[Footnote 89: Written in 1907. (_Naval_Annual_, 1908.)]
At the close of the Great War, which ended in the downfall of
Napoleon, the maritime position of the British Empire was not
only predominant--it also was, and long remained, beyond the
reach of challenge. After the stupendous events of the great
contest such successes as those at Algiers where we were helped
by the Dutch, at Navarino where we had two allies, and at Acre
were regarded as matters of course, and no very grave issue hung
upon any one of them. For more than half a century after Nelson's
death all the most brilliant achievements of British arms were
performed on shore, in India or in the Crimea. There were also many
small wars on land, and it may well have seemed to contemporaries
that the days of great naval contests were over and that force
of circumstances was converting us into a military from a naval
nation. The belief in the efficacy of naval defence was not extinct,
but it had ceased to operate actively. Even whilst the necessity
of that form of defence was far more urgent, inattention to or
ignorance of its true principles had occasionally allowed it to
grow weak, but the possibility of substituting something else for
it had not been pressed or even suggested. To this, however, we
had now come; and it was largely a consequence of the Crimean war.
In that war the British Army had nobly sustained its reputation
as a fighting machine. For the first time after a long interval
it had met in battle European troops, and had come out of the
conflict more renowned for bravery than ever. Nothing seemed
able to damp its heroism--not scantiness of food, not lack of
clothing amidst bitter cold, not miserable quarters, not superior
forces of a valiant enemy. It clung to its squalid abodes in the
positions which it was ordered to hold with a tenacious fortitude
that had never been surpassed in its glorious history, and that
defied all assaults. In combination with its brave allies it
brought to a triumphant conclusion a war of an altogether peculiar
character.
The campaign in the Crimea was in reality the siege of a single
fortress. All the movements of the Western invaders were undertaken
to bring them within striking distance of the place, to keep
them within reach of it, or to capture it. Every battle that
occurred was fought with one of those objects. When the place
fell the war ended. The one general who, in the opinion of all
concerned, gained high distinction in the war was the general
who had prolonged the defence of Sebastopol by the skilful use
of earthworks. It was no wonder that the attack and defence of
fortified places assumed large importance in the eyes of the
British people. The command of the sea held by the allied powers
was so complete and all-pervading that no one stopped to think
what the course of hostilities would have been without it, any
more than men stop to think what the course of any particular
business would be if there were no atmosphere to breathe in.
Not a single allied soldier had been delayed on passage by the
hostile fleet; not a single merchant vessel belonging to the
allies had been captured by a hostile cruiser. Supplies and
reinforcements for the besieging armies were transported to them
without escort and with as little risk of interruption as if
the operations had been those of profound peace.
No sooner was the Crimean war over than another struggle took
place, viz. the war of the Indian Mutiny, and that also was waged
entirely on land. Here again the command of the sea was so complete
that no interruption of it, even temporary, called attention to
its existence. Troops and supplies were sent to India from the
United Kingdom and from Hong-Kong; horses for military purposes
from Australia and South Africa; and in every case without a
thought of naval escort. The experience of hostilities in India
seemed to confirm the experience of the Crimea. What we had just
done to a great European nation was assumed to be what unfriendly
European nations would wish to do and would be able to do to
us. It was also assumed that the only way of frustrating their
designs would be to do what had recently been done in the hope
of frustrating ours, but to do it better. We must--it was
said--depend on fortifications, but more perfect than those which
had failed to save Sebastopol.
The protection to be afforded by our fleet was deliberately declared
to be insufficient. It might, so it was held, be absent altogether,
and then there would be nothing but fortifications to stand between
us and the progress of an active enemy. In the result the policy
of constructing imposing passive defence-works on our coast was
adopted. The fortifications had to be multiplied. Dependence
on that class of defence inevitably leads to discovery after
discovery that some spot open to the kind of attack feared has
not been made secure. We began by fortifying the great dockyard
ports--on the sea side against a hostile fleet, on the land side
against hostile troops. Then it was perceived that to fortify
the dockyard ports in the mother country afforded very little
protection to the outlying portions of the empire. So their principal
ports also were given defence-works--sometimes of an elaborate
character. Again, it was found that commercial ports had been
left out and that they too must be fortified. When this was done
spots were observed at which an enemy might effect a landing
in force, to prevent which further forts or batteries must be
erected. The most striking thing in all this is the complete
omission to take note of the conditions involved in the command
of the sea.
