# Heresies of Sea Power/Introduction

HERESIES OF SEA POWER.
INTRODUCTION.
WITH the general vague definition of Sea Power as a factor influencing the course of events, no reasonable man can quarrel. But is that influence on a par with and of the same nature as—say—the weather, military equipments, and so on and so forth, or is it a peculiar and predominant factor as—to a certain extent—it is claimed to be by Captain Mahan, and very loudly asserted to be by his imitators and disciples? In other words: Was Sea Power the sole cause that such and such a nation beat another in a war involving maritime interests; or was it that the winning nation happened to make use of the sea in winning?
Regarded in one way this question may be held merely to embody a distinction without a difference: regarded in another the difference may be found enormous. For the question may then resolve itself into this : Is the possession of Sea Power a guarantee that the nation possessing, using (and needing) it will ​win? If history be found to answer Yes; it can also be found to answer No.
An examination of Captain Mahan's standard work will make the position clearer, though it should be definitely understood that this examination is conducted with a view to elucidating and illustrating the special points made above, and not in a captious attempt to nullify the arguments of that great naval historian.
In his preface to 'The Influence of Sea Power on History,' Captain Mahan brings forward two distinct illustrations—the Punic War and the Napoleonic wars. Dealing with the first he says: —
'The Roman control of the water forced Hannibal to that long, perilous march through Gaul in which more than half his veteran troops wasted away; it enabled the elder Scipio, while sending his army from the Rhone on to Spain, to intercept Hannibal's communications, to return in person and face the invader at the Trebia. Throughout the war the legions passed by water, unmolested and unwearied, between Spain, which was Hannibal's base, and Italy; while the issue of the decisive battle of the Metaurus, hinging as it did upon the interior position of the Roman armies with reference to the forces of Hasdrubal and Hannibal, was ultimately due to the fact that the younger brother could not bring his succouring reinforcements by sea, but only by the land route through Gaul. Hence at the critical moment the two Carthaginian armies ​were separated by the length of Italy, and one was destroyed by the combined action of the Roman generals.'
Now it may equally well be advanced that the Carthaginians selected their 'long march through Gaul' because Spain was the base they drew their best troops from and because they proposed extending their Spanish empire down into Italy. All through this Second Punic War Carthage was as able to use the sea as Rome, and Hannibal's brother Mago took his reinforcements to Spain by sea. He took them to Spain for military reasons, though they were destined for Italy direct, and the influence of Sea Power in the war was often trifling save in so far as both sides had full use of the sea as a highway whenever inclined.
Captain Mahan is at some considerable pains to answer this possible objection by a process of inferences and the assumption that such over-sea expeditions as Carthage undertook were of the nature of those raids which no kind of Sea Power can entirely suppress. If this be granted, then of course the rest of his argument must be accepted; but can it be granted?
The deductions of Captain Mahan are that Sea Power saved Rome. It is to be urged that Rome was saved only by those political intrigues of party-ridden Carthage which kept Hannibal short of reinforce​ments and of that support which could have been supplied.
Thus far one particular case; but if we allow it too much weight, if we seek too carefully for similar instances in which the accepted influence of Sea Power may perhaps have only an imaginary value, we are undoubtedly in danger of forming conclusions as dangerous as if we accept blindly such dogmas as 'Sea Power won the Second Punic War,' or that 'The ships of Nelson at Trafalgar won the battle of Waterloo.' Rather, is it essential that we keep ever before us the fact that where an island is concerned Sea Power assumes a totally different meaning and importance to that which it possesses where continental issues are at stake. The Second Punic War was in sum and substance an entirely military campaign, and therefore is totally distinct from any war in which the British or Japanese empires could be concerned, or (save in the case of operations against Mexico and similarly negligible affairs) the United States. Between these Powers and all possible enemies the water lies. Because that water exists, they, both for attack and defence of commerce require Sea Power to a degree not experienced by most of the sea-empires of the past.
