by Peter Hart
Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz, Secretary of State of the Imperial Naval Office
The German construction work was watched carefully by the Admiralty, but it had little time to react and was also restricted by physical factors such as the size of available dry docks. There would be few better examples of the importance of careful research and preparation to the practical business of war at sea. The differences in characteristics of the opposing dreadnoughts and battlecruisers would define the nature of the encounters between the British and German fleets during the Great War. Time and time again British ships would be sunk and lost for ever, while far more severely damaged German ships would struggle home to fight again.
The dreadnought was not the only innovation that was changing the traditional face of naval warfare. The advent of the practical submarine was also crucial, although at this stage neither side truly appreciated its potential; indeed, some within the Royal Navy still regarded it as a somewhat underhand weapon of war. Nevertheless, they could not be ignored and far-sighted advocates were diligently developing a Royal Navy submarine service that was gradually improving its capabilities, especially after the advent of the long-range torpedo. This mirrored developments in Germany where their U-boats (Unterseeboot) were generally still considered defensive weapons for use against ships trying to impose a close blockade. Once submerged, the U-boat provided an undetectable menace against which no effective counter-measure had been developed. Another near-invisible weapon was the mine which was a potent weapon against all forms of shipping, whether employed to defend a specific port or to deny whole areas and sea lanes from passage. Minesweeping methods were soon developed, but they were both time-consuming and dangerous – especially in hostile waters. The freedom of the North Sea in particular was soon greatly restricted once war was declared.
Germany had also built up a formidable fleet of destroyers. These fast, lightly armed ships were originally described as torpedo boat destroyers, but were now themselves also armed with torpedoes and as such posed a potent threat to the mighty dreadnoughts. Fleets found they could not set out to sea without screens of destroyers to protect them from the depredations of their opposing numbers – and to threaten the torpedoing of enemy dreadnoughts should they be given half a chance. The necessity of maintaining a destroyer escort severely restricted the movement potential of the main fleets as destroyers had a far more limited range than the great battleships. Unlike the old fleets of sailing ships that could remain out at sea for months, modern fleets could only make short-lived two- or three-day sorties.
The combined menace posed by German submarines, mines and destroyers forced a secret decision by the Royal Navy in 1912 to abandon any idea of establishing a close blockade of German ports. Instead a distant blockade would be substituted, based at the vast natural harbour of Scapa Flow in the Orkneys. The intention was to use the geographical location of Germany to her disadvantage by blocking the 20-mile-wide English Channel and the 200-mile gap between the Orkneys and Norway. At a stroke Germany would be cut off from the oceans of the world. Only the Baltic and the North Sea would remain open to her unless the iron grip of the Royal Navy could be forcibly loosened.
On the outbreak of war the capital ships deployed in the British Grand Fleet numbered twenty dreadnoughts, eight pre-dreadnoughts and just four battlecruisers (three were stationed in the Mediterranean); while opposing them were the German High Seas Fleet of thirteen dreadnoughts, sixteen pre-dreadnoughts and three battlecruisers. Both fleets had numerous squadrons of cruisers, light cruisers and the ubiquitous destroyer flotillas. There were also nineteen British pre-dreadnoughts in the Channel Fleet at Medway. The British did have one very real advantage: they had mobilised their fleet early. A test mobilisation of the whole fleet had culminated in the Spithead Review on 20 July 1914. After the review, although the ships had then dispersed to their home ports, the First Sea Lord, Prince Louis of Battenberg, after consultation with the First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill, decided to halt the dispersal of the reservists pending the resolution of the July crisis – or war. This greatly simplified matters when the Grand Fleet and all other naval units were required to take up their war stations.
