Fisher’s faults were manifest, and far outweighed his gifts. Not an original
thinker, incapable of the essential insight required, Fisher depended upon the
inspiration of others for the formulation of his own strategic principles which
he was then incapable, either through naval and political opposition, or from an
inherent disbelief in their merit, of seeing through.
The
first rule when dealing with Fisher is not always to take his pronouncements at
face value, for the Admiral was consistent only in his inconsistency.
If challenged on this point, doubtless Fisher would have answered, as he once
did to Selborne,
A
most distinguished man at the War Office used to think he had gained his point
and blasted the Admiralty by collecting extracts 20 years old with opposing
decisions! absolutely regardless that what is right today may be wrong
to-morrow! but he traded on what we all dislike — the
charge of inconsistency! Why! the two most inconsistent men who ever lived,
were Nelson and Napoleon! … Circumstances alter cases! That’s the answer to
the charge of inconsistency …
This
does not, however, alter the fact that Fisher’s changes of opinion were
sometimes not the result of altered
circumstances but due to a want of clarity in his own vision. Like many men who
have acquired, justly or not, a reputation Fisher constantly felt the need to
live up to it. He had been aware, for example, from an early date that the
torpedo would alter naval warfare.
This led him, early in 1904, to the conclusion that ‘in the course of a few
years no Fleet will be able to remain in the Mediterranean or in the English
Channel! but that at the same time submarines at Malta, Gibraltar, Port Said,
Alexandria, Suez and Lemnos will make
us more powerful than ever’.
And yet, due to a faulty appreciation of their offensive qualities, Fisher
placed curbs on the size of the earliest submarines and effectively set this
branch of the service back years. Roger Keyes was forthright in his denunciation
of Fisher’s policy:
…
as long as submarines were only required for local defence, which seems, at the
time, to have been the limit of vision of Lord Fisher and his technical adviser,
the Holland boat was, I think, unquestionably the best type to adopt. The main
object Lord Fisher seems to have had in view, was to employ submarines for the
defence of harbours, and abolish defensive minefields … As the material
developed, and our vision cleared and extended to the enemy’s coasts and the
high seas, it became more and more evident to the officers who had to live in
the vessels, that better sea-going qualities and surface habitability were
required.
Paradoxically,
in view of the threat he believed was posed by the submarine, Fisher was
simultaneously refining his views with regard to the massive new capital ships
with which his name would be forever associated: the dreadnought, and more
especially the battle cruiser, whose light armour offered even less resistance
to torpedoes. Even here, his lack of focus would be evident, as will be shown.
What Fisher needed was a strong overseer. So long as Selborne remained First
Lord, there was a chance that Fisher could be held in check and his relentless
energy usefully channelled.
Fisher’s comprehensive remit in 1904, as outlined in a memorandum
presented to him by Selborne, included the following: long-range firing, the
scrapping of obsolete vessels, the provision of more destroyers and submarines,
mobilization, nucleus crews, two year commissions, the training of potential
flag officers and the development of the war course. Despite their imposing and
wide-ranging nature Selborne was on safe ground as he knew that, for all of
these, Fisher shared his views. The First Lord was altogether more circumspect
when it came to the redistribution of the fleets.
Economy, however, was to be king — a fact outlined in Selborne’s opening
paragraph: ‘It is quite certain’, he declared, ‘that the Navy Estimates
have for the present reached their maximum in the present year. In 1905-1906 not
only can there be no possible increase, but it is necessary, for the influence
of the Admiralty over the House of Commons and for the stability of the national
finances, that we should show a substantial decrease.’
Of course what neither Selborne nor anyone else at the Admiralty could not
anticipate was the annihilation of the twin threats, the Russian and French
navies, the first at the hands of the Japanese, the second by a combination of
self-inflicted doctrinal confusion and diplomatic manoeuvrings. Indeed, as early
as February 1904, there had been a demand to cut the 1904-5 British estimates in
view of the purported destruction of the Russian Far East fleet.
