Dreadnought

by Robert K. Massie

  The prominent feature of the First Navy Law—a fixed number of battleships not subject to alteration by annual vote of the Reichstag—had far-reaching implications, but the immediate military effect was not greatly significant. The seven battleships to be provided under the Law still would leave the German Navy weaker than the British or French fleet and still wholly unable to protect the extensive overseas trade which Tirpitz had cited as a reason for naval expansion. Neither in strength nor in organization would the German Fleet become a serious offensive weapon, although in a war with Russia, it could control the Baltic. Nevertheless, a year after his Reichstag victory, the Navy Secretary declared himself satisfied with the 1898 Navy Law. The Reichstag, he claimed, had provided a fleet which met the needs of the Empire. The Admiral may have hoped that, in 1904, when the First Navy Law had run its course, the Reichstag might again be persuaded to expand the fleet. Yet in February 1899, appearing before the Reichstag Budget Committee, he said, “I declare expressly57 that in no way has the intention to submit a new navy plan been manifested; that on the contrary in all quarters concerned the firmest intention exists to carry out the Navy Law and to observe the limits therein laid down.”

  One year after Tirpitz made this statement, the First Navy Law was superseded by a Second Navy Law,58 which doubled the size of the German battle fleet. The Boer War made this transformation possible. When the war began in October 1899, most Continental Europeans sympathized with the Boers. Germans, who considered themselves racially and culturally akin to the Dutch-related Boers, were especially aggrieved by what they perceived as British suppression of the “plucky little Boers.” German indignation had no outlet, however, since the British Navy dominated the six thousand miles of ocean separating Europe from South Africa. German frustration surged to outrage in January 1900, when patrolling British cruisers stopped three German mail steamers off the African coast and searched them on suspicion of carrying contraband to the Boers. Britain quickly apologized, but the harm was done. Germany quivered with anger, and Tirpitz seized the opportunity immediately to draft a new Navy Bill. The Bill swept through the Reichstag on a tide of patriotism and became law on June 20, 1900.

  The Second Navy Law increased the future German battle fleet from nineteen battleships to thirty-eight. There were to be two flagships and four battle squadrons of eight battleships each, with four battleships in reserve. The building program covered seventeen years, 1901 through 1917; the Fleet would reach full strength in 1920, when the last of the authorized ships was commissioned. This was no coast-defense fleet or sortie fleet; this was to be a formidable North Sea battle fleet which would catapult Germany into the rank of second naval power in the world. Equally significant, the Law publicly spelled out, for the first time, whom the fleet was intended to fight. Although the words “England” and “Great Britain” never appeared in its text, a preamble to the Second Navy Law was studded with references to “a great naval power,” “a substantially superior sea power,” “an enemy who is more powerful at sea,” and, most tellingly, “the greatest naval power.” The key sentences of this preamble offered the strategic rationale for the building of the German Fleet:

  “To protect Germany’s sea trade and colonies in the existing circumstances, there is only one means: Germany must have a battle fleet so strong that even for the adversary with the greatest seapower, a war against it would involve such dangers as to imperil his own position in the world.

  “For this purpose it is not absolutely necessary that the German battle fleet should be as strong as that of the greatest naval Power because a great naval Power will not, as a rule, be in a position to concentrate all its striking forces against us. But even if it should succeed in meeting us with considerable superiority of strength, the defeat of a strong German fleet would so substantially weaken the enemy that, in spite of a victory he might have obtained, his own position in the world would no longer be secured by an adequate fleet.”