Evidently it had not been understood that it was that very command
which alone had enabled the armies of western Europe to proceed,
not only without serious interruption, but also without encountering
an attempt at obstruction, to the field in the Crimea on which
their victories had been won, and that the same command would be
necessary before any hostile expedition, large enough to justify
the construction of the fortifications specially intended to
repel it, could cross the sea and get within striking distance
of our shores. It should be deeply interesting to the people
of those parts of the British Empire which lie beyond sea to
note that the defensive system comprised in the fortification
of the coast of the United Kingdom promised no security to them
in the event of war. Making all proper allowance for the superior
urgency of defending the heart of the empire, we must still admit
that no system of defence is adequate which does not provide for
the defence of other valuable parts of the great body politic
as well.
Again, the system of defence proved to be imperfect. Every part
of the empire depended for prosperity--some parts depended for
existence--on practically unrestricted traffic on the ocean.
This, which might be assailed at many points and on lines often
thousands of miles in length, could find little or no defence in
immovable fortifications. It could not be held that the existence
of these released the fleet from all duty but that of protecting
our ocean commerce, because, if any enemy's navy was able to
carry out an operation of such magnitude and difficulty as a
serious attack on our home territory, it would assuredly be able
to carry out the work of damaging our maritime trade. Power to
do the latter has always belonged to the navy which was in a
position to extend its activity persistently to the immediate
neighbourhood of its opponent's coast-line.
It is not to be supposed that there was no one to point this
out. Several persons did so, but being mostly sailors they were
not listened to. In actual practice the whole domain of imperial
strategy was withdrawn from the intervention of the naval officer,
as though it were something with which he could not have anything
to do. Several great wars had been waged in Europe in the meantime,
and all of them were land wars. Naval forces, if employed at all,
were employed only just enough to bring out how insignificant their
participation in them was. As was to have been expected, the habit
of attaching importance to the naval element of imperial defence
declined. The empire, nevertheless, continued to grow. Its territory
was extended; its population, notably its population of European
stock, increased, and its wealth and the subsequent operations
of exchanging its productions for those of other countries were
enormously expanded. At the same time the navy, to the strength
and efficiency of which it had to look for security, declined
absolutely, and still more relatively. Other navies were advancing:
some had, as it were, come into existence. At last the true
conditions were discerned, and the nation, almost with one voice,
demanded that the naval defences of the empire should be put
upon a proper footing.
Let no one dismiss the foregoing retrospect as merely ancient
history. On the contrary, let all those who desire to see the
British Empire follow the path of its natural development in
tranquillity study the recent past. By doing this we shall be
able to estimate aright the position of the fleet in the defence
of the empire. We must examine the circumstances in which we
are placed. For five-and-thirty years the nations of the world
have practically lived under the rule of force. The incessant
object of every great state has been to increase the strength
of its armed forces up to the point at which the cost becomes
intolerable. Countries separated from one another only by arbitrary
geographical lines add regiment to regiment and gun to gun, and
also devise continually fresh expedients for accelerating the
work of preparing their armies to take the field. The most
pacifically inclined nation must do in this respect as its neighbours
do, on pain of losing its independence and being mutilated in
its territory if it does not. This rivalry has spread to the
sea, and fleets are increased at a rate and at a cost in money
unknown to former times, even to those of war. The possession of
a powerful navy by some state which has no reason to apprehend
over-sea invasion and which has no maritime interests, however
intrinsically important they may be, commensurate with the strength
of its fleets, may not indicate a spirit of aggression; but it
at least indicates ability to become an aggressor. Consequently,
for the British fleet to fill its proper position in the defence
of the empire it must be strong. To be strong more than large
numbers will be required. It must have the right, that is the
best, material, the best organisation, the best discipline, the
best training, the best distribution. We shall ascertain the
position that it should hold, if we examine what it would have
to do when called upon for work more active than that of peace
time. With the exception of India and Canada no part of the empire
is liable to serious attack that does not come over-sea. Any
support that can be given to India or Canada by other parts of
the empire must be conveyed across the sea also. This at once
indicates the importance of ocean lines of communication.
War is the method adopted, when less violent means of persuasion
have failed, to force your enemy to comply with your demands.
There are three principal ways of effecting this--invasion of his
country, raids on his territory, destruction or serious damage
of his sea-borne commerce. Successful invasion must compel the
invaded to come to terms, or his national existence will be lost.