With nations that have controlled the sea in the past,—Athens, Phoenicia, Rome, Carthage, Genoa, and even the island Venice—the same conditions never obtained. Because they never obtained, may it logically be argued that, even were the teaching of history ​a certain recipe for future victory, even were the 'facts' of history unassailable truths, nothing in the history of these sea-empires can be of practical value to the two great Island Powers of to-day? That ruin followed the neglect of their naval forces by these by-gone sea-empires may prove nothing of much moment to the islanders, for had that neglect been compensated for by an efficient military force and a diversion of trade from sea to land, they should have continued to exist comfortably. The geographical sea-empires, on the other hand, are in quite different case; and it is patent that, pending the arrival of flying machines, any neglect of Sea Power is for them a surrender of everything. Under no conceivable conditions can an island State remain a Power without being in possession of its own waters. The United Kingdom, for instance, might have five million of the finest troops in the world but, without a fleet, without command of the sea, she would be an absolute cypher, and, not being self-supporting, in a position to be dictated to by any third-rate power with a few ships.
Japan, being self-supporting at present is not in quite the same condition; without a fleet starvation would not face her. But her influence, her progress and her expansion would decline instantly. An invincible army would maintain her integrity, but no more.
Of the three geographical sea nations the United States has the least need of a very strong fleet at present. The immense area of the Atlantic is as yet ​a sure bulwark to her, and supposing an invincible army, she, with her vast unexpanded areas inside her borders could continue to grow in peace, though at war with all the world. With a system of strategic rail-ways far removed from the sea she could uphold the Monroe doctrine intact so far as her own portion of the American continent is concerned. Below the Isthmus of Panama, however, no United States army, no matter how invincible, could control the destinies of South America without a fleet to aid it. A hostile fleet could so easily land enough men to cut communications at the Isthmus, and supposing any force entrenched there to be overwhelmed by the American military power, it would only be driven away to establish itself elsewhere at its own choice. So the Monroe doctrine necessitates a fleet: but it is a sentiment and not a necessity all the same. The cost of the United States fleet is the price of this particular sentiment.
It is patent, that the needs of these three empires vary considerably; and that the variable factor is in each case the question of food supply and the power of internal support. So great is the variation here that we may well pause to ask ourselves whether it is not sufficiently immense to render the past history of any one nation valueless to the other two, even were past history an asset of value for formulating the strategy of the future?
Does the past hold lessons for the future? Yes— ​if the teachings of history be properly applied, has answered Captain Mahan, and the same answer has been given by the great body of his disciples in every nation. But each and every writer of importance belonging to this school has laid down that history must be read aright. So much has this been insisted on that before questioning the main thesis we may be disposed to ask whether we can read history aright? If we cannot, then the other question is rendered to a great extent superfluous.
Those who 'make history'—individual combatants—rarely have anything but the haziest impressions as to the general facts, as they are seen by subsequent ages. What they desired to do, or hoped to do, is always inextricably mixed with what they actually accomplished. The exact designs and aspirations of the enemy were of necessity unknown to them, surmise had to replace certainty, and finally their field of vision was of necessity focused on the acts in which they personally took part. Their accounts must always be open to being criticized, and history, therefore, has had to be written by others, who, after hearing and sifting the evidence on both sides, have accepted that version or compromise of versions which appeared most credible. So difficult is this, so hard is it for the historian to eliminate totally any tendencies to unconscious bias, that no trustworthy full history can be ​composed till many years after the events dealt with. Till time has elapsed, correct perspective is impossible. Can we ensure that even after the lapse of time it will be correct?
All are familiar with incidents such as miscarriages of justice. An absolutely impartial judge, an unbiased jury with all the machinery of the law to help them get at facts, have more than once or twice gone astray. Who then shall claim infallibility for the infinitely more complicated task that is the historian's, even when free from bias? Few, too, are the unbiased historians; the type of mind that can throw over, not only all national sentiment, but also all national bent of thought, is rare. The spell of a great personality, of a Nelson or a Napoleon, does not die with him. Be the historian never so honest, is his relatively lesser individuality absolutely able to dissociate itself from the spell of the great man? In a word, is the ideal historian possible? Rather must not every historian fall short of the truth in places? Can he possibly be en rapport with both Napoleon and Wellington? Can he possibly avoid an unconscious bias for the one or the other, can he possibly give us all the truth even when he aims most sincerely at doing so? ​We are compelled to answer that he cannot always, compelled to confess that the very best he can do is to give us what may be but relative truth. Only of late have historians attempted to do this; and the historian of to-day, labour as he will, is compelled to give credence to such internal evidence as most appeals to his sense of fact.
