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Overview
More than a century later, historians still argue about this controversial and misunderstood World War I naval battle off the coast of Denmark. It was the twentieth century’s first engagement of dreadnoughts—and while it left Britain in control of the North Sea, both sides claimed victory and decades of disputes followed, revolving around senior commanders Admiral Sir John Jellicoe and Vice Admiral Sir David Beatty.
This book not only retells the story of the battle from both a British and German perspective based on the latest research, but also helps clarify the context of Germany’s inevitable naval clash and the aftermath after the smoke had cleared.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781848323230 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Pen & Sword Books Limited |
| Publication date: | 02/20/2019 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 428 |
| Sales rank: | 296,553 |
| File size: | 21 MB |
| Note: | This product may take a few minutes to download. |
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CHAPTER 1
The Emergence of German Economic and Naval Power
On 31 May 1916 the early twentieth century's two great rival naval powers, Germany and Great Britain, met in combat in the North Sea. The Battle of Jutland, or, as the Germans still call it, the Skagerrakschlacht, was fought through the night and into the morning of 1 June. The conflict had been building broadly for nearly five decades, but had really taken its grip on the two nations in the late 1890s.
In 1856, at the end of the Crimean War, the last shot fired in action by the British battle fleet opened up the next half-century of unchallenged dominance. At the naval review of 26 June 1897 more than 165 ships steamed past Queen Victoria's stand, in five columns that each stretched over five miles. Moreover, 'not a single post abroad had been weakened to make the strong show at Spit-head. Only the modern units in home waters were used.' Such was the visual impact of this show of naked power that the British freely used it to impress their message on other nations invited to attend as guests.
Yet Trafalgar's outcome in many ways sowed the seeds of the Royal Navy's later demise. Much British innovation was simply blocked by a growing feeling of invulnerability. Too much pomp emerged from military inaction. The marine-engineering innovator, Charles Parsons, whose turbines were later to power many British and German battleships at Jutland, was able to demonstrate the innovation of his new engine only by an audacious publicity stunt, running the small 34.5-knot Turbinia steam yacht between the lines on that June day and getting away without being caught by the smaller, slower picket boats on duty. The Turbinia was by far the fastest boat afloat on that occasion. The powers-that-were did not want Parsons there. He rocked the boat in which too many were getting fat off easy profits.
In Germany, the half-century leading up to 1900 had seen bewilderingly profound changes. In forty short years its population had exploded, growing by twenty-four million to total, in 1910, around sixty-five million. This new, united Germany was now the largest nation in Europe. In the same period production had soared: coal output went up seven times, and iron and steel even more. By 1893 its steel production surpassed Britain's. Paralleling industrial production, food consumption also climbed, supported largely by imports.
With economic growth came demands for better education, housing, living conditions and benefits, creating political pressure on hard choices between 'guns or butter'. Colonial resources were sought to feed these needs: these became Germany's 'place in the sun. In 1884 Otto von Bismarck added Togo-land, the Cameroons, the Marshall Islands, German Southwest Africa and German East Africa to the colonial portfolio.
A new force in Germany
Against a backdrop of tremendous industrial and social change, Germany's naval strength in 1897 ranked her in only fifth or sixth position. This is not surprising: the navy had been in existence for just over two decades. It was founded in 1871, the year of the unification of Germany.
When Wilhelm became Kaiser in June 1888, following the death of his father after a reign that lasted only ninety-nine days, the die was cast for a radical change in army–navy policy. Wilhelm had been greatly impressed by his reading of Alfred Thayer Mahan's The Influence of Seapower upon History and the overt show of British naval power visible every time that he visited Cowes. Wilhelm's desire to match the British grew from an inferiority complex that was fired up every time he was in the presence of his British family:
I had a peculiar passion for the navy. It sprang to no small extent from my English blood. When I was a little boy ... I admired the proud British ships. There awoke in me the will to build ships of my own like these some day and, when I was grown up, to possess a navy as fine as the English.
