# Heresies of Sea Power/Part 2/Chapter 1

I
SOME TACTICAL AND STRATEGICAL PROBLEMS
There are two problems the solution of which has always been before belligerents in all ages. These are as follows:—
(1) A fleet is between two hostile forces, each inferior to it, but which combined are superior. What is its right course of action?
The other is:—
(2) How can the weaker succeed in beating the stronger?
These questions have always existed; and they are just as near to or as far from solution now as they were five thousand years ago when Nile boats were battleships and the sea an untraversed unknown tract. It may be profitable and should certainly be interesting to take a few historical instances of these problems, and see whether the answer in one age was the same as in another.
The first problem confronted the Japanese to some considerable extent in 1904. There were Russians at Port Arthur and Vladivostok, with a trifling force at Chemulpo in between. Nominally at any rate these ​forces combined were slightly superior to the Japanese: divided they were inferior. Japan's solution of the problem was to annihilate the intermediate unit with a detachment and then fling her whole force on the Port Arthur fleet. At a later date she modified this: first making a considerable show off Vladivostok and then lying between with two divisions, each facing a Russian division, and these fought separate actions each with its own enemy in the affairs of August, 1904. The loss of the Bayan at Port Arthur and the Bogatyr at Vladivostok (both matters of chance) gave the Japanese a better force than they would otherwise have had at both points, but this paper advantage was not very great and Togo's fleet at Round Island, for reasons hereinafter stated, was hardly superior to the Russian Port Arthur fleet under Witgeft. Kamimura had a distinct superiority in his division; but he had it at Togo's expense.
The results were in favour of both Japanese divisions, though fully conclusive in neither case.
This is the only instance of the problem (except in naval manœuvres) since Captain Mahan wrote:—
'A position . . . threatened with attack from two quarters, presents one of the subtlest temptations to a commander. The impulse is very strong to meet both by dividing his own numbers . . . but unless in possession of overwhelming force it is an error, exposing both divisions to be beaten separately.'
​Togo disregarded this dictum. He was not in overwhelming force, and in view of the fact that he had to preserve his battleships at all costs he became to that extent the more inferior so far as the division facing Port Arthur was concerned. If Russian stories be true—and they are borne out to some extent by the fact that the Russian casualties were not much heavier than those of the Japanese—it was somewhat a matter of luck that Togo's fleet at any rate was not 'beaten separately.' On the other hand, Togo certainly claimed Round Island as a victory, and the fact that the Russians never came out again stands by way of proof to his claim. Kamimura, being two to one, had of course no great difficulty in settling the Vladivostok cruisers, although for reasons not made clear he failed to complete his victory.
Let us now turn to the past. Instances of the inferior force splitting itself to meet the attack from two quarters are not very numerous. The English fleet did it in the time of the Napoleonic wars, but it was (save in one instance) in 'overwhelming force' off both Toulon and Brest and so cannot be cited. The instance of division without overwhelming force in both parts occurred with Cornwallis. Villeneuve with twenty-seven ships had returned from the West Indies, having given the pursuing Nelson the slip and got away from Calder's fifteen ships which tried to intercept him. Off Brest was Cornwallis with thirty-five ships which he split into two fleets, one to watch Villeneuve near ​Ferrol, the other to watch Brest. Had Villeneuve gone towards Brest he would have met one of Cornwallis's division with superior force: however, unaware of the division, he went to Cadiz—so nothing came of Cornwallis's splitting up.
For a good instance of division at all like Togo's we have to go back to the second Anglo-Dutch war Here in the strategy preceding the Four Days' Battle (1666) the English detached about a quarter of their force under Prince Rupert to meet a French fleet to the westward and the remainder under Monk to meet the Dutch fleet coming east. Practically Rupert was in Kamimura's position and Monk in Togo's. The force encountered by Monk was not very greatly superior, but he was compelled to retreat before it and but for the return of Rupert would have been handsomely beaten. As things were he suffered severely. Here there are three instances: in the first and most modern, splitting led to no disaster but victories: in Cornwallis's case nothing happened: in Monk's, defeat was the result.
Other instances might be sought, but they would not sensibly alter the above ratio and they are not very plentiful. As a rule splitting has not been in favour.
Now comes an important consideration. In splitting his force was Togo split in the sense that Monk and Cornwallis were? Split he certainly was, but speed and wireless telegraphy made his divisions far nearer. ​Had he been defeated at Round Island he would far more easily have been able to fall back on Kamimura than were the others who in the past essayed the same thing. This, of course, is another way of saying that conditions have altered, and that it is much more easy to decentralise or spread now than formerly.