As a base for modern naval history there is also the official despatch; but who that has seen official reports in the making will allow infallibility to them? To take a great and a small case: If there were one thing that seemed more certainly established than another it was the formation of the British fleet and its plan of action at Trafalgar. Yet a few years ago a great naval authority produced a deal of evidence to show that our accepted version of that attack was entirely incorrect. He failed to convince many that his theory was the true one, but unquestionably he left the matter in a doubt from which it has never emerged. Official reports by the yard are available; but absolute certainty as to British tactics on that memorable day is not for us. An historian, too, may yet arise to show that the importance of the victory was far less than the world has so far held it. Dumanoir may appear in a new light: even quite a plausible case may be made out to show that the British victory was a triumph of luck over bad dispositions. This is a very extreme case, and it is not suggested that the tendencies of many modern historians will have such an apotheosis; but, supposing ​any writer to have the will, he would have no great difficulty, by a little judicious selection, in making out such a theory. Convinced himself, he could draw proof enough to convince some others. And certainly there are very many students who would grant that the Nile was a greater achievement than Trafalgar. They would grant, too, very possibly, that, but for the detail that the great admiral died that day, Trafalgar might never have ranked with the Nile in the category of famous victories.
Who, too, shall define exactly the parts played respectively by Lady Hamilton and by high strategy in those days when Nelson laid the foundations of the British Mediterranean fleet? Who shall say that no one will ever 'prove' that had the fair Emma not appeared on the scene to keep Nelson in those waters, his strategy there would never have been attempted? The day may yet come when it is proved that our present appreciation of the great admiral is due to unconscious selection of evidence; and his real greatness may be shown to have lain entirely in his magnetic personality and marvellous gift of organization—greater qualities maybe than the more showy qualifications for which his memory is reverenced to-day. It is possible.
Thus, a great instance; on a matter that even those who doubt the truth of a great deal of accepted history ​would not generally quibble about. So are the most accessible naval 'facts' differentiated from the propositions of Euclid.
When versions disagree we have to ask which side had the largest motive for untruthfulness, which had the best or worst reputation that way, and so on and so forth. Enquiries in that direction necessitating endless research, produce a perfect enough balance of evidence: and points cannot really be cleared up. History, as required for naval purposes, is a mass of similar instances; probabilities are the most we can depend on at the best, and probabilities are far removed from absolute facts.
To prove the immutability theory of the great principles of war, we have, too, to dip into ancient history, to take authorities who were avowed partisans, and as likely as not only one side comes down to us.
What, for instance, was the Persian version of the battle of Salamis? We know the Greek tale well enough, but there are possible improbabilities in it. The Athenians had no very special naval skill at that period: they were certainly not technically superior to some of the Persian auxiliaries—the Phoenicians and Egyptians, for example. No doubt there was a battle of Salamis, no doubt the Greeks won; but a Persian version of it would probably tell of two or three of their ships overwhelmed by the Greek fleet! ​This, of course, would be evidence of the immutability of Nelson's 'only numbers can annihilate,' an expression that is an improvement on the equally familiar 'God is on the side of the big battalions,' and a variant on Sir Cloudesley Shovel's 'Where men are equally inured and disciplined in war, 'tis, without a miracle, number that gains the victory.' History is full of evidence of these sayings; but it is equally full of evidence to the contrary. At the battle off Naupaktis, in the Corinthian Gulf, the Peloponnesian fleet, vastly superior numerically, was presumably equal to the Athenian squadron in courage, endurance and many other things, except that the genius lay all with Phormio, and the fitness to win with his crews. Assuming Thucydides to be accurate (he, of course, may not be), at this battle tactics were born. The Peloponnesians adopted the defensive, forming themselves into a circle, bows outwards—a seemingly impregnable formation. Phormio's few ships rowed round and round them, till the morning breeze began to upset the Peloponnesian formation. Then the Athenian ships dashed into gaps in the line, to win a complete victory over far superior numbers. From the time of Gideon onward history can supply innumerable instances of similar happenings—even supposing the accounts to be only moderately true
​But, what can we deduce therefrom? First we must know for certain whether our data are correct. We must know exactly the relative efficiencies of the combatants—a thing that, of course, we cannot be certain about. Assuming, however, for the sake of argument that in some mysterious way we have all essential facts, can we in any way apply the battle of Naupaktis to modern naval warfare?
