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For
all the blood shed by her soldiers and sailors in the mid-nineteenth century to
preserve Turkey in command of the Straits of the Bosphorus and Dardanelles it
was the opening of a man-made waterway – the Suez Canal in 1869 – which
profoundly altered Britain’s strategic interest in the Mediterranean. In the
first full year of operation of the Canal less than half a million net register
tons were carried; by 1913 this figure was to exceed twenty million tons, the
majority of it British cargo in British ships. The sea journey from London to
Bombay was shortened by over forty per cent. Suez was vital for the trade with
India and Persia (though most of the Australian and New Zealand cargo still went
via either Cape as late as 1912)
while Egypt became an important outlet for British goods. British interests in
the region had become, therefore, economic in addition to political and
strategic yet the wherewithal to defend these interests was seriously challenged
within a matter of years following the opening of the Canal — for the 1880s
was to be another bad decade for the Royal Navy. Rent by internal struggles, the
parlous naval situation so evident in the debates of that decade encouraged
external challengers, foremost of whom was Britain’s closest neighbour and
obvious enemy, France. Six years after the establishment of the British
protectorate over Egypt in 1882 the French fleet, which had previously been
evenly distributed at Brest, Cherbourg and Toulon, was concentrated in the
Mediterranean at Toulon. Already, by this time, over 16% of Britain’s imports
and nearly 21% of her exports went through the Canal while another 10% and 8.5%
respectively were confined to Mediterranean Europe.
After the so-called “Dark Ages” of the Royal Navy in the 1870s, a
Liberal administration under Gladstone had returned to power in May 1880. Though
still a determined opponent of excessive spending on armaments, the new Prime
Minister appointed a strong Board of Admiralty that promised much; this promise,
following a period of parsimony, went unfulfilled.
The First Naval Lord at the time, Admiral Sir Astley Cooper Key, has been
described as ‘a born administrator, if by that is meant someone who loves work
and hates decisions. An essentially weak man, he crowded his desk, his day and
his mind with comforting trivia, and carefully excluded anything so unsettling
as policy.’ Gladstone’s First Lord, Northbrook, more concerned that the
Estimates were kept down, ‘was content to leave the running of the Navy to
those, like Key, who enjoyed it.’
As well as budgetary problems – the numerous colonial wars were a running sore
draining money away from the Naval allowance – the country was faced with a
surfeit of possible enemies in addition to France while the pace of
technological innovation resulted in the rapid obsolescence of capital ships.
Furthermore, new weapons, primarily the torpedo, threatened the very future of
the battleship.
Rebuked in the House of Lords in July 1884, Northbrook admitted that, if
suddenly presented with three or four millions to spend, the Admiralty would
have great difficulty in deciding how to spend it, a casual remark intending to
illustrate the problems faced in an era of such rapid development but which was
turned against Northbrook and quoted out of context in an attempt to demonstrate
incompetence. The First Lord was unable to solve the conundrum that the latest
guns could destroy any type of armour then available while to try to afford some
protection to the vital parts with even thicker armour meant that larger areas
were left undefended. Following this line of reasoning to its logical conclusion
some naval officers were forced to the belief that, in the next naval war, the
torpedo would be the most powerful weapon of offence and that any money spent on
battleships was money wasted. By this time Russia was menacing India while the
French, annoyed at the British refusal to evacuate Egypt, had established
cordial relations with Germany who, in turn, were upset with Gladstone over the
partition of Africa. Although the Royal Navy still possessed the largest fleet
in the world it was realized that, now, a combination of enemies would outnumber
Britain in first class ships.
At the time, however, neither political party desired a naval panic nor
could they afford the resulting clamour for new ships. Successive budgets since
1880 had been burdened by the effects of heavy borrowing in the previous years
to finance colonial wars and a military and naval build-up against Russia.
