THE EVE OF WAR
The Prologue of Armageddon--The “Prince Henry”
Race--Bernhardi--“England and the Next War”--“Danger”--General
Sir H. Wilson--The Channel Tunnel--Naval Defects--Rubber
Collars--Mines--Willie Redmond.
For a long time I never seriously believed in the German menace.
Frequently I found myself alone, in a company of educated Englishmen,
in my opinion that it was non-existent--or at worst greatly
exaggerated. This conclusion was formed on two grounds. The first was,
that I knew it to be impossible that we could attack Germany save in
the face of monstrous provocation. By the conditions of our government,
even if those in high places desired to do such a thing, it was utterly
impracticable, for a foreign war could not be successfully carried
on by Great Britain unless the overwhelming majority of the people
approved of it. Our foreign, like our home, politics are governed
by the vote of the proletariat. It would be impossible to wage an
aggressive war against any Power if the public were not convinced of
its justice and necessity. For this reason we could not attack Germany.
On the other hand, it seemed to be equally unthinkable that Germany
should attack us. One failed to see what she could possibly hope to
gain by such a proceeding. She had enemies already upon her eastern and
western frontiers, and it was surely unlikely that she would go out
of her way to pick a quarrel with the powerful British Empire. If she
made war and lost it, her commerce would be set back and her rising
colonial empire destroyed. If she won it, it was difficult to see where
she could hope for the spoils. We could not give her greater facilities
for trade than she had already. We could not give her habitable white
colonies, for she would find it impossible to take possession of them
in the face of the opposition of the inhabitants. An indemnity she
could never force from us. Some coaling stations and possibly some
tropical colonies, of which latter she already possessed abundance,
were the most that she could hope for. Would such a prize as that be
worth the risk attending such a war? To me it seemed that there could
be only one answer to such a question.
I am still of the same opinion. But unhappily the affairs of nations
are not always regulated by reason, and occasionally a country may
be afflicted by a madness which sets all calculations at defiance.
Then, again, I had looked upon the matter too much as between Great
Britain and Germany. I had not sufficiently considered the chance of
our being drawn in against our will in order to safeguard Belgium,
or in order to stop the annihilation of France. It was so perfectly
clear that Britain by her treaty obligations, and by all that is human
and honourable, would fight if Belgium were invaded, that one could
not conceive Germany taking such a step with any other expectation.
And yet what we could not conceive is exactly what happened, for it
is clear that the delusions as to our degeneration in character had
really persuaded the Germans that the big cowardly fellow would stand
by with folded arms and see his little friend knocked about by the
bully. The whole idea showed an extraordinary ignorance of the British
psychology, but absurd as it was, it was none the less the determining
influence at the critical moment of the world’s history. The influence
of the lie is one of the strangest problems of life--that which is not
continually influences that which is. Within one generation imagination
and misrepresentation have destroyed the Boer republics and Imperial
Germany.
One of my most remarkable pre-war experiences, which influenced my
mind deeply, was my participation in the amateur motor race called
the Prince Henry Competition. It was rather a reliability test than
a race, for the car had to go some 150 miles a day on an average at
its own pace, but marks were taken off for all involuntary stoppages,
breakdowns, accidents, etc. Each owner had to drive his own car, and
I had entered my little sixteen horse-power landaulette. There were
about forty British cars and fifty German, so that the procession was a
very considerable one. Starting from Homburg, the watering-place, our
route ran through North Germany, then by steamer to Southampton, up to
Edinburgh and back to London by devious ways.
The competition had been planned in Germany, and there can be no doubt
in looking back that a political purpose underlay it. The idea was to
create a false entente by means of sport, which would react upon the
very serious political development in the wind, namely, the occupation
of Agadir on the south-west coast of Morocco, which occurred on our
second day out. As Prince Henry, who organized and took part in the
competition, was also head of the German Navy, it is of course obvious
that he knew that the _Panther_ was going to Agadir, and that there was
a direct connection between the two events, in each of which he was a
leading actor. It was a clumsy bit of stage management and could not
possibly have been effective.
The peculiarity of the tour was that each car had an officer of the
army or navy of the other nation as a passenger, to check the marks.