The Russo-Japanese war commenced on the night of 8
February 1904 with the surprise attack by Japanese torpedo boats against a
Russian fleet lying complacently at anchor outside Port Arthur. Despite initial
reports of severe damage being sustained, Selborne argued that it was too early
to discount the Russians; furthermore, belief in an eventual Russian victory
remained strong, an inevitable by-product as Western minds attempted to
assimilate the Japanese enigma. It was also, by this time, impossible to
disregard the threat posed by the emerging German navy
as was made clear by Selborne in a Cabinet memorandum of 26 February:
It
may, however, be suggested that there is no need for this country to consider
the German fleet as a possible antagonist. In this relation I can only repeat
with the most earnest conviction and with the utmost emphasis the arguments
which I have already addressed to the Cabinet on this subject. These arguments
are based on a careful study of German naval policy, which led me to the
conviction that the great new German navy is being carefully built up from the
point of view of a war with us.
Selborne
was at pains to point out how this affected the two power standard:
It
is an error to suppose that the two power standard adopted by this country some
fifteen years ago, ratified by every Government since, and accepted as an
article of faith by the whole nation, has ever had reference only to France and
Russia. It has always referred to the two strongest Naval Powers at any given
moment, and it has been identified in many minds with France and Russia only
because France and Russia have for some years past possessed the two most
powerful navies next to our own. If the Russian navy does emerge from the
present war materially weakened, the result will be that the two power standard
must hereafter be calculated with reference to the navies of France and
Germany....
Yet, as if to confound this new degree of realism,
the French threat was also dissipated. By 1902, as mentioned, the French fleet
at Toulon had achieved a high measure of efficiency; within two years it was all
undone. France, the principal protagonist of the previous decade, was in danger
of slipping down a rung on the ladder to become, in the dread parlance of the
day, a second-class naval power. This startling decline owed much to a thawing
in the former frosty relationship with Britain and to the advent of new, as yet
untried, weapons (principally the submarine) which offered the alluring hope of
building a navy on the cheap. But above all, the architect of the fall was
France’s own Minister of Marine, Charles Pelletan, who had been appointed in
June 1902 professing not to know ‘what ironclads really are’.
Pelletan informed the Chamber of Deputies on 6 February 1903 that, although
no-one could foresee the course of a future naval battle,
what
we do see is that in anticipation of this great battle we Frenchmen are in a
manifestly unfavourable position. For the chances of victory are all on the side
of the Power that can send into action the largest number of ironclads, and as
each unit may cost from 30 to 40 million francs, the determining factor in
victory is the longer purse. Can France, therefore, rival England, which has a
naval budget two and a half times bigger than that of France? And it is not
merely England that is in question. France has been until recently the second
naval Power in the world. At present there are rivals on every hand seeking to
outstrip France. If Germany and the United States enter the field, how can
France continue the struggle?
In
short, she could not. Following this inexorable logic the French Mediterranean
Squadron was reduced to eleven battleships in 1903 (five of which were in
reserve) and nine the following year (with three in reserve). Incredibly,
Pelletan had also decided that war, like cricket, was not an occupation that was
carried on in winter and this belief allowed him to reduce the complements of
the remaining ships by 1,750 men in November 1902, a policy criticized not only
at home but also in the Russian press.
Under the weight of such policies the naval centre of gravity was shifting to
northern Europe.
As a result of the French moves there was an
understandable demand in Britain to grasp the opportunity so presented and
reduce the number of battleships at Malta. The Naval
Annual attracted criticism in turn by adding its weight to the campaign as
Lord Brassey himself concluded ‘that the strength of the British Mediterranean
Fleet in battleships (not in cruisers) is excessive, and that the present
requirements for the defence of the Empire would be better met by the
strengthening of the Channel Fleet at the expense of that in the Mediterranean.
The latter has been increased to fourteen battleships, including all our most
powerful and recently-completed ships. The French navy have only six battleships
in commission throughout the year, and of these the complements have been
reduced during the winter months.’
Moreover, added Brassey, it was clear that the Channel Fleet could always
reinforce the Mediterranean Fleet if necessary which was an important
consideration as the increase in the strength of the Mediterranean Fleet was
creating an intolerable strain on the Malta dockyard.