Raids upon his territory may possibly so distress him that he
would rather concede your terms than continue the struggle.[90]
Damage to his sea-borne commerce may be carried so far that he
will be ruined if he does not give in. So much for one side of
the account; we have to examine the other. Against invasion,
raids, or attempts at commerce-destruction there must be some
form of defence, and, as a matter of historical fact, defence
against each has been repeatedly successful. If we need instances
we have only to peruse the history of the British Empire.
[Footnote 90: Though raids rarely, if ever, decide a war, they
may cause inconvenience or local distress, and an enemy desiring
to make them should be obstructed as much as possible.]
How was it that--whilst we landed invading armies in many hostile
countries, seized many portions of hostile territory, and drove
more than one enemy's commerce from the sea--our own country has
been free from successful invasion for more than eight centuries,
few portions of our territory have been taken from us even
temporarily, and our commerce has increased throughout protracted
maritime wars? To this there can only be one answer, viz. that
the arrangements for defence were effectual. What, then, were
these arrangements? They were comprised in the provision of a
powerful, well-distributed, well-handled navy, and of a mobile
army of suitable strength. It is to be observed that each element
possessed the characteristic of mobility. We have to deal here
more especially with the naval element, and we must study the
manner in which it operates.
Naval war is sea-power in action; and sea-power, taken in the
narrow sense, has limitations. It may not, even when so taken,
cease to act at the enemy's coast-line, but its direct influence
extends only to the inner side of a narrow zone conforming to that
line. In a maritime contest each side tries to control the ocean
communications and to prevent the other from controlling them. If
either gains the control, something in addition to sea-power
strictly defined may begin to operate: the other side's territory
may be invaded or harassed by considerable raids, and its commerce
may be driven from the sea. It will be noticed that control of
ocean communications is the needful preliminary to these. It
is merely a variant of the often employed expression of the
necessity, in war, of obtaining command of the sea. In the case
of the most important portion of the British Empire, viz. the
United Kingdom, our loss of control of the ocean communications
would have a result which scarcely any foreign country would
experience. Other countries are dependent on importations for
some part of the food of their population and of the raw material
of their industry; but much of the importation is, and perhaps
all of it may be, effected by land. Here, we depend upon imports
from abroad for a very large part of the food of our people,
and of the raw material essential to the manufacture of the
commodities by the exchange of which we obtain necessary supplies;
and the whole of these imports come, and must come to us, by
sea. Also, if we had not freedom of exportation, our wealth and
the means of supporting a war would disappear. Probably all the
greater colonies and India could feed their inhabitants for a
moderately long time without sea-borne imports, but unless the
sea were open to them their prosperity would decline.
This teaches us the necessity to the British Empire of controlling
our maritime communications, and equally teaches those who may
one day be our enemies the advisability of preventing us from
doing so. The lesson in either case is driven farther home by
other considerations connected with communications. In war a
belligerent has two tasks before him. He has to defend himself
and hurt his enemy. The more he hurts his enemy, the less is
he likely to be hurt himself. This defines the great principle
of offensive defence. To act in accordance with this principle,
a belligerent should try, as the saying goes, to carry the war
into the enemy's country. He should try to make his opponents
fight where he wants them to fight, which will probably be as
far as possible from his own territory and as near as possible
to theirs. Unless he can do this, invasion and even serious raids
by him will be out of the question. More than that, his inability
to do it will virtually indicate that on its part the other side
can fix the scene of active hostilities unpleasantly close to
the points from which he desires to keep its forces away.
A line of ocean communications may be vulnerable throughout its
length; but it does not follow that an assailant can operate
against it with equal facility at every point, nor does it follow
that it is at every point equally worth assailing. Lines running
past hostile naval ports are especially open to assault in the
part near the ports; and lines formed by the confluence of two or
more other lines--like, for example, those which enter the English
Channel--will generally include a greater abundance of valuable
traffic than others. Consequently there are some parts at which
an enemy may be expected to be more active than elsewhere, and
it is from those very parts that it is most desirable to exclude
him. They are, as a rule, relatively near to the territory of the
state whose navy has to keep the lines open, that is to say,
prevent their being persistently beset by an enemy. The necessary
convergence of lines towards that state's ports shows that some
portion of them would have to be traversed, or their traversing
be attempted, by expeditions meant to carry out either invasion
or raids. If, therefore, the enemy can be excluded as above
mentioned, invasions, raids, and the more serious molestation of
sea-borne commerce by him will be prevented.