The Commander in Chief of the German High Seas Fleet, tucked away in harbour at Wilhelmshaven, was Admiral Friedrich von Ingenohl, who had been given clear instructions as to his priorities in the coming war. These originated not from Admiral Tirpitz who as Secretary of State of the Imperial Naval Office found himself restricted to an administrative role with no influence on operational decisions. Instead they reflected the cautious policy of the Kaiser himself, who still took a great interest in the fleet he had created, and the Chancellor, Bethmann-Hollweg, who saw an intact fleet as a considerable bargaining tool in any peace negotiations. The Army seemed happy so long as the High Seas Fleet remained intact and protected the Baltic coast from any possible British or Russian landings. At the heart of this timid approach was the concept of a ‘fleet in being’, that is, a fleet powerful enough to threaten British naval supremacy but which did not put the matter to the test in a great battle. In this way the German fleet could continue to threaten maritime communications, challenging British command of the sea and hamstringing Britain in the exercise of her naval power. The Royal Navy would constantly have to be on its guard against the emergence of the German fleet from Wilhelmshaven. This superficially attractive position – it entailed doing nothing – had one very serious drawback that Tirpitz clearly identified.
It was simply nonsense to pack the fleet in cotton wool. The ‘fleet in being’ had some meaning for England, for her fleet thus achieved its purpose of commanding the seas. But the principle was meaningless for Germany, whose object must be to keep the seas free for herself. Besides, we could not allow the war to develop into a war of exhaustion, but must attempt to shorten matters. The world prestige of the English rests in the main on the very belief in the invincibility of their armada. A German sea victory, or even a doubtful success for England, would have worked the gravest injury to England’s position. Any penetration of British naval power would awaken the Indian, Egyptian and other questions, deprive England of the further allies that she needed to encompass our defeat, and incline her to peace. England understood the danger, and appreciated our strength, better than we did at home. That was why she hesitated to enter the war, and that is why, when she had entered, she avoided battle. In the first year our prospects were good, and even later they were still tolerable. Even an unfavourable sea battle would not have made our prospects materially worse. It could be safely assumed that the losses of the enemy would be as great as ours. Nothing, indeed, that could happen to our fleet could be worse than its retention in idleness.7
Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz, Secretary of State of the Imperial Naval Office
For all his efforts, indeed for all the heavy financial and political sacrifices incurred since 1898, now that it had actually come to war the German Navy was once again a bystander – just as in 1870.
The British Commander in Chief of the Grand Fleet facing the Germans across the North Sea was Admiral Sir John Jellicoe. Born in 1859, Jellicoe had joined the Navy as a cadet at twelve years old. He became a gunnery specialist, earning both the approval of Fisher and rapid promotion. He had seen active service in the Boxer Rebellion and had been badly wounded in the left lung while trying to rescue the European embassy staff besieged in Peking. On recovery he served in a variety of senior sea and staff appointments, always demonstrating a remarkable capacity for hard work and a logical rigour in his approach to any problems placed before him. His evident abilities, combined with his success in naval exercises held in 1913, had earmarked him for future command of the Grand Fleet. On the outbreak of war, despite his anguished protests, he was immediately brought in to replace the incumbent Admiral Sir George Callaghan, who was considered too old for the stresses of wartime command.
At first the British were in a quandary, for although the Grand Fleet was theoretically bas
ed at Scapa, that base was without defences of any kind and hence wide open to deadly surprise submarine attack. In effect the fleet was safer at sea screened by destroyers than as sitting ducks in a harbour well within the operational range of the more modern German U-boats. Hence the Grand Fleet spent a fair amount of time sweeping down into the North Sea while at the same time fulfilling its other main role of covering the safe transport of the BEF across the Channel. This mission was achieved and indeed the BEF would be indebted to the Navy for successfully maintaining the cross-Channel links with very little drama throughout the whole war.
The first major action of the naval war came with the Battle of Heligoland Bight on 26 August 1914. This engagement had its origins in the desire of Commodore Reginald Tyrwhitt of the Harwich Force to launch a raid on German destroyer patrols off the islands of Heligoland in conjunction with a force of submarines commanded by Commodore Roger Keyes. Jellicoe was unenthusiastic at such an inherently risky operation, but the Admiralty approved the plans, only allowing the detachment of the 1st Battlecruiser Squadron under Vice Admiral Sir David Beatty to provide a degree of back-up. The situation was extremely chaotic as poor staff work meant that most of the British forces had no idea who exactly was at sea, leaving a huge potential for disaster. Confusion summed up the whole course of the fighting as Tyrwhitt aboard the light cruiser Arethusa led the Harwich Force into the Heligoland Bight.