Thus my wife and I had the enforced company for nearly three weeks of
Count Carmer, Rittmeister of Breslau Cuirassiers, who began by being
stiff and inhuman, but speedily thawed and became a very good fellow.
The arrangements were very peculiar. Some British paper--the “Mail” if
I remember right--had stated that the Competition was really a device
to pass a number of German officers through Great Britain in order to
spy out the land. I think there may have been some truth in this, as
our good Count when we reached London went off to a hotel down in the
East End, which seemed a curious thing for a wealthy Junker to do.
This criticism seems to have annoyed the Kaiser, and he said--or so it
was reported--that none but junior officers should go as observers.
I should think that ours was the senior of the lot, and the others
were mostly captains and lieutenants. On the other hand, the British
Government, out of compliment to Prince Henry, had appointed the very
best men available as observers. If there had been a sudden crisis over
Agadir, and Germany had impounded us all, it would have been a national
disaster and would have made a difference in a European war. Speaking
from an imperfect memory, I can recall that we had General Grierson,
Charles Munro, Rawlinson, I think, Captain--now General--Swinton of
Tanks fame, Delme Ratcliffe, Colonel--now General--Holman, Major--now
General--Thwaites, and many other notables both of the Army and Navy.
From the first relations were strained. There was natural annoyance
when these senior officers found that their opposite numbers were
youngsters of no experience. Then, again, at Cologne and Munster I
understand that the German military did not show the proper courtesies,
and certainly the hospitality which the whole party received until we
reached England was negligible. The Germans themselves must have felt
ashamed of the difference. Personally the competitors were not a bad
set of fellows, though there were some bounders among them. We were not
all above criticism ourselves.
Of the Competition itself little need be said, as I have treated the
sporting side of it elsewhere. Some of the Germans seemed to me to be
a little mad, for they seemed consumed by the idea that it was a race,
whereas it mattered nothing who was at the head of the procession
or who at the tail, so long as you did the allotted distance in the
allotted time. I saw a German bound into his car after some stoppage:
“How many ahead? Three Englishmen! Forwards! Forwards!” he cried. They
barged into each other, dashed furiously round corners, and altogether
behaved in a wild fashion, while our sedate old fellows pursued their
course in a humdrum fashion and saved their marks. There were, however,
some good fellows among the Germans. I have not forgotten how one of
them, anonymously, used to place flowers in my wife’s corner every
morning.
But as an attempt at an entente it was a great failure. The British
officer who was compelled to spend weeks with a carload of Germans
was not expansive and refused to be digested. Some of the Germans,
too, became disagreeable. I saw a large German car--they were all Benz
and Mercédès, generally 70-80 horse-power--edge a little British car
right off the road on to the grass track beside it. The driver of the
British car was a pretty useful middle-weight boxer, but he kept his
temper or there might have been trouble. There was very little love
lost on either side, though I, as one of the few German-speaking
competitors, did my very best to bring about a more cordial atmosphere.
But war was in the air. Both sides spoke of it. Several of the British
officers were either of the Intelligence branch, or had special German
experience, and they were unanimous about it. My attempts towards peace
were rejected. “The only thing I want to do with these people is to
fight them,” said Colonel Holman. “Same here,” said the officer with
him. It was a deep antagonism on either side. They were not only sure
of the war, but of the date. “It will be on the first pretext after the
Kiel Canal is widened.” The Kiel Canal was finished in June, 1914, and
war came in August, so that they were not far wrong. There was some
little German chaff on the subject. “Wouldn’t you like one of these
little islands?” I heard a German say as we steamed out past Heligoland
and the Frisian Belt.
It was this experience which first made me take the threat of war
seriously, but I could have persuaded myself that I was misled, had it
not been that I read soon afterwards Bernhardi’s book “Germany and the
Next War.” I studied it carefully and I put my impression of it into
print in an article called “England and the Next War,” which appeared
in the “Fortnightly Review” in the summer of 1913. It lies before me
now, as I write, and it is interesting to see how, as I projected my
mind and my imagination over the possibilities of the future, I read
much aright and some little wrong.