Amongst those in the know, the pressure to expose the parlous state of the Navy
became too great; the storm was about to break. In August 1884, during the
Parliamentary recess, Hugh Arnold Foster proposed a series of articles on the
subject to W. T. Stead, editor of the Liberal Pall
Mall Gazette. Relying on information supplied by Reginald Brett
(subsequently Lord Esher), private secretary to the Secretary of State for War,
and a certain Captain John Arbuthnot Fisher, RN, Stead published the first of
these Truth About the Navy articles on 15 September. Arguing the case for
modern battleships, fast cruisers for commerce protection, torpedo boats and
improved defence of coaling stations, Stead had chosen his time well as
Northbrook was out of the country attempting to put Egyptian affairs in order.
By the time of his return the Government had caved in to the pressure and
Northbrook, though harbouring private doubts, had but little option other than
to announce publicly a programme of extraordinary additional expenditure.
Although the “navalists” now had the money, as foreseen by Northbrook
this allegedly happy circumstance still did not address the problem of rapid
technological improvements. This dilemma was particularly acute given the long
construction times: thus, HMS Howe,
laid down in June 1882, was not completed until July 1889. During the time of
her building the following important advances had been made — the adoption of
the triple-expansion steam engine in 1885; the Resistance
experiments of 1886, leading to improved arrangement of armour; the return to
turret ships; the development of the quick firing gun; and the advent of
superior nickel steel armour in 1888. Of these, it was the quick firing gun, an
effective weapon against torpedo boats, which threatened to tip the scales back
in favour of the battleship. The pace of this sudden burst of technological
change finally slackened with the net result that, by the end of the decade, it
was becoming feasible to construct, at reasonable cost, a potent battleship with
a useful service life and superior offensive and defensive protection against
the torpedo. At the same time the Conservative Chancellor of the Exchequer
devised a scheme to reduce the cost of servicing the National Debt so that it
became possible to allocate much more to the navy without resorting to ‘the
politically dangerous alternatives of borrowing or greatly increased
taxation’.
However, as if to justify the enormous increase in the Naval Estimates, or, at
times, in an attempt to force the expenditure of even greater amounts, the
country then entered upon a period of incessant “war scares”, both real and
imagined.
In 1888, for example, there arose a first class scare with France
following revelations of the “extraordinary” French naval preparations at
Toulon, already mentioned. Although the French were concentrating ironclads at
the port to intimidate Italy the signals were misread in London and it was
assumed that the concentration was directed against Britain. Worse, there were
alarming signs of a Franco-Russian rapprochement.
In July 1888 the Naval Lords had been instructed to report confidentially on the
requirements of the fleet should war break out with France. As the usual method
was for the navy to be voted a budget and then decide how to spend it, it was
something of a welcome change to be asked first what was required even if,
almost inevitably, the proposals of the Naval Lords predictably included the
construction of a large number of new ships: sixty-five, to be precise, spread
over five years. Goschen, the Chancellor, rashly intimated to Captain Lord
Charles Beresford (a former Naval Lord who had resigned both in protest at
government parsimony and to further his own plan) that ‘he wouldn’t get even
these ships if he asked for them — as
they were not wanted!’
Beresford soon had his revenge; as a Conservative Member of Parliament he had a
forum denied others. On 13 December the ambitious sailor rose in the House to
denounce the state of the navy. Beresford contended that ‘the fleet of this
country should be of a strength sufficient to protect our shores and commerce
(particularly the importation of raw material), and to insure the punctual and
certain delivery of our food supply against the fleets of two powers combined,
one of which should be France. That should be laid down as the standard for the
British fleet.’
The so-called “two power standard” had been unofficial Admiralty
policy for some years; by so publicizing it, Beresford was seeking a firmer
commitment. His particular worry was that the French fleet at Toulon was now
equal to the Royal Navy’s Mediterranean Squadron. To lend weight to his
arguments Beresford calculated an imaginary insurance premium that the country
should pay by the simple expedient of dividing the total imports and exports of
the country (the things the navy was there to defend) by the amount of naval
expenditure. On this basis the state was paying 3.41% in 1860 for this
protection but only 1.85% in 1888. Further, during the same period, the amount
of food imports had risen dramatically. While Beresford’s public utterances
added to the clamour for a massive increase in construction it was the
presentation to the Conservative First Lord, Hamilton, of the Report
on the Naval Manoeuvres of 1888 in February 1889 that forced the
Government’s hand. This devastating indictment asserted that the fleet was
inadequate to take the offensive against even one Great Power; a combination of
two Powers against Britain would be overwhelming. In March Hamilton duly
presented the Naval Defence Bill to Parliament authorizing the building of ten
battleships, forty-two cruisers and eighteen torpedo boats over a five year
period. He also announced, publicly and officially, that the maintenance of the
two power standard would become Government policy.