If we consider particular cases we shall find proof upon proof
of the validity of the rule. Three great lines--one from the
neighbourhood of the Cape of Good Hope, one from the Red Sea, and
a third from India and Ceylon--converge near the south-western
part of Australia and run as one line towards the territory of the
important states farther east. If an assailant can be excluded
from the latter or combined line he must either divide his force
or operate on only one of the confluents, leaving the rest free.
The farther he can be pushed back from the point of confluence
the more effectually will he be limited to a single line, because
the combining lines, traced backwards, trend more and more apart,
and it is, therefore, more and more difficult for him to keep
detachments of his force within supporting distance of each other
if they continue to act against two or more lines. The particular
case of the approaches to the territory of the United Kingdom
has the same features, and proves the rule with equal clearness.
This latter case is so often adduced without mention of others,
that there is some risk of its being believed to be a solitary
one. It stands, however, exactly on all fours with all the rest
as regards the principle of the rule.
A necessary consequence of an enemy's exclusion from the combined
line as it approaches the territory to be defended is--as already
suggested--that invasion of that territory and serious raids
upon it will be rendered impracticable. Indeed, if the exclusion
be absolutely complete and permanent, raids of every kind and
depredations on commerce in the neighbourhood will be prevented
altogether. It should be explained that though lines and
communications are spoken of, it is the area crossed by them
which is strategically important. A naval force, either guarding
or intending to assail a line, does not necessarily station itself
permanently upon it. All that it has to do is to remain, for the
proper length of time, within the strategic area across which the
defended or threatened line runs. The strategic area will be of
varying extent, its boundaries being determined by circumstances.
The object of the defence will be to make the area from which the
enemy's ships are excluded as extensive as possible. When the
enemy has been pushed back into his own waters and into his own
ports the exclusion is strategically complete. The sea is denied
to his invading and important raiding expeditions, and indeed to
most of his individual cruisers. At the same time it is free
to the other belligerent. To effect this a vigorous offensive
will be necessary.
The immediate theatre of operations, the critical strategic area,
need not be, and often ought not to be, near the territory defended
by our navy. It is necessary to dwell upon this, because no principle
of naval warfare has been more frequently or more seriously
misapprehended. Misapprehension of it has led to mischievous and
dangerous distribution of naval force and to the squandering of
immense sums of money on local defence vessels; that is, vessels
only capable of operating in the very waters from which every
effort should be made to exclude the enemy. Failure to exclude
him from them can only be regarded as, at the very least, yielding
to him an important point in the great game of war. If we succeed
in keeping him away, the local defence craft of every class are
useless, and the money spent on them has been worse than wasted,
because, if it had not been so spent, it might have been devoted
to strengthening the kind of force which must be used to keep
the enemy where he ought to be kept, viz. at a distance from
our own waters.
The demand that ships be so stationed that they will generally,
and except when actually cruising, be within sight of the
inhabitants, is common enough in the mother country, and perhaps
even more common in the over-sea parts of the British Empire.
Nothing justifies it but the honest ignorance of those who make
it; nothing explains compliance with it but the deplorable weakness
of authorities who yield to it. It was not by hanging about the
coast of England, when there was no enemy near it, with his fleet,
that Hawke or Nelson saved the country from invasion, nor was it
by remaining where they could be seen by the fellow-countrymen
of their crews that the French and English fleets shut up their
enemy in the Baltic and Black Sea, and thus gained and kept
undisputed command of the sea which enabled them, without
interruption, to invade their enemy's territory.
The condition insisted upon by the Australasian Governments in
the agreement formerly made with the Home Government, that a
certain number of ships, in return for an annual contribution
of money, should always remain in Australasian waters, was in
reality greatly against the interests of that part of the empire.
The Australasian taxpayer was, in fact, made to insist upon being
injured in return for his money. The proceeding would have been
exactly paralleled by a householder who might insist that a
fire-engine, maintained out of rates to which he contributes,
should always be kept within a few feet of his front door, and
not be allowed to proceed to the end of the street to extinguish
a fire threatening to extend eventually to the householder's own
dwelling. When still further localised naval defence--localised
defence, that is, of what may be called the smaller description--is
considered, the danger involved in adopting it will be quite as
apparent, and the waste of money will be more obvious. Localised
defence is a near relation of passive defence. It owes its origin
to the same sentiment, viz. a belief in the efficacy of staying
where you are instead of carrying the war into the enemy's country.