This depended, however, on having a safe passage
through the Straits of Gibraltar, a fact taken for granted during the nineteenth
century, but which was being undermined by the French policy of peaceful
penetration in Morocco. A weak Moorish kingdom opposite Gibraltar was one thing;
a French colony quite another. In the secret negotiations which preceded the
signing of the Anglo-French Entente in 1904, the French Foreign Minister, Théophile
Delcassé, took great care to ensure that unfettered British access to the
Mediterranean would be guaranteed by agreeing to allow Spain to control that
section of the Moroccan coast opposite Gibraltar. The loss of this small section
of the littoral to Spain served two purposes for the French: it assuaged the
British while at the same time prevented them controlling both sides of the
Straits. The ploy worked and, when the matter was discussed by the Committee of
Imperial Defence in December, 1903, the First Sea Lord could see no objection to
the arrangement.
Although, during 1903, the strength of the British
Mediterranean Fleet was reduced by two ships – which were then added to the
Channel Squadron – this was not enough for Brassey who argued again in 1904
that the twelve ships then on the Malta station were still too many,
particularly in view of a further reduction in French strength. An ancillary,
though no less important, reason for reducing the Mediterranean Fleet was the
unhealthy climate: fever, it was noted, was ‘again very rife among the naval
element’.
What concerned Brassey equally was that, following the scares and subsequent
agitation of recent years, massive amounts of money had been allocated to docks
and dockyards at Malta and Gibraltar; expenditure which now appeared to have
been unnecessary. And, when the reorganization of the fleets was announced so
that the old Channel Squadron became the new Atlantic Fleet, based at Gibraltar,
Brassey at once saw a cynical motive at work: having lavished five million
pounds on the harbour and dockyard at Gibraltar it was then politic to
demonstrate that the money had not been squandered. In any event, Brassey
disagreed with the new policy on other grounds. Obviously the new Atlantic Fleet
and the Mediterranean Squadron could not share the base in peacetime; but, as he
believed the Mediterranean Fleet should still concentrate at Gibraltar in time
of war, he argued that ‘the creation of a dockyard at Gibraltar cannot be held
a sufficient reason to justify cutting off the Mediterranean Fleet in time of
peace from its chief base in the event of war. To make an arrangement which
would have to be altered on the first whisper of war cannot be sound policy.’
Malta was out of favour with Fisher as well; the
mercurial First Sea Lord apparently intended to base the Mediterranean Fleet at
Alexandria. His oft-stated dictum, given to anyone who would care to listen, was
that: ‘5 keys lock up the world! Singapore, the Cape, Alexandria, Gibraltar,
Dover. These five keys belong to England, and the five great Fleets of England
will hold those keys!’
Fisher’s “five great Fleets”, as outlined by him in November 1904, were to
have been a Home Fleet (based at Dover); Atlantic Fleet (Gibraltar);
Mediterranean Fleet (Alexandria); Western Fleet (Cape); and Eastern Fleet
(Singapore). As part of this plan, the twelve battleships stationed in the
Mediterranean would be reduced by a further four, to go to the Home Fleet.
Fisher’s preference for Alexandria over Malta was never likely to be acceded
to following the investment which had been made in Malta and, when Selborne
announced his Memorandum on the
Distribution and Mobilisation of the Fleet on 6 December 1904, Alexandria
was not mentioned. Instead, Selborne judiciously maintained that:
The
principles, on which the present peace distribution of His Majesty’s ships and
the arrangement of their stations are based, date from a period when the
electric telegraph did not exist and when wind was the motive power, and it is a
wonderful testimony to the strategical and political soundness of those
principles that they have stood the test of time and met all the needs of the
Service up to the present moment. In the opinion of the Board of Admiralty,
however, the new conditions....have necessitated a review and readjustment of
this distribution of ships and arrangement of stations. In the study of this
question the Board have endeavoured to benefit by the experiences of the Navies
of Japan and of Russia in the present war, and by the same light to review the
principles on which the different classes of modern war-ships are constructed
and the features embodied in them. In order temporarily to assist the Board and
the Director of Naval Construction in the elucidation of the problems involved
it has been decided to appoint a special Committee of Designs which will be
composed of naval officers and scientific and professional experts and will
begin work early next year, the Board of Admiralty first laying down as a basis
what they consider to be the fighting requisites of the desired types of war
vessels and the governing features of each type to which the other features
shall be subservient.
