of different and
quite independent quarters. Now, every one of them has, as a
preliminary condition, to spend a certain time--the same for
all--in a school. Till a much later period, every engineer entered
separately. Now, passing through a training establishment is
obligatory for engineers also.
Within the service there has been repeated formation of distinct
branches or 'schools,' such as the further specialised specialist
gunnery and torpedo sections. It was not till 1860 that uniform
watch bills, quarter bills, and station bills were introduced, and
not till later that their general adoption was made compulsory. Up
to that time the internal organisation and discipline of a ship
depended on her own officers, it being supposed that capacity
to command a ship implied, at least, capacity to distribute and
train her crew. The result was a larger scope than is now thought
permissible for individual capability. However short-lived some
particular drill or exercise may be, however soon it is superseded
by another, as long as it lasts the strictest conformity to it is
rigorously enforced. Even the number of times that an exercise
has to be performed, difference in class of ship or in the nature
of the service on which she is employed notwithstanding, is
authoritatively laid down. Still more noteworthy, though much
less often spoken of than the change in _matériel_, has been
the progress of the navy towards centralisation. Naval duties
are now formulated at a desk on shore, and the mode of carrying
them out notified to the service in print. All this would have
been quite as astonishing to the contemporaries of Nelson or
of Exmouth and Codrington as the aspect of a battleship or of
a 12-inch breech-loading gun.
Let it be clearly understood that none of these things has been
mentioned with the intention of criticising them either favourably
or unfavourably. They have been cited in order that it may be
seen that the change in naval affairs is by no means one in
_matériel_ only, and that the transformation in other matters has
been stupendous and revolutionary beyond all previous experience.
It follows inevitably from this that we shall wage war in future
under conditions dissimilar from any hitherto known. In this very
fact there lies the making of a great surprise. It will have
appeared from the historical statement given above how serious
a surprise sometimes turns out to be. Its consequences, always
significant, are not unfrequently far-reaching. The question of
practical moment is: How are we to guard ourselves against such
a surprise? To this a satisfactory answer can be given. It might
be summarised in the admonitions: abolish over-centralisation;
give proper scope to individual capacity and initiative; avoid
professional self-sufficiency.
When closely looked at, it is one of the strangest manifestations
of the spirit of modern navies that, though the issues of land
warfare are rarely thought instructive, the peace methods of land
forces are extensively and eagerly copied by the sea-service.
The exercises of the parade ground and the barrack square are
taken over readily, and so are the parade ground and the barrack
square themselves. This may be right. The point is that it is
novel, and that a navy into the training of which the innovation
has entered must differ considerably from one that was without
it and found no need of it during a long course of serious wars.
At any rate, no one will deny that parade-ground evolutions and
barrack-square drill expressly aim at the elimination of
individuality, or just the quality to the possession of which
we owe the phenomenon called, in vulgar speech, the 'handy man.'
Habits and sentiments based on a great tradition, and the faculties
developed by them, are not killed all at once; but innovation
in the end annihilates them, and their not having yet entirely
disappeared gives no ground for doubting their eventual, and even
near, extinction. The aptitudes still universally most prized
in the seaman were produced and nourished by practices and under
conditions no longer allowed to prevail. Should we lose those
aptitudes, are we likely to reach the position in war gained
by our predecessors?
For the British Empire the matter is vital: success in maritime
war, decisive and overwhelming, is indispensable to our existence.
We have to consider the desirability of 'taking stock' of our
moral, as well as of our material, naval equipment: to ascertain
where the accumulated effect of repeated innovations has carried
us. The mere fact of completing the investigation will help us to
rate at their true value the changes which have been introduced;
will show us what to retain, what to reject, and what to substitute.
There is no essential vagueness in these allusions. If they seem
vague, it is because the moment for particularising has not yet
come. The public opinion of the navy must first be turned in the
right direction. It must be led to question the soundness of
the basis on which many present methods rest. Having once begun
to do this, we shall find no difficulty in settling, in detail
and with precision, what the true elements of naval efficiency
are.