To a limited extent we can. We can or could say that it is hereby shown that genius may in certain circumstances neutralise superior numbers. Alongside this we may as certainly put 'Only numbers can annihilate,' or any similar proverb also based on the teachings of history.
More than this we cannot do. We cannot assign any factor to skill in relation to numbers, even if exact data from history were procurable; since they are not to be procured, we are more helpless still. This particular battle off Naupaktis can, in fine, be made to prove or controvert any modern theory according to the taste of the user, and the same thing to a greater or less extent is true of all past warfare. The current dogma runs to the effect that 'tactics alter, but the main principles of strategy alter not.' This, of course, will be denied by none in a general sense; but, directly we begin to apply it, are not pitfalls innumerable? Does not a weak point lie in the fact that there is nothing to prevent any faddist from selecting his own incidents to prove any theory he may wish? Is it ​possible to prevent the selection of incidents to head off any other set of incidents selected to prove anything else? Thus, in the first case, by dwelling upon the resemblances in the tactics at Naupaktis and the Yalu, and fortifying it with other instances, might not a man prove (with plenty of show of reasoning) that tactics do not change, and that, by studying history carefully, a modern admiral would be fully equipped for war? The case is extreme, of course: still in both battles there was the stronger force on the defensive, and defeat was brought about in either case by the loss of cohesion in this formation. More, the statement would have truth enough in it, but he who would propose our study of modern tactics to be based on history would be swiftly accused of landing us into quagmires. And if this be true of tactics, what assurance have we that it is not true of strategy also—strategy that fades imperceptibly into tactics? Take the main objections:
(1) Our history may be incorrect.
(2) Our theorist may select his instances by a process of eliminating any facts that go to contradict his pet theories, and it must be borne in mind that the average naval officer has neither the time nor the qualifications to study history for himself enough to say whether this method has been followed or not.
(3) There is no theory, based on history, that cannot be plausibly upset by a judicious selection of contra​dictory facts. Again, the naval officer cannot weigh the facts without an enormous library.
This, it may be suggested, reduces the value of all theories based on history to our individual appreciation of the theorist. And this means, either that his arguments as placed before us commend themselves to us on our own imperfect knowledge of the facts, or that the theorist has a plausible style that carries us away. Are either of these things rocks on which to build? And if we are without a bed-rock of absolute truth, may we not be building on sand?
Consequently in this work no attempt is made to go into the details of past history. Only the main facts are selected for comparison with accepted theories of Sea Power, and thence is deduced a new theory as to what history really does teach.
A preference for the battles of the days of the oar will be noted. This is due to a conviction that these wars more clearly resemble modern ones than those of the middle period when sail was the supreme motive power. Oar and steam have one great feature in common—independence of the wind. In the sailing days wind was the essential factor. The British ships blockading Brest in the great war could now and again go away, knowing full well that till the wind changed the French could not leave. On this fact schemes were laid which to-day could have no counter-part. In the oar-age, however, there were no such ​limitations and fleets were liable to be confined by nothing but bad weather, which, though to a far lesser degree, is still a restraining influence on steam operations.