The trend towards decentralisation is now, indeed, great. In the war with Japan we have seen Russia disposing part of her fleet at Port Arthur and part at Vladivostok. It is difficult to assert that this division was bad—that is to say concentration at Port Arthur, had the harbour admitted of it, would assuredly not have led to a Russian victory: it would merely have simplified Togo's task. It was bad in that the division of forces might have been better made—all cruisers might have been at Vladivostok, for instance. It was bad in that, being divided, the Russians made subsequent attempts to unite,—for no better reason apparently than that the uniting of two separated forces is the pet problem of naval manoeuvres. Being divided they had better have remained so, and reaped such advantage as compelling the Japanese to divide also conferred. They were the wrong people to evolve a new thing in warfare out of divided squadrons; but it is well on the cards that in some such feature the Nelson of the future will make his mark. Supposing a brilliant leader at Port Arthur, backed up by an efficient fleet, and a similarly brilliant and efficient squadron at Vladivostok, the difficulties before Togo ​would have been very great. He could have blockaded Port Arthur only with his entire force and then with great difficulty, leaving the Vladivostok division free to cut the communication of the invading army. The Kussians did things badly and failed, but this is no proof that the brilliant possibilities alluded to did not exist; or that in some such division in the hereafter unexpected power may not be found.
Tactically, the 'divided squadron' is usually put under the head of a twentieth-century idea. It is an idea somewhat difficult to define, but in essence it embodies decentralisation as a means for truer concerted action. To take the case in a simpler form it is easier for two squadrons of six ships each, properly placed, to concentrate the guns of twelve ships on a portion of the enemy than it is for twelve ships in one long line to do so. It rests also on the fact that whereas each broadside had an equal value in the old days so that one ship between two others could give each her full power, in these days the principal armament being mounted to bear on either broadside a ship can put full power upon one side only. And since in a line of twelve ships there are bound to be some at one or other end of the line unable to deliver an effective fire at the psychological moment, it follows that the divided ships may have greater chances of securing a 'two to one' advantage. On the other hand, unless well-handled they may be separately engaged and lose more than they gain. Only a very efficient fleet, ​with units well used to acting together is, therefore, likely to succeed with such tactics.
Whether divided squadron tactics are really a new thing is open to debate.
Alcibiades at the battle of Cyzicus did something of the sort when he divided his fleet into three. Again in the first Punic War Atilius off Tyndaris flung ten triremes on the Carthaginians, and held them thereby till his main body arrived. In neither case were the operations very akin to those of the modern divided squadron, but the integral idea of securing victory by using the fleet in detachments instead of as a whole was equally present. Again, Togo off Port Arthur was continually more tactically divided than was academically desirable. As already stated his tactics were more than once those of Alcibiades, and the results were satisfactory to him. Nelson at Trafalgar employed a species of divided squadron of set purpose and with a definite object, and Togo was divided at Tsushima, though for some time apologists with views of their own as to what he should have done, attempted to prove that he was not. The man who did not divide was Rogestvensky—who of all men ought to have done so, in order not to hamper his few good ships.
On the whole it may be argued that history has ​nothing conclusive to teach in answer to the first question; but that something may be surmised of the existence of a law of evolution in the matter tending towards greater division in the future than was safely to be attempted in the past.
The second problem 'How can the weaker succeed in beating the stronger ' was answered by that Peloponnesian leader who, after the battle of Naupaktis finding himself the weaker, except numerically, said:—'Against their greater skill set your own greater valour,' and by the Athenian Phormio on the same occasion when he appealed to skill against numbers.
It was answered by Alexander the Great when he made his historical remark 'It matters not to the wolf how many the sheep number.' It was answered by Hannibal when he beat the Romans at Cannae; by Drake and Effingham when they fought the Spanish Armada, pitting against bulk and many guns, efficient gunnery and heavier pieces. Times without number has it been answered, but never in quite the same way, and because the way has always been different the question has continually remained, and will go on being asked—not always with an answer—whenever any man with a few ships encounters a fleet of double his force.