Our battlecruisers were scattered by, and made violent attempts to sink a squadron of our own submarines. Our light cruisers, sent into support, were in two cases supposed to be enemy by our destroyers sighting them. In one case two of our light cruisers chased two of our torpedo boat destroyers at full speed to the west, each supposing the other to be the enemy. They blocked the air with wireless at the very time when Arethusa and her destroyers were being overwhelmed by superior forces.8
Commander Reginald Drax, HMS Lion, 1st Battlecruiser Squadron
Running battles followed as the Germans retreated before unleashing their own trap as a strong force of light cruisers emerged from the mists. Then, just as all seemed lost, Beatty and the battlecruisers swept up and overwhelmed the outclassed German light forces, sinking three light cruisers and a destroyer. Although the Arethusa had been badly damaged the British only had 75 casualties in contrast to some 1,200 suffered by the Germans. Likely disaster had been transformed into a significant triumph which disguised both the sheer madness of the plans and the endemic ineptitude in both command and control of the operations.
It was to be the only good news for a while for the British. Even without risking the perils of maintaining a close blockade they still suffered a draining series of losses from German submarine and mine warfare. There is no doubt, however, that the German U-boat crews faced a considerable ordeal in their living conditions. One enlightening account was left by Lieutenant Johannes Speiss, who was an officer aboard the U-9, captained by Otto Weddigen.
Far forward in the pressure hull, which was cylindrical, was the forward torpedo room containing two torpedo tubes and two reserve torpedoes. Further astern was the warrant officers’ compartment, which contained only small bunks and was particularly wet and cold. Then came the commanding officer’s cabin, fitted with only a small bunk and clothes closet, no desk being furnished. Whenever a torpedo had to be loaded forward or the tube prepared for a shot, both cabins had to be completely cleared out. Bunks and clothes cabinets then had to be moved into the adjacent officers’ compartment, which was no light task owing to the lack of space in the latter compartment. In order to live at all in the officers’ compartments a certain degree of finesse was required. The watch officer’s bunk was too small to permit him to lie on his back. He was forced to lie on one side and then, being wedged between the bulkhead to the right and the clothes-press on the left, to hold fast against the movements of the boat in a seaway. On the port side of the officers’ compartment was the berth of the Chief Engineer, while the centre of the compartment served as a passageway through the boat. On each side was a small upholstered transom between which a folding table could be inserted. Two folding camp-chairs completed the furniture. While the Commanding Officer, Watch Officer and Chief Engineer took their meals, men had to pass back and forth through the boat, and each time anyone passed the table had to be folded. Further aft, the crew space was separated from the officers’ compartment by a watertight bulkhead with a round watertight door for passage. On one side of the crew space a small electric range was supposed to serve for cooking – but the electric heating coil and the bake-oven shortcircuited every time an attempt was made to use them. Meals were always prepared on deck! For this purpose we had a small paraffin stove. This had the particular advantage of being serviceable even in a high wind. The crew space had bunks for only a few of the crew – the rest slept in hammocks, when not on watch or on board the submarine mother-ship while in port. The living spaces were not cased with wood. Since the temperature inside the boat was considerably greater than the sea outside, moisture in the air condensed on the steel hull-plates; the condensation had a very disconcerting way of dropping on a sleeping face, with every movement of the vessel. It was in reality like a damp cellar. From a hygienic standpoint the sleeping arrangements left much to be desired; one awoke in the morning with considerable mucus in the nostrils and a so-called ‘oil-head’.9
Lieutenant Johannes Speiss, U-9
The oceans were large and for the U-boats, restricted by their low speed, success at sea was often a matter of luck. It was crucial for a commander to make the most of rare opportunities. Captain Lieutenant Otto Weddigen, commanding the U-9, certainly made the most of his good fortune when, on 22 September 1914, he encountered three obsolescent British armoured cruisers, the Aboukir, Cressy and Hogue, patrolling in line off the Dutch coast.