Britain already possessed the facilities to outbuild any competitor; to this was
now added the political determination: the “strategy of numerical
superiority” had begun.
Convinced finally that the redistribution of the French fleet was
permanent, in November 1889 the strength of the British Mediterranean Squadron
was increased to meet the threat. Even so, ‘it was the national belief that
the nation’s rank as a first-class power was bound up with its Mediterranean
position; and this position became England’s Achilles heel after 1889, as the
shifting balance of naval power in that sea…was accentuated’.
Unfortunately for Hamilton, the hoped-for restraining effect of the Naval
Defence Act did not operate on the French. By 1891, even with the addition of
the Royal Navy’s Channel Fleet, the French fleet was again stronger than the
Mediterranean Squadron. Faced with this reality the policy of maintaining
superiority in the Mediterranean was abandoned. It was felt impractical to base
too large a fleet in the Mediterranean where the French had the natural
advantage; instead the Channel Squadron would be reinforced. This, typically,
was not good enough for the navalists: what was needed was another good
“scare”, particularly when a Liberal Government under Gladstone was returned
to power in 1892 pledged to reduce naval expenditure; it did not take long for
the predictable outcry to break over the heads of the politicians. The immediate
cause was continued unrest with France and Russia, exacerbated by the proposal
to base a Russian squadron permanently in the Mediterranean, also at Toulon;
Beresford, as conscientious as ever, lost no opportunity to fuel the scare. On
20 July 1893 he addressed the London Chamber of Commerce on “The Protection of
the Mercantile Marine during War”. It was vintage Beresford: he had formulated
another programme, highlighting the weakness in commerce protection, and called
for the expenditure of over twenty-three million pounds.
According to the Daily News:
The
only way to prevent periodical recurrence of scares, and their costly
consequences, is to make it perfectly clear that we intend to safeguard our
national existence, and our commerce on which that existence depends, by having
a sufficiently strong navy and no more. To do this we must lay down a battleship
for every battleship begun by either of the Powers that might act in concert
against us, and for every cruiser built by them we must build two.
The flames of agitation continued to increase, fanned by the Press, until
once again the Government had to give way or be consumed. The First Lord,
Spencer, presented his new programme to the Cabinet on 8 December 1893
representing a cost of thirty-one million pounds spread over five years.
Gladstone, vehemently opposed to such an increase, offered the Cabinet a choice:
the Spencer programme or his resignation. Work began immediately on the Spencer
programme, the cost partly offset by the Chancellor’s “readjustment” of
the Death Duties; Gladstone resigned on 1 March 1894.
Following
the hugely successful visit of a Russian naval squadron to Toulon in October
1893 there was now little doubt in the mind of the common person that, whatever
might be contained in the secret treaties and understandings underpinning the
relationship, the Governments of France and Russia were allied in deeds if not
in words.
The union of arms was solemnized when the Franco-Russian military convention was
signed on 4 January 1894 which meant that, until the completion of the Spencer
battleships, war with France and Russia was out of the question. Instead three
schools of thought emerged: to reinforce the Channel Squadron with a fleet based
in Home waters but which could be at Gibraltar in four days (the “Channel
School”); to maintain a fleet in the Mediterranean at least equal to the
French together with a concomitant improvement to the British bases (the
“Mediterranean School”); or to evacuate the Mediterranean completely.