There may be cases in which no other kind of naval defence is
practicable. The immense costliness of modern navies puts it out
of the power of smaller states to maintain considerable sea-going
fleets. The historic maritime countries--Sweden, Denmark, the
Netherlands, and Portugal, the performances of whose seamen are
so justly celebrated--could not now send to sea a force equal in
number and fighting efficiency to a quarter of the force possessed
by anyone of the chief naval powers. The countries named, when
determined not to expose themselves unarmed to an assailant, can
provide themselves only with a kind of defence which, whatever
its detailed composition, must be of an intrinsically localised
character.
In their case there is nothing else to be done; and in their
case defence of the character specified would be likely to prove
more efficacious than it could be expected to be elsewhere. War
is usually made in pursuit of an object valuable enough to justify
the risks inseparable from the attempt to gain it. Aggression by
any of the countries that have been mentioned is too improbable to
call for serious apprehension. Aggression against them is far more
likely. What they have to do is to make the danger of attacking them
so great that it will equal or outweigh any advantage that could
be gained by conquering them. Their wealth and resources, compared
with those of great aggressive states, are not large enough to
make up for much loss in war on the part of the latter engaging
in attempts to seize them. Therefore, what the small maritime
countries have to do is to make the form of naval defence to
which they are restricted efficacious enough to hurt an aggressor
so much that the victory which he may feel certain of gaining
will be quite barren. He will get no glory, even in these days
of self-advertisement, from the conquest of such relatively weak
antagonists; and the plunder will not suffice to repay him for
the damage received in effecting it.
The case of a member of the great body known as the British Empire
is altogether different. Its conquest would probably be enormously
valuable to a conqueror; its ruin immensely damaging to the body
as a whole. Either would justify an enemy in running considerable
risks, and would afford him practically sufficient compensation
for considerable losses incurred. We may expect that, in war,
any chance of accomplishing either purpose will not be neglected.
Provision must, therefore, be made against the eventuality. Let
us for the moment suppose that, like one of the smaller countries
whose case has been adduced, we are restricted to localised defence.
An enemy not so restricted would be able to get, without being
molested, as near to our territory--whether in the mother country
or elsewhere--as the outer edge of the comparatively narrow belt
of water that our localised defences could have any hope of
controlling effectively. We should have abandoned to him the whole
of the ocean except a relatively minute strip of coast-waters. That
would be equivalent to saying good-bye to the maritime commerce on
which our wealth wholly, and our existence largely, depends. No
thoughtful British subject would find this tolerable. Everyone
would demand the institution of a different defence system. A
change, therefore, to the more active system would be inevitable.
It would begin with the introduction of a cruising force in addition
to the localised force. The unvarying lesson of naval history
would be that the cruising division should gain continuously
on the localised. It is only in times of peace, when men have
forgotten, or cannot be made to understand, what war is, that
the opposite takes place.
If it be hoped that a localised force will render coast-wise
traffic safe from the enemy, a little knowledge of what has happened
in war and a sufficiently close investigation of conditions will
demonstrate how baseless the hope must be. Countries not yet
thickly populated would be in much the same condition as the
countries of western Europe a century ago, the similarity being
due to the relative scarcity of good land communications. A
part--probably not a very large part--of the articles required
by the people dwelling on and near the coast in one section would
be drawn from another similar section. These articles could be
most conveniently and cheaply transported by water. If it were
worth his while, an enemy disposing of an active cruising force
strong enough to make its way into the neighbourhood of the coast
waters concerned would interrupt the 'long-shore traffic' and defy
the efforts of a localised force to prevent him. The history of the
Great War at the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning
of the nineteenth teems with instances of interruption by our
navy of the enemy's coast-wise trade when his ocean trade had
been destroyed. The history of the American War of 1812 supplies
other instances.
The localised defence could not attempt to drive off hostile
cruisers remaining far from the shore and meaning to infest the
great lines of maritime communication running towards it. If
those cruisers are to be driven off at all it can be done only
by cruising ships. Unless, therefore, we are to be content to
leave our ocean routes, where most crowded and therefore most
vulnerable, to the mercy of an enemy, we must have cruisers to
meet the hostile cruisers. If we still adhere to our localised
defence, we shall have two distinct kinds of force---one provided
merely for local, and consequently restricted, action; the other
able to act near the shore or far out at sea as circumstances
may demand. If we go to the expense of providing both kinds, we
shall have followed the example of the sage who cut a large hole
in his study door for the cat and a small one for the kitten.