I began by epitomizing Bernhardi’s whole argument, and showing that,
however we might disagree with it, we were bound to take it seriously,
since he was undoubtedly a leader of a certain class of thought in his
own country--that very military class which was now predominant. I
demurred at his assumption that the German Army in equal numbers must
overcome the French. “It is possible,” I remarked, “that even so high
an authority as General Bernhardi has not entirely appreciated how
Germany has been the teacher of the world in military matters and how
thoroughly her pupils have responded to that teaching. That attention
to detail, perfection of arrangement for mobilization, and careful
preparation which have won German victories in the past may now be
turned against her, and she may find that others can equal her in her
own virtues.” I then examined Bernhardi’s alleged grievances against
Great Britain, and showed how baseless they were, and how little
they could hope to gain by victory. I quoted one poisonous sentence:
“Even English attempts at a _rapprochement_ must not blind us to the
real situation. We may at most use them to delay the necessary and
inevitable war until we may fairly imagine that we have some prospect
of success.” “This last sentence,” I remarked, “must come home to some
of us who have worked in the past for a better feeling between the two
countries.”
I then gave an epitome of Bernhardi’s plan of campaign as outlined in
charming frankness in his volume, and I sketched out how far we were
in a position to meet it and what were the joints in our armour. My
general conclusions may be given as follows:--
1. That invasion was not a serious danger and that the thought of it
should not deflect our plans.
2. That if invasion becomes impossible then any force like the
Territorials unless it is prepared to go abroad becomes useless.
3. That we should not have conscription save as a very last resource,
since it is against the traditions of our people.
4. That our real danger lay in the submarine and in the airship, which
could not be affected by blockade.
In discussing the submarine I said: “What exact effect a swarm of
submarines, lying off the mouth of the Channel and the Irish Sea, would
produce upon the victualling of these islands is a problem which is
beyond my conjecture. Other ships besides the British would be likely
to be destroyed, and international complications would probably follow.
I cannot imagine that such a fleet would entirely, or even to a very
large extent, cut off our supplies. But it is certain that they would
have the effect of considerably raising the price of whatever did reach
us. Therefore, we should suffer privation, though not necessarily
such privation as would compel us to make terms. From the beginning
of the war every home source would naturally be encouraged, and it is
possible that before our external supplies were seriously decreased,
our internal ones might be well on the way to make up the deficiency.”
This did, I think, roughly outline the actual course of events.
5. That the submarines would affect military operations should we send
a force to France or Belgium.
6. That therefore the Channel Tunnel was a vital necessity.
7. That all unnecessary expenses should be at once cut down, so that
British credit should stand at its highest when the strain came.
These are only the general conclusions. The article attracted some
attention, but I do not suppose that it had any actual influence upon
the course of events. To reinforce it I wrote an imaginary episode
called “Danger” in the “Strand Magazine,” to show how even a small
Power might possibly bring us to our knees by the submarine. It was
singularly prophetic, for not only did it outline the actual situation
as it finally developed, but it contained many details, the zig-zagging
of the merchant ships, the use of submarine guns, the lying for the
night on sandy bottoms, and so forth--exactly as they occurred. The
article was sent round in proof to a number of high naval officers,
mostly retired, for their opinions. I am afraid that the printed
results, which I will not be so cruel as to quote, showed that it
was as well they _were_ retired, since they had no sense of the
possibilities of the naval warfare of the future.
One result of my “Fortnightly” article was that General Henry Wilson,
late Chief of the Staff College as he then was, desired to see me
to cross-question me, and a meeting was arranged at the house of
Colonel Sackville-West, Major Swinton being also present. There, after
luncheon, General Wilson machine-gunned me with questions for about an
hour. He was fierce and explosive in his manner, and looked upon me, no
doubt, as one of those pestilential laymen who insist upon talking of
things they don’t understand. As I could give reasons for my beliefs, I
refused to be squashed, and when the interview was over I went straight
down to the Athenæum Club and wrote it all down from memory. It makes
such curious reading that I give it exactly as I reported it that day,
in dialogue, with one or two comments from Colonel Sackville-West.
After saying with some asperity that I had made many statements
which I could not substantiate, and so might give the public far too
optimistic a view of the position, he said: “Why do you say that we
would never pay an indemnity to Germany?”