Again: the oarsmen needed frequent rest; so to-day the steam-ships need frequent replenishing of coal. The radius of action of the galley was about one day, whereas the modern warship endures from one to three weeks or more; but the time now taken to get from one point to another has so decreased that some rough sort of scale is discernible so long as we remember that the area of operations has extended in proportion. The world of the wars of the ancients was a small and curtailed one, and so the tardiness of their movements is balanced by our enormous increase of area. Compare, for instance, the once gigantic over-sea expedition of Athens to Syracuse and its modern equivalent—so far as distance is concerned—the sailing of the Russian fleet from the Baltic to the Sea of Japan. The relative difficulties were not so very dissimilar—greater speed has meant a greater distance
The sailing ship, however, was more self-contained and had to a remarkable degree the power of proceeding immense distances without much difficulty. To this has been attributed the fact that the sail replaced the oar even as steam replaced sail. A careful ​examination of facts fails, however, to warrant this very exactly. The oar as 'motive power' was essentially the product of the Mediterranean, where seas were comparatively calm and distances moderate. As in process of time sea empire travelled west, its chief centre shifted from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic and contiguous water in which rougher seas made the oar a far less reliable instrument. In the Mediterranean the ships of the ancients were oar-propelled with auxiliary sail power: in the north even the earlier vessels depended upon sail with auxiliary oar-power.
As habitude with sails grew, a natural tendency to discard the auxiliary oar arose. This may be compared with the gradual abandonment of the auxiliary sails by steamships of a later age. Northern nations found themselves able to do more and more with sails and needing oars less and less.
Then came the introduction of cannon, for which the sides of ships, hitherto occupied by oars, were required. To obtain the advantages of artillery, which was the better of two alternatives, oars were sacrificed. The galley, however, survived for a long period, and practically into the steam age, as a subsidiary craft for special purposes. It could move against the wind and ​manœuvre in a fashion denied to sailing ships; but these qualities were not necessarily all-important. Today we accept a limited speed for battleships, finding in their greater power and radius something more utilitarian than the much greater speed but restricted radius of the torpedo vessel. So the galley lived on under various names, fulfilling the role of the modern torpedo boat. As gunpowder and sailing aptitude increased, its importance diminished nearly to vanishing point. Its ram ceased to be a serious danger. So—were means found to neutralise torpedoes—the present-day destroyers would soon fall into disuse, no matter what speeds they might make over short distances.
In the Mediterranean different influences were at work, and the oar long maintained a predominance. The advent of artillery and the necessity of carrying many guns on the broadside eventually, however, brought in the sailing ship pure and simple, though it is interesting to note that 'sweeps' long persisted.
Steam, when it first made its appearance, did so as a species of substitute for or revival of auxiliary oars. The integral idea of the oar may indeed be found in its adoption. Its superior power and endurance soon caused it to make headway, though its still restricted radius in the early days led to the retention of sails for a long time. Radius of action was more highly esteemed than the power to move against the wind for limited periods—a point that it is well to under​stand, because it indicates that in all naval history one ideal has remained a constant, one ideal has animated the evolution of construction—the desire for radius. It is not, probably, the constant that anyone would first name offhand: yet it appears to have dominated all others in all time.
Now the sailing ship differed from the vessels propelled by oar or steam in two important particulars. It was in the first place far more self-supporting; in the second it was considerably more 'intermittent.' With oar and steam an admiral could plan strategies to take effect at definite times with nothing save bad weather in his way. With sail bad weather was not the only drawback, contrary winds were as bad or worse. Timed operations were hardly possible: they were rarely attempted and still more rarely did they succeed. Napoleon's great scheme, for instance, would have had far more chance of success had he been able to time operations. Per contra, had there been no contrary winds Nelson's pursuit of Villeneuve to the West Indies might have had a different result.
From this it might be argued that a counterbalance existed; which is no doubt true, but at the same time strategical operations based upon the concerted action of separate forces at a given time did not and could not have with the sail the meaning they could have had with the oar and actually have with steam. In fairness, however, it should be pointed out ​that there is little record of the ancients having attempted timed strategies on a par with those attempted to-day, and it is also of course true that the certainty of steam is relative rather than absolute. Still there remains the fact that with sail a contrary wind told the blockaders that there was no fear of the enemy stealing out: while with both oar and steam exit was, and is, nearly always possible; and exit in any direction instead of in one only. Furthermore, the limitations of sail-power necessitated a technique not required by the ancients or by the moderns; and the result of this was to make the fighting man subordinate to the 'seaman.' It was sheer fine seamanship that enabled the English fleets to maintain their weary blockades of the French in the Great War. In our admiration of these qualities we are apt to over-look the fact that the purely military labours of the blockaders were comparatively easy: owing to the wind, they had but a few points of the compass to consider, where the ancients and the moderns had, and have, most of the thirty-two. The purely military problem, therefore, of blockades like those of Santiago and Port Arthur are more likely to echo incidents of ancient history than of the era of sails. A Togo in the days of sailing ships would surely have found little difficulty in preventing Russian sorties from Port Arthur.