  This was Tirpitz’ famous Risk Theory: As the larger British Navy must be scattered around the world, a smaller, concentrated German fleet would have a good chance of victory in the North Sea. But once the new German Fleet is built, Britain would be unlikely to risk war because, even if the Royal Navy were to defeat the German Navy in battle, the British Fleet would suffer such heavy losses that England would then be at the mercy of France or Russia. The element of risk, paradoxically, was not directed wholly at Britain. Along with the risk to Britain of offensive action and unacceptable losses at the hands of a powerful German fleet, there was the risk to Germany that Britain, fearing the growing threat of German sea power, might not wait until the mighty German Fleet was completed, but would first strike its own offensive blow. History offered precedent for such behavior: the Admiralty in 1801, fearing that France might acquire the neutral Danish Navy, sent Nelson sailing into Copenhagen harbor to destroy the Danish fleet at anchor. Germany, by building a powerful fleet so close to the British Home Islands, tempted Britain to destroy the fleet preemptively. Thus, as the risk to England rose, the risk to Germany also increased. Tirpitz understood and accepted this. He calculated the period of time through which Germany must pass before she was too strong for England to attack. He called this period of time the Danger Zone and, in 1900, he fixed its end as 1904 or 1905. But as England responded to the German challenge and laid down larger numbers of battleships itself, the Danger Zone kept expanding, and its terminal point receded into the future. By 1909, Tirpitz was forced to admit that Germany would not be out of the Danger Zone until 1915.

  Passage of the Second Navy Law delighted the Kaiser who, as a reward, promoted his Navy Secretary into the hereditary Prussian nobility: Alfred Tirpitz became Alfred von Tirpitz.fn3 Soon, the new nobleman was invited to Romintern. Tirpitz always used these visits for business. Every summer, the State Secretary retreated with his trusted aides to St. Blasien to work out details of forthcoming naval construction. Then, in September, Tirpitz carried his meticulously prepared brief to Romintern to discuss it with the Kaiser. Tirpitz liked Romintern, where “the fare was homely,59 the tables were decked with leaves” and “in the evenings, the company often read to each other.” Nevertheless, the relationship between the Emperor and the Admiral remained formal. Both men understood that they needed each other: William had tried for nine years to build a fleet before Tirpitz took office and had failed; Tirpitz needed Imperial authority to overcome opposition in the government, in the Reichstag, and from within the navy. But Tirpitz never could be sure about William. “With his swift comprehension60 which was easily excited... and his self-consciousness, there was the danger that irresponsible influences would release impulses... impossible to carry out or... not in harmony with the whole course of action,” the Admiral wrote of the Kaiser. Tirpitz preferred to consult William at Romintern, where “the air of the forest61 and complete quiet suited the Kaiser well. He was calmer and more collected and always ready to hear me and weigh reasons, with no sudden outbreaks of nervous excitement... announcing themselves by a certain restlessness in the eyes.”

  Throughout his reign, William bubbled with ideas and technical suggestions about the navy. He drew sketches of ships and had them duplicated, distributed to the Reichstag, and forwarded to Tirpitz. For Tirpitz, these intrusions created difficulties. “I could never discover62 how to ward off the frequent interference of the Emperor, whose imagination, once it had fixed upon shipbuilding, was fed by all manner of impressions,” he wrote. “Suggestions and proposals are cheap in the Navy and change like a kaleidoscope. If the Emperor had spoken with some senior lieutenant or had heard something aboard a ship, he was full of new demands, reproaching me with backwardness.... For example63... the Emperor heard how difficult the improvement of modern shooting at sea and the great range of modern guns made it for torpedo boats to approach the enemy in battle.... The Emperor immediately became enthusiastic about an ideal ship which would be heavily armored and armed with many torpedo tubes.... Apart from the fact that speed and hea
vy armor plating compete against one another, the torpedo armament which was to be put below the waterline would have taken up the greater part of the engine and boiler space. We set to work, however, to comply with the command we had received and, in view of the impossibility of coming to any useful results, the department gave this project the name of Homunculus.... When I had an opportunity of presenting and explaining the draft plans [at Romintern], the Emperor abandoned his idea.... As a reward, I received permission to shoot a stag. I was able to telegraph to an aide in Berlin ‘Stag and Homunculus dead.’”