Although evacuation was by no means a new idea in the prevailing circumstances
it had great attractions for, despite the announcement of a huge new programme
of expenditure to contend with the combined threat from France and Russia, the
only permanent solution to the problem appeared to be an ever spiralling
increase in the estimates. Unhelpfully for the naval advocates of the “Channel
School” and the “Mediterranean School” an army officer, Lieutenant-Colonel
H. Elsdale R.E., weighed in with an influential article in February 1895
entitled, Should We Hold on to the Mediterranean in War? Concerned more with
the cool logic of the situation than the emotive issues, Elsdale wondered
whether it would be better ‘in the first instance, and as a temporary
strategical operation, to give up command of the Mediterranean altogether, and
to shut up our enemy’s fleet therein, in order to secure an overwhelming
superiority of force in the Channel, and in all the ocean waters everywhere
throughout the globe, outside the Mediterranean?’
Worse was to follow: the noted nautical writer and Times’ correspondent, William Laird Clowes, followed with an
article referring to the Mediterranean as The
Millstone Round the Neck of England. Whereas Elsdale proposed to evacuate
the Mediterranean only at the outset of the next war, Clowes went a step further
and urged immediate evacuation. ‘The present policy’, he argued,
of
endeavouring to support the Mediterranean fleet by the Channel Squadron is a
mere penny-wise and pound-foolish makeshift; for no policy of that kind can
ensure that the enemy shall not get between our two forces and smash one or both
of them separately: nor must we depend upon Italy as an effective ally. To my
mind, the sole sound alternative, if we cannot or do not intend to face the
risks and the costs of holding the Mediterranean so firmly that no one shall
think of disputing it with us, is to come out of it now, bag and baggage, while
we can still make our exit with dignity, and even, I am satisfied, with
advantage…By our withdrawal from the Mediterranean I mean our cessation to
maintain any permanent Mediterranean fleet whatsoever, and our relinquishment of
the various places which we at present occupy eastward of Gibraltar and westward
of the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb. I do not mean that we should, after the
withdrawal, never send a few ships up the Straits. What I mean is, that we must
become visitors instead of dwellers in the Mediterranean.
A furious storm of protest, anticipated by Clowes, broke around this and
similar articles. The leading critic, Sir George Clarke (a future Secretary of
the Committee of Imperial Defence), fumed that ‘for three thousand miles of
the greatest trade route of the world, the sea power of the British Empire is to
be inoperative. Egypt is to become a French colony; Tripoli is to share the fate
of Tunis; Malta is handed over to the Pope; Cyprus reverts to the Porte.’
Clarke was also not above resorting to playing the card of “national honour”;
in attempting to play a weak hand it was perhaps foreseeable that Clarke would
see such an intangible if emotive cry as a possible trump. There had been, he
asserted, a British presence in “the great inland sea” which dated back
seven hundred years, had been almost continuous for two hundred years and
unchallenged for ninety years to which could now be added the fact that, ‘a
balance of power has arisen, carrying with it international responsibilities
which we have no right to discard.’ Clarke, who took particular umbrage at
Clowes’ disparaging remarks concerning the policy of reinforcing the
Mediterranean Squadron by the Channel Squadron, argued that the peace-time
strength of the Mediterranean fleet was governed by diplomatic considerations
and was deliberately restricted to avoid provoking the French. ‘At the same
time,’ maintained Clarke, ‘in accordance with established custom, the
Channel Squadron visits the Mediterranean every year.’
Ever the good journalist, Clowes sought to have the last word – to refute what
he termed the ‘magnificent outpouring of ridiculous braggadocio, and of what
may be called technical cant and quackery’ – but was nevertheless forced to
admit that he had never intended to convey the impression that he would
‘contemplate a perpetual abandonment of the Mediterranean, no matter what may
happen. If we ever become involved with a Mediterranean Power, and if we must
fight either for honour or for our material interests, of course we shall go
again to the Mediterranean, as we went of yore.’
This very public examination of naval options, conducted in the columns
of a leading popular journal, was watched intently from Whitehall and not
without a certain degree of embarrassment as Admiralty policy had in fact been,
from 1888, to concentrate the Mediterranean fleet at Gibraltar in time of war.