As
a result, the old Home Fleet became the new Channel Fleet, consisting of twelve
battleships. The old Channel Fleet became the Atlantic Fleet, permanently based
on Gibraltar, consisting of eight battleships, while the Mediterranean Fleet
would now consist of eight battleships and ‘a sufficient number of
cruisers’. The larger cruisers on the station would be grouped together as the
Third Cruiser Squadron and would be available for detached service.
The constant redistribution of the fleet throughout
this period was symptomatic of the confusing international situation; nothing is
so perplexing as to be unable to identify a possible enemy, whereas a clear and
unambiguous threat concentrates the naval and military mind wonderfully.
Although Fisher did not get all he asked for, one concession was made to him: he
had complained that his predecessors on the Mediterranean station had all been
Admirals but, because he was a Vice-Admiral, he ‘was docked of a number of
servants…and also docked of a large amount of pay.’
Selborne announced that, in future, the C-in-C of the Mediterranean Fleet
would hold the rank of Admiral, or the acting rank of Admiral. It was a simple
expedient whose dire long-term consequences would be out of all proportion to
the ease with which it was granted.
On the other hand Selborne disposed of one of Fisher’s five keys: the
Mediterranean Fleet, he declared, ‘will, of course, remain based on Malta.’
Additionally, the problem foreseen by Brassey of creating a separate command at
Gibraltar was solved by the questionable contrivance of detaching the Gibraltar
command from the Mediterranean station in time of peace – reverting to it only
in time of war – and by reducing the limits of the Mediterranean station from
the tenth degree of longitude to the fifth degree.
Fisher would not give up that easily; he was
unrelenting in his preference for Alexandria (for which he claimed to have the
support of the Prime Minister). In case this should not prove sufficient, Fisher
tried to drum up enthusiasm on the spot by writing to Cromer, the Egyptian
Consul-General, in April 1905 to emphasize ‘the coming importance of
Alexandria in naval strategy.’ His reasoning was simple: the immense
development in submarines would leave the English Channel and western basin of
the Mediterranean uninhabitable by a fleet in wartime. ‘Malta will lose its
significance as the base of the Mediterranean Fleet’, he argued,
but
it will retain its importance, as absolutely locking up by means of the mass of
submarines we shall station there, the passages from the western to the eastern
basin of the Mediterranean. There will only be a small puddle in the middle of
the western basin of the Mediterranean that will not be dominated by the French
submarines on the French Algerian and Corsican coasts! Our Mediterranean Fleet,
therefore, will have its new base at Alexandria, and this is as it should be, if
the Suez Canal is to remain neutralized. Also, further, I personally (though yet
in a minority of one perhaps) am absolutely convinced that our fighting policy
is to have free access to the Black Sea for warships of all nations, and for
that reason we want Alexandria, not Malta, as our chief naval base.
By the time Fisher wrote this, political events
were conspiring to turn the Mediterranean into a backwater. The Anglo-French
Entente had begun officially on 8 April 1904 when an agreement was signed
settling colonial differences between the two nations, including a reciprocal
recognition of each country’s paramount position in Egypt (Britain) and
Morocco (France). But as Anglo-French relations improved, so Anglo-German
relations deteriorated. With the Russo-Japanese war still being waged the
Russians had, at the end of 1904, been approached by the Germans hinting at a
possible alliance.
Whether he was aware of such approaches or not, Fisher had no doubts following
the infamous Dogger Bank incident (when trigger-happy Russian warships fired on
British trawlers in the North Sea in the scarcely credible belief that they were
Japanese torpedo boats waiting in ambush) that it was actually the Germans
behind it all.