A. C. D. It is a matter of individual opinion. I go upon history and
upon the spirit of our people.
GEN. W. Had not France equal spirit in 1870? How is it that they paid
an indemnity?
A. C. D. Because Germany was sitting on top of them, and she had to pay
to get from under.
GEN. W. Why may she not sit on top of us?
A. C. D. Because we live on an island and she cannot occupy us in the
same way.
COLONEL S.-W. I believe a little pressure on London would cause us to
pay an indemnity.
A. C. D. The man who suggested it would get hanged.
COLONEL S.-W. They would hang the man who made the war.
A. C. D. No, they would back him but hang the traitor.
GEN. W. You say that they would gain nothing by war. What about the
carrying trade of the world?
A. C. D. The carrying trade depends on economic questions and upon
geographical situation. For example, the Norwegians, who have no fleet,
are one of the principal carriers.
GEN. W. At least they could starve us out if they held the seas.
A. C. D. Well, that is where my tunnel would come in; but of course I
am entirely with you as to the need of holding the seas.
GEN. W. Well, now, you admit that we must go to the help of France?
A. C. D. Certainly.
GEN. W. But what can six divisions do?
A. C. D. Well, my point is that six divisions with a tunnel are better
than six divisions without a tunnel.
COLONEL S.-W. If we have a tunnel we must have a force worth sending to
send through it.
A. C. D. If you are going to couple the tunnel with compulsory service,
you will get neither one nor the other.
GEN. W. I think, so far as submarines go, that the British patrols
would make it a very desperate service. Some desperate man might get
his boat through.
A. C. D. Some desperate man might command a flotilla and get it through.
GEN. W. Many things seem possible theoretically which cannot be done
in practice, but no doubt there is a danger there. In your view the
Territorials are simply a support for the fighting Army?
A. C. D. Yes.
GEN. W. But they are too untrained to go into action.
A. C. D. They would be reserves and have time to train.
GEN. W. Your idea of troops coming back in case of a raid through the
tunnel is impossible. You could not withdraw troops in that way from
their positions.
A. C. D. Well, with all respect, I do not believe either in a raid or
in an invasion.
GEN. W. A war with Germany would be short and sharp--seven months would
see it finished.
A. C. D. You mean, no doubt, the continental part. I could imagine the
naval part lasting ten years.
COLONEL S.-W. If your fleet was crushed, you would have to give in.
A. C. D. A fleet can never be annihilated as an army is. There always
remain scattered forces which can go on fighting. I don’t think we need
give in because the fleet is crushed.
GEN. W. You don’t suppose that the Englishman is a better soldier by
nature than the Frenchman or the German?
A. C. D. At least he is a volunteer.
GEN. W. How would that affect the matter?
A. C. D. I think he would rally better if he were beaten. There would
be no end to his resistance, like the North in the American War.
GEN. W. Don’t you think, if war were declared with Germany, that the
public, fearing an invasion, would clamour against any regular troops
going abroad at all?
A. C. D. I think the public would leave it to the War Office. In the
South African War they allowed our troops to go 6,000 miles away, and
yet there was a danger of a European coalition.
COLONEL S.-W. But our Navy was supreme then.
A. C. D. Not against a coalition.
GEN. W. When Cervera’s fleet got loose, the Americans would not allow
their troops to embark.
COLONEL S.-W. Even the Pacific coast was terrified.
A. C. D. Well, surely that is the _reductio ad absurdum_.
COLONEL S.-W. Still, the fact remains.
GEN. W. If we could send fifteen divisions we could stop a war.
A. C. D. But that means compulsory service.
GEN. W. Why not?
A. C. D. Because I am convinced that you could not get it. I have twice
stood for Parliament, and I am sure no candidate would have a chance on
such a platform.
GEN. W. Our descendants will say, “Well, you saw the danger, and yet
you made no effort.”
A. C. D. Well, we have doubled our estimates. Surely that is an effort
and must represent power somewhere.
We parted quite good friends, but the General’s evident desire to
rope me in as a compulsory-service man was vain. I venture to think
that Lord Roberts’ efforts in that direction were a great mistake,
and that if he had devoted the same great energy to the line of least
resistance, which was the Territorial force, we could have had half a
million in the ranks when war broke out.