Supposing three cruisers met six of the enemy, all units being about equal. Common sense suggests that the three run for it; but this may not always be possible. History tells that often three have beaten ​six, but no study of history will teach how it is to be done except by being doubly fitter to win. Once there were days when by passing under the sterns of the enemy the three might have a very good chance, supposing the manoeuvre to succeed—to-day such a manoeuvre would almost certainly lead to the three being torpedoed. Once, as at Lissa, where the weaker Austrian fleet rushed the stronger Italians, victory was won by daring valour—to-day the torpedo would probably intervene long before the terror of the ram could create any confusion. Cutting the line in the past accomplished much—to-day the torpedo again intervenes.
Yet, to-day, if the three can 'cross the T' by passing across the bows of the six they may do a great deal and destroy in detail. It is possible;, but possible only to very efficient ships and to a leader of remarkable skill. It is harder than it was, and as years go on is likely to become harder still.
This indeed is the tendency of all tactics, though probably cycles obtain. Take, for instance, the case of a fleet lying in battle order in a bay—a situation which has obtained off and on continually throughout history. In ancient times it was a very favourite formation to adopt. The Greeks were so disposed at Salamis, and emerged the winners. In the Peloponnesian war the Peloponnesian fleet took up a very similar position behind the island of Sphakteria; but the Athenians ​who attacked them there did so quite successfully. The Romans under Scipio Africanus so lay at Tunis, and the results were indecisive, with the balance of success to the attacking Carthaginians.
The Octavian fleet so lying off the Campanian coast was defeated by the ships of Pompey; and at Actium the fleet of Antony very similarly disposed was defeated.
Coming to more modern times we find that in the eighteenth century it was a tactical axiom with the French that a fleet moored in battle order with its flanks protected by batteries was immune from attack. For this they had immediate historical warrant. Professor Laughton cites a variety of instances of this doctrine in action. D'Estaing twice declined to attack an inferior British fleet so lying and was beaten later at St. Lucia when he did attempt it—his twelve big ships being beaten by seven smaller English vessels.
Guichen and Cordova with thirty-six ships feared to attack Darby so placed with twenty at Torbay; and De Grasse attacking Hood, anchored at St. Kitts, failed. Suffren with twelve ships off Madras declined to attack Hughes with nine anchored and supported by batteries.
So when the French fleet thus lay before the battle ​of the Nile they had plenty of warrant in the study of recent history to support their belief that they were quite safe. A study of ancient history would have told them that such positions had sometimes been safe and sometimes not, and perhaps impressed Brueys with the fact that the real teaching of history is that 'there is nothing to be learned, save that "the impossible" may always occur.' It was left for Nelson, in the signal victory of Aboukir Bay to shatter all theories as to the immunity of a fleet anchored in a protected bay. Yet at Algeciras, not so very long afterwards, Sir James Saumarez with six ships was handsomely beaten by four French ones lying in the bay. At Navarino on the other hand the Turkish fleet found no safety in a bay.
If we select the Nile, Navarino, Actium, Sphakteria and other similar instances a fleet lying in a bay is doomed to destruction: but if we turn our attention to Algeciras, and many an action between that and Salamis, the exact opposite is to be proved. Obviously then it is unsafe to draw any deduction from history in this matter other than that 'it is the unexpected which happens.'
Modern history does not supply much in the way of instances of battles in this particular situation. The Russians on February 9, 1904, inferior in ships but supported by forts were to some extent so situated in Port Arthur Bay when attacked by Togo with a superior force of ships. Togo never pressed home his ​attack, but generally speaking it may be said that such results as there were pointed to a possible sequel more akin to what befel Saumarez at Algeciras and D'Estaing at St. Lucia, than Nelson at the Nile.
As a corollary to the second problem there is the question of battles between equal or very nearly equal forces. A consideration of the question leaves us in doubt just as do the others already discussed.
In the decisive battle between Suffren and Hughes, April 12, 1782, the French concentrated on and severely injured two of the English ships, while the English fire was so distributed amongst the French that though the sum total of damage was about the same in both squadrons, yet the English were minus two ships for a long time, while all the French were able to make good their defects at sea. This is perhaps the best historical instance of the effects of what we now describe as 'fire control.' Something of the sort, of course, has always been an objective, whether in those innumerable battles in which one fleet concentrated on a portion of the other by contact, or in fights such as that of Round Island, where the Russians had hardly fired a shot at anything except the Mikasa, and the Japanese till late in the day devoted themselves to the Tsarevitch. The highest pitch was reached in those British peace manoeuvres in which a fleet was umpired as defeated because, when results were being assessed, it was found that every ship in the defeated squadron had during the ​entire action fired only at one and the same vessel in the opposing fleet— that is to say, done pretty much what the Russians did at Round Island.