The nadir was reached on 31 March 1905 when the Kaiser, grievously seasick in a
howling gale, thankfully descended on to firm ground at Tangier to mutter a
pledge to uphold the independence of Morocco.
While the wind snatched his words and scattered their meaning amongst the
bemused onlookers, the significance of his appearance at the port was all too
apparent in Paris and London. This heavy-handed attempt to convince the French
that they would be wiser to co-operate with Germany, not England, had the
opposite effect to that intended, but not before presenting Lord Lansdowne, the
British Foreign Secretary, with a number of disagreeable alarms.
Wilhelm, still blustering, had gone on to inform
Prince Louis of Battenberg on April Fool’s Day that, ‘As to France, we know
the road to Paris, and we will get there again if needs be. They should remember
no fleet can defend Paris.’
It did not take long for this threat to reach Lansdowne. Meanwhile, a section of
the French cabinet was in favour of buying off Germany with the offer of a
Moroccan port in return for German recognition of France’s primary position in
that country. It was Lansdowne’s firmly held belief that a German port on the
Atlantic seaboard of Morocco or, even worse, on the Mediterranean coast, would
be a fatal blow to British security.
Lansdowne authorized his Ambassador in Paris to reassure the French of British
support, and to offer ‘to join the French Govt in offering strong
opposition’ to any German proposal to establish a port on the coast of
Morocco.
Fisher, as pugnacious as always, helpfully offered Lansdowne some free advice:
This
seems a golden opportunity for fighting the Germans in alliance with the French,
so I earnestly hope you may be able to bring this about. Of course I don’t
pretend to be a diplomat, but it strikes me the German Emperor will greatly
injure the splendid and increasing Anglo-French Entente if he is allowed to
score in any way — even if it is
only getting rid of M. Delcassé [the French Foreign Minister]…All I hope is
that you will send a telegram to Paris that the English and French Fleets are one. We could have the German Fleet, the Kiel Canal, and Schleswig-Holstein
within a fortnight.
Whatever Lansdowne made of this, he did tend to
support Fisher’s publicly held view, whereas Arthur Balfour, the Conservative
Prime Minister, confessed to ‘private doubts’ as to the possible value of a
Moroccan port for the Germans. Balfour rightly pointed out the difficulties
which would beset the Germans in trying to develop ‘a satisfactory base of
operations’.
It transpired, however, that Fisher’s private
view coincided with Balfour’s: ‘[O]f course the Germans will ask for
Mogador,’ Fisher informed Louis Mallet at the Foreign Office, ‘and I shall
tell Lord L[ansdowne] that if they do we must at
least have Tangier — of course it is all rot and it would not matter to us
whether the Germans got Mogador or not but I’m not going to say so all the
same.’
Nevertheless, German pressure on France mounted throughout May until, in an
attempt to reassure the French Ambassador, Paul Cambon, Lansdowne informed him
on the 17th that: ‘Our two governments should continue to treat one another
with the most absolute confidence, should keep one another fully informed of
everything which came to their knowledge, and should, as far as possible,
discuss in advance any contingencies by which they might in the course of events
find themselves confronted.’
Cambon and Delcassé misinterpreted Lansdowne’s remark, believing it to mean,
at the least, British support in a Franco-German war and, at most, an offer of
alliance. Eleven days later, on 28 May 1905, after its epic but doomed voyage,
the Russian Baltic Fleet was annihilated by Britain’s ally, Japan, in the
Tsushima Straits. Delcassé’s attempt to extract a conditional pledge from
Lansdowne failed and, when the Germans discovered that the French Foreign
Minister was attempting to mediate in the Russo-Japanese War – with the
possibility of a Triple Alliance of France, Russia and Britain as the glittering
prize – they successfully demanded Delcassé’s dismissal.
It did little to help Delcassé’s cause that he
had become unpopular with his colleagues;
paradoxically his sacrificial resignation, on 6 June, did not produce the
desired effect of appeasing the Germans who continued to insist on an
international conference to settle the Moroccan question.
This intransigence might have been fuelled by the fact that, on the evening of
the day of Delcassé’s enforced resignation, the German Chargé d’Affaires
in Paris was secretly, but erroneously, informed that the British had offered an
alliance to France.