Is local naval defence, then, of any use? Well, to tell the truth,
not much; and only in rare and exceptional circumstances. Even in
the case of the smaller maritime countries, to which reference
has been made above, defence of the character in question would
avail little if a powerful assailant were resolved to press home his
attack. That is to say, if only absolute belligerent considerations
were regarded. In war, however, qualifying considerations can
never be left out of sight. As the great Napoleon observed, you
can no more make war without incurring losses than you can make
omelettes without breaking eggs. The strategist--and the tactician
also, within his province--will always count the cost of a proposed
operation, even where they are nearly certain of success. The
occupation of a country, which would be of no great practical
value to you when you got it, would be a poor return for the
loss to which you would have been put in the process. That loss
might, and probably would, leave you at a great disadvantage
as regards enemies more nearly on an equality with yourself. It
would, therefore, not be the improbability of breaking down the
local naval defence of a minor maritime state, but the pressure
of qualifying and only indirectly belligerent considerations,
that would prevent its being attempted.
In a struggle between two antagonists of the first rank, the
circumstances would be different. Purely belligerent considerations
would have fuller play. Mistakes will be made, of course, for
war is full of mistakes; but it may be accepted that an attack
on any position, however defended, is in itself proof that the
assailant believed the result hoped for to be quite worth the
cost of obtaining it. Consequently, in a struggle as assumed,
every mode of defence would have to stand on its intrinsic merits,
nearly or quite unaided by the influence of considerations more
or less foreign to it. Every scrap of local defence would, in
proportion to its amount, be a diminution of the offensive defence.
Advocates of the former may be challenged to produce from naval
history any instance of local naval defence succeeding against the
assaults of an actively aggressive navy. In the late war between
Japan and Russia the Russian local defence failed completely.
In the last case, a class of vessel like that which had failed
in local defence was used successfully, because offensively,
by the Japanese. This and many another instance show that the
right way to use the kind of craft so often allocated to local
defence is to use them offensively. It is only thus that their
adoption by a great maritime power like the British Empire can
be justified. The origin and centre of our naval strength are
to be looked for in the United Kingdom. The shores of the latter
are near the shores of other great maritime powers. Its ports,
especially those at which its fleets are equipped and would be
likely to assemble on the imminence of war, are within reach of
more than one foreign place from which small swift craft to be used
offensively might be expected to issue. The method of frustrating
the efforts of these craft giving most promise of success is to
attack them as soon as possible after they issue from their own
port. To the acceptance of this principle we owe the origin of the
destroyer, devised to destroy hostile torpedo-boats before they
could reach a position from which they would be able to discharge
with effect their special weapon against our assembled ships.
It is true that the destroyer has been gradually converted into
a larger torpedo-boat. It is also true that when used as such
in local defence, as at Port Arthur, her failure was complete;
and just as true that she has never accomplished anything except
when used offensively.
When, therefore, a naval country's coast is so near the ports of
another naval country that the latter would be able with swift
small craft to attack the former's shipping, the provision of
craft of a similar kind is likely to prove advantageous. War
between great powers is a two-sided game, and what one side can
do the other will at least be likely to attempt. Nothing supports
the view that it is well--either above or beneath the surface of
the water--to stand on the defensive and await attack. Everything
points to the superiority of the plan of beating up the enemy's
quarters and attacking him before he can get far from them on his
way towards his objective. Consequently the only justification
of expending money on the localised vessels of which we have
been speaking, is the probability that an enemy would have some
of his bases within reach of those vessels' efforts. Where this
condition does not exist, the money expended is, from the belligerent
point of view, thrown away. Here comes in the greatest foe of
belligerent efficiency, viz. political expediency. In time of
peace it is thought better to conciliate voters than to prepare
to meet an enemy. If local defence is thought to be pleasing to
an inexpert electorate, it is only too likely to be provided,
no matter how ineffectual and how costly in reality it will turn
out to be.