The French obviously had geography on their side: both Toulon and Brest were
closer to Gibraltar than either Portland or Malta. If, therefore, the two French
fleets could rendezvous at Gibraltar before the British they would have command
of the sea. It was thus essential, in time of war, to make sure that the Toulon
squadron was always to the east of the British Mediterranean Squadron. Admiralty
policy, then, though they would be loathe to make such an admission, was not so
dissimilar to that advocated by Lieutenant-Colonel Elsdale; however, Laird Clowes’
proposal for immediate evacuation was not countenanced. The First Lord, Spencer,
was adamant: ‘Laird Clowes’ policy will not prevail’, he thundered. ‘The
proposal to concentrate the Mediterranean and Channel fleets at Gibraltar
applies only to the outset of the war and I can never admit that if the policy
is adopted, it is the abandonment of the Mediterranean…’
While
the British were confident of being able to meet, and overcome, any French
threat, their forces were insufficient to deal with a simultaneous Russian
advance on Constantinople. The usual expedient – more ships, higher estimates
– resulted in naval gross expenditure surpassing that of the army in 1894/5, a
situation which was to continue until the outbreak of the Boer War in October
1899.
To the further unconcealed delight of the navalists, the Liberal Government was
defeated on 21 June 1895 after a vote of censure on the insufficiency of cordite
ammunition; the Conservatives (always, if not necessarily accurately, associated
as the party of high defence spending) returned to power, under Lord Salisbury.
Gladstone at least had the dubious pleasure of being vindicated in his opinion
of the putative Franco-Russian threat: from 1894 to 1896 the naval estimates of
these two potential enemies had remained stationary, while the French vote for
new construction in 1897 actually dropped by over ten per cent.
Beset by internal political disorder, the French had been ineluctably forced to
the conclusion that any simultaneous attempt to match the British navy and the
German army meant economic ruin. Given the choice, they preferred to match the
Germans, a course whose wisdom was soon made apparent when the enormous British
naval estimates for 1896/7 became known. These provided additional proof, if it
were needed, that to throw out a challenge to the British for command of the sea
was ‘a hopeless undertaking’.
The fortuitous position in which the British now found themselves, almost by
default, was aptly described by the Naval
Annual: ‘The increase in taxation for Naval purposes has also happened to
coincide with a revival of material prosperity and a Budget surplus, so that the
burden has been but little felt by the general body of taxpayers. Under the
circumstances, it is not surprising that the money required for Naval purposes
was readily voted.’
While the French continued to debate other, less expensive, strategies to
upset Britain’s command of the sea, the Royal Navy’s Mediterranean Squadron
grew steadily in numbers and power. By the time of the Fashoda crisis in late
1898, when France staked a claim on the Sudan, the French were outgunned
comprehensively in the Mediterranean and, despite the mobilization of the Toulon
fleet on 17 October as a result of the crisis, there was little doubt in Britain
that the only possible result following a war between the two countries would be
‘a second Trafalgar’.
It was confidently reported that the British Navy was now equal in strength to
the navies of any other three Powers.
As a direct result of this superiority the policy of concentrating at Gibraltar
in the event of war was scrapped. Modern ships had been added to the Channel
fleet so that it was now possible to have this fleet based at Gibraltar and the
Mediterranean fleet based at Malta. Although each fleet was slightly numerically
inferior to the French, both benefited enormously from homogenous design and,
especially the Channel fleet, from high speed. The French were effectively
debarred from going east or west and, as Egypt was no longer felt to be under
threat, so the previous policy of blocking the Suez Canal in time of war was
also to be reversed.
Ministerial instability continued to have a deleterious effect on French
naval policy until finally, in June 1899, a new Minister of Marine ushered in a
programme the keynote of which was that the new ships to be built would each be
individually superior in all respects to any possessed by Britain. That this
threat, for an obvious reason, did not seem to give much cause for concern was
promptly explained: ‘There should be some consolation’, pointed out a
leading writer on contemporary British naval affairs, ‘for those who are most
pessimistic in the this country about out naval superiority in the fact that in
France continuity of policy in regard to warship construction is not a marked
feature.’