The situation had deteriorated to such an extent that, on 24 June, Fisher
assigned the Director of Naval Intelligence to investigate the manning and
distribution of the Fleet in the event of naval action against Germany becoming
necessary in support of the French.
Captain Ottley, the Director of Naval Intelligence, replied two days later that
little needed to be done and that, with the French in control in the
Mediterranean, a portion of the British Fleet there could be recalled, leaving a
skeleton force only to watch the Black Sea Fleet. He did, however, advise that,
to avoid misunderstandings with the French, an exchange of views should take
place; this aspect of Ottley’s recommendation was not acted upon.
This was hardly surprising as Balfour had already decided that Germany was
‘really desirous of obtaining a port on the coast of Morocco, and if such a
proceeding be a menace to our interests, it must be to other means than French
assistance that we must look for our protection.’
Despite this, Lansdowne continued to offer diplomatic support to the French
which in turn became a factor in the French decision to agree to the convening
of the conference sought by the Germans.
With the threat of war still lingering in the air
in Europe, the lessening of the Russian threat in the Far East following
Tsushima allowed the Admiralty to withdraw five battleships from the China
Station and redistribute them to meet the current crisis in the west: three
would be ordered to reinforce the Channel fleet and one each to reinforce the
Atlantic and Mediterranean fleets. Public perception, if not official Admiralty
policy, was of a deployment specifically directed against Germany leading the
new First Lord, Cawdor,
to argue that,
Squadrons
of varying strength are strategically required in certain waters; but the
kaleidoscopic nature of international relations, as well as variations or new
developments in sea-power, not only forbids any permanent allocation of numbers,
but in fact points the necessity for periodic redistribution of ships between
our Fleets to meet the political requirements of the moment.
This,
however, now represented the policy of an outgoing administration: with the
Conservative party hopelessly split over the question of tariff reform, Balfour
resigned on 4 December 1905. A week later the Liberals had formed an interim
government in which Sir Edward Grey became Foreign Secretary. For Grey, the
conclusion of an Anglo-Russian agreement, which he had consistently advocated,
was ‘the primary goal of British foreign policy.’
For the time being, despite the strengthening of
the Anglo-French bond and the public pronouncements of Grey regarding a rapprochement
with Russia, the new Board of Admiralty appointed by the incoming Liberal
administration and now headed by the ineffectual Lord Tweedmouth, simply
reiterated Cawdor’s policy. The Russians had been reduced to the rank of a
third-class naval power – but only, it was thought, temporarily – while a
new French building programme was under way. As the prospect of an Anglo-French
or Anglo-Russian conflict seemed unlikely the Admiralty was in the fortuitous
position of being overwhelmingly strong and with only one real or imagined
enemy: Germany. Despite this, it was still capable of arguing, if somewhat
disingenuously, that
The
Board of Admiralty, as the responsible naval advisers of the Government cannot
base their plans upon the shifting sands of any temporary and unofficial
international relationship. Highly as we may value the entente
cordiale we cannot but remember that similar attempts to bring together
peoples…[have] not hitherto been uniformly successful…Ententes may vanish — battleships remain the surest pledges this
country can give for the continued peace of the world.
Notwithstanding
these resounding words, newly commissioned battleships would continue to be
stationed to react against the threat from Germany. When, in January 1906, at
the conference to settle the Moroccan crisis, France received the support of
both Grey and the Russians the result was a resounding diplomatic defeat for the
Germans — the consequence of their own ham-fisted attempts at diplomacy which
had done little else but provide a firm foundation for the burgeoning Entente;
Germany had been left isolated and more dangerous than ever. The apogee of the
Mediterranean fleet had been reached and passed, though for some time it would
continue to exert its attractions.