Not only is the British Empire the first of naval powers, it
is also the first of colonial powers. One attribute is closely
connected with the other; neither, without the other, would be
applicable. The magnitude of our colonial domain, and especially
the imposing aspects of some of its greater components--the Dominion,
the Commonwealth, South Africa, New Zealand--are apt to blind
us to a feature of great strategical importance, and that is
the abundance and excellence of the naval bases that stud our
ocean lines of communication. In thinking of the great daughter
states we are liable to forget these; yet our possession of them
helps greatly to strengthen our naval position, because it
facilitates our assuming a far-reaching offensive. By themselves,
if not too numerous, they can afford valuable support to the
naval operations that are likely to prove most beneficial to
us. The fact that they are ours, and not an opponent's, also
constitutes for us an advantage of importance. Of course, they
have to be defended, or else they may fall into an opponent's
hands. Have we here a case in which highly localised or even
passive defences are desirable? No doubt we did act for a time
as though we believed that the question could only be answered
in the affirmative; but that was when we were under the influence
of the feelings engendered by observation of the long series of
land wars previously discussed.
Perhaps we have not yet quite shaken off the effects of that
influence; but we have at least got so far as to tolerate the
statement of the other side of the question. It would be a great
mistake to suppose that the places alluded to are meant to be
ports of refuge for our ships. Though they were to serve that
purpose occasionally in the case of isolated merchant vessels, it
would be but an accident, and not the essence, of their existence.
What they are meant for is to be utilised as positions where our
men-of-war can make reasonably sure of finding supplies and the
means of refit. This assurance will largely depend upon their
power of resistance if attacked. Before we can decide how to
impart that power to them we shall have to see the kind of attack
against which they would have to be prepared. If they are on a
continent, like, for example, Gibraltar, attack on them by a
land force, however improbable, is physically possible. Against
an attack of the kind a naval force could give little direct
help. Most of our outlying naval bases are really or virtually
insular, and are open to attack only by an expedition coming
across the sea. An essential characteristic of a naval base is
that it should be able to furnish supplies as wanted to the
men-of-war needing to replenish their stocks. Some, and very
often all, of these supplies are not of native production and
must be brought to the base by sea. If the enemy can stop their
conveyance to it, the place is useless as a base and the enemy is
really in control of its communications. If he is in control of its
communications he can send against it as great an expedition as he
likes, and the place will be captured or completely neutralised.
Similarly, if we control the communications, not only can supplies
be conveyed to it, but also no hostile expedition will be allowed
to reach it. Thus the primary defence of the outlying base is
the active, sea-going fleet. Moderate local defence, chiefly
of the human kind, in the shape of a garrison, will certainly be
needed. Though the enemy has not been able to obtain control
of the communications of the place, fitful raids on it will be
possible; and the place should be fortified enough and garrisoned
enough to hold out against the inconsiderable assaults comprised
in these till our own ships can drive the enemy's away.
Outlying naval bases, though but moderately fortified, that contain
depots of stores, docks, and other conveniences, have the vice
of all immobile establishments. When war does come, some of them
almost certainly, and all of them possibly, may not be in the
right place with regard to the critical area of operations. They
cannot, however, be moved. It will be necessary to do what has
been done over and over again in war, in the latest as well as
in earlier wars, and that is, establish temporary bases in more
convenient situations. Thus much, perhaps all, of the cost and
trouble of establishing and maintaining the permanent bases will
have been wasted. This inculcates the necessity of having not
as many bases as can be found, but as few as it is possible to
get on with.
The control of ocean communications, or the command of the sea,
being the end of naval warfare, and its acquisition being practicable
only by the assumption of a vigorous offensive, it follows as a
matter of course that we must have a strong and in all respects
efficient mobile navy. This is the fundamental condition on which
the continued existence of the British Empire depends. It is
thoroughly well known to every foreign Government, friendly or
unfriendly. The true objective in naval warfare is the enemy's
navy. That must be destroyed or decisively defeated, or intimidated
into remaining in its ports. Not one of these can be effected
without a mobile, that is a sea-going, fleet. The British Empire
may fall to pieces from causes as yet unknown or unsuspected: it
cannot be kept together if it loses the power of gaining command
of the sea. This is not a result of deliberate policy: it is
inherent in the nature of the empire, scattered as its parts are
throughout the world, with only the highway of the sea between
them.
Such is the position of the fleet in the defence of the empire:
such are its duties towards it. Duties in the case are mutual, and
some are owed to the fleet as well as by it. It is incumbent on
every section of the empire, without neglecting its land forces,
to lend zealous help in keeping the fleet efficient. It is not
to be supposed that this can be done only by making pecuniary
contributions to its maintenance. It is, indeed, very doubtful
if any real good can be done by urging colonies to make them.