From the time that I was convinced by my experiences at the Prince
Henry race and by carefully reading German literature that a war was
really brewing, I naturally began to speculate as to the methods of
attack and of defence. I have an occasional power of premonition,
psychic rather than intellectual, which exercises itself beyond my
own control, and which when it really comes is never mistaken. The
danger seems to be that my own prejudice or reasonings may interfere
with it. On this occasion I saw as clearly as possible what the course
of a naval war between England and Germany would be. I had no doubt
at all that our greatest danger--a desperately real one--was that
they would use their submarines in order to sink our food ships, and
that we might be starved into submission. Even if we won every fleet
action, this unseen enemy would surely bring us to our knees. It all
worked out in exact detail in my mind--so much so that Admiral Capelle
mentioned my name afterwards in the Reichstag, and said that only I had
accurately seen the economic form which the war would assume. This was
perhaps true, so far as the economic side went, but Sir Percy Scott
had spoken with far more authority than I on the growing power of the
submarines in warfare.
I was made very uneasy by this line of thought, and all the more so
because I asked several naval officers for some reassurance and could
get none. One of them, I remember, said that it was all right because
we should put a boom across the Channel, which seemed to me like saying
that you could keep eels from going down a river by laying a plank
across it. Among others I spoke to Captain Beatty, as he then was,
whom I met at a week-end party at Knole, and though he could give me
no reassurance about submarines he impressed me by his vivid and alert
personality, and I felt that a Navy with such men in command was safe
enough where fighting was concerned. It could not, however, fill the
platter if there was no loaf to place upon it. I pondered the matter,
and could only see three palliatives, and no cure.
The first was to encourage home growth by a bonus or by a tariff. But
here our accursed party politics barred the way, as I had learned only
too clearly after spending a thousand pounds in fighting the Hawick
Burghs in order to get some form of agricultural protection.
The second was to meet submarines by submarine food-carriers. I think
that this may prove the final solution, but the ships were not yet
planned, far less launched.
The third and most obvious was the Channel Tunnel, or tunnels for
preference. I had supported this scheme for years, and felt that as
a nation we had made fools of ourselves over it, exactly as we did
over the Suez Canal. If we were an island the size of the Wight such
timidity would be intelligible, but the idea of a great country being
invaded through a hole in the ground twenty-seven miles long seemed
to me the most fantastic possible, while the practical use of the
tunnel both for trade and for tourists was obvious. But now I saw
that far more serious issues were at stake, for if we were held up by
submarines, and if France was either neutral or our ally, we could land
all the Eastern portion of our supplies, which is not inconsiderable,
at Marseilles and so run them safely to London without breaking bulk.
When I put this forward in the press some military critic said: “But
if the submarines could hold up the Channel they could hold up the
Mediterranean also.” This did not seem a good argument, because Germany
was the possible enemy and it had no port in the Mediterranean, while
the radius of submarine action at that time was not great enough to
allow them to come so far. So strongly did I feel about the need for a
Channel Tunnel in view of the coming war that I remember writing three
memoranda and sending one to the Army, one to the Navy, and one to the
Council of Imperial Defence. Of course I got no satisfaction of any
kind, but Captain--now General--Swinton, who was acting as secretary
to the latter body, told me that he had read my paper and that it had
“set him furiously thinking.” I wrote to Lord Northcliffe also, without
avail. I felt as if, like Solomon Eagle, I could go through London with
a burning brazier on my head, if I could only get people to understand
the need of the tunnel. The whole discussion had taken the utterly
impossible and useless turn towards compulsory service, and the things
which were practical and vital were being missed.
I spoke in public about the tunnel when I could, and on one occasion,
just a year before the war, I raised a discussion in “The Times,” Mr.