In the following chapters certain incidents of ancient history in the days of the oar are examined, ​and then some of the more recent steam wars. In both cases the attempt is made to see how far different conditions would, with due regard to the difference of radius of action, have affected the issue; and to trace with an open mind how far the generally accepted principles of Sea Power were upheld or negatived by these incidents.
The term 'generally accepted principles of Sea Power' is used advisedly and of set purpose. The strictly academical definition of Sea Power matters little or nothing. In the restricted and actual sense—that is to say a navy—it is defined by Captain Mahan as 'necessary from the existence of a peaceful shipping, its extent and its existence governed by that factor. Otherwise it exists as a branch of the usual military establishment.'
This, practically, is all the definition of Sea Power to be drawn from the writings of Captain Mahan. It is since the publication of his famous book that Sea Power has become a sort of occult term, eluding exact definition and perhaps meaning different things to different people. It required definition, and the best and most general is, perhaps, the most common conception of it: 'A naval force sufficient to defeat any naval force of the enemy.'
This implies all else that need be included.
There are two general and existing conceptions, of which the first is a vague understanding of an idea, ​sufficiently old to be found in Gibbon, or for that matter even so long ago as Thucydides, that a power controlling the sea in a war in which both land and sea are concerned will control the land. More briefly it may be put, 'Who rules the sea rules the world.'
A prime object of this work is to examine this theory as applied to history, questioning whether it may be accepted as a certain rule without limitations.
The second general conception is that Sea Power is embodied in a navy of tried skill, power, and general efficiency by means of which the certainty of victory is to be assured; and so a second purpose of this book is to show why doubts are permissible as to whether this may be accepted as a principle.
At the present time, chiefly through gradual growth and the natural desire of all to make a plausible theory square with facts, both the above conceptions are accepted by the majority of people as dogmas. It is proposed to show in these pages that, although the dogmas may in a great number of cases lead no one astray, yet that there is in them just sufficient alloy to make trust in them undesirable, and that Sea Power has more often been the means to rather than the cause of victory. On the other hand, once we attempt to find it, one eternal principle will be found a characteristic of every war that has ever been, and that characteristic is the one which is in these pages described as 'Fitness to Win.' Neither Sea Power nor anything else is a substitute for this.
* ↑ See Chapter on 'The Punic War.'
* ↑ The Influence of Sea Power on History, p. 14 et seq.
* ↑ Histories of the Russo-Japanese war compiled while the smoke had hardly cleared are very unlikely to hold their ground a score or so of years hence. It will probably be twenty years before the whole facts relating to the Baltic Armada are unearthed.
* ↑ An instance in point is afforded by the late O'Connor Morris' Life of Wellington. The judge was so fascinated by the greatness of Napoleon that Wellington appears to have received less than just treatment. Yet his honesty cannot be doubted.
* ↑ See remarks as to Lady Hamilton and Trafalgar in the final chapter of this book.
* ↑ Such a version in the light of subsequent events would, of course, appear incorrect: it is referred to only to show the possible Persian version. The subsequent history of Persia shows that either Salamis was a great victory for the Greeks, or else that Persian decline under Xerxes was already considerable.
* ↑ It is of interest to note in this connection that we have now reached the limit of the world in our operations. See chapter on 'Eternal Principles.
* ↑ This statement is made with all due deference to the main thesis in Mr. Julian Corbett's England in the Mediterranean. This is that the superior mobility of the sailing ship caused the change. With this I can only agree if mobility be translated as 'radius,' and then only partially, for the reasons stated.
* ↑ See chapter on 'Eternal Principles.'
* ↑ Influence of Sea Power on History, p. 26.