Determined not be outshone, he would greet the British Ambassador in the full regalia of a British Admiral of the Fleet. 'Fancy wearing the same uniform as St Vincent and Nelson. It is enough to make one giddy,' the Kaiser once exclaimed. Wilhelm had a fetish for uniforms and he made '37 changes to their design between 1888 and 1904'. He himself rarely dressed in anything but military attire. This obsession with the navy even went so far as his signing all the promotions right down to the rank of lieutenant and planning winter manoeuvres. Challenged on whether this was correct for his position, he reacted petulantly:
I am tired of these discussions. I simply command and that is that. I am always supposed to ask Tom, Dick and Harry, and only sign what the Republic Navy decides is good. I am finally tired of this. To hell with it! I am the Supreme War Lord. I do not decide. I command.
In fact, he was not only a Grand Admiral of the German Imperial Fleet but an Admiral of the Imperial Russian Fleet, as well as the fleets of Norway, Sweden and Denmark – and even of the Royal Greek Navy. His fascination for all things naval was such that he would even submit his own designs to the Imperial German Naval Office. One such design was along the lines of the eventual British battle-cruiser.
The Kaiser's early ideas on the composition of his navy reflected his desire that Germany should be seen around the world: a German naval presence would be used to send a signal. In Michael Epkenhans' opinion, 'he was convinced of the relationship between naval power and world power, which was the prerequisite of national prestige, economic wealth and social stability'.
Tirpitz's ideas
The early focus on cruiser construction came from Wilhelm's desire to underline Germany's growing importance. Conveniently, this was also cheaper. In the opinion of Alfred Tirpitz, however, the cruiser solution was wholly impracticable (see the following chapter for a full account of Tirpitz's part in the story of the German navy). Germany did not possess the required coaling stations and its real need – to confront and defeat British sea power – could only be attained by constructing a fleet that could take the challenge directly to the British: a battleship fleet. Without a strong navy, Tirpitz was convinced that Germany would never be the world power that it strived to be. It was not merely a case of defensive naval power or naval deterrence in protecting German interests. Tirpitz was an instinctive aggressor: 'Those who consistently advocate the defensive often base their argument on the premise that the offensive enemy will present himself to do the decisive battle whenever that might suit us'.
It is not always clear what Tirpitz's strategy was primarily aimed at. According to Patrick Kelly, 'His post-war writings give the strong impression that he expected war against Britain from the beginning; his pre-war actions indicate, however, that he wanted much more to deter the British than to fight them'. Tirpitz's ideas were built around the so-called 'risk theory' that suggested that Britain would – at a certain point – face a huge risk in trying to defeat Germany: every ship lost in that confrontation would weaken it against the 'two-power standard' – the British policy of maintaining a navy larger than the next two largest combined, at this time the French and Russian navies. But to reach the necessary size, Germany would have to pass through a period in which it would find itself in a kind of 'no man's land', when its navy was not large enough to deter, but might actually even encourage, a pre-emptive strike by the British – what Admiral Lord Fisher essentially, privately, referred to as a 'Copenhagen strategy'.
From the start, the chief of the Admiralstab, the Kaiser's Imperial German Admiralty, ran the navy militarily (subject to the Kaiser) and politically (subject to the Reichstag and the Chancellor). Wilhelm wanted more control, even if he hated taking decisions. This need led to the creation of a very complex system of command. His naval 'direct reports' numbered eight, already a dangerously high number. Von Müller, head of the Marine Kabinett, was the most influential. Being responsible for personnel appointments and promotions put him in a powerful position and it was understandable that, having the Kaiser's ear, this proximity to power became very much part of his character. It eventually turned him into the worst kind of courtier. But it was Tirpitz's position as head of the Reichsmarine Amt (RMA) that was the all-powerful position in the German peacetime navy as it was from his office that all the budgeting, design, construction, supplying and manning of the Kaiser's ships emanated. However, operational authority, especially in times of war, was split between the Inspector-General of the navy and the regional commands (the Baltic and North Sea station chiefs, the commanders of the High Seas Fleet and the East Asia Squadron) as well as the head of the Admiralstab, the replacement organisation to the old Naval High Command under Hugo von Pohl. Added to this complexity was the Kaiser's brother, Prince Heinrich of Prussia, a serving naval commander, who kept control where he wanted to. He would often, for example, be responsible for special units like the Flandern Marine Korps (even if direct command was exercised by Ludwig von Schröder).