Ronald McNeill giving me an opening by declaring in the House that
the project was a crazy one. There was also about that time a meeting
in the City at the Cannon Street Hotel, where a very influential body
of men supported the scheme. My speech, as reported next day in “The
Times” in a very condensed form, ran thus:
“Sir A. Conan Doyle said there were possibilities in a future war that
rendered it a matter of vital national importance that the tunnel
should be constructed without delay. The danger was that we were
getting five-sixths of our food supplies from abroad, and submarine
craft were developing remarkable qualities which were not generally
realized. They were able to avoid a blockade squadron, and to pass
under a patrol line of torpedo-boats without their existence being even
suspected. If they were sent to the line of our commerce and told to
sink a ship, they would torpedo that ship for a certainty. What would
be the condition of our food supplies if there were twenty-five hostile
submarines off the Kent coast and twenty-five in the Irish Channel? The
price of food would reach an almost prohibitive figure. The Military
Correspondent of ‘The Times’ was a great opponent of the Channel Tunnel
and was always running it down and mocking at it. But the other day
he wrote an article on the Mediterranean, and, forgetting the Channel
Tunnel, he said: ‘We must remember that more than half the food supply
of this country now comes from the Mediterranean.’ If it came through
the Mediterranean, and if it got to Marseilles and we had the Channel
Tunnel, it was only a matter of management to get it through to London.”
The Military Correspondent of “The Times,” who was presumably Colonel
Repington, had an article next day deriding the scheme, and making
light of my picture of submarines in the Channel. Well, we have
lived to see them, and I wish my argument had proved less sound.
Colonel Repington has proved himself so clear-sighted an observer and
commentator in the last war that he can be forgiven if, for once, he
was on the wrong side; but if the Channel Tunnel had been put in hand
at once after that meeting and rushed to completion, I wonder if it
would be an exaggeration to say that a hundred million pounds would
have been saved, while what it would have meant in evacuating wounded
and in communications in stormy weather could not be represented in
words. Imagine the convenience and saving of time and labour when
munitions could be started at Woolwich and landed at Amiens without a
break.
It has been argued that if the tunnel had been built the first swoop of
the Germans would have brought them to the end of it and it would have
been destroyed. But this will not bear examination, for it is based on
the idea that we should have left the end unprotected. It would as a
matter of fact have been the most natural fortress in the world, the
strongest and the strangest, for it would be the only fortress where
you could increase or withdraw your garrison at will, and introduce any
supplies at any time you might desire. A very few forts and trenches on
those convenient chalk slopes with their wide, smooth fields of fire,
would hold the tunnel. In stretching their right wing as far as Amiens
the Germans were very nearly cut off, and it was by a very great effort
that Von Kluck saved it. If instead of Amiens he had reached Calais
with sufficient forces for a siege he would have been unable to get
away. An argument based upon the supposition that we should leave the
mouth of the tunnel in Picardy as unprotected as the mouth of a coal
mine in Kent is surely an unsound one. Now, in 1924, they are talking
of building the tunnel. I wonder what our descendants will think of the
whole business--probably what we think of the men who opposed the Suez
Canal.
It is a most singular thing that our Navy, with so many practical and
clever men in it, with a genius like Winston Churchill at the head, and
another genius like Lord Fisher in continual touch, did not realize,
until faced with actual results, some of the most important and surely
most obvious points in connection with naval warfare. It came, I
suppose, from the iron bonds of tradition, and that there were so many
things to supervise, but the fact remains that a perfectly overwhelming
case could be made out against the higher brain department of our
senior service. A war with Germany was anticipated, and, as the public
imagined, was prepared for, but save for the ship-building programme,
which left us a narrow margin of safety, and for the concentration
of our distant squadrons into British waters and the elimination of
many useless craft which consumed good crews, what evidence is there
of foresight? It was known, for example, that Scapa Flow and Cromarty
were the two possible anchorages of the Fleet in a long-distance
blockade, and yet no attempt had been made to mount guns or to net the
entrances, so that for months there was a possibility of a shattering
disaster; and Jellicoe, with the prudence which always distinguished
him, had to put to sea every night lest his fleet should present a
sitter to a torpedo attack. We showed intelligence in sticking always
to the heavier guns, but our mines were wretchedly inefficient, our
range-finders were very inferior, and our shells proved to have less
penetrating and explosive force.