Indeed the gap would continue to grow wider as the Royal Navy was at its
comparative zenith aided by short building times (despite labour unrest in the
shipyards), sensibly adopted technological innovation, fine designs and,
supporting the whole structure, the resources to finance it all, abetted when
required by well-timed naval scares. The naval position had been turned around
in a decade. Perhaps never again would certainty be so keenly felt even if it
was a certainty that would prove to be ephemeral; already a new threat, like a
wisp of smoke on the horizon, steadily growing larger, was advancing to
challenge British naval supremacy: ‘it is Germany’, noted the same writer
who was so dismissive of the French, ‘that looms largest because she exhibits
a desire and a determination to raise herself from the position of a
comparatively weak sea Power to that of one among the more potent.’
Indeed, although the Admiralty continued to regard the French as the most likely
adversary, there were already tentative signs of an Anglo-French diplomatic rapprochement.
So concerned was Kaiser Wilhelm II that Britain, in an attempt to reach a
diplomatic accord with the French, might abandon her ‘traditional
Mediterranean policy’, that he specifically warned the British Ambassador that
such a move ‘would be a disaster for Europe.’ If England, he added, ‘were
to retire from the Mediterranean and Russia were to take her place, the whole
situation in Europe would be changed. Italy would be at the mercy of France,
Austria would be seriously threatened, and the position of Germany would force
her to seek other arrangements.’
Of more immediate concern, the dark stain of conflict had spread over
South Africa following the outbreak of fighting in October 1899; the performance
of the British army would come under close scrutiny and be found wanting
following initial military disasters. Expenditure on the army increased from
twenty-one million pounds in 1898/9 to a staggering ninety-two million pounds in
1900/01. This was in addition to, rather than at the expense of, the naval
estimates which continued their own inexorable rise, reaching a peak in 1904/05
before falling back under a new Liberal Government. The Boer War also coincided
with the appointment of the irascible Admiral Sir John Fisher to the
Mediterranean command, at the time the premier position afloat.
The appointment was not universally welcomed: Maurice Hankey (like Sir George
Clarke also a future Secretary of the Committee of Imperial Defence), then a
young major in the Royal Marines, claimed that the news was received with
derision; the gossip being that Fisher could not handle a big fleet and
consequently would never put to sea. Once Fisher took up his duties (after first
attending the Hague Peace Conference) Hankey soon found cause to revise this
opinion. ‘It is difficult’, he later wrote, ‘for anyone who had not lived
under the previous régime to realize what a change Fisher brought about in the
Mediterranean Fleet.’
In less than three years Fisher ‘vastly improved the fighting efficiency of
the Mediterranean fleet’. Officers were encouraged to study strategy; Fisher
himself lectured on his plans for war against Russia and France; long-range
target practice was introduced; and he instigated joint operations between the
Mediterranean and Channel fleets.
These manoeuvres followed yet another scare after the temporary conjunction of
the French Mediterranean and Channel fleets for exercises: this time, however, the
voices in England raised in outcry shouted in vain and the French were left to
complain of the ‘hollowness of the agitation’. Le
Temps commented, not without justification:
It
is declared that Great Britain has only ten battleships in the Mediterranean to
set against the fourteen which France is able to send there. The makers of this
statement omit to add, however, that this fact arises from the temporary
junction, for special manoeuvres, of the French Mediterranean and Channel
Squadrons. Moreover, they carefully abstain from pointing out that in a few
weeks an inverse situation will be brought about, to the detriment of France in
the Channel. If British alarmists make bold for their own ends to ascribe to
France the intention of committing an act of brigandage by surprising Malta and
Cyprus in time of peace, there seems to be no reason why we should not just as
gratuitously attribute to Great Britain an equally criminal design on Brest and
Cherbourg.
Despite this frank admission of French weakness Fisher continued to
complain of the inadequacy of the force at his disposal, causing a certain
amount of exasperation at the Admiralty in the process. ‘The Mediterranean’,
Fisher declared, ‘is of necessity the vital point of a naval war, and you can
no more change this than you can change the position of Mount Vesuvius, because
geographical conditions, Sebastopol and Toulon, and the Eastern question, will
compel the Battle of Armageddon to be fought in the Mediterranean.’
Fisher subsequently informed the First Lord, Selborne: ‘I maintain it to be a
cardinal principal (that should never be departed from) that the Mediterranean
Fleet should be kept constituted for instant war…As I have ventured to impress
on you before, the best naval minds in France are rightly convinced that their
one chance of success lies in an instant offensive.’
Even Salisbury, the Prime Minister, was given to complain that ‘Admiral Fisher
is subject to some of those hallucinations of which Admirals are the victims:
but I had hoped he was cured by this time.’
Fisher also talked of reinstating the former “quasi-alliance” with Turkey to
act as a check on a Russian descent through the Bosphorus; Selborne was not
entirely taken in. Indeed (unlike future First Lords) he bore up well under the
Admiral’s constant tirades. ‘I do not believe’, Selborne stated
unequivocally, ‘that there is a single statesman of any party who would be
found to agree with the C. in C.’s views about a Turkish alliance.’ The
Director of Naval Intelligence was just as scathing: Fisher, he complained,
credited France and Russia with always being ‘on the watch to fall upon him
without any provocation and at a moment’s notice…It is the narrow view he
takes of general policy which cannot see beyond Mediterranean possibilities that
leads him to forget that there are governing factors in all parts of the world
which must materially affect the policy of the Mediterranean Powers.’
Fisher remained adamant that the Mediterranean was understrength in all types of
ships in both peace and war. In fairness to him, the friendly relations
previously enjoyed by Britain and Italy had cooled somewhat, while the French
fleet had improved its efficiency markedly in the first years of the new
century; also, Fisher could not know that the French service was about to suffer
a devastating blow in the form of the incoming Pelletan administration.
Ultimately, Selborne and his First Sea Lord decided upon the unusual step
of visiting Fisher in his lair at Malta. Selborne, realizing that a ‘great
many very important questions – administrative and strategical – had to be
settled’, justified the excursion as, without it, correspondence ‘might go
on till the crack of doom’. He was eventually able to report that ‘we did
more work in a week than we should otherwise in years.’ As fruitful as this
sounds, agreement on all points was not so easily reached, as Selborne later
made clear when reviewing the conference. Fisher, he wrote,
believes
that the question of naval supremacy in a war will be fought out in the
Mediterranean. I agree with him; he thinks that our superiority in strength
should be reasonably assured. I agree with him; he thinks we should have a
larger peace strength in the Mediterranean than at present; I agree with him; he
would ignore our responsibilities elsewhere on the world’s seas; I cannot of
course follow him there; this is a year of special difficulty for us; we have
some dozen or more extra ships in commission to meet the emergencies in Chinese
and African waters…it is very aggravating to have to argue with men who calmly
ignore this, and who also exaggerate so systematically as Fisher and Beresford
do, and who apparently do not mind in the least being found out. The kind of
balance sheet they draw up as between us and the French and Russians is one, in
which we have no assets and the other party no liabilities, which is absurd.
Nevertheless
Selborne was convinced by Fisher that a special effort had to be made that year
‘to fulfil our intentions’ which included strengthening both the Channel and
Mediterranean Squadrons ‘in several ways, and especially in respect of
cruisers.’
Fisher’s squadron benefited almost immediately: the strength of the
Mediterranean Fleet was raised to twelve battleships in 1901/2 and fourteen the
following year (the highest number ever on station) before being cut back to
twelve again in 1904.
By the end of 1901 Selborne was proposing that Fisher should fill the
vacant post of Second Sea Lord, a suggestion the First Sea Lord, Admiral Lord
Walter Kerr, found “startling” even after Selborne had candidly given his
reasons for requiring Fisher’s organizational genius to be applied to the
manning problem. Selborne sought to convert the reluctant Kerr by providing a
forthright appraisal of Fisher which not only demonstrated that Selborne knew
his man but which would also be as accurate as any ever made of Fisher. Selborne
first alluded to the obvious objections the selection would raise, all of which
referred to ‘the peculiar characteristics of the man’ —
His
loyalty [Selborne wrote] has not always been unimpeachable; his judgement is
sometimes hasty and even flighty; he is supposed to think too much of No 1; the
arts of advertisement are not quite unknown to him. I state these objections
frankly, almost brutally, because they are not unfounded on fact. On the other
hand I think an observation you once made to me about him largely meets them.
You said that he was impressionable, greatly affected by his environment, easily
influenced in certain directions for good or evil. I do not say those were the
exact words you used but they give the sense of what you said. I have since been
repeatedly struck by the justice of this judgement, and I think it a not unfair
deduction that at the Admiralty between you and me he would run straight. His
particular sphere of work would not easily lend itself to disloyalty, his nature
is to become absorbed in the work of the moment…I think he has done a very
valuable work in the Mediterranean but I rather think that he has done his good
work there and that it will be for the benefit of the service if another
Commander-in-Chief holds the command there during the next manoeuvre seasons.
Perhaps
remembering Fisher’s part in the great naval scare of the 1880s, Kerr remained
unimpressed, cautioning Selborne that the appointment ‘would be very
universally condemned’ and that Fisher did not possess the confidence of the
Service.
Selborne, however, would not be deflected and Fisher eventually took up the post
in June 1902, though not before another alarm in the Mediterranean which
followed the signing of the Franco-Russian naval convention on 21 December 1901.
The latest plan of these envious states hypothesized that, in the case of war
with Britain, France would concentrate her first-class ships in the
Mediterranean while simultaneously threatening an invasion of England. The
Russians, meanwhile, would remain passive in the Baltic but, with the Black Sea
fleet, would force the Straits with the objective of invading Egypt; a separate
Russian invasion of India would also be attempted.
Selborne, left to defend ever-increasing naval expenditure, had already reached
the conclusion that the fleet could not cope successfully with France and Russia
combined and protect commerce as well. ‘Indeed I am quite sure’, he informed
Joseph Chamberlain,
that
we have not yet a sufficient margin, and I cannot detect any difference of
opinion even among different schools of politics as to the paramount necessity
of keeping the navy at an adequate strength. I now receive a suggestion to the
effect that the navy is unnecessarily strong or that too much money is being
spent on it, while I receive constant representations from different quarters to
the effect that the navy is not strong enough. I do not think I should be
exaggerating if I said that public opinion considers that the navy ought to be
the last branch of the public service on which we ought to economise.
There were signs though, noticed by the editor of the Naval Annual, that the public, so slow to move, was now turning:
‘The results of recent bye-elections may be taken as some indication…that
the electorate does not approve the unchecked growth of public expenditure.’
The Chancellor of the Exchequer, in a better position to judge, was more
forthright: the seemingly unstoppable growth in the naval estimates would, he
declared, lead ‘straight to financial ruin’.
Selborne realized that naval growth could not go on indefinitely; however, his
public utterances (that economies were essential) did not sit easily alongside
his private opinion, as expressed to Curzon:
The
Navy Estimates for 1903-4 will be 34½ million and they must continue to
increase. This is a simple question of national existence. We must have a force
which is reasonably calculated to beat France and Russia and we must have
something in hand against Germany. We cannot afford a three Power Standard but
we must have a real margin over the two Power Standard and this policy the
Cabinet has definitely adopted.
To
help in resisting the clamour Selborne turned once again to Fisher. Following
his stint as Second Sea Lord, Fisher had then assumed command as C.-in-C.,
Portsmouth. When the First Sea Lord, Lord Walter Kerr, gave notice of his
retirement in 1904 Selborne cast around for someone who could be guaranteed to
assist in the development of measures which were urgently needed to slow down
the rate of increase of the estimates. Fisher had a reputation as an
“economist” even if his favoured method of economizing, as admitted in July
1903, was to reduce the overall
defence budget by severely pruning the army
estimates: thus, the navy would not suffer, nor would the general burden of
income tax have to be increased.
On 14 May 1904 Fisher was informed privately that his appointment as First Sea
Lord had been approved; he was to assume his duties on Trafalgar Day.
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