I loosed one of my torpedoes at the middle ship. I was then about 12 feet under water, and got the shot off in good shape, my men handling the boat as if she had been a skiff. I climbed to the surface to get a sight through my tube of the effect, and discovered that the shot had gone straight and true, striking the ship, which I later learned was the Aboukir, under one of her magazines, which in exploding helped the torpedo’s work of destruction. There was a fountain of water, a burst of smoke, a flash of fire, and part of the cruiser rose in the air. Then I heard a roar and felt reverberations sent through the water by the detonation. She had been broken apart, and sank in a few minutes. I submerged at once. But I had stayed on top long enough to see the other cruisers, which I learned were the Cressy and the Hogue, turn and steam full speed to their dying sister, whose plight they could not understand, unless it had been due to an accident. As I reached my torpedo depth I sent a second charge at the nearest of the oncoming vessels, which was the Hogue. The English were playing my game, for I had scarcely to move out of my position, which was a great aid, since it helped to keep me from detection. The attack on the Hogue went true. But this time I did not have the advantageous aid of having the torpedo detonate under the magazine, so for twenty minutes the Hogue lay wounded and helpless on the surface before she heaved, half turned over and sank. By this time, the third cruiser knew of course that the enemy was upon her, she steamed a zigzag course, and this made it necessary for me to get nearer to the Cressy. When I got within suitable range I sent away my third attack. This time I sent a second torpedo after the first to make the strike doubly certain. My crew were aiming like sharpshooters and both torpedoes went to their bull’s-eye. My luck was with me again, for the enemy was made useless and at once began sinking by her head. Then she careened far over, but all the while her men stayed at the guns looking for their invisible foe. Then she eventually suffered a boiler explosion and completely turned turtle. With her keel uppermost she floated until the air got out from under her and then she sank with a loud sound, as if from a creature in pain.10
Captain Lieutenant Otto Weddigen, U-9
The sequence of events as, one by one, the Aboukir, Hogue and Cressy were despatched
was slightly absurd, but although the obsolescent cruisers themselves were of little military value, the human cost was appalling, with 1,459 deaths.
A few days later, on 27 October, the dreadnought Audacious was sunk by a mine off the Irish coast. Luckily she sank slowly and casualties were minimal, but the loss of this modern dreadnought was a terrible blow; indeed, the Admiralty went to considerable lengths to conceal it from the Germans. A combination of other commitments and the necessity for refits left the Grand Fleet reduced to an advantage of just three dreadnoughts and inferior in numbers of both battlecruisers and destroyers available. If the High Seas Fleet had chosen that moment; if von Ingenohl had followed the bolder policies espoused by Tirpitz rather than the voice of caution, then he could well have met the Grand Fleet at sea on nearequal terms.
By this time Jellicoe had got a grip of his new responsibilities. Although the British populace had cheerfully expected a great naval battle within days of the declaration of war, Jellicoe was well aware that the Germans would merely wait until losses eroded the Grand Fleet to their level – and he had no intention of falling into such an obvious trap.
The experience gained of German methods since the commencement of the war makes it possible and very desirable to consider the manner in which these methods are likely to be made use of tactically in a fleet action. The Germans have shown that they rely to a very great extent on submarines, mines and torpedoes, and there can be no doubt whatever that they will endeavour to make the fullest use of these weapons in a fleet action, especially since they possess an actual superiority over us in these particular directions. It, therefore, becomes necessary to consider our own tactical methods in relation to these forms of attack. In the first place, it is evident that the Germans cannot rely with certainty upon having their full complement of submarines and minelayers present in a fleet action, unless the battle is fought in waters selected by them and in the southern area of the North Sea. Aircraft, also, could only be brought into action in this locality. My object will therefore be to fight the fleet action in the northern portion of the North Sea.11