But the worst thing of all was the utter want of imagination shown in
picturing the conditions of modern naval warfare, which must surely
be done before just preparation can be made. It was clear that the
effect of armour protection on one side, and of the mine and the
torpedo on the other, would mean that if the ship floated there would
be little loss of life, but that she was very likely to sink, in which
case the whole crew would go. Therefore provision must be made for
the saving of every one on board. The authorities, however, seem to
have completely underrated the dangers of the mine and torpedo, and
centred their attention upon the surface naval action, where boats,
being inflammable, would be a danger and where in any case they would
probably be shot to pieces before the end of the fight. The pre-war
idea was to throw the boats and every other wooden object overboard
before the action began.
The very first day of naval warfare showed the importance of the mine,
as on August 5 the Germans laid a minefield outside the mouth of the
Thames which nearly blew up their own returning Ambassador, Prince
Lichnowsky, and did actually cause the destruction of one of our light
vessels, the _Amphion_. It was clear that one of the great dangers of
the sea lay in this direction, and it soon became equally clear that
nothing had been done to think out some defence. Foresight would have
anticipated this situation and would have set the brains of the younger
naval officers at work devising some remedy. As a matter of fact the
real solution had been roughly indicated by Colonel Repington in
“Blackwood’s Magazine” some four years before, in which he spoke of a
device called “the otter” used by poachers for gathering up lines, and
suggested that something of the sort would gather up the lines to which
mines are attached. After three years of war, and very many preventable
losses, including the great battleship _Audacious_, the splendid
auxiliary cruiser _Laurentic_ with six millions in gold on board, and
many other fine vessels, the cure was found in the paravane, which was
an adaptation of “the otter.” After its adoption ships could cruise
over a minefield with little fear of injury, and our squadrons were no
longer confined to the narrow lanes which had been swept clear.
I was from the beginning greatly impressed by this danger, and I wrote
early in the war both to the papers and the Admiralty, but my device
was crude and clumsy compared to what was actually done. My idea was
something like a huge trident or toasting fork which could be hauled up
on the bows when the waters were safe, but could be pushed forward and
dipped down in front when there was danger, so as to explode any mine
before the ship could actually reach it. Such an apparatus would be
better than nothing, but still I quite admit that it was an inadequate
solution of the problem. But at least it was an attempt--and no other
attempt was visible for years afterwards.
But the particular instance of mines was a small consideration beside
the huge permanent incredible fact that while it was clear that a
battleship could suddenly go down like a kettle with a hole in it,
dragging a thousand men down with it, there was no provision by which
the lives of these men could be saved. It was really unbelievable until
there came the terrible example when the three cruisers, _Hogue_,
_Aboukir_, and _Cressy_, were all put down in a single day. A young
German lieutenant with twenty men had caused us more loss than we
suffered at Trafalgar. To learn how the helpless men had nowhere
to turn, and how they clung on to floating petrol tins as their
only safety, should have been terrible reading to those whose want
of foresight had brought about such a situation. It was a dreadful
object-lesson, and there seemed no reason why it should not be often
repeated. I had already commented in the press upon the situation
which would arise in a general action, with ships sinking all round
and no boats. I suggested that it might be possible to drop the boats
before battle and to have them in tow of a steam launch which could
bring them up if needed. Of course I saw all the difficulties and
dangers of such a course, but if one took the word of the sailors that
the boats were a danger on board then I could think of no other way
of working it. When I wrote about it, several naval critics, notably
Commander Jane, rapped me hard over the knuckles, and deplored the
intrusion of landsmen into matters of which they knew nothing. But
when this great catastrophe occurred, I realized that the protection
must be individual rather than collective, and that one must ventilate
the thing in public with such warmth that the authorities would be
compelled to do something. If wooden boats were impossible, what about
India-rubber collars which would at least hold the poor fellows above
the waves until some help could reach them? I opened an agitation in
several papers, notably the “Daily Mail” and the “Daily Chronicle,” and
within a very few days--either _post hoc_ or _propter hoc_--there was a
rush order for a quarter of a million collars which could be blown out
by the men themselves, and which were henceforth to be part of their
vital equipment. The “Hampshire Telegraph,” the best informed of naval
papers, said:
“The Navy has to thank Sir Conan Doyle for the new life-saving
apparatus the Admiralty are supplying. Some weeks ago he asked if
it was not possible to manufacture a simple and easily inflatable
life-belt, and, thanks to the enterprise of a rubber-manufacturing
firm, a swimming collar is now being supplied to the men of the fleet
in the North Sea as fast as they can be turned out. The apparatus is
exceedingly simple. It is made of rubber, enclosed in a stout web
casing, and weighs complete under three ounces. It can be carried
in the pocket and can be inflated in position round a man’s neck in
about ten seconds. Its effect is to keep the man’s head above water
indefinitely. There is little doubt that this swimming collar will
result in the saving of many lives, and the Admiralty are to be
congratulated upon the promptitude with which they have adopted the
suggestion of Sir Conan Doyle.”