In a little under twenty years Germany had succeeded in building a fleet that the British naval establishment took as a very serious threat. From the day when Wilhelm brought the forty-eight-year-old Rear Admiral Tirpitz to the helm of the German Imperial Naval Office, Germany was steered towards a day of reckoning with Britain. The German fleet might have been smaller than Britain's but, ship for ship, it demonstrated high quality and great professionalism. It was a fleet built for one purpose: ending Britain's stranglehold on the North Sea.
CHAPTER 2The Fleet Builders: Fisher and Tirpitz
John 'Jacky' Fisher and Alfred Tirpitz: the two names are resonant of a bygone age, a naval arms race that characterised Anglo-German relations in the early years of the twentieth century, an inevitable descent into the open conflict in a manner of Christopher Clark's The Sleepwalkers. Both were cunning politicians and careful cultivators of future naval leadership. Their legacies shaped their countries' navies for decades: Fisher dragged an out-of-date Royal Navy into the new century against fierce opposition; Tirpitz created Kaiser Wilhelm's High Seas Fleet.
Not everything about them was comparable and much in each was not particularly likeable. Tirpitz was a shrewdly manipulative man, recognising his sovereign's obsession with what he saw as Germany's rightful place in the world order. Reinhard Scheer, later Commander-in-Chief of the High Seas Fleet at Jutland, commented that he 'had no doubt of the overwhelming stature of statesmanlike greatness' in Tirpitz. Meanwhile, Robert Massie praised Tirpitz for being, after Bismarck, 'the most able, most durable, most influential and most effective minister of imperial Germany'. Of Fisher, Jameson said 'that he was a great man is indisputable – a figure of almost Churchillian proportions with the same gift for expressing himself in vivid language, the same prophetic vision and the same dominating personality'.
Yet Fisher left as much destruction in his wake as any man ever did. Rather than seeking consensus, he divided. Tirpitz was the opposite: he sought alliances whenever he could, though both he and Fisher would often sound out junior officers' opinions over those of more senior men. Whichever way they went, they were bound to ruffle feathers. As obsessive as Tirpitz was in building his own vision of a German fleet, Fisher was just as dogged in protecting what he saw as Britain's dwindling capability to maintain its imperial bearer of power.
Fisher's early life and career
John Arbuthnot Fisher was born in 1841 in Ramboda, Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), of British parents, the eldest of eleven siblings, four of whom did not survive their early years. His mother, Sophie (or Sophia), the daughter of a churchman, had in 1840 married a British army officer, Captain William Fisher, who was serving as aide-de-camp (AdC) to the governor of Ceylon, Sir Robert Wilmot-Horton. Fisher's father had decided to buy a coffee plantation. It was not an auspicious beginning: the coffee market collapsed that year.
Fisher grew up to be a stocky man. His rather bulbous eyes and pouting lips were not characteristics of classic good looks; nevertheless, throughout his life women found him attractive and he learnt how to best play his allure to his advantage.
In 1847, aged just six, Fisher was sent to school in London; he never saw his father again. Whenever Captain William sent him funds (usually meagre), Fisher maintained occasional contact. He applied himself to his studies and to other interests: he enjoyed fishing and shooting, although one day he took a shot at the butler and claimed that he had mistaken the poor man for game.