  The Second Navy Law of 1900 provided the basic framework for Imperial Navy legislation, but three Supplementary Navy Laws (Novelles) followed in 1906, 1908, and 1912. In each instance, Tirpitz manipulated a sense of crisis and frustration in Germany to ensure passage. Introduction of the Law of June 1906 followed the failure of the German demarche in Morocco and added six large cruisers to the German Fleet. The Supplementary Law of April 1908 originated in the perception that England and King Edward VII were weaving a web of encirclement around the Reich. This law reduced the age at which battleships and cruisers were to be replaced from twenty-five to twenty years; in effect, it increased the annual building tempo and made the fleet more modern and effective. The Supplementary Law of June 1912 was stimulated by Germany’s retreat in the 1911 Agadir crisis; again, Tirpitz manipulated the public’s sense of humiliation and outrage to push an increase through the Reichstag. Three additional battleships were added to previous programs. Total prescribed German battleship strength was raised to forty-one.

  Great Britain reacted slowly to these expanding building programs. When Tirpitz in 1898 carried through the First Navy Law, Britain’s potential enemies were France and Russia. In March 1898, the British Cabinet was so concerned about Russian pressure on North China that an ultimatum to St. Petersburg was drafted. Later that year, the arrival of a French expedition on the Upper Nile brought England close to war with France. Germany, in this period, appeared more as a potential ally for Great Britain than a potential enemy. The British Naval Defence Act of 1889 established a two-power standard for British naval strength: that is, the Royal Navy must always be superior to the fleets of the two next-strongest naval powers, then France and Russia. The prospect of a third Continental power increasing its naval strength was not seen as a threat in itself; Britain’s concern was how it would affect the naval balance of power.

  The number of new German ships to be built caused no alarm. Throughout the 1890s, British battleship building was substantial. Within sixteen months, December 1893 to March 1895, nine Majestic-class 15,000-ton battleships had been laid down. Between December 1896 and March 1901, an additional twenty battleships—improved Majestics—were begun. And, in response to the German Second Navy Law, the Admiralty ordered eight 16, 300-ton King Edward VIIs. It was this Second Navy Law and the rapid, efficient expansion of the German battleship fleet—five Wittelsbachs laid down in 1899 and 1900, five Braunschweigs in 1901 and 1902, five Deutschlands in 1903–1905—that seriously alarmed the British Admiralty. On November 15, 1901, Lord Selborne, First Lord of the Admiralty, informed Lord Salisbury, the Prime Minister, and the Cabinet: “The naval policy of Germany64 is definite and persistent. The Emperor seems determined that the power of Germany shall be used all over the world to push German commerce, possessions and interests. Of necessity it follows that German naval strength must be raised so as to compare more advantageously than at present with ours. The result of this policy will be to place Germany in a commanding position if ever we find ourselves at war with France and Russia.... Naval officers who have seen much of the German Navy lately are all agreed that it is as good as can be.” Selborne’s concern in this memorandum was the balance of naval strength. A year later, in October 1902, he focussed in a Cabinet paper directly on the German Navy’s threat to England: “The more the composition of the new German fleet65 is examined, the clearer it becomes that it is designed for a possible conflict with the British fleet. It cannot be designed for the purpose of playing a leading part in a future war between Germany and France and Russia. The issue of such a war can only be decided by armies on land, and the great naval expenditure on which Germany has embarked involves deliberate diminution of the military strength which Germany might otherwise have attained in relation to France and Russia.” A few weeks later, Selborne became more specific: “The Admiralty had proof,”66 he told the Cabinet, “that the German Navy was being constructed with a view to being able to fight the British Navy: restricted cruising radius, cramped crew quarters, etc. meant that the German battleships were designed for the North Sea and practically nothing else.”