I was by no means satisfied with this, however; for, however useful in
calm water on a summer day, it was clear that men would soon perish
by exhaustion in a rough winter sea, and the collars would only
prolong their agony. If wooden boats took up too much room and were
inflammable, how about India-rubber collapsible boats? I wrote in the
“Daily Mail”:
“We can spare and replace the ships. We cannot spare the men. They
_must_ be saved, and this is how to save them. There is nothing so
urgent as this. We can view all future disasters with equanimity if
the ship’s company has only a fair chance for its life.” Of course
one recognized that there were some situations where nothing would
avail. The _Formidable_, which was torpedoed near Plymouth on January
1, 1915, was a case in point. Captain Miller, of the Brixham trawler
which rescued seventy men, said to the “Daily Mail” representative that
I was doing a national work in my efforts to get better life-saving
appliances for the men of the Navy. He remarked that in calm weather
collapsible boats would be of use, but they could not possibly have
lived in the seas which were breaking over the _Formidable’s_ whaler.
The weather here was exceptional, and one cannot hope to provide for
every case.
The final result of the agitation was the provision of collars, of
safety waistcoats, and (as I believe) of a better supply of boats.
I need hardly say that I never received a word of acknowledgment
or thanks from the Admiralty. One is not likely to be thanked by a
Government department for supplementing its work. But it may be that
some poor seaman struggling in the water sent me his good wish, and
those are the thanks that I desired. There was nothing in the war which
moved me more than the thought of the helpless plight of these gallant
men who were sacrificed when they could so easily have been saved.
Like every man with Irish blood in his veins, I was deeply moved by the
tragedy of Ireland during the war--her fine start, the want of tact
with which it was met, her sad relapse, and finally her failure to rise
to the great world crisis.
A letter which I value very much is one which I received from Major
William Redmond just before his lamented death. What an abyss of evil
Ireland would have been saved from had the spirit of this letter been
the inspiration upon which she acted!
18.12.16.
DEAR SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE,--
It was very good of you to write to me and I value very much the
expression of your opinion. There are a great many Irishmen to-day who
feel that out of this War we should try and build up a new Ireland.
The trouble is men are so timid about meeting each other half-way.
It would be a fine memorial to the men who have died so splendidly,
if we could over their graves build up a bridge between the North and
South. I have been thinking a lot about this lately in France--no one
could help doing so when one finds that the two sections from Ireland
are actually _side_ by _side_ holding the trenches! No words--not even
your own--could do justice to the splendid action of the new Irish
soldiers. They never have flinched. They never give trouble, and they
are steady and sober. Had poor Kettle lived he would have given the
world a wonderful account of things out there. I saw a good deal of
Kettle, and we had many talks of the Unity we both hoped would come
out of the War. I have been an extreme Nationalist all my life, and if
others as extreme, perhaps, on the other side will only come half-way,
then I believe, impossible as it may seem, we should be able to hit
upon a plan to satisfy the Irish sentiment and the Imperial sentiment
at one and the same time. I am sure you can do very much, as you
already have done, in this direction. I am going back for Christmas
with the men I have become attached very deeply to during the last two
years.
With many thanks for your letter,
Yours very truly,
WILLIAM REDMOND.
Major.
If this letter, even now, were posted up by the Free State and Northern
Governments at every cross-roads of Ireland the spirit of Willie
Redmond might heal the wounds of the unhappy country.