It seems certain that the objections to this are greater than
any benefit that it can confer. Badgering our fellow-subjects
beyond sea for money payments towards the cost of the navy is
undignified and impolitic. The greatest sum asked for by the
most exacting postulant would not equal a twentieth part of the
imperial naval expenditure, and would not save the taxpayer of
the mother country a farthing in the pound of his income. No one
has yet been able to establish the equity of a demand that would
take something from the inhabitants of one colony and nothing from
those of another. Adequate voluntary contribution is a different
matter.
There are other ways in which every trans-marine possession of
the Crown can lend a hand towards perfecting the efficiency of
the fleet--ways, too, which would leave each in complete and
unmenaced control of its own money. Sea-power does not consist
entirely of men-of-war. There must be docks, refitting
establishments, magazines, and depots of stores. Ports, which
men-of-war must visit at least occasionally in war for repair or
replenishment of supplies, will have to be made secure against
the assaults which it has been said that a hastily raiding enemy,
notwithstanding our general control of the communications, might
find a chance of making. Moderate fixed fortifications are all
the passive defence that would be needed; but good and active
troops must be available. If all these are not provided by the
part of the empire in which the necessary naval bases lie, they
will have to be provided by the mother country. If the former
provides them the latter will be spared the expense of doing
so, and spared expense with no loss of dignity, and with far
less risk of friction and inconvenience than if her taxpayers'
pockets had been nominally spared to the extent of a trifling
and reluctantly paid money contribution.
It has been pointed out on an earlier page that a country can be,
and most probably will be, more effectually defended in a maritime
war if its fleet operates at a distance from, rather than near,
its shores. Every subject of our King should long to see this
condition exist if ever the empire is involved in hostilities. It
may be--for who can tell what war will bring?--that the people
of some great trans-marine dependency will have to choose between
allowing a campaign to be conducted in their country or forcing
the enemy to tolerate it in his. If they choose the latter they
must be prepared to furnish part at least of the mobile force
that can give effect to their choice. That is to say, they must
be prepared to back up our sea-power in its efforts to keep off
the tide of war from the neighbourhood of their homes. History
shows how rarely, during the struggle between European nations
for predominance in North America, the more settled parts of
our former American Colonies were the theatre of war: but then
the colonists of those days, few comparatively as they were, sent
strong contingents to the armies that went campaigning, in the
territory of the various enemies. This was in every way better--the
sequel proved how much better--than a money contribution begged
or extorted would have been.
Helping in the manner first suggested need not result in dissociating
our fellow-subjects beyond the seas from participation in the work
of the active sea-going fleet. It is now, and still would be,
open to them as much as to any native or denizen of the mother
country. The time has fully come when the people of the greater
outlying parts of the empire should insist upon perfect equality
of treatment with their home fellow-subjects in this matter.
They should resent, as a now quite out-of-date and invidious
distinction, any difference in qualification for entry, locality
of service, or remuneration for any rank or rating. Self-respect
and a dignified confidence in their own qualities, the excellence
of which has been thoroughly tested, will prompt the King's colonial
subjects to ask for nothing but equal chances in a force on which
is laid so large a part of the duty of defending the empire. Why
should they cut themselves off from the promising career that
service in the Royal Navy opens to the capable, the zealous,
and the honourable aspirant of every grade? Some of the highest
posts in the navy are now, or lately have been, held by men who
not only happened to be born in British Colonies, but who also
belong to resident colonial families. Surely in this there is a
strong moral cement for binding and keeping the empire together.
It is unnecessary to expatiate on the contrast between the prospect
of such a career and that which is all that a small local service
could offer. It would soon be seen towards which the enterprising
and the energetic would instinctively gravitate.
In the defence of the British Empire the fleet holds a twofold
position. To its general belligerent efficiency, its strength
and activity, we must look if the plans of an enemy are to be
brought to nought. It, and it only, can secure for us the control
of the ocean communications, on the freedom of which from serious
interruptions the prosperity--indeed, the existence--of a scattered
body must depend. In time of peace it can be made a great
consolidating force, fostering every sentiment of worthy local
patriotism whilst obliterating all inclination to mischievous
narrow particularism, and tending to perfect the unity which gives
virtue to national grandeur and is the true secret of national
independence and strength.