  Within a few years, the decision of the world’s strongest military power to build a great battle fleet, making it the second naval power, forced fundamental changes in British naval strategy and diplomacy. As more German battleships slid down the building ways, more British battleships would be ordered. With a formidable German fleet concentrated only a few hours’ steaming time from England’s North Sea coast, the British Admiralty began to bring ships home from around the globe. And as the reality of Admiral Tirpitz’ determination to build his “Navy Against England” penetrated English awareness, the British government prepared to alter the foreign policy which had served England since Trafalgar. The building of the German Fleet ended the century of Splendid Isolation.

  fn1 See Chapter 11.

  fn2 Tsingtao on Kiaochow Bay became the only overseas naval base ever possessed by the Imperial German Navy.

  fn3 In 1903 Tirpitz was promoted from Rear Admiral to Admiral. In 1911, he became the Imperial Navy’s first and only Grand Admiral.

  Part 2

  The End of Splendid Isolation

  Chapter 10

  Lord Salisbury

  Four eminent Victorian statesmen gathered at midday on Monday, June 24, 1895. The previous Friday, Lord Rosebery’s Liberal government had been defeated in the House of Commons by a surprise vote on an insignificant issue. On Sunday Queen Victoria had summoned Lord Salisbury, the host of the gathering at 20 Arlington Street, and asked him to form a government. Salisbury had agreed and now, on Monday, he and his three guests were meeting to decide who should take which Cabinet office.

  It was an odd quartet, socially and politically. The Marquess of Salisbury and the Duke of Devonshire were peers; Arthur Balfour and Joseph Chamberlain were commoners. Salisbury and Balfour were members of the same distinguished family, the Cecils, whose forebears had served at the elbow of Queen Elizabeth I. The modern Cecils, uncle and nephew, were the leaders of the Conservative Party, which would have the preeminent place in the new government. Devonshire and Chamberlain were Liberals who, on the tormenting issue of Home Rule for Ireland, had resigned from the leadership of the Liberal Party. Lord Salisbury wanted their support and the support of the substantial number of other disaffected Liberals in Parliament. He had received this support on a day-to-day basis while the Conservatives were in opposition; now, summoned to create a government, he wished to formalize it in an anti-Home Rule coalition. The new party and new government would have a new name: Unionist.

  Lord Salisbury, naturally, would become Prime Minister. This was the Queen’s decision and none of the men in Salisbury’s drawing room questioned Her Majesty’s choice. Lord Salisbury was the unchallenged leader of the Conservative Party and the last active great political figure of nineteenth-century England. He had first entered the Cabinet twenty-nine years before. Since then, he had served nine years as Foreign Secretary and seven as Prime Minister. Now sixty-five, he was six feet four inches tall, with heavy, rounded shoulders and expansive, unchecked girth. His head was huge, with a rounded bald dome, a thick beard of curly gray hair, and small, almost slitted eyes which peered at the world with what could be taken for suspicion; in fact, it was severe nearsightedness. With all his bulk, Lord Salisbury was not healthy. Now, accepting the premiership once again, he knew he would be obliged to spend long periods at his villa in the south o
f France, struggling to maintain his health.

  The other peer in the Arlington Street drawing room, Spencer Compton Cavendish, eighth Duke of Devonshire, would have preferred to be somewhere else. Devonshire, at sixty-two, was a tall, thin-faced, bearded man with a jutting beak of a nose. Most of his life had been spent serving in government while he wished he were watching his horses run. As Lord Harrington, heir to the dukedom and scion of one of the great Whig families of England, he had served thirty-four years in the House of Commons. Under Lord Palmerston, Lord John Russell, and Gladstone, he had sat in Liberal Cabinets as War Secretary, Postmaster-General, and Secretary of State for India. Twice he had been offered and had declined the premiership. His departure from the Liberal Party leadership in 1886 had been a heavy blow to Mr. Gladstone; now, a duke sitting in the House of Lords, Devonshire had become almost a national institution. Queen Victoria treated him as such when she wrote to him in 1892, “The Queen cannot conclude1 this letter without expressing to the Duke... how much she relies on him to assist in maintaining the safety and honor of her vast empire. All must join in this necessary work.” It was a commission that Devonshire, whatever his private desires, could not ignore.