With
the German and American fleets growing rapidly and the “two power plus a
margin” standard still official policy the possibility that the incoming
Liberal government would be able to avert the demands for increases in the naval
estimates seemed remote. While certain of Fisher’s schemes had resulted in
savings being achieved – administrative reform, the scrapping and sale of many
obsolete vessels, the nucleus crew system – another of his innovations
threatened to provoke a new naval arms race. This was the all-big-gun battleship
and its faster, though less heavily armoured derivative, the all-big-gun
cruiser. Fisher, given to extremes at the best of times, wavered in 1904 about
the vessel of the future. In January of that year he informed the D.N.I. that it
would be the submarine which was destined to ‘displace the gun and absolutely
revolutionize Naval Tactics’; then by the middle of the year he doubted the
desirability of building battleships at all though not, apparently, because of
the coming submarine menace. The “battlefleet” principle had been outdated
by the advent of fast torpedo craft and there was, he argued, no function of
battleships that large armoured cruisers could not fulfil.
Undeterred in his own eclectic mind by this gloomy prognosis for the capital
ship, Fisher then confusingly outlined his navy of the future:
The
New Navy to be absolutely restricted to four types of vessels being all that
modern fighting necessitates.
I. Battleships of 15,900 tons. 21 knots speed
II. Armoured Cruisers of 15,900 tons. 25 knots speed.
III.
Destroyers of 750 tons, and 4-inch guns. 36 knots speed.
IV.
Submarines of 350 tons. 14 knots surface speed.
To investigate the various proposals the First Lord
at the time (Selborne) had agreed, on Fisher’s initiative, to convene a
“Committee on New Designs”. Although Fisher would continue to have his
doubts as to the future of the battleship
it is evident that he was also refining his ideas with a view to producing a
radical new ship. In fact the essentials of the new design – high speed and
large, uniform main battery – had been arrived at by mid-1904 but until he
could take up his post as First Sea Lord in October there was little Fisher
could do.
On 2 August 1904 Fisher requested of the First Lord,
Not
to take any step to lay down any fresh battleships, or that will in any way bind
you to do so until you have allowed me to set before you in detail in October
next why we should hold our hands in this matter! Besides it being a matter of
fighting efficiency not to lay down another fighting vessel until we have
reconsidered fighting conditions, there is also the fact that Russia’s naval
decline permits us to wait a bit, and you will also readily see the enormous
effect on next year’s Estimates if, with a solid ground for doing so, we mark
time a little bit in new construction!… I hope you will believe that I should
not trouble you unless I had a most overwhelming sense of its being wrong to
begin building any new vessels of any kind until we had carefully worked out new
designs with new minds.
Selborne
could not agree. ‘Under no circumstances’, he replied two days later, ‘can
I consent to a year’s hiatus in battleship building. What is much more
important even than the best design is to have a continuous series of ships
coming on … A joint design by yourself and the Archangel Gabriel is of no use
if it comes too late. There are two maxims from which I will never depart
whatever I do with the ten Commandments. Lay down battleships every year. Lay
down the best design you have ready in that year.’ As this was before the
Russian disaster at Tsushima, Selborne also disagreed about Russia’s naval
decline: at that stage she had lost only one battleship and, he added, ‘was
learning rapidly in the greatest of schools and she will have a thundering
programme immediately. That bird is not bagged yet and there is Germany better
and better.’
While it could be assumed that Fisher’s
“carefully worked out new designs” referred principally to the
“Dreadnought” class, as will be seen, there is evidence available
that he intended to concentrate solely on the battle cruiser concept instead;
but realizing, as a result of Selborne’s instant and intransigent opposition,
that he would face an overwhelming struggle, Fisher then compromised politically
by agreeing to the building of a single Dreadnought — so long as he was
assured of the concomitant construction of three battle cruisers. Fisher had
written to Selborne in January 1901: ‘It is clearly necessary to have
superiority of speed in order to compel your opponent to accept battle, or to
enable you to avoid battle …The increase in the exact strength and exact size
of type can be best formulated by defining superiority of speed as the first
qualification for all classes of vessels … the second is gun-power …’
There was no mention of armour protection; the refinement of these ideas was to
lead, ineluctably, to the development of the battle cruiser. As Fisher later
admitted, when discussing the performance of Indomitable (one of the first three battle cruisers): ‘I should
have none else myself! and said so when she was designed, the same time as Dreadnought,
but I was in a minority of one! You have
to have Moses before Paul! You couldn’t have had the New Testament without the
Old first! The Dreadnought paved
the way to the Indomitable. It’s no
use one or two knots superiority of speed — a dirty bottom brings that down!