Here, then, we have two distinct results of the application of the doctrine of concentration of effort. Suffren by employing it secured, despite an indecisive action, moral and material results equal almost to a victory, since for over a month he had two units less to contend against. This incident of Suffren's concentration, figuring as it does very largely in the pages of Captain Mahan's 'Influence of Sea Power upon History,' was undoubtedly known to the Russian admiral Witgeft and to the Japanese admiral Togo. Both, no doubt, fully recognised how advantageous it had proved to Suffren, and evidently ordered a similar thing. As a result, the Mikasa was very considerably knocked about, sustaining, in addition to other bad hits which reduced her gun fire, a water line penetration which might well have served as an excuse for her leaving the line, though as a matter of fact she did not do so. As for the rest of the Japanese fleet, it might for all the harm it sustained from the Russians, never have been in action at all.
The Japanese fire was directed almost solely at the Tsarevitch till that vessel left the line; thereafter, with the exception of a concentration upon the ​Retvizan in special circumstances, it distributed its attentions, and every Russian ship was more or less damaged. The resources of Port Arthur dockyard were not sufficient to put these ships into fighting trim again, and so, though they sank no ships and captured none, the Japanese reaped a material advantage. Of course, Port Arthur might have been a first-class dockyard, in which case, after some two or three months, the Russians might again have emerged; but taking all things into consideration, it seems apparent that a policy of general damage rather than an attempt to destroy one unit absolutely paid best in this particular case.
Now, out of these two battles is it possible to draw any deductions likely to be of future use? We can draw from Round Island the lesson that too much concentration may be worse than too little, from the Suffren action the exact reverse. Had some of the Russian hits on the Mikasa been on some other vessels the sequel might, it may be argued, have been different. The Mikasa was hit amidships around the funnel bases several times. The first hit did all the possible mischief, and the others were to that extent wasted. Similarly, the Japanese wasted some effort on the Tsarevitch, though later they gave attention to other vessels.
Here, then, is another case interesting to compare with those already mentioned. Taken by itself it might well be used to show that the first statement ​of 'Tactics alter while strategies do not' is correct. That is the obvious lesson. But is it necessarily correct?
If we accept such an explanation we must, to be logical, say that Nelson won the battle of the Nile because 'tactics had altered' since experience had shown that a fleet anchored like that of Brueys was safe from attack. Yet both before and after the Nile similar attempts were failures: and so we are driven to confess that the Nile was probably a victory just because Nelson and his men happened to be the men fittest to win in such a conflict, and that tactics were a secondary matter.
Pursuing this train of thought, we may ask whether results would have been materially different had the Japanese at Round Island elected to destroy entirely the Tsarevitch and Retvizan, or the Russians attempted a scheme of general damage, instead of trying to annihilate the Mikasa?
The only conceivable answer is surely in the negative; and a similar answer results from any other battle being considered in the same light.
The same reasoning may be applied to strategy. We may supply Rogestvensky with the best possible strategy, but who will contend that had he adopted the best possible to be derived from a study of history he would have fared any better than he did? His defeat would not perhaps have been in Tsushima Straits, but would there have been any other material ​difference? If Togo had led the Russian crews would any strategy of his have produced victory?
He would be a bold man who would contend that any strategical genius could have led the Russian personnel to victory. But if the contention cannot be maintained, of what value or purport is it whether the principles of strategy be eternal or not? However academically interesting, of what value is the principle to victory? Is it not clear that Fitness to Win is an infinitely more important asset?
* ↑ Influence of Sea Power upon History, p. 113.
* ↑ See 'Peloponnesian War.'
* ↑ See 'Peloponnesian War.'
* ↑ As both were on the same bearing the application is of course only partial.
* ↑ Nelson, by Professor Laughton.
* ↑ On this occasion Suffren, then one of D'Estaing's captains tried to persuade him to attack by anchoring on the English buoys—tactics very similar to those employed by Nelson at the Nile. D'Estaing however refused to do so.
* ↑ It is true that some of them had big guns out of action, but this was due to premature explosion of their H.E. shell, not to the Russian fire.
* ↑ On the other hand, Nelson (who was no particular genius in strategy or tactics) possibly could have done so, because he possessed to so extraordinary a degree the power of producing and cultivating Fitness to Win, and was great rather than merely able.'