Fisher was lucky enough to be taken under the wing of the Ceylon governor's wife, Lady Wilmot-Horton, a woman with a handsome fortune. In part, through her acquaintance with one of the last surviving of Nelson's captains, Sir William Parker, Fisher was able to enter the Royal Navy. Fisher was also coincidentally supported in his application by another Nelsonian connection, the Lord High Admiral's niece. At the time a senior officer usually had at his disposal a commission that he could give away how he liked. Parker had two commissions – one he gave to Fisher.
From the grave, Nelson's influence on the younger Fisher lived on. On 12 July 1854, when he was thirteen, his first ship's posting was to HMS Victory. Though she was still an active warship (and had been made ready for the Crimea), life on the Victory was almost as it had been a half-century before. One of the more colourful surviving traditions was in the turning of the capstan, the spoked winch on decks that teams of sailors pushed around to heave in a ship's anchor cable and raise the anchor itself: the rhythm of work was still set to a fiddler's rhythmic tune.
Just how little the Royal Navy had changed by 1854 becomes stark when one looks at the make-up of the seaborne force that was to bombard Sebastopol: of twenty-seven ships, only six were driven by screw-propulsion; the rest were powered by sail. It was small wonder that gunnery had advanced so little. Indeed, the bombarding force came off badly, with two of its ships being badly damaged and 340 sailors dead.
After a short stay on Victory, Fisher transferred to Calcutta on 29 August. She was an 84-gun ship of the line, so-called because designed to fight in the line of battle (the 'line of battle ship' is the origin of the term 'battleship'). Immediately, the teenage Fisher made his mark by the manner of his arrival. Maybe not fully aware that the man to whom he was addressing himself was an admiral, he handed the old, gold-braided gentleman before him his letter of introduction with such an air of self-confidence that he was invited to dine that same evening. The following January, Fisher set sail for the Baltic on Calcutta but by March 1855 he was already back in Plymouth and on the 2nd joined the 91gun Agamemnon, also a ship of the line that combined steam with sail.
In July 1856 Fisher was made a midshipman, joining a 21-gun corvette, the very next day heading out for China. Her Majesty's Ship bore an auspicious name: Highflyer. On the ship, Fisher crossed paths with a man who left a deep impression on him, Captain Charles Shadwell. To the end of his life, Fisher wore without exception the cufflinks gifted to him by the captain. On them were inscribed the Shadwell family crest with the motto 'Loyal a la mort'. Those cufflinks, and the gift of Shadwell's library of leather-bound books, symbolised the deep bond that was to grow between the two.
In June 1857 Fisher finally saw action, at the Battle of the Peiho Forts in northern China, near the city of Tianjin (once Tientsin). In his own words he was 'armed to the teeth like a Greek brigand, all swords and pistols'. By October the duties of watch officer were his, a sure sign that he was being singled out for greater things. As the year came to an end, Canton fell. This was, needless to say, an extraordinary opening chapter for any sixteen year old.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Jutland"
by .
Copyright © 2016 Nicholas Jellicoe.
Excerpted by permission of Pen and Sword Books Ltd.
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Table of Contents
Illustrations,
Foreword Prof Dr Michael Epkenhans,
Preface,
Acknowledgements,
Abbreviations,
Introduction,
THE CONTEXT,
1 The Emergence of German Economic and Naval Power,
2 The Fleet Builders: Fisher and Tirpitz,
3 A Contradiction, Not A Team: Jellicoe and Beatty,
4 Men From the Same Mould: Scheer and Hipper,
5 The Naval Non-War,
THE BATTLE,
6 Prelude to Action,
7 The Battle-Cruiser Debacle,
8 The First Destroyer Melee,
9 The Deployment,
David and Goliath: Scheer's Escape, 10,
THE AFTERMATH,
11 Opening Pandora's Box: Unrestricted Submarine War,
12 From Kiel to Scapa Flow,
13 Counting Up After the Battle,
14 The Controversy: An Unfinished Battle,
Notes,
Sources,