The year 1860 marks the most dramatic, swift, and far-reaching change which has ever befallen war material: the supersession of the wooden ship-of-the-line by the modern battleship in its earliest form. What were the causes, suddenly realized or acknowledged, which impelled this revolutionary change, and what were the circumstances which moulded the new form of naval construction? This final chapter will attempt to show. Before descending to a detailed examination of this evolution, however, let us trace out the most striking features of the transition; their measure of accuracy can be estimated by the light of the subsequent narration of progress.

In the first place, then, we remark that, potentially, from the time when shell-throwing ordnance was introduced into the French, and then as a counter-measure into our own fleet, unarmoured wooden ships were doomed. Strange it seems that so long a time elapsed before this fact was realized; though it is true that with spherical shells and small explosive charges the destructive effects of shell fire were not greatly superior to those of solid shot, that fuzes were unreliable, that trials of artillery against material were rarely resorted to, and that, moreover, no opportunity occurred between 1822 and the outbreak of the Crimean War to demonstrate in actual sea-fighting such superiority as actually existed. Implicit trust was placed in our fine sailing ships. So long as solid shot were used, indeed, these timber-built ships were admirably suited for the line of battle; as size and strength increased and as our methods of construction improved the ship gained an increasing advantage over the gun, defence increasingly mastered attack, to such a degree that by the end of the long wars with France the ship-of-the-line had become almost unsinkable by gun-fire. But so soon as shell guns were established—even with spherical shells fired from smooth-bore ordnance—wooden ships loomed easy targets for destruction. For a long time this disquieting conclusion was ignored or boldly denied; expert opinion with sagacity turned a blind eye to the portentous evidence presented to it of the power of shell. War came, but even then the full possibilities of shell fire were not developed. Enough proof was given, however, to show that in the special circumstances of that war unarmoured ships were of small value against shell fire. Armour was accordingly requisitioned, and, some few years after the war, was applied to seagoing warships.

Another development now took place. At this period when disruptive and incendiary shell was proving itself a more powerful agent than solid shot of equal size, both shell and shot gained an enhanced value from the application of rifling to ordnance; moreover, ordnance itself was developing so quickly that each year saw an appreciable increase in the unit of artillery force. This variation in the unit profoundly affected naval architecture. No longer was there a unit of standard and unchanging value, which, when multiplied by a certain number, conveyed a measure of a ship’s offensive power. No longer was the size of a ship a rough measure of its fighting strength; by concentrating power in a few guns, offensive strength could be correspondingly concentrated, if desired, in a small vessel. On the other hand, in view of the sudden accession of offensive strength, the defensive capacities of a ship remaining as before, it was now true that size had become an element of danger, diminutiveness of safety. Hence warships, which had for centuries triumphed in the moral and physical effect of their height and size, suddenly sought to shrink, to render themselves inconspicuous, to take the first step towards total invisibility.

An effect of the same development—of the increasing size of the unit gun, and therefore of the decreasing number of units which a ship could carry—was the mounting of every big gun so as to command as large an arc of fire as possible.

As the final development we note that the steam engine, in endowing the warship with motions far more variable, certain and controlled than those of the sailing ship, called forth tactical ideas quite different, in many respects, from those which governed sea actions in the canvas period. The warship itself is the embodiment of tactical ideas. Hence the design of the steam-propelled warship evolved along a different line from that of the sailing ship.

By the effect and interaction of these developments a complete revolution was compassed in naval architecture; by the progress of artillery and the steam engine, and by the improvement in mechanical processes in general, an entirely new unit of naval force was evolved from the old sailing ship: the mastless, turreted ironclad of the late ’sixties, the precursor of the modern battleship.

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No sooner had the shell gun given proofs of its destructive powers than experiments on the penetrative power of projectiles began to assume importance, and as early as 1838 trials were being made at Portsmouth against a hulk, the result of which, confirming the experiments made by the French with the Pacificateur some sixteen years previously, demonstrated the far-reaching effects of explosive shell against a ship’s side-timbers. Four years later the prime minister was apprised from New York that the Americans had discovered a suitable and adequate protection for ships’ sides; iron plates of three-eighths of an inch in thickness, riveted together to form a compound 6-inch plate, were alleged to have been found ball-proof. On receipt of which intelligence the Admiralty instructed Sir Thomas Hastings, captain of the Excellent, to confirm or disprove by actual trial. Trial was made, but it was reported that no protection was afforded by such plates against the fire of 8-inch shell or 32-pounder shot, even at 200 yards’ range. No defensive remedy could be devised against shell fire, and the only counter-measures deemed practical were of an offensive nature, viz. to mount shell guns as powerful as those of the enemy, and to keep him at a distance by the employment of large and far-ranging solid-shot ordnance.

In the meantime iron, which was not acceptable as a protection, had been accepted as a constructive material for ships. For some years it had been increasingly used for mercantile shipping with satisfactory results. The scarcity of timber and its cost, as well as the positive advantages to be obtained from the use of the much stronger and more plentiful material, had decided the Admiralty in ’43 to build iron warships. Some small vessels were built and, in spite of adverse criticism and alarming prediction, acquitted themselves admirably on service. In ’46 it was resolved, however, to put iron to the test of artillery. An iron steamboat, the Ruby, was used as a target by the Excellent gunners, and the results were unfavourable; the stopping power of the thin metal was small, and the balls which went clean through the near side wrought extensive damage on the opposite plates. In ’49 trials were made with stouter plates with more promising results: a report favourable to iron as a protection for topsides was made. But in ’51, as the result of elaborate trials made against a “mock up” of the side of the Simoon, the previous conclusions were reversed. Iron was condemned altogether as unsuitable for ships of war. “The shot and shell,” reported Captain Chads, “on striking are shivered into innumerable pieces, passing on as a cloud of langrage with great velocity,” and working great destruction among the crew. Nor was a combination of wood and iron any better. In fact the report claimed that, as regards the suitability or the unsuitability of iron, these experiments might be deemed to set the question at rest. The experience of the French had apparently been somewhat similar to our own. In both countries the use of iron for warships received a sudden check and, in England at any rate, the idea of unarmoured wood was once again accepted. In both countries the opinion was widely held that iron was unsuitable either for construction or protection, and that the view of General Paixhans, that vessels might be made proof even against shells by being “cuirassÉes en fer,” was preposterous and impracticable.161

Potentially, as it now seems, wooden sailing ships were so weak in defensive qualities that the new artillery, if only it could be adequately protected, had them at its mercy. Actually it required the rude test of war to establish the unpalatable truth. In November, 1853, such proof was given. At Sinope a squadron of Turkish frigates armed with solid-shot guns was almost blown out of the water by shell fire from a powerful Russian squadron; the latter were practically uninjured, while the Turkish fleet was set on fire and a terrible mortality inflicted among the crews in a short time. General Paixhans, who had lived to see his invention fulfil in actual warfare his early predictions, was able to emphasize, in the columns of the official Moniteur, the arguments against large ships and the advantages which would accrue to France especially by the subdivision of force and the substitution of small protected steamers armed with heavy guns for the existing wooden ships-of-the-line. The concentrated fire of a few such steamers would overpower the radiating fire of the largest three-decker.

The type of naval warfare imposed on the allies in the Crimean War lent special force to Paixhans’ arguments. For the attack of fortresses and coasts whose waters were exceptionally shallow it was at any rate clear that the orthodox form of warship, unarmoured, of large size and of deep draught, was of very limited value. Some special form was necessary; France made a rapid decision. Napoleon III issued an order for the construction of a flotilla of floating batteries, light-draught vessels capable of carrying heavy shell guns and of being covered with iron armour strong enough to resist not only solid shot but the effects of explosive shell.

The idea of armouring ships was, of course, not novel. Armour of sorts had been utilized from antiquity; in the days when the shields of the men-at-arms were ranged along the bulwarks of the war galleys; in the Tudor days when the waists of ships were protected by high elm “blinders,” and when Andrea Doria’s carrack was so sheathed with lead and bolted with brass that “it was impossible to sink her though all the artillery of a fleet were fired against her.” In the eighteenth century the French themselves had attempted to clothe floating batteries with armour, not indeed against shells but against red-hot shot. In 1782 they had devised, for the attack on Gibraltar, six wooden floating batteries which, with their armament, were protected by a belt of sand enclosed in cork and kept moist with sea water. But this experience had been disastrous. The sand-drenching apparatus failed to act, and the batteries were almost totally destroyed by fire.

But now, although experiments with iron-plated ships had been the reverse of satisfactory, data were to hand which showed that, if used in sufficient thickness, iron plates were capable of withstanding the disruptive effects of shell. At Vincennes trials had been made, between 1851 and 1854, with various thicknesses and dispositions of iron; with plates four to five and a half inches thick, with compound plates, and with plates supported on a hard wood lining eighteen inches thick; of all of which the thick simple plates had proved the most effective. So the five floating batteries ordered for work in the Crimea were covered with 4-inch iron plates backed by a thick lining. Sixty-four feet long, 42 feet in beam, drawing about 18 feet of water, armed with sixteen 56-pounder shell guns and equipped with auxiliary steam machinery for manoeuvring, their construction was hastened with all possible speed. By October, ’55, three of them, the DÉvastation, Tonnante, and Lave, had joined the allied flags, and on the 17th of that month they took a principal part in the bombardment of Kinburn. Their success was complete. Although repeatedly hit their iron plates were only dented by the Russian shot and shell. “Everything,” reported the French commander-in-chief, “may be expected from these formidable engines of war.” Once again the arguments of Paixhans for armoured war vessels had been justified; the experience gained with iron armour at Kinburn confirmed that gained with shell guns at Sinope. France at once proceeded to apply these lessons to the improvement of her navy proper.

In England, on the other hand, no great impression was created either by shells or by iron protection. A comfortable faith in our fleets of timber-built ships persisted; and, with regard to policy, as it had been with shell guns, and with steam propulsion, so it appeared to be with armour; the national desire was to avoid for as long a time as possible all change which would have the effect of depreciating the value of our well-tried material. At the same time it is remarkable how small an effect was conveyed to expert opinion, both here and in America, by the events of the Crimean War. In the years immediately following the war some notable technical works were published: Dahlgren’s Shell and Shell Guns, Read’s Modifications to Ships of the Royal Navy, Grantham’s Iron Shipbuilding, Sir Howard Douglas’ Naval Warfare with Steam, and Hans Busk’s Navies of the World. From these works and from the press and parliamentary discussions of the day it is evident that, outside France, the impressions created were vague and conflicting. The main lesson conveyed was the great tactical value of steam propulsion. The reports laid no emphasis on shells, and so scanty was the information concerning them that it was very difficult to appraise their value. Their effect at Sinope was disguised by the overwhelming superiority of the Russian force, which rendered the result of the action a foregone conclusion; on another occasion (at Sebastopol) shells fired at long range were reported to have failed to penetrate or embed themselves in a ship’s timbers. Commander Dahlgren was uncertain, in the absence of fuller information, whether shells had justified their advocates or not. Nor was Grantham impressed by the French floating batteries. “One only of these vessels,” he incorrectly says, “was thus engaged, but then not under circumstances that gave any good proof of their efficiency, as the fire was distant and not very heavy.”

So no violent change in our naval material followed as the immediate result of the war. Only in the matter of light-draught gunboats and batteries tardy action was forced on the authorities by public opinion. Although iron had been condemned for warship construction iron ships had been built in the years preceding the war in considerable numbers for foreign governments; the firms of Laird and Scott Russell had built in 1850 powerful light-draught gunboats for Russia, and in the same year Russia had ordered from a Thames firm an iron gunboat whose novel design had been brought to the notice of the Admiralty. But these craft were intended for the defence of shallow waters, and nothing analogous to them was considered necessary for the British navy. The exigencies of the war demonstrated in the course of time the value of these light-draught vessels. Still there was long hesitation; though the French government pressed on us their advantages, and presented our minister with the plans of their own floating batteries. The disappointment of the Baltic expedition, however, and the realization that the powerful British fleet which in the summer of ’54 had set out to reduce Cronstadt had done nothing but prove the inherent unsuitability of large ships-of-the-line for the attack of fortresses in shallow waters, gave rise to a loud demand in the press that gunboats should be built. Several were accordingly laid down. The first of these were found to be too deep, but others of lighter draught were designed and by the autumn of ’55 sixteen were ready; and these, together with some dockyard lighters which had been fitted as mortar vessels, joined a flotilla of French floating batteries in the Baltic and effectually bombarded Sveaborg. As the war progressed the value of ironclad gunboats became more fully appreciated. A large number was ordered, but most of them were only completed in time to fire a grand salute in honour of the proclamation of peace.162

Apart from the building of these gunboats innovation was avoided. Unarmoured wooden ships, equipped with a mixed armament of shot and shell guns, continued to be launched and passed into commission, and it was only after France had constructed, at Toulon in ’58, an iron-encased frigate, that England unwillingly followed suit, convinced at last that a reconstruction of her materials could no longer be averted.

La Gloire, the iron-belted frigate, was the direct result of the lessons gained from the floating batteries in the Russian war. After Kinburn the French naval authorities took up the study of how to apply armour to sea-going ships. Was it possible to embody in a fighting unit sea-going capacity, high speed, great offensive power, in addition to the defensive qualities possessed by the slow, unwieldy batteries? Could such a weight as iron armour would entail be embodied in a ship design without loss of other important qualities? It was concluded that, while it would be impossible to cover the sides completely, it would be possible to protect the surfaces near the water-line, under cover of which all the ships’ vital parts could be secreted. A great increase in defensive power would thus be obtained. Before developing a plan in detail it was decided to carry out further armour trials, and solid iron plates of 4½ inches thickness were fired at with English 68-pounders and French 50-pounders, with solid balls and with charged shells. The results were satisfactory, so these plates were adopted as the standard of armour protection. To the design of M. Dupuy de LÔme the first ironclad frigate was constructed from a fine two-decked ship, the Napoleon, which was cut down, lengthened, and armoured from stem to stern. The result was the celebrated Gloire. She was followed shortly afterwards by two sister vessels. And then, in order to obtain a direct comparison between timber-built and iron ships, an armoured iron frigate, the Couronne, was also built. The three wooden ships were given a complete belt round the water-line of 4½ inches of iron; the Couronne had compound armour—3-inch and 1½-inch iron plates separated from each other and from the iron stem-plating by wood lining 6 inches in thickness. The armament of all four frigates consisted of thirty-six 50-pounder shell guns, carried low. They were given yacht masts and equipped with propelling machinery designed to give them 12 knots speed.

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The naval position of England at this time was the reverse of satisfactory. Comparing the material resources of the two great maritime rivals, it came to be noted with surprise that France, taking advantage of the development of steam propulsion during the decade, had actually drawn level with England in the numbers of steam warships available and in their aggregate motive horse-power. The French had submitted to great financial outlay on account of their navy. In this country a reaction, following the large and partially ineffective expenditure incurred in the Crimean War, had dried up the sources of supplies and stunted constructional development; there was little to show for the money spent on such works as the enlargement of docks and on the extensive new factories and docks established at Sheerness and Keyham. Apprehension was widespread when the intelligence of the building of the iron-sided ships was received, and this apprehension developed when whispers reached Westminster of a huge prospective programme meditated by France. To allay the panic a parliamentary committee was formed to inquire into the relative strength of the two navies; and their report, published in January, 1859, made bad reading. Comparing the steam navies—for, the committee reported, sailing ships could not be opposed to steamships with any chance of success—France and England each had afloat the same number of line-of-battle ships, viz. twenty-nine; and as regards frigates France had thirty-four to England’s twenty-six! This did not include the four frÉgates blindÉes laid down by France, which would be substitutes for line-of-battle ships, which were being built with the scantling of three-deckers, and which were to be armed with thirty-six heavy guns, most of them 50-pounders throwing an 80-pound hollow percussion shell. “So convinced do naval men seem to be in France,” note the committee, “of the irresistible qualities of these ships, that they are of opinion that no more ships-of-the-line will be laid down, and that in ten years that class of vessel will have become obsolete.” The position is bad enough; yet so bewildered are our experts by the radical developments of the rival navy, so difficult appears the problem of countering the French designs by any new and well-studied procedure, that all that the committee can recommend is the accelerated conversion of our remaining sailing ships to steam. The committee realize that naval architecture, and still more naval artillery, is in a state of transition, and that the late invention of Armstrong’s gun “may possibly affect even the size and structure of ships of war.”

It is not possible, however, for a country desirous of maintaining its maritime supremacy to wait upon perfection in the manner implied as the policy of the parliamentary committee. Some drastic and immediate action was necessary, to redress the advantage accruing to France from the possession of the Gloire and her sister frigates. Such action was duly taken; but before proceeding to examine this action it will be necessary to revert for a moment to a consideration of iron. We have already sketched the evolution of iron as a protective covering for warships; we must now glance back and briefly trace its progress as a constructive material.

Iron vessels had appeared on the canals of England in the latter part of the eighteenth century. In 1815 a pleasure boat of that material had sailed on the River Mersey, attracting crowds of people whose credulity had been severely strained by the statement that an iron ship would float. Admiral Napier had manifested an early interest in iron ships; in 1820, in partnership with a Mr. Manby, he had constructed the first iron steamer, the Aaron Manby, and navigated it from London up the Seine to Paris, where in ’22 it attracted considerable attention. From this date onwards iron vessels increased in number. In ’39 the Nemesis and Phlegethon were built by Mr. Laird for the East India Company, and in the China war of ’42 these gunboats played a conspicuous and significant part. The grounding of the Nemesis in ’40 on the rocks of Scilly afforded early evidence of the value of watertight bulkheads (a Chinese invention) when embodied in an iron hull.

As the size of ships increased, the disabilities attaching to the use of timber became more and more evident. Though braced internally by an elaborate system of iron straps, knees, and nutted bolts in iron or copper, the large timber-built ship, considered as a structure, was fundamentally weak; in fact the presence of the straps and ties contributed in no small degree to its inability to withstand continuous stress. The fastenings did not accord with the materials which they fastened together, and the wood was relatively so soft that when a severe strain arose a general yielding took place, the boltheads sinking into the wood and causing it to give way to the pressure thrown locally upon it. As tonnage increased the metal fastenings grew more and more conspicuous, the ship became a composite structure of wood and iron, with the result that uniformity of elasticity and strength was lost and the stresses, instead of being distributed throughout the structure, tended to become localized at certain points. “The metallic fastenings of a timber-built ship act to accelerate her destruction so soon as the close connection of the several parts is at all diminished.” So in 1840 wrote Augustin Creuze, a graduate of the disbanded school of naval architecture and one of the most gifted and eminent men of his profession at that day.

Iron ships, on the other hand, were found to be well adapted to withstand the racking stresses, the localized loads and the vibrations which were introduced by steam machinery; they were lighter than wooden ships, more capacious, more easily shaped to give the fine lines necessary for speed, cheaper and immeasurably stronger. In course of time the objections to them gradually vanished; by aid of the scientists the derangement of their compasses was overcome, the dangers from lightning were obviated, and the extent of the fouling to which their surfaces were liable was kept within limits. In course of time, in spite of natural preference and vested interest, and since the advantages of iron were confirmed by continuous experience, wood became almost entirely superseded by the metal for large mercantile construction. But in the case of warships, as we have seen, insuperable objections seemed to prohibit the change of material. No sooner had a step been taken by the Admiralty, in the ordering of a group of iron paddlewheel frigates in ’43, than an outcry arose; the wooden walls of England were in danger, the opponents of iron declared, and iron ships were wholly unsuitable for warlike purposes. More were ordered in ’46. Sir Charles Napier, whose opinion naturally carried great weight with the public, led the opposition, and when, in ’49, the artillery trial demonstrated the dangerous effects of shot and shell on thin iron plates, the advocates of iron were fain to admit the error of their opinions. The iron frigates were struck from the establishment and transformed—such of them as were completed—into unarmed transports.

As experience with iron ships accumulated, the feeling grew in certain quarters that the artillery trials, the results of which had been claimed as being decisive proof of the unsuitability of iron for warships, might not have been the last word upon the subject. The events of the Crimean War tended to emphasize the doubt and uncertainty. A few there were who saw in that war clear proofs of the superiority of iron over wood; who argued that, though iron had proved to be dangerous in the form of thin plates in certain circumstances, yet it had shown itself to be impervious both to shot and shell, and indeed an indispensable defence in certain circumstances when applied in sufficient thickness; that thicker plates than those condemned as dangerous might therefore prove to be a great protection against shell fire; and that, even as regards thin plates, the splintering effect of shell against these was small, from all accounts, compared with the incendiary effect of shell against timber. And in what other respects were the advantages of iron contested?

But, acting upon expert advice and influence, doubtless, by the remembrance of the Birkenhead and Simoon fiasco, the government still felt unable to sanction the use of iron, and it was not until news of the laying down of the Gloire reached England that a decision was made to adopt the new material, both as armour and for the hulls of warships.

The high protagonist of timber-built ships, it was shortly afterwards revealed, was Sir Howard Douglas: the most strenuous advocate of iron was John Scott Russell. For years, it appeared, Sir Howard had been the influential and successful adviser of the government against the adoption of iron. “I was consulted by Sir Robert Peel,” he wrote in 1860, “on his accession to the government, as to the use and efficiency of a certain half-dozen iron frigates, two of which were finished, and four constructing by contract. I stated in reply that vessels wholly constructed of iron were utterly unfit for all the purposes of war, whether armed or as transports for the conveyance of troops.” In the same paper he stated the arguments on which he had tendered this advice; and these arguments appeared so fallacious, and the facts on which they were based so disputable, as to seem to call for some reply from the builders of iron ships. Sir Howard had certainly strayed far from science in his unsupported statements as to the calamitous effects of iron if used for warships; and unfortunately he had allowed himself to stigmatize the Great Eastern, as representative of iron ships generally, as “an awful roller,” and as never having attained anything like her calculated speed. Scott Russell made a violent reply. “After establishing that Sir H. Douglas’s conclusions are the reverse of the truth,” he began, “I shall proceed to establish that the future navy of England must be an iron navy. That its construction must be founded on facts and principles, which Sir H. Douglas’s writings ignore, and his deductions contradict; and I believe I shall prove that if iron ships had been introduced at the time when Sir Howard says he sedulously and systematically opposed their introduction, the money which has been spent on a wooden fleet about to become valueless would have given England a fleet greatly more powerful than the combined navies of the world.”163

It may be conceded that in this public argument Scott Russell had the advantage: the architect of the Great Eastern had little difficulty in confuting the views of the artillerist. But by this time the battle between wood and iron had been fought and won. The Board of Admiralty, influenced by the arguments of Scott Russell and their own constructors, and in the presence of gigantic achievements in the form of iron-built liners, felt unable to agree with Sir Howard in his continued advocacy of timber; Sir John Pakington expressed his personal doubts to him in a correspondence. Expert opinion, naval officers and architects, leaned more and more in the direction of the new material, and, early in 1859, the decision was made to build an armoured frigate of iron. It was a momentous decision. The “wooden walls” had crumbled at last, and iron had won acceptance as alone able to cope with the new forces brought into existence by the progress of artillery and steam machinery. The opponents of iron could not sustain for long their arguments in favour of timber; experience was accumulating against them, and it was necessary to accept defeat. Chief among them was Sir Howard Douglas. There is, surely, something pathetic in the episode of his long-continued struggle against radical change; something tragic in the spectacle of this scientist, whose labours had done more, perhaps, than any other man’s for the efficiency of the nineteenth-century navy, in his old age casting the great weight of his influence unwittingly against the navy’s interest? How gamely the old general fought for his convictions is told us by his biographer, who with a natural warmth denounced the fierce criticism which Scott Russell had directed against a veteran of eighty-five winters, devoting his last hours to the service of his country. “His resistance to armour ships bore him down, his arguments met with unbelief, or elicited taunts, and ceased to influence the public. ‘All that I have said about armour ships will prove correct,’ he remarked, twenty-four hours before his death, toward the end of ’61. ‘How little do they know of the undeveloped power of artillery!’”

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In June, 1859, some months before the launching of the Gloire, the reply was given: the Warrior was laid down. Up to this time the initiative, in the slow evolution of naval material, had rested mainly with France. From this moment England, having taken up the challenge, assumed the initiative and its responsibilities; and from now onwards, in spite of false moves, failures, and ineffective expenditures of money and labour, she regained more and more surely the preponderance in naval strength which she had possessed of old. At last a scientific era of naval architecture had opened. Up to this time the design and construction of warships had been treated as a mere craft: a craft hampered, moreover, by absence of method, reluctance to adopt new views, limitations as to size, interference and ever-varying decisions as to such factors as the extent of sail-power or the number of guns to be carried. By the official acceptance of scientific methods this was largely changed. By the raising of the old office of Surveyor to the dignity of Controller of the Navy, by the institution of a new school of naval architecture to take the place of that suppressed in 1832 (whose most eminent graduates, fittingly enough, were the chief witnesses against the debased state and management of naval construction as it was prior to 1860), by utilizing the services of men trained in mathematics, the effect on naval architecture soon became apparent. Originality had scope, forethought and cleverness had full play; men of considerable technical knowledge were pressed into service, who proved well able to cope with the new developments.

The outcome of this new orientation was the Warrior. It is usual to think of her as similar to the Gloire; like her she was designed to resist the 68-pounder unit of artillery, like her she carried a belt of iron armour 4½ inches thick, and was equipped with steam machinery to give her a high speed. Yet in important respects she differed from her French rival.

Firstly, her size in relation to her armament caused general surprise. Admittedly the policy of restricting dimensions, pursued with such rigour from the seventeenth to the beginning of the nineteenth century, had operated to the detriment of our naval construction; admittedly the long and fine-shaped sailing vessels built during recent years were greatly superior to those of the older models; yet no reason presented itself for building a ship, of armament equal to that of the 5000-ton French frigate, which would displace over 9000 tons. Were not cost and tonnage directly related, and was there some real necessity forcing us to build ships of so large a size? Was it true that the basins at Portsmouth would require to be enlarged to take such a ship, and that her draught would be such that she could only be docked at certain tides? The question was debated vigorously by the Board itself. Three considerations, according to an authoritative statement made to parliament, prompted the decision to depart widely from the design adopted by the French: considerations one or more of which have influenced all subsequent construction in this country. Firstly, the world-wide duties of the British navy demanded a type of ship capable of making long and distant voyages either with steam or sail: in short, a fully rigged ship, a good sailer, and at the same time one with sufficient carrying capacity to enable her to keep the seas for a long time. Secondly, to ensure good sailing qualities and to avoid a defect which had been experienced in our own ships fitted with heavy pivot guns, and which was predicted in the case of the Gloire, the extremities must be as lightly loaded as possible, and not weighed down with heavy armour. Thirdly—and this was more or less special to the period—since artillery was already in a state of rapid transition to higher power, any protective armour approved must sooner or later be insufficient and require to be augmented. These conditions, and the advantages which increase of length were known to give in reducing the propeller power necessary to obtain a certain speed, governed the specifications to which the Warrior was built. She was given a length of 380 feet, machinery for a speed of nearly 14 knots, full canvas, telescopic funnels, and waterline armour over her central parts: the ends being left unarmoured, but subdivided by watertight compartments. Of her forty-eight smooth-bore guns, twenty-six were behind armour and twelve were outside of the protective belt; the remaining ten were mounted on the upper deck, also without protection.

In another respect the Warrior bore witness to the foresight of the Board. Hidden behind, and altogether disguised by, the shapely bow with its surmounting figure-head, was a stout iron ram-stem, worked to the knee and side-plates of the bow: an inconspicuous but significant feature. Ever since steamers had been established in the navy the possibilities of ramming had been discussed. The revolution in tactics resulting from the introduction of steam as motive power had been examined by authorities such as Bowles and Moorson, Douglas, Dahlgren and Labrousse, and all of them saw in the new conditions an opening for the use of the ram. In ’44 Captain Labrousse had suggested strengthening the bows of wooden ships for this purpose, and in England Admiral Sartorius had become the advocate of a special type of warship built expressly to ram. The circumstances of the naval warfare of the Crimea, in which slow-moving steamers operated in restricted waters, had displayed to naval men the advantages to be obtained from actual collision—from the use of their ship itself as a projectile against the enemy’s hull. In the case of the Warrior an additional argument was now to hand for providing a ram. The use of iron as armour had restored the equilibrium between defence and attack which had been disturbed by the adoption of shell fire; nay more, it had actually turned the scale against artillery, the 68-pounder being unable to penetrate the armour of the ship in which it was carried. For this reason, that for the moment armour had the ascendancy over the gun, a ram was considered to be necessary as an additional means of offence; and a ram was accordingly embodied in the Warrior, to the strength of which her converging iron-plate structure aptly contributed.

And now, leaving the Warrior for a moment, it will be convenient to glance ahead and note the part played by the ram and the value set upon it in connection with later types of warships.

In 1860 no doubt was felt but that ramming would play a very important part in future warfare. The experiences of the American Civil War of ’62 seemed to supply a perfect confirmation of this opinion. “We fought the Merrimac for more than three hours this forenoon,” wrote the engineer of the Monitor to John Ericsson, “and sent her back to Norfolk in a sinking condition. Ironclad against ironclad, we manoeuvred about the bay here (Hampton Roads), and went at each other with mutual fierceness.... We were struck twenty-two times, the pilot house twice, the turret nine times, the side armour eight times, deck three times.... She tried to run us down and sink us, as she did the Cumberland yesterday, but she got the worst of it. Her bow passed over our deck, and our sharp upper-edged side cut through the light iron shoe upon her stem, and well into her oak. She will not try that again. She gave us a tremendous thump but did not injure us in the least.... The turret is a splendid structure....”

On the preceding day the iron-covered Merrimac had sunk the wooden sailing ship Cumberland by ram alone, without the aid of artillery, the shots from her victim’s guns glancing off her iron casing “like hailstones off a tin roof.” She had then opened on the wooden Congress with shell fire, and in a short time the crowded decks of that ship had been reduced to a shambles. Then she had fought the inconclusive duel with the armoured Monitor. What lessons were at length driven home by these three single actions! What a novel warfare did they not foretell! The helplessness of the wooden ship when attacked by an ironclad was apparent, the terrific effects of shell fire were once again conclusively proved. The value of thick armour was once more shown, but, above all, the power of the ram, the new arme blanche of sea warfare, seemed to be indisputably demonstrated. On both sides of the Atlantic a revision of values took place: the wooden navies of the world sank into insignificance, the Warrior and her type were seen to be the main support and measure of each nation’s naval power. “The man who goes into action in a wooden ship is a fool,” Sir John Hay was quoted as saying, “and the man who sends him there is a villain.” The ocean-sceptre of Britain was broken, thought an American writer forgetful of the limitations of monitors, by the blow which crushed the sides of the Cumberland and Congress.

Four years later the battle of Lissa, in which the ironclad squadrons of Austria and Italy were engaged with one another, gave confirmation that the lessons of Hampton Roads were also applicable to blue-water actions. “Full speed. Ironclads rush against the enemy and sink him,” was the signal made by the Austrian admiral, Tegetthof. The ram was his chief weapon of offence, the gun being a useful auxiliary in gaining him the victory; gunfire, by disabling the steering gear of the RÉ d’Italia, making her an easy prey for the ram of his flagship, Ferdinand Max.

Of all the factors influencing the evolution of naval material, the experiences and records of actual warfare are naturally considered to carry the greatest weight in council: they are, indeed, the only data whose acceptance is indisputable. The claims and achievements put forward in time of peace, however their excellence may have been attested by the most realistic experiments, are all referred to actual war for trial, and are accepted only in so far as they fit in with war experience. But sea actions between ironclads have been few and far between. It has been the more difficult, therefore, to draw from them the true lessons conveyed; the fixed points have been insufficient in number, so to speak, to allow of the true curve of progress being traced. Not only has this insufficiency been evident, but the restriction in the area of war experience has had another harmful effect, in that undue weight has been given to each individual experience. Difficult as it always is to strip each experience of its special circumstances and deduce from it the correct conclusion, errors have undoubtedly been made; and these errors have had a prominence which would not have been theirs if the number of experiences had been greater. On the other hand, an altogether insufficient weight has commonly been given to the experiences of peace-time.

These remarks find one application in the ram, and in the value placed upon it in the ’sixties and ’seventies. During this period artillery was undergoing a continuous and rapid improvement, eventually turning the scales against defensive armour; steam power was expanding and the manoeuvring capacities of ships were being extended, so as to make ramming an operation more and more difficult to perform. Yet faith in the ram grew rather than decreased, influenced almost entirely by the evidence of the two sea-actions.

What was the actual experience of ramming gained in peace-time? In ’68 Admiral Warden, commanding the Channel Fleet, reported: “So long as a ship has good way on her, and a good command of steam to increase her speed at pleasure, that ship cannot be what is called ‘rammed’; she cannot even be struck to any purpose so long as she has room, and is properly handled. The use of ships as rams, it appears to me, will only be called into play after an action has commenced, when ships, of necessity, are reduced to a low rate of speed—probably their lowest.” As time progressed the chances of ramming certainly grew less. Yet Lissa and Hampton Roads continued to influence opinion to such a degree, as to lead to a glorification of ram tactics; in the press, and in the technical institutions which had now come into being, the ram retained a lustre which it no longer deserved. So long as artillery was feeble and gunnery of low efficiency, and so long as speeds of ships were slow and manoeuvring power restricted, the ram was of great potential value. As these conditions changed, the value of the ram declined. But for a time it was actually in question which of the two forms of power, the steam engine or the gun, would ultimately exert the greater influence as a weapon in action. The subject of a Prize Essay for 1872 was, “The Manoeuvres and System of Tactics which Fleets of Ships should adopt, to develop the powers of the Ram, Heavy Artillery, Torpedoes, etc., in an action in the open sea”; and it was the opinion of the prize-winner, Commander G.H. Noel, that the ram was at that time fast supplanting the gun in importance. “The serious part of a future naval attack,” wrote Captain Colomb, in Lessons from Lissa, “does not appear to be the guns, but the rams.” And the French Admiral Touchard described the ram as “the principal weapon in naval combats—the ultima ratio of maritime warfare.” “There is a new warfare,” said Scott Russell in 1870. “It is no longer, Lay her alongside, but, Give her the stem, which will be the order of battle.” And he predicted fleets of high-speed vessels, equipped with powerful rams and twin-screw engines, in which both guns and armour were merely of secondary importance. And writers on tactics discerned future squadrons in action charging each other after the manner of heavy cavalry.

The evolution of artillery falsified these expectations. With the growing advantage of artillery over the defence, and with the coming of the torpedo, fighting ranges increased and the use of the ram declined. With greater speeds and greater ranges the possibility of ramming became (as might be deduced mathematically) a diminishing ratio; before the end of the century it was sufficiently clear, and was confirmed by actual warfare, that the ram formed but a very secondary factor of a warship’s offensive power. But for some years ramming, and “bows-on” fighting in which ramming was intended to play an important part, influenced to a great extent the designs of warships.

So much for the ram, first fitted in the Warrior. In her sister ship the ram was less pronounced and, before Hampton Roads had drawn attention to its possibilities, it was even in question to renounce it altogether. In the case of the Warrior the heavy figure-head so overhung the ram that many were dubious whether the latter would seriously damage an enemy; and, moreover, the wisdom of driving a fully rigged ship against another vessel, and risking the dismantling of her masts and rigging, was widely doubted. In other respects, except for her armour belt and for the material of which she was built, that vessel was not radically different from her predecessors; the first of iron-built ironclads was a handsome screw frigate not unlike previous British ships of her type, from whom she was lineally descended.

Although on the whole she was a conspicuous success, it was soon apparent that the great length of the Warrior tended to make her difficult to manoeuvre: in fact, made her deficient in that very quality—handiness—which was indispensable to her effective use as a ram. And this unhandiness was accentuated in the Minotaur class which was begun in 1861. These ships were given a belt an inch thicker than that of the Warrior, and, partial protection being considered objectionable, especially as leaving exposed the steering gear and a portion of the gun armament, the belt was made continuous over the whole length of the ship. This length, owing to the extra weight of the armour, was 400 feet: 20 feet greater than that of the Warrior and a hundred greater than that of the longest timber-built ships. At first, five masts were fitted, in order to obtain a large sail-area while at the same time keeping the size of each sail within desirable limits; but these were afterwards reduced to three. Sail power and steam machinery were seen to be an imperfect combination in so large a vessel. The Minotaur class proved to be costly, unhandy and vulnerable ships, and signalled a return to smaller dimensions. It was found possible to design ships equally fast and equally well armed and protected, by the use of fuller lines and less length and an increased engine power. “Increased manoeuvring power and reduction in prime cost,” wrote the designer of the new type, “more than make amends for the moderate addition to the steam power.”164

Here we may briefly note the conversion of the timber-built fleet. In ’57 Captain Moorsom had submitted a scheme of cutting down ships to a short height above the water-line and using the weight thus gained to provide an armour belt. Sir Charles Napier had advocated a similar policy in parliament. As soon as the necessity for armour was accepted this policy was adopted; not only were the resources of the private ship-yards bent to the building of a fleet of new iron warships, but the best of the old navy was metamorphized in the royal dockyards by the process of the razee: the cutting down of two-deckers and their conversion into iron-belted frigates. By these exertions France was soon outstripped in the struggle. For a long time she clung to wooden ships, though in ’62 she adopted iron for upper works; and of such ships, of wooden bottoms but of iron above the water-line, she built a fleet “possessing only one possible merit—uniformity; which the new English construction lacked.” The combination of heavy steam machinery and wooden hulls was the cause of continuous difficulties; the growth of artillery rendered the ships obsolete almost before they were built.

§

By the time the Warrior and her sister ships were afloat the great struggle between armour and artillery was well in progress. It was a struggle which was to lead to unsuspected developments in naval architecture.

For the moment, and in the presence of the new iron-built ironclads, the gun was at its lowest point of effectiveness. But rifling had conferred new powers on it, and the greatest efforts were being put forth to improve its position. As it grew rapidly in size and power, naval experts were faced with a succession of problems of extraordinary difficulty. Two things were in question: both the type and the disposition of gun best suited for a warship’s armament.

With regard to type, the adoption of armour inevitably gave a set-back to the value of the shell gun. Shells, which would rend and set on fire a wooden ship, would not pierce armour or inflame iron plates; of which facts Hampton Roads afforded a demonstration. It seemed clear also from that incident, to experts in this country and in France, that no extension of the Paixhans principle was likely to compete with armour in the future. The system of shell fire of General Paixhans, like the shot system of the inventor of the carronade, had relied on low muzzle velocities and curved trajectories, to effect its purpose. His shells were for lodgment rather than penetration, and did not gain their effect by their kinetic energy; and in view of this their inventor had himself conceived the use of iron armour as the very means whereby they might be countered. Nevertheless the Americans had been strongly attracted by the Paixhans principle, and with their Dahlgrens and Columbiads had extended it in practice to embrace the use of guns of the largest calibres. The action between the Monitor and the Merrimac did nothing to shake their faith in this class of ordnance. Subsequent experiments appeared to confirm the national predilection; and one of their writers, in giving credit to the navy chiefs for adhering to the principle of the large smooth-bore gun, recorded that the small-bore-and-high-velocity theory had received its quietus by the utter demolition of a 6-inch plate by a ball from a 15-inch gun at Washington in February, 1864.165 In France and England it was held, and held rightly, that high velocities were necessary for the attack of armour.

If shell guns were of small value, what was suitable? Were the old spherical solid shot still capable of beating the defence? A serious effort was made in this country to bring them to do it. The Armstrong rifled breech-loading guns recently adopted had been proving defective and indifferent on service; a return was wisely made to muzzle-loading; and it was in question also to revert to spherical shot and shell. Spherical shot of hardest steel were tried by the Excellent, in the hope that they would penetrate 4½-inch plates. Experimental guns were also made, in 1864, to discharge 100-pound balls with charges of 25 pounds of powder; guns so heavy (6½ tons) that it was doubted at the time whether they could be efficiently worked on the broadside of a rolling ship. Should not increased power be obtained by persevering with rifled guns? The advantages possessed by the rifled gun in ranging power, accuracy, capacity of shell, were admitted; nevertheless the navy as a whole favoured the smooth-bore, with its simplicity, rapidity of fire, strength, and greater initial velocity, and thought that, at close ranges, the 100-pounder 6½-ton smooth-bore gun was the best and most suitable weapon for the service. But the rifled gun was advancing rapidly. “By May, 1864, the 7-inch muzzle-loading rifled shunt gun of 6½ tons had been tried in the Excellent, and had a good deal shaken the position of the smooth-bore. Captain Key reported that it was more than equal to naval requirements.... It was admirably adapted for the naval service.”166 This fired a projectile 115 pounds in weight. By June of the following year the target of 9-inch plate representing the side of the Hercules had beaten the latest Armstrong achievement, a 12½-ton 300-pounder. And on this pretext, and judging the defensive power of the whole ship by the defensive power of the thickest patch of its armour, a still more powerful gun was demanded for the navy by the inventor and by the press: a 25-ton 600-pounder.

So rapidly the power of ordnance grew. It has been observed that of this feverish evolution of armour and artillery the circumstances were doubly remarkable. Firstly, no foreign pressure existed which called for such overleaping and experimental advances. The Americans still clung to their smooth-bore system; the French, who like us had adopted breech-loading guns, retained the system in their service and suffered for some years from its continuous inefficiency. Secondly, the navy was itself “unwillingly dragged into the cul-de-sac of experimental construction induced by the clamour of public opinion.” The type, the size of the gun which was to be embodied in our latest warships, was decided mainly by forces outside the navy, and changed from year to year. Naval architecture changed with it. The adoption of the succession of increasingly powerful rifled guns set experts at their wit’s ends devising warships suitable for carrying them; entailed continuous alterations both in the armaments of new ships and in the design of the new ships themselves; but also, as it happened, had the effect of giving this country a mastery over naval material which it has never since surrendered.

The type having been decided for each individual vessel, there remained the question of the disposition of the armament.

Two main considerations guided the evolution of the ironclads of this period in respect of the disposition of their guns: one mainly tactical, the other mainly constructive. It appears probable that, from the date of Trafalgar onward, the limitations of merely broadside fire had been realized; that the end-on attack, such as had obtained in the supreme actions fought by Nelson and Rodney, had shown the weakness of the broadside ship in ahead fire and had made obvious the anomaly that, in all ships-of-the-line, the course of the ship, the direction in which the attack was made, was the very direction in which gunfire was least powerful, if not altogether non-existent. With the coming of steam and the consequent growth of the ram and ramming tactics, this anomaly was more and more apparent; and from the Warrior onwards each new type presented an enhanced effort to provide, particularly, ahead fire. The growth of the gun materially assisted this effort. Ahead fire increased, between the years 1860 and 1880, from zero to a large proportion of the total fire. The broadside ship was for a time abandoned.

The constructive consideration was the requirement of a protected armament capable of the maximum effective fire in all directions. In the first half of the century an increased effectiveness had been obtained, with the old-fashioned truck guns, by adaptation of the ports or by use of specially designed carriages, to permit of as large an arc of training as possible. Even so the arc through which guns could be fired was small, and in the case of the 68-pounder of the Warrior was only thirty degrees before and abaft the beam. The demand for greater utility was emphasized when, with the increase in size of the unit gun, the number of pieces carried by each ship was diminished.

How, then, having regard to these two considerations, should a warship’s guns be disposed? Various methods were adopted. In the first instance, it was seen to be possible to augment the ahead fire of a ship, and to give a wide sweep of training to some of her guns, by indenting the sides; by so shaping the ship’s side-plating as to allow guns mounted in the forward part to fire in the direction of the ship’s longitudinal axis. At first, slight use was made of this method: with the fine lines given to iron ships it appeared practicable in only a small degree. Moreover, it was objected to as causing a “funnelling” effect to the path of fragments of enemy shell or shot; it was found that shrapnel shell, fired at indented embrasures at Shoebury, broke up, and the number of balls which entered the portholes was ten times the number which entered similar portholes on a straight side. But, after the Minotaur class, less length and greater beam were given to ships, and recessed ports and indented sides therefore became more feasible.

As guns increased in weight and individual importance the advantages of concentration became apparent. It was now undoubtedly desirable to protect all the guns; yet, if they had been strung out along the whole length of the ship, the weight, both of the guns and their protective armour, would prove to be an excessive burden to the ship. Hence the advantage of the central battery. By concentrating the guns into a central area, an armoured box amidships, the weight of armour necessary to protect them could be kept within reasonable limits, protection was afforded not only to the guns but to the vital parts of the ship, while at the same time the extremities were left lightly loaded. The complete water-line belt of armour was retained, but, both in the French and in the English navy, the system of complete protection as embodied in the Gloire and Warrior was given up.

This device of the central battery was at first used solely for broadside guns. But the desire for ahead fire from behind armour soon caused the adaptation of the battery to allow it. Ports were cut in the two transverse bulkheads, the ship’s sides were indented, suitable gun-mountings were provided whereby some of the battery guns could be shifted from one porthole to another; and in this way it was secured that a fair proportion of the armament could be fired either on the beam or parallel with the keel-line of the ship. A power of offence was given in all directions, and no “point of impunity” existed.

Ingenious were the arrangements resorted to, to obtain the maximum effect from the new medium-sized artillery which superseded the original truck-guns of the Warrior and former warships. The armoured boxes, instead of being made with their sides respectively parallel, and at right angles, to the sides of the ship, were sometimes set diagonally, with their sides at forty-five degrees with fore-and-aft. Sometimes they were octagonal, sometimes with curved bulkheads, sometimes two batteries were superposed one on the other; but always the desire was to utilize each gun over as large as possible an arc of fire, and always the tendency was to augment the ahead fire. The central battery formed a powerful citadel covering the whole beam of the ship amidships. The guns of this citadel, by the power of manoeuvring given by the adoption of twin-screw propelling machinery, could, it was argued, be brought to bear in any direction desired. Of all directions, “right ahead” was considered to be of the greatest importance. End-on fighting, it was assumed, would always be resorted to in future; and it was the power of keeping the ship end-on to the enemy which was the great military advantage conferred by twin screws.

A further step in the direction of giving to each gun a large arc of fire was taken in the introduction of the sponson. By means of this circular platform, projecting from the vessel’s side, a gun could be carried so as to fire through an arc of 180 degrees. The same system obtained largely in the French ships of this period; by mounting guns in overhung circular turntables, one at each corner of the central battery en caponiÈre, a large effective arc was obtained for them.

Only one step more was necessary: that which would allow each gun to command the whole sweep of the horizon, and to be available for duty upon either beam and any bearing: the adoption of the centre-line turret. But before tracing the evolution of the turret, let us recapitulate the typical ships built between 1860 and 1873 which composed our central-battery fleet.

The germ of the central-battery idea may be seen, perhaps, in the belted Minotaur, in which, in order to allow the chase guns to be fought from behind armour, a transverse armour bulkhead was worked, at a distance of some 25 feet aft of the bow. Had foreign influence not exerted itself it may be supposed with reason that from the Minotaur the central battery would have been evolved. However this may be, the evolution was hastened by French initiative; for in each of the two wooden ships Magenta and Solferino, laid down in ’59, was found a complete two-decked central battery whose whole depth was faced with armour for the protection of fifty-two 5-ton cannon, the rest of the ship’s water-line being protected by an armour belt much narrower than that of the Gloire. In imitation of this plan our own designs were prepared; and gradually, and only by a series of steps, we achieved what our rivals had obtained in a single stride.

In ’63 Sir Edward Reed, at that time Mr. Reed, one of the graduates of the school which in ’48 had been established at Portsmouth Dockyard, was appointed to the office of Chief Constructor of the Navy. Possessed of broad and original views and gifted to an unusual degree in the arts of exposition and argument, he made himself responsible for designs of warships differing widely from their large and unwieldy precursors. The first of these was the Bellerophon, a short and easily manoeuvred, fully rigged belt-and-battery ship, carrying ten 12-ton Armstrong guns for broadside fire in the battery, and two 6-ton guns for ahead fire in a small armoured battery in the bows. Not only in the disposition of her armament was the Bellerophon different from all former ships. She was a radical departure from existing practice in many important respects. Constructionally, she was built on a new “bracket-frame” system designed to give great girder strength for small expenditure of weight, already in vogue for mercantile shipping. The use of watertight compartments was extended as a defence against an enemy ram, the system of double bottoms was extended as a consequence of the introduction of the torpedo. A powerful ram was carried, but the bow took a new form; a U- instead of a V-section was adopted in order to give buoyancy and thus minimize the tendency to plunge which was inherent in a fine-bowed ship; the section near the water-line being fined away so as to form a cut-water. Steel was largely used instead of iron, with a consequent saving of weight. A novel trim was given her—six feet by the stern—to give a deep immersion for the powerful screw and to assist the ship in turning quickly on her heel under the action of the balanced rudder; an adjustment which experience showed to have a detrimental effect on the propulsive efficiency.

Next came the Enterprise, a still smaller ship. In the Bellerophon, as we have seen, there was no bow fire possible from the central battery; in the Enterprise this was obtained by piercing the athwartship bulkheads of the battery with ports, and substituting movable for fixed bulwarks. The same arrangement was developed in the Pallas and Penelope, in which ships the arc of fire of the corner guns of the battery was further extended by the device of indented sides. Then came the Hercules, generally like the Bellerophon but with indented sides and, as a novelty, alternative ports in the battery armour by means of which the corner guns could be trained, on revolving platforms, to fire either on the beam or nearly in line with the keel; a system which presented an obvious disadvantage in requiring twelve ports for eight guns. In the Kaiser class, designed by Sir Edward Reed shortly afterwards for the German government, this disadvantage was obviated by the expedient of forming ports in facets of the battery set at forty-five degrees with the keel-line, and by muzzle-pivoting guns.

Both in the Bellerophon and the Hercules axial fire had only been obtained by the provision of special batteries, at the bow and stern, of partially protected guns. Now, this accumulation of weight at the extremities was a feature viewed with disfavour by naval opinion; moreover, these bow batteries did not meet the ever-growing demand for a considerable ahead fire. So in the Sultan, which carried a central-battery armament similar to that of the Hercules, an upper deck armoured battery was embodied, superposed on the after end of the main deck battery and carrying guns which gave both astern and beam fire; while, for bow fire, two 12-ton guns were mounted in the forecastle, but without any protection.

The central-battery system had now to sustain the greatest attack that had yet been made upon it by the advocates of centre-line turrets. The position of the central-battery school was already somewhat shaken; ordnance had grown to a weight and power which justified the main argument of the turret advocates; Lissa had just shown the importance of being able to concentrate on any one bearing a maximum of offensive power. Controversy raged hotly on the relative merits of turret and central battery.

In these circumstances the Admiralty in ’68 determined to consider both types, with a view to embodying the best arrangement in the new class of vessels then projected. The principal shipbuilders of the country were invited to compete, and were presented with specifications for a first-class warship so widely drawn as to leave them the greatest latitude in design. Of the seven designs submitted, three were of the central-battery type, three were turret ships, and one a compound of the two. After comparison with an Admiralty design produced by Sir Edward Reed, it was decided to adopt this in preference to those of the private firms, and to build a whole class of six ships to it. The result was the Audacious class—of which the best-remembered are the Iron Duke and the ill-fated Vanguard. In this class a strong all-round fire was obtained by arranging two central batteries of the same size, one on the main and one on the upper deck. The main deck battery had only broadside ports for its six 12-ton guns, each gun training thirty degrees before and abaft the beam; the upper deck battery had four guns of the same calibre mounted at ports cut in armour facets at forty-five degrees with the keel-line, and training through ninety degrees. To allow axial fire from these guns the upper battery was made to project slightly, sponson fashion, over the sides of the ship, and the bulwarks forward and aft of the battery were set slightly back toward the centre line to enable the guns to fire past them.

A final stage in the evolution of the central-battery ship was attained in the Alexandra, laid down in ’72. The type had proved tenacious of life, and, for masted vessels, still held its own up to this point against the turret system. The design for the Alexandra gave as complete an all-round fire as was attainable in a central-battery ironclad; for the first time, it was said, we really had a masted ship with satisfactory all-round fire. Generally like the Audacious class, the Alexandra possessed an advantage in that the two forward guns of the upper deck battery were 25 ton instead of 18 ton, and in having, in addition to the six broadside guns of the main deck battery, two additional 18-ton guns mounted so as to be capable of firing nearly ahead and on the beam as well. Designed to fulfil the requirements of “end-on” fighting, she made a heavy sacrifice of broadside fire to obtain a maximum of bow fire; and at a later date, when a different valuation had come to be placed on axial fire, this sacrifice was noted against her. “She could only take her place at a disadvantage in any form of battle which was suited to the armaments of the ironclads that had gone before her.”167 Nevertheless she was a formidable vessel. Defensively, too, she was pronounced to be conspicuously successful; her armour belt, which attained a thickness of 12 inches at the water-line amidships, was carried down at the bow to cover and strengthen the stem, and to protect the vessel from a raking fire. For the protection of the stern against a raking fire, an armour bulkhead was worked across the after part, extending to a depth of 6 feet below the water-line.

The Alexandra was the last of the purely “central battery” ships.168 By the time she was launched experience had set the seal of approval on another type, to the evolution of which we must now revert.

§

It is difficult to trace to its source the invention of the armoured gun-turret. The inventive Ericsson is said to have envisaged at an early age the idea of a protected gun carried on a mobile raft, “an idea probably inspired by his river-rafts in Sweden”; and it is known that at a later date he planned in detail a primitive monitor, the design of which at the outbreak of the Crimean War he offered to Napoleon III. Perhaps the idea, which M. Paixhans first developed in public, of applying iron armour to a sea-going ship, induced the idea of a pivot-gun protected by an armour shield. A protected armament was found, as we have seen, in the French batteries built for the assault of Kinburn: the armoured vessel and the armoured gun were first embodied in the same unit; and though these units were the first to be tried in actual war, yet some years previously, in 1842 or thereabouts, a Mr. Stevens of New York had proposed and made an armoured floating battery. But in neither of these instances was the gun in a turret. The turret idea, like so many other inventions, had an independent development in Europe and in America. In each case war supplied the incentive. In America, in ’62, Ericsson himself produced in a national emergency the Monitor, the low, shallow-draft armoured vessel carrying two 11-inch Dahlgren guns in a steam-rotated turret which served to counter the Southern Merrimac, the rasÉe with the fixed penthouse armour roof over its guns which the Confederates had built by the light of French experience.

The Monitor, both in design and in the circumstances of its production, was a great achievement; its success gave sanction to the revolving turret as a form of structure by means of which a big gun could be carried and trained. Nevertheless it is doubtful whether it influenced to an appreciable degree the evolution of the sea-going turret ship on this side of the Atlantic. Already, when the Monitor fought her action with the Merrimac, the turret had been adopted in coast-defence ships ordered for European powers; and, dramatic though it was, the incident of Hampton Roads afforded merely a confirmation of the effectiveness of the turret form of gun mounting. It was to an episode of the Crimean War that the development of the sea-going turret ship was directly due.

In the Sea of Azov, in the spring of 1855, Commander Cowper Coles, of H.M. steamer Stromboli, constructed in a single night, of barrels, spars and boards, a raft capable of bearing heavy artillery, which he named the Lady Nancy; by means of which he brought within range and destroyed by shell fire the Russian stores at Taganrog.

The naval operations of this war had drawn general attention to the special problems in connection with the navigation of shallow waters by vessels with a heavy armament, and Commander Coles’ exploit immediately excited official interest. Models of armed rafts were submitted by him for Admiralty inspection, and shortly afterwards he was himself ordered home to give advice upon the requirements of this form of construction: in connection with which the necessity for armour protection for the gun or guns was a point early insisted on by him. In that same year he sketched a design for a belted shallow-draught vessel for the attack of stationary forts which he equipped with guns of the heaviest pattern, each working in a fixed hemispherical shield. From the fixed shield to a revolving turret was a small step. In a short time Commander Coles made himself the enthusiastic exponent of armour-protected guns, mounted in cupolas or turrets on or near the centre-line of a ship so as to give a command over nearly the whole sweep of the horizon. By such a system, he argued, a vessel could be endowed with a concentrated offensive power on any bearing unapproachable by broadside armament, however designed; all guns were effective on almost any bearing without diverting the ship, their force required no evolution to elicit, existing as it did when the ship was at anchor, in dry dock or on a constant course. The height of the turrets gave them a plunging fire, an effect particularly useful now that ships’ sides were armoured and their decks alone remained penetrable.

His advocacy of the turret system, aided by the technical assistance of Mr. Brunel, made a deep impression on a large section of the public and gained the interest of the Prince Consort. He did not profess the technical knowledge of a shipbuilder or designer; but in his insistence on the advantages to be derived from the method of mounting guns on the centre-line he wielded arguments of great natural force, and enlisted in his favour the professional sympathies of eminent builders and naval men. In 1860 he produced before the newly founded Institution of Naval Architects a plan of a sea-going ship carrying nine turrets, seven on the centre-line and two off-set so as to allow ahead fire from three turrets. In the following year he wrote to the Admiralty undertaking to prove that a vessel could be built on his principle of armament 100 feet shorter than the Warrior and in all military respects her superior: “I will guarantee to disable and capture her in an hour; she shall draw four foot less water, require only half the crew, and cost the country for building at least £100,000 less. I am ready to stand or fall on these assertions.”

Such a pronouncement could not be lightly passed over. Moreover, coast-defence vessels embodying the turret system—light-draught vessels characterized by small tonnage, small cost and indifferent sea-going qualities, in combination with massive protection and a large offensive armament—were already being built by the private firms of this country for various foreign powers. In ’61, for instance, Denmark had ordered the Rolf Krake, a turret gunboat carrying a 4½-inch belt and four 68-pounder guns, a pair in each of two armoured turrets; which three years later proved her value in action against a nominally superior force. Prussia had ordered her first ironclad, a turret ship. Holland, Italy, Brazil, Russia—all were known to be purchasing coast-defence vessels of the turret type. And two sea-going turret ships which had been ordered by the American Confederates, and which were building in this country—the Wyvern and Scorpion—had been seized and purchased by our government.

In these circumstances the Admiralty, though there was a preponderance of official opinion against the idea, resolved to countenance the turret system and give it a trial. The Royal Sovereign was cut down from a three-decker of 120 guns, armoured with a 5½-inch belt and a 1-inch deck, and equipped with four turrets carrying a total of five 12½-ton guns—two in the foremost and one in the remaining turrets. At the same time the Prince Albert, also a four-turret ship, was laid down by the firm of Samuda to an Admiralty order. These ships were a distinct success so far as the armament was concerned. They were certainly not ocean-going ships. There were many faults and undesirable features to be found in them. But the disposition of the armament was found satisfactory, and the captain of the Royal Sovereign reported most favourably of his ship, describing her as the most formidable man-of-war; “her handiness, speed, weight of broadside, and the small target she offers, increase tenfold her powers of assault and retreat.”

Time, and the progress of artillery, were on the side of Captain Cowper Coles. He saw, and the Admiralty advisers felt, that although it was possible to work existing guns on the broadside, yet increase in the size and weight of guns would sooner or later necessitate the mounting of them on accurately balanced turntables secured by central pivots on the centre-line. Only by such a method could the largest gun be worked and the full weight of metal be poured, as required, on either broadside. In fact the turret, the original object of which was purely defensive, was now regarded from a quite different point of view: as a convenient device by which guns of the highest calibre could be carried and worked. Was complicated machinery objected to? The common winch, the rack and pinion, were in constant use on every railway turntable, nor had the American turrets ever failed in action or caused a loss of confidence in their reliability. Reliance upon a central pivot was disliked? Yet the pivot was already in use for holding the broadside guns of our ironclads—a mere bolt 4 inches in diameter and itself exposed to gunfire.169

The Admiralty constructors were insistent on the practical difficulties which lay in the way of designing a satisfactory sea-going turret ship. The advantages which had been claimed for turrets were obvious, said Sir Edward Reed; the larger and heavier the individual gun, the greater the gain of mounting it in a turret. But enthusiastic advocates of this method lost sight of the fact that turrets were incompatible with masts and sails, and with the forecastle and high freeboard necessary for good sea-going qualities. At that time, 1865, it was possible to protect and work eight of the largest guns, mounted on the broadside, with as little expenditure of weight as would be required to mount four of the guns two in a turret on the centre-line; while in the latter case they could only fire in two different directions at the same time, whereas in the former they could fire in eight.

In order to allow both sides in the controversy to come to grips with the practical difficulties, a committee was formed at the Admiralty in May, ’65, and Captain Coles was asked to produce a turret-ship design by the aid of a draughtsman and with the drawings of the Pallas for guidance. His design, a vessel showing two 600-pounders each mounted in a centre-line cupola, was not considered suitable. So the Board resolved to build a ship to Sir Edward Reed’s design—a fully rigged and masted, high-freeboard ship, with an armour belt and protected bow and stern batteries, and with two centre-line turrets amidships mounted over a central battery, each carrying two 25-ton 600-pounder guns. This was the Monarch. She was the first truly ocean-going turret ship, and her performances at sea in ’69 in company with central-battery ships like the Bellerophon and Hercules proved her to be a valuable and efficient unit; by this experiment it was demonstrated, said Mr. Brassey, “that it was practicable to design a thoroughly seaworthy turret ship, although for sea-going purposes a central battery presents great advantages over the turret system.”

In the meantime Captain Coles had protested vigorously against the design of the Monarch as representative of his system. The plan was not his; the turrets were mounted so high that there was a large area to protect and the ship, unlike the low-freeboard ships of his own design, presented a large target. But his chief objection was, that the presence of a forecastle and an armoured bow battery annihilated the whole advantage of turret guns by preventing ahead fire from them. After protracted negotiations he obtained Admiralty permission to have a ship built to satisfy his own views and independently of criticism from Admiralty officials. In ’69 the Captain, built by Messrs. Laird to his drawings, was launched at Birkenhead. The Captain, although generally similar to the Monarch (the growth of artillery limited the number of the turrets to two), differed from her in one important respect: her designed freeboard was only 8 feet as compared with 14; and, by some error in calculation, this dimension proved to be only 6 feet when the vessel was in sea-going trim. This low freeboard, in conjunction with her large sail-area, produced a condition of instability at large angles of heel which led to disaster and sealed the doom of the fully rigged turret ship.

Even in the Captain ahead fire was not found possible. In the original plans she had the low freeboard favoured by her designer; but in the later plans poops and forecastles were added to give the necessary sea-going qualities, and ahead fire was thereby sacrificed. Complete mastage was given her: iron masts in the form of tripods to avoid the use of shrouds and to give as clear an arc of fire as possible. The rigging was all stopped short at, and worked from, a narrow flying deck which was built above the turrets. This flying deck provided a working space for the crew, who in a moderately rough sea would not be able to make use of the low upper deck.

On the night of September 6th, 1870, the Captain capsized in a heavy sea off C. Finisterre. In St. Paul’s Cathedral the memorial brass, erected in commemoration of this disaster, records that the Captain was built in deference to public opinion expressed in parliament and through other channels, and in opposition to the views and opinions of the Controller and his department; and that the evidence all tended to show that they generally disapproved of her construction.

§

The difficulty of combining the turret system with a full rig of masts and sails had for a long time been recognized. Some eighteen months before the loss of the Captain, the Admiralty, in the presence of the increasing efficiency of steam machinery, had decided to construct a mastless sea-going turret ship.

American experience greatly influenced this decision. In America, where the principle of machinery for propulsion and for working the guns had been accepted with a greater readiness than in Europe, the line of development had been more direct. From the original Monitor a whole series of derivatives had been produced, and from coast-defence vessels of a single turret advance had been made to ocean-going mastless turret ships of low freeboard, carrying the largest smooth-bore guns. These ocean monitors, lacking though they did some features which were considered indispensable in British warships, yet exerted an undoubted influence upon our own construction. Weakly designed in many respects, with small fuel capacity, and unsteady as gun platforms, they were regarded by some writers as the true progenitors of the class of warship which now superseded the masted vessels of the ’sixties.

The problem of the naval architect henceforth was greatly simplified. Masts and sails, which had in the past proved such an embarrassment, were now frankly abandoned, with the result that a thousand difficulties which had beset the designer of the turret ship were swept away. No longer had the stability curve to conform to the conflicting requirements of the sailing vessel and the gun platform. The large weight gained by dispensing with masts and sails could be embodied as an addition to the armament or to the fuel carried. The single screw, which in the case of a ship intended to use sails had been almost a necessity, could be replaced by twin screws of greater power; and the change would remove the liability of complete disablement, and give a number of constructive advantages which it is unnecessary to enumerate. Indeed, it may be said conversely, that the adoption of twin screws so improved the reliability of the propelling machinery as to make practicable the abandonment of masts and sails.

In April, 1869, the Devastation was commenced. Designed by Sir Edward Reed, she “forestalled, rather than profited by, the dreadful lesson of the Captain and by her success gave proof of the judgment and initiative of the Board and their adviser.” Sir Edward Reed had recognized, more fully than his critics, the conflicting elements inherent in the rigged turret ship. And it is significant that, just at a time when the assured success of the Monarch must have been a gratification to her designer, he should record: “My clear and strong conviction at the moment of writing these lines [March 31st, 1869] is that no satisfactorily designed turret ship with rigging has yet been built, or even laid down.”

The Devastation design was a development of those of some previous mastless turret ships, the Cerberus, the Hotspur, and the Glatton class, which had embodied Sir Edward Reed’s ideas as to the requirements of coast-service vessels. At first given four 25-ton guns, the Devastation was ultimately armed with four M.L. guns each weighing 35 tons and carried in turrets on the centre-line, one at each end of a central breastwork, 150 feet in length, built round the funnels.

This central breastwork, raised above the upper deck and armoured along its sides with 10-inch steel, supported the two turrets and enabled the guns to be carried at a desirable height above the water-line. The upper deck itself was low. The sides, up to its level, were protected by a complete belt of armour 8 inches in thickness.

The abolition of masts and rigging had a striking effect on the design. Compared with the Monarch, of nearly the same tonnage, she carried heavier guns, double the weight of armour, double the amount of fuel, and required little more than half the crew to work her.

The loss of the Captain, confirming the doubts which experts had expressed as to the seaworthiness of rigged turret ships, caused an alarm for the safety of all turret ships, built and building. In the public mind, in consequence of the reported shortcomings of the American monitors and the known deficiencies of our coast-defence vessels, the belief was growing that the turret system was inherently unsafe. It was believed, also, that mastless ships, having no spread of sail to steady their motion, would be liable to excessive and dangerous rolling. To allay the uneasiness as to the safety of the Devastation and her type a Committee on Designs was formed. The Committee, composed of some of the most eminent of naval architects and officers, made a report in the spring of ’71 which, though it met with considerable opposition from one school, nevertheless “formed the groundwork upon which the English Admiralty determined to construct their policy for the future.” The Committee pronounced altogether against fully rigged ships for the line of battle; it was impossible, in their opinion, to combine in the same vessel great offensive and defensive power and a full spread of canvas. They considered the Devastation class as the most suitable type of armoured ship for future service, and found them to have sufficient stability for safety and to be in almost all respects a satisfactory design of warship. As regards the Devastation herself they recommended some minor alterations, the effect of which was to improve the stability of the ship and to give greater accommodation for the crew. The main alteration consisted in the carrying up of the ship’s sides amidships to the level of the central breastwork, and in continuing the breastwork deck outward to the sides, to form unarmoured side superstructures.

Besides the Devastation, two others of the type were laid down shortly afterwards, the Thunderer and the Dreadnought. The three ships differed from each other slightly in dimensions, but embodied the same characteristic features. Of chief interest is the transition of the unarmoured side superstructures, in the Devastation, to an armoured central battery of the same width as the ship, in the Dreadnought. The influence of Sir Edward Reed, who had now given place to Mr. Nathaniel Barnaby as Chief Constructor at the Admiralty, was apparent in this evolution. In ’73 he stated publicly his objections to the carrying up of the Devastation’s sides, and pictured a shell entering the unarmoured superstructure and blowing up all the light iron structure in front of the guns. The result was seen in the Dreadnought, in which the breastwork was made a continuation of the ship’s side and armoured. More freeboard was also given to the forecastle and the after deck than was found in the Devastation and Thunderer, with the desire to make the vessel drier and more comfortable; and, owing to the height at which the turrets were carried, this was found possible without restricting the arcs of fire of the guns. The movement from the monitor type toward the modern battleship in respect of freeboard is clearly traced in these three ships of the Devastation class. Low freeboard, in spite of its effect in rendering inconspicuous the ship in which it was embodied, was gradually being abandoned. High freeboard was foreshadowed for future ships. The loss of the Captain had led to a serious study, by naval architects and mathematicians, of the stability of warships at large angles of rolling, and the advantages of high freeboard were by this time widely appreciated. High freeboard not only made a ship more habitable; by the form of stability curve it gave it allowed a vessel’s beam to be reduced with safety, and thereby contributed to a steadier and more easily propelled ship than would have been obtained without it.

In other respects these three ships show the lines along which progress was being made. In the turrets of the Devastation the twin 35-ton guns had been loaded and worked by hand; but in the forward turret of the Thunderer the new hydraulic system of Messrs. Armstrong was applied with success to two 38-ton 12-inch guns; and this system was adopted for both turrets of the Dreadnought. The guns were loaded externally, the turrets being revolved by steam, after firing, till the guns were on the requisite bearing; they were then depressed by hydraulic power, and the 700-pound projectiles were rammed into their muzzles by a telescopic hydraulic rammer. In 1879 an accident occurred in the Thunderer which helped, it is said, to hasten the return to breech-loading guns. Simultaneous firing was being carried out; one of the guns missed fire without anyone either inside or outside the turret being aware of it. The guns were loaded again, and, on being discharged, one of them burst. Such double-loading, it was clearly seen, would not have obtained with breech-loading guns.

The Devastation had twin screws driven by independent engines, but these were non-compound engines of the trunk type working with a maximum steam pressure of 30 lbs. per square inch. In the Dreadnought an advance had been made to compound the three-cylinder vertical engines, working with 60 lbs. per square inch in engine-rooms divided by a longitudinal watertight bulkhead.

§

The evolution of the battleship was being forced along at a hot pace by the evolution of artillery. No sooner had the mastless turret ship received the sanction of the Committee on Designs as the standard type for warfare of the immediate future, than a sudden increase in the power of guns necessitated the consideration of new principles and brought into being a new type.

So far, defence had managed to compete fairly successfully with offence; the naval architect, by devoting as much as 25 per cent of the total of a ship’s weight to protective armour, had been able to keep level with the artillerist. But it was clear that he could not follow much further, by the existing methods. Armour could not be thickened indefinitely. Penetrable armour was no better than none; worse, in fact, since it was a superfluity, and in a ship a superfluity was doubly wasteful, implying a loss of strength in some other direction. Armour might have to go altogether? It seemed that, after all, the predictions of Sir Howard Douglas might well come true; that, just as gunpowder had forced the foot soldier, after burdening him with an ever-increasing weight, to dispense altogether with body-armour, so rifled artillery would render ship armour increasingly ineffectual and, eventually, an altogether useless encumbrance.

The advance in artillery took place in connection with Italian construction. In 1872 Italy laid down the Duilio, and a year later the Dandolo, two mastless turret ships of a novel class, engined by Penn and Maudsley, and equipped with two diagonally placed turrets each designed to carry two 60-ton Armstrong guns; guns which were afterwards changed to 100-ton guns of 17¾ inches bore. In the same ships the Italians introduced a solution of the armour difficulty. They abandoned vertical armour altogether, except for a very thick belt over the central portion of each vessel which was to protect the vital machinery and the gun turrets.

The reply to these was the Inflexible, laid down in ’74.

We have already seen how, in the last of the Devastation class, the central armoured breastwork was widened to the full beam of the ship. It had been proposed by Mr. Barnaby to take advantage of this arrangement to off-set the two turrets of the Dreadnought at a distance each side of the centre line of the ship, so as to allow a powerful ahead fire. Although not then approved, this suggestion was embodied in the Inflexible as her most distinctive feature. In this, however, she was forestalled by the Italians. Her two turrets, each weighing 750 tons, were carried diagonally on a central armoured citadel plated with compound armour of a maximum thickness of 24 inches. Forward and aft of this citadel the unarmoured ends were built flush with it, and along the centre line was built, the whole length of the ship, a narrow superstructure. This superstructure did not contribute anything to her stability; nor was such contribution needed in view of the comparatively high freeboard. But it rendered unnecessary a flying deck such as had been fitted in the Devastation class, and provided accommodation for the crew, without restricting to any appreciable degree the arcs of fire of the big guns.

The Inflexible was of over 11,000 tons displacement, the heaviest and most powerful warship that had ever been built. She was 320 feet in length and 75 feet broad at the water-line; this unprecedented beam being required, in spite of the high freeboard, on account of the height at which the turrets were carried. Nevertheless, so improved was her propulsive efficiency as compared with that of former ships, so great the gain resulting from Mr. Froude’s historic researches on ship form and the action of propellers, that a speed of 15 knots was obtained at a relatively small expense in horse-power.

The idea of sails was not yet altogether dead. In deference to a strong naval opinion she was originally designed to carry two pole masts, with sails for steadying her motion in a seaway and as a standby in the event of her propelling machinery being disabled. But this scheme was modified owing to the possibility of falling masts and rigging interfering with the working of guns and screw in action. It was decided that she should be brig-rigged for peace service; and that, on an anticipation of war, she should be docked to allow the cruising masts to be removed and replaced by two short iron masts without yards for signalling and for carrying crows’ nests.

But it was in the bold abandonment of armour for the ends of the ship and its concentration on the sides of the citadel that the Inflexible design was most freely criticized. Armour, except in the form of an under-water protective deck, was not used at all forward and aft of the citadel. The ends of the ship were left unprotected, but subdivided; the compartments near the water-line formed watertight tanks filled with coals, stores, or—next to the side of the ship—cork. This criticism was directed from two directions.

To many naval men the attempt to beat the gun by adding to the thickness of the armour was a game no longer worth the candle. The point of view, moreover, that the defensive power of a ship was accurately represented by the defensive power of an armour patch upon its side was condemned as altogether too partial and theoretical. The same fallacy was abroad in respect of guns. “Men were apt to think and speak as if the mounting of a single excessively heavy gun in a ship would make her exceptionally powerful, no matter what number of powerful, but still less powerful, guns were displaced to make room for it. The targets and guns at Shoeburyness were held to be real measures of the defensive and offensive powers of ships.”170

On the other hand, experience was at this time bringing to light the inefficiency of heavy naval artillery. In ’71 a paper by Captain Colomb attracted attention, in which he analysed the effective gun power of the Monarch, and showed, by the light of experiments carried out by her against a rock off Vigo in company with Captain and Hercules, that “in six minutes from the opening of her fire on the sister ship at 1000 yards, she will have fired twelve shot, of which one will have hit and another may have glanced, and it remains an even chance whether the single hit will have penetrated the enemy’s armour.” In the following summer Mr. Barnaby was himself impressed with the difficulty which the Hotspur experienced in hitting the turret of the Glatton at a range of 200 yards in the smooth water of Portland Harbour: an experiment which, while confirming confidence in the reliability of a turret and its power to withstand shock, led him to question whether we were wise to put so much weight into the protection of turrets, and whether it might not be a better plan to stint armour on guns in order to add to their number and power.

From another direction the criticism was more directly effective. In ’75 Sir Edward Reed, now a private member of parliament, made a pronouncement on his return from a visit to Italy in the following words: “The Italian ships Duilio and Dandolo are exposed, in my opinion, beyond all doubt or question, to speedy destruction. I fear I can only express my apprehension that the Italians are pursuing a totally wrong course, and one which is likely to result in disaster.” The Italian Minister of Marine indignantly refuted the assertion, based as it must have been (he said) on incomplete information; and the construction of the Duilio and the Dandolo proceeded. But the remarks of the ex-Chief Constructor applied with equal force to the Inflexible; and in the following session he stated as much in the House of Commons. It was possible, he insisted, that in an action the cork and stores which filled the unarmoured ends of the Inflexible might be shot away, and the ends riddled and water-logged; and that in such an event the citadel, though intact, would not have sufficient stability to save the ship from capsizing.

The reply of the Admiralty was to the effect that Sir Edward Reed had assumed an extreme case, and that such a complete destruction as he had envisaged was, even if possible, never likely to occur in a naval action.

The effect of both statements was to cause widespread anxiety in the public mind, and a lamentable loss of confidence in the projected warship. A decision was therefore made to appoint another Committee, of unquestioned eminence and freedom from bias, to investigate and report on the Inflexible design. In due course the Committee reported. They confirmed in a long statement the Admiralty point of view that the complete penetration and water-logging of the unarmoured ends of the ship, and the blowing out of the whole of the stores and the cork by the action of shell fire, was a very highly improbable contingency; they found that the ship, if reduced to the extremest limit of instability likely to occur, viz. with her ends completely riddled and water-logged, but with the stores and cork remaining and adding buoyancy, would still possess a sufficient reserve both of buoyancy and of stability; and, balancing the vulnerability of the citadel with its 24-inch armour and the destructibility of the unarmoured ends, they came to the conclusion that the unarmoured ends were as well able as the armoured citadel to bear the part assigned to them in encountering the risks of naval warfare, and that therefore a just balance had been maintained in the design, so that out of a given set of conditions a good result had been obtained. Except that a recommendation was made that the system of cork chambers should be extended, no structural alteration from the existing design was proposed.

The Inflexible was followed by its smaller derivatives, the Ajax and Agamemnon, Colossus and Edinburgh, and by the Conqueror, an improved Rupert, with a single turret. Movement was in the direction of smaller displacements and less armour; construction was influenced at this time more by Italian than by French practice.

§

All through this transitional decade, 1870–80, experience and various new developments were imperceptibly causing a gradual change of opinion as to what constituted the best type of battleship. At no period, perhaps, was the warship more obviously a compromise, at no time were the limitations of size and weight more keenly felt. So many considerations interacted with one another, so conflicting were the claims made of the naval architect, that it appeared indeed almost impossible to embody them in a satisfactory design. (And yet nothing is more remarkable than the unanimity with which designers, given certain conditions, arrived at the same final result: the Duilio and the Inflexible are a case in point.) Whatever the design might be, it was open to powerful criticism. And the chief part of this criticism was directed, as we have seen, against the use and disposition of the armour.

In ’73 Mr. Barnaby had questioned the wisdom of expending a large weight in the protection of turrets. Three years later Commander Noel, in a Prize Essay, was advocating unarmoured batteries, with a view to multiplying the number of battery guns, utilizing for offence the weight thus saved. In ’73 Mr. Barnaby had argued that the stinting of armour on the hull in order to thicken it on the battery would drive the enemy to multiply his light and medium machine-guns. Within a few years warships were bristling with Gatling and Gardner, Nordenfelt and Hotchkiss guns, which by their presence gave a new value to armour, however thin. Mr. Froude, too, in his experiments in connection with the Inflexible, brought into prominence the advantage which thin armour on a ship’s ends conferred on her stability. The idea of substituting cellular construction for armour was proving attractive. While the French continued to favour the complete water-line belt, the Italians went to the limit in the Italia and Lepanto, in which the water-line was left entirely unprotected by side armour. Such armour as was carried was embodied in the form of a protective deck, a feature found above water and in conjunction with a side belt in our Devastation class, and under water and without side armour in the Inflexible and smaller contemporary ships. The protective deck, which covered the vitals of a ship and deflected shot and shell from its surface, was a device which found increasing favour with naval architects. It was advocated by the Committee on Designs in ’71 as possessing important advantages over a similar weight of side armour. If placed at some distance below water it formed the roof of a submerged hull structure which was immune from damage by gun-fire, the sides of this hull being protected sufficiently by sea-water. If, as was subsequently done, the protective deck were placed at a small distance above water, and if the sides of it were bent down so as to meet the ship’s sides at a distance below water beyond which a shot was unlikely to penetrate, the deck offered other advantages: the vital machinery, though now partly above water, was still protected, the sloping parts of the deck being able to deflect shots which would have penetrated a much thicker vertical plate; moreover, if the ship’s sides were riddled in action, the protective deck still preserved a large portion of the water-line area intact, and thereby secured her lateral stability.

The ram was still in favour, but opinion was slowly changing as to the necessity for bow-fire. “It is my impression,” wrote Commander Noel in ’76, “that too great a value was attached by some of the authorities, two or three years ago, to bow-fire; and that the manoeuvring of a fleet in action will be more for the purpose of using the ram effectually, and the guns in broadsides on passing the enemy.” The firing of the heavy guns in the approach to ram was considered undesirable, owing to the obscuring of the scene by smoke. In short, bow-fire was not of primary importance, and the disposition of armament which sought to obtain a concentration of bow-fire at the expense of broadside fire was based on a false principle. Commander Noel advocated a broadside ship, of moderate tonnage, with an unarmoured battery of moderate-size guns, with an armour belt round her water-line of 10-inch armour tapering to 5 inches forward and aft, and backed by wood and coal. Watertight subdivisions he proposed as a defence against the ram and the torpedo.

As the decade progressed the navy and naval affairs were less and less a subject of public interest. The design of warships continued to be discussed by a small circle, but the Board, alive to the transitional nature of the citadel ships, and under the influence of a national movement for retrenchment and economy, had almost ceased to build. In the three years ’76, ’77, and ’78 England laid down only two armoured battleships, while France laid down a dozen. In ’78 four foreign ships building in this country were hastily purchased on a Vote of Credit. But by 1880 the French armoured navy was once more equal in strength to that of England.

The gun, by its rapid evolution, was blocking design. The long debates over sails and steam had been settled; it was now the achievement of powerful breech-loading guns of large and small calibre which threw all existing ideas of warship design into the melting-pot. It became known that the French at last possessed efficient breech-loading guns; and artillerists showed that, in spite of the inconvenience of long-barrelled guns in ships, long barrels and slow-burning powder were necessary if greater powers were to be developed, and that our short-barrelled muzzle-loaders were already becoming obsolete. In the summer of ’79 public interest was aroused by the arrival at Spithead of some Chinese gunboats built by the firm of Armstrong. These gunboats each carried two 12-ton breech-loading guns mounted on centre pivots, one forward and one aft: guns so powerful and efficient compared with any mounted in the Royal Navy, that the possibilities of the diminutive craft were instantly appreciated. The contest between B.L. and M.L. was approaching a climax. The 100-ton M.L. gun was undergoing proof at Woolwich. In August a committee of naval officers visited Germany to witness and report upon the trials of Krupp’s new breech-loaders, and these trials, and those of Armstrong in this country, confirmed the formidable character of the new ordnance. Armour was also improving its power; compound armour (of combined steel and iron) was found to possess unexpected powers of resistance to penetration.

The torpedo, moreover, in its growing efficiency was now beginning to have an effect, not only on the details of ship design, but on the whole nature of naval warfare. The influence of the torpedo in its various forms had been appreciated in the early days of the decade.171 The catastrophic but, happily, fictitious Battle of Dorking, fought in the pages of Blackwood’s Magazine in 1871, had been preceded by a naval action in which all but one of our fine ironclads had been sunk by torpedoes in attempting to ram the French fleet. The moral was obvious. From that time onwards the potential effect of the torpedo was seen to be very great. The ram seemed at last to have found a check. And it appeared that, in combating the ram, the torpedo had once more given the primacy to the fast-improving gun. Broadside actions of the old type, carried on at high range and speed, were predicted.172

In 1880 a new type of battleship was evolved of sufficient permanence to form the basis of whole classes of future ships.

An intimate account of the genesis of the Collingwood design is given us by the biographer of Sir Cooper Key, to illustrate the manner in which that prescient administrator succeeded in forecasting the trend of future construction. In ’66, he says, Captain Key had put on paper a rÉsumÉ of his ideas on warship design which was clearly several years in advance of current opinion. Briefly, he had maintained that the specifications for our first-class battleships of the future should be drawn to cover the following features so far as possible:—moderate speed, small length and great handiness; perfect protection for vital parts and a complete water-line belt, rather than protection for personnel and above-water structure; a main-deck armament of broadside guns of medium calibre amidships, and of lighter calibre towards the ends, in combination with an upper-deck armament of four large guns in two unarmoured barbettes, one mounted before the foremast and one abaft the mizzen-mast; no sails. But for some years no approach was made to this ideal ship of Captain Key’s; the ideas it embodied were antagonistic to those held by the great majority of his brother officers. “In 1878 there had been laid down by the French, at Toulon, a ship called the Caiman. She was 278 feet long, and had a speed of 14½ knots. She carried a single 42-cm. breech-loading rifled gun at the bow, and another at the stern, each mounted en barbette, and she further carried on each broadside, between the barbettes, two 10-cm. guns, besides machine-guns. She was heavily armoured by a water-line belt 19½ inches thick amidships, and tapering in thickness towards bow and stern. The middle part of the ship, between the barbettes, was further protected by a steel deck 2·8 inches thick. Evidently, there was in this ship some approach to that general ideal which had been in Sir Cooper Key’s mind in 1866—not, however, more than this. She gave a sort of hint to the constructors at the Admiralty, and, before Sir Cooper Key joined the Board, a new design, based indeed on the Caiman’s hint, but yet differing widely from her, and, by as much as she differed, approaching more nearly to Sir Cooper Key’s ideal, was in process of completion there. The ship was the Collingwood.”

The Collingwood was of 9150 tons displacement, 325 feet in length, 68 feet in breadth, and 15·7 knots speed. There was in her, for the first time in the navy, that particular disposition of guns which Captain Key had recommended in ’66: two guns at bow, two at stern, on turntables, and a strong broadside armament between them. In the end the adoption of a breech-loading system led to a larger barbette and a smaller battery armament: to 43-ton guns at bow and stern and only 6-inch guns on the broadsides; and in this way the final design differed more than did the original from the ’66 ideal. “The bow and stern guns were protected by barbette and other armour, but Key had required that some protection should be given to the turntables and the machinery for working them. Hydraulics had greatly increased the quantity and importance of this machinery, and as by its means the crews of the guns were very much diminished, we can imagine the admiral concurring in the change as a natural development of his principle. So we can understand him as now definitely concurring in the abandonment of sail power for first-class battleships.” In ’78 he had flown his flag in the Thunderer at sea, and he had then experienced the reliability of the gun machinery and the difficulties attendant on the manoeuvring of a modern fleet under sail. Both in armament and in disposition of armour the Collingwood was a great but a natural advance on the citadel ships of the Inflexible type. The symmetrical placing of the big gun turntables, one forward and one aft, proclaimed the advent of new tactical ideas—the recognition of the battleship as a unit which must take its place in the line with others, and the rejection of “end-on” methods of fighting which involved a concentration of bow-fire. The provision of the powerful secondary armament was a tribute to the growing efficiency of French torpedo craft, while at the same time serving, offensively, to force an enemy to protect himself against it: to spread his armour over as large a surface as possible in the attempt to preserve his stability in a protracted action. The concentration of armour on the fixed barbettes and on a partial belt over the central portion of the ship was in accordance with the Inflexible arrangement. But, in consequence of the strictures which had been passed on that vessel and on the exposure of her large unprotected ends, the Collingwood was given a longer belt, though not so thick. Fifty-four per cent of her length was covered with 18-inch compound armour, as compared with 42 per cent, and 24-inch armour, in the former ship. Although this longer belt appeared to confer greater longitudinal stability on the ship, its narrowness was such that it was of doubtful efficacy, as Sir Edward Reed was not slow to point out. So narrow was this belt, so big still remained the unarmoured ends, that the slight sinkage caused by their filling would bring the whole of the armour belt, he said, under water. Thus all the advantage arising from a longer citadel was more than destroyed by this lowering of the armour, and, so great was the consequent danger of the vessel capsizing, that he hesitated to regard the Collingwood as an armoured ship.

The Collingwood was laid down in July, 1880. But what was there to show that her design would be in any degree permanent? Was it safe to consider it sufficiently satisfactory to form the master-pattern for a number of new ships, urgently required?

For a short time there was uncertainty. “The French type, where there were isolated armoured barbette towers generally containing single heavy guns placed at the ends and sides of the ships upon the upper deck, with broadside batteries of lighter guns, entirely unprotected by armour, upon the deck below, did not commend itself to the English naval mind, yet, in the sort of despair which possessed us, the new Board turned somewhat towards the French system. The Warspite and ImpÉrieuse were laid down in 1881, and were again a new departure in British design.... It was intended to adhere to sail power in these new types, and it was only after they were approaching completion that the utter incongruity of the proposal was realized, and sail power was given up in the last of the armoured ships to which it was attempted to apply it.”

But the Admiralty still wished, without alarming the public, to regain as soon as possible a safe balance of armoured construction over that of France. “There was no design before the Board which was more likely to perpetuate itself than that of the unlaunched Collingwood. Suppose a bold policy were adopted? Suppose it were assumed that the time had come when diversities of type were to cease, would it be made less likely by the frank abandonment of sail power?”

The bold step was taken. Four more ships to the Collingwood design were laid down in ’82, the five being thereafter spoken of as the “Admiral” class. “At the time, little note was taken of this very great step in advance. Even at this day it is scarcely remembered that this is the step which made possible, and led up to, our present great battle fleet, and that never before had so many as five first-class ironclads of a definite type been on the stocks together.... In the Admiral class there was the definite parting with sail power, the rejection of the tactical ideas brought to a climax in the Inflexible, and, above all, the definite adoption of the long-barrelled breech-loading rifled gun. Without question, we must say that we owe the Admiral class, and all that has followed, in great part to the enterprising and yet well-balanced mind that then governed the naval part of the Council at Whitehall.”

§

At this point in the evolution of the ironclad it is convenient to bring our survey to an end. The Collingwood marks the final return (with one or two notorious exceptions) to the truly broadside ship, the ship with armament symmetrically disposed fore and aft, intended to fight with others in the line. From the Admiral class onwards the modern battleship evolved for years along a continuous and clearly defined curve of progression. It only remains to close this brief and necessarily superficial historical sketch with a few remarks upon the classification of warships.

In tracing the types of ironclads which superseded each other in direct succession, no mention has been made of other than those which formed in their time the chief units of naval force. Other war-vessels there were, of course, subsidiary to the main fighting force, whose value and functions we now briefly indicate.

So long as sails remained the sole motive power, warships retained the same classification as they had received in the seventeenth century. “Up to the time of the Dutch Wars,” says Admiral Colomb, “ships were both ‘royal’ and of private contribution; of all sorts and sizes and ‘rates.’ Fighting was therefore promiscuous. Fleets sailed in the form of half-moons, or all heaped together and, except for the struggle to get the weather gage, there were no tactics. Actions were general.” Then, in order to protect their fleets from the fire ship, the Dutch first introduced the Line of Battle: “in which formation it was easy for a fleet to leeward to open out so as to let a fire ship drift harmlessly through.” And so the efficacy of the fire ship was destroyed. “But now, with a Line, each ship had a definite place which she could not quit. Hence the diversities in sizes began to be eliminated. The weakest ships, which might find themselves opposite the strongest, were dropped for ships ‘fit to lie in the line,’ i.e. for what were afterwards called ‘line-of-battle ships.’ These ships would be individually as powerful as possible, only subject to the objection of putting too many eggs in one basket. Uniformity would thus be attained. The fleet of line ships, however, required look-outs or scouts, which could keep the seas and attend, yet out-sail, the fleet. Hence the heavy frigate. Lastly, there was the much lighter attendant on commerce (either by way of attack or defence), the light cruiser.”

Although this differentiation of types was based ostensibly upon displacement or tonnage, in reality it was formed on a more scientific basis. Admiral Sir George Elliot demonstrated, in 1867, that the real basis was not a rule of size, but a law of safety, similar to that which operates in the natural world; a law so important that it should under no circumstances be disregarded. He showed that sailing ships conformed to this law. He showed that the reduction of a vessel’s size, for instance, endowed her with smaller draught and an increased speed; that the dispensing with one quality automatically gave another in compensation; and that thus the weakly armed vessel always possessed the means, if not to fight, to escape from capture.173

With the coming of steam and armour, all this was changed. Size had now no inherent disability; on the contrary, the larger the ship the greater the horse-power which could be carried in her, the greater her probable speed and sea endurance. The small ship had no advantages. The old classification had clearly broken down. The first ironclads, the Warrior and her successors, although of frigate form, belonged to no particular class; they were of a special type intended to cope with the most powerful ships afloat or projected; and subsequent ships were designed with the same end in view. These ships being faster as well as more powerful than those of a smaller size, there was no object in attempting to build others of a frigate class for the purpose of outsailing them.

As material developed, and as the warship became more and more obviously a compromise between conflicting qualities, differentiation of types was once more seen to be necessary. Attempts were made to classify on the bases of displacement, material, defensive and motive power, service, system of armament. In the end British construction divided itself into two categories: armoured and unarmoured vessels. And each of these categories was subdivided into classes of ships analogous to those of the old sailing ships.

But, during the transitional period 1860 to 1880, when armour and iron ships, steam engines, rifled guns, and fish torpedoes, were all in their infancy and subject to the most rapid development, no such classification was recognized. The circumstances of the Crimean War, with the adoption of armour and the sudden and enormous growth in the unit of artillery force which took place soon afterwards, led to the first differentiation of ironclads, into ocean-going and coast-defence vessels. We have already noted this fact. We have seen how, especially to the lesser Powers, the turreted monitor appeared to offer an economical and effective form of naval force; and we have noted how, in America, the evolution proceeded in the opposite direction, viz. from coast-defence monitor to ocean-going turret ship. This differentiation prevailed for many years. It prevailed even in the British navy, in spite of its being in full opposition to the offensive principle on which that navy had always based its policy.

Later, although convinced that in any war involving this country and its colonies the chief combats must be fought in European waters, naval opinion saw the necessity for a type of ship designed primarily for the defence and attack of commerce: a speedy, lightly armed and protected type capable of overhauling and injuring a weaker, or of escaping from a more powerful enemy. The American War of ’62, in which no general sea action was fought, gave the impulse to the construction of the type which eventually became known as the cruiser. Vessels were built in ’63 expressly to overtake Confederate vessels and drive from the seas the Southern mercantile marine. These vessels were to annihilate the enemy’s commerce without being drawn themselves to take part in an engagement, unless in very favourable circumstances. Several such ships were built. The first, the Idaho, was a complete failure; the next attempt was little more successful; and those subsequently constructed, the Wampanoag class, the finest ships of the type which existed at the close of the war, which were designed for 17 knots and to carry sixteen 10- or 11-inch smooth-bore cast-iron guns on the broadside and a revolving 60-pounder rifle in the bows, suffered from miscalculations in design and from the weakness peculiar to long and heavily weighted timber-built ships. “These pioneers of the type,” says Brassey, “were followed, both in England and in France, by vessels believed by the builders of their respective countries to be better adapted for the work for which they were designed.”

At first England and France had built and appropriated small ironclads to this secondary service; in France the Belliqueuse, in England the Pallas, were designed to this end. But in ’66 the first ship of the cruiser type was built for the British navy: the Inconstant, of Sir Edward Reed’s design, an iron-built, fine-lined vessel with a speed of 16 knots and a large coal capacity. She was followed by the corvettes Active and Volage, and then, in ’73, by the Shah and Raleigh. Experience with the early cruisers showed the advantages of large displacement. “The greater number of the American corvettes had now been launched. A trial of one of them showed that the high hopes which had been entertained of their performance were fallacious. It now appeared no longer necessary that the English corvettes should possess such extraordinary power and speed, qualities which necessarily required very large displacements. The Admiralty, however, still believing in the wisdom of the policy which they had previously adopted, decided to follow a totally different course from that which all other navies had been compelled by financial considerations to follow. So far from diminishing the size of their ships, increased displacement was given to the new designs.”174 Full sail power was still required, for the high-power steam engine used by the cruiser for fighting purposes was most uneconomical. The Raleigh, for instance, burned her six hundred tons of coal in less than 36 hours, at full speed.

But after the Raleigh came a slight reaction. With a view to economy a smaller type of vessel was designed, the smallest possible vessel which could be contrived which would possess a covered-in gun deck in combination with other features considered essential in a frigate class; the result was the Boadicea or the Bacchante class. In the late ’seventies size again increased, and the Iris and Mercury, unsheathed vessels of steel, with coal-protection for their water-line and extended watertight subdivision of the hull, were laid down.

From the unarmoured, unprotected cruiser was in time evolved, by the competition of units, the armoured cruiser. Russia led the way. Her General-Admiral, the first belted cruiser, was built to compete with the Raleigh and Boadicea. Then England designed the Shannon, partially belted and with protective deck and coal protection, to outmatch her. Eventually the cleavage came, and the cruisers were themselves divided into two or more classes, in accordance with their duties, size and fitness for the line of battle.

Of the development of torpedo craft this is not the place to write; although the torpedo was fast growing in efficiency and importance, it had not, before 1880, become the centre and cause of a special craft and a special system for its employment in action. But after that date the creation of torpedo flotillas began to exercise a marked and continuous effect upon the evolution of the ironclad. The fish-torpedo, improving at a phenomenal rate in the first years of its development, and at first esteemed as of defensive value and as a counter to the ram, became, after 1880, an offensive weapon of the first importance. The ram, already suspected of being placed too high in popular estimation, suffered a decline; the danger of its use in action was emphasized by naval officers, whose opinion alone was decisive: its use, as an eminent tactician explained, reduced the chances of battle to a mere toss-up, since there was “only half a ship’s length between ramming and being rammed.” The gun developed in power, in range, and accuracy; but not (up to the end of the century) at so great a rate as its rival, the torpedo. The steam engine affected all weapons by its continuous development. It depressed the ram, enhanced the importance of the gun, and endowed the torpedo with a large accession of potential value in placing it, in its special fast sea-going craft, within reach of the battleship; moreover, it enabled the cruiser to regain its old supremacy of speed over the line-of-battle unit. Armour, quick-firing guns, secondary armament, watertight construction, net defence, all influenced the development of the various types. But it was the torpedo, borne into action by the high-speed steam engine, which had the greatest effect on naval types in the last two decades of the century, and which at one time bid fair to cause a constructional revolution as great as that of 1860. The torpedo, according to a school of French enthusiasts, had destroyed the ironclad battleship and dealt a heavy blow at English sea power by paving the way for an inexpensive navy designed for a guerre de course. The ironclad was dead, they cried, and might as well be placed in the Louvre museum along with the old three-deckers! In Italy and Germany, too, the logic of facts seemed to point to a vast depreciation in the power of existing navies: the fate of the expensive ironclad seemed assured, in the presence of small, fast, sea going torpedo-boats. Still, it was noticed, England laid down battleships. True; this was quite in keeping with her machiavellian policy. Had she not resisted—“not blindly, but with a profound clairvoyance”—all the inventions of the century? Had she not successfully baulked the development of Fulton’s mines, steam navigation, the shell gun, and the ironclad itself? And, now that steam had made the blockade impossible and the torpedo had attacked the ironclad effectually, making sea-supremacy an empty term, could not the British Empire be destroyed by taking the choice of weapons out of England’s hands?

The prospect was alluring. Yet the ironclad survived the menace and remained the standard unit of naval power. Expensive, designed with several aims and essentially complex,—a compromise, like man himself,—it could not be replaced by a number of small, cheap, uni-functional