It’s a d——d big six or seven knots surplus that does the trick!’
What Fisher needed to ‘sell’ the battle cruiser
concept was the convergence of different technologies such as turbines for the
great speed which was a feature of the class. Speed, to Fisher, was armour; but
speed in itself was of little value unless these lightly armoured ships could
reach out — beyond the range at which their opponents guns could strike —
and hit accurately. And this meant a new system of gunnery fire control. In the
same way that the lessons of the Russo-Japanese war would later be used
retrospectively to vindicate the design of the new warships, Fisher used the
latest development in fire control to convince himself, if need be, of the
superiority of the battle cruiser over the dreadnought, and to deflect the
arguments that he realized were likely to arise. Although a consistent advocate
of long range gunnery,
Fisher, up to the end of 1904, had an imperfect knowledge of the newest advances
in salvo firing.
Shortly after becoming First Sea Lord, however, he became aware of Arthur
Hungerford Pollen’s quest to devise a vastly improved fire control system.
Pollen’s system held out the promise of providing the Royal Navy with a
monopoly of long range hitting. Fisher, it has been suggested, ‘could hardly
have missed Pollen’s contention that the adoption of his system would enable
British capital ships to hit their targets at ranges at which an opponent could
not reply effectively, and that such a capability suggested the construction of
vessels of higher speed, heavier fire power and less armour, which would be much
superior to the not yet completed Dreadnought.’
Pollen was to write in May 1906 that, ‘You cannot get away from this, that as
soon as we know that our guns can hit at long ranges regularly, we shall have to
base our tactics and our shipbuilding on the inevitable corollaries.’ These
included an increased angle of descent of the projectile, calling for more
horizontal armour and less vertical, and guns available for both broadsides.
‘But beyond everything, you must have speed — for this is the determining
factor both in choosing an initial range, and maintaining it … Tactically, it
is second in importance only to technical perfection in the use of guns.
Protection – i.e. armour – is a bad third.’
For Fisher, even if he did not comprehend the intricacies of the new system
being proposed, the conclusion was obvious: the sacrifice of armour in the new
ships would keep ‘their size and cost within Britain’s limited though
considerable resources.’
However, what Fisher ignored was the obvious
corollary that the Germans would make improvements to their
fire-control systems. If Germany adopted a gun of equal range and a fire control
system of similar capability the British ships would lose their advantage —
only their speed could hope to save them. Their use as an offensive weapon would
be severely limited. The final irony was that Pollen’s system was repeatedly
rejected by the Royal Navy in favour of a cheaper, but less effective,
apparatus.
Fisher had conceived a weapon of little strategic value, of still enormous
expense, requiring a new tactical doctrine if they were successfully to
co-operate with slower battleships, and whose entire rationale would be
nullified the moment Germany commenced construction of a similar class of
vessel. Fisher’s culpability extended further — although naval progress
world-wide was moving towards the all-big-gun ship, the launch of Dreadnought
caught Admiral Tirpitz, chief of the German Imperial Naval Office, genuinely
unaware. To counter the proposition that, by rendering obsolete earlier vessels,
the advantage accruing to Britain by virtue of the preponderance in older ships
had been wiped out at a stroke, the Admiralty could have used the opportunity to
push on with the construction of further dreadnoughts and steal a march on
Germany. Instead, three battle cruisers were laid down early in 1906 in place of
dreadnoughts. Once Dreadnought herself
had been completed late in 1906, it would not be until 1909 before she was
joined by ships of the next, similar, class. On predictions then current, the
Admiralty envisaged that, by the middle of 1909, Germany would have four of the
new class completed plus two battle cruisers to match five British dreadnoughts
and three battle cruisers, a worryingly narrow margin.
Although this prediction was to prove awry, Fisher’s ‘vision’ could have
cost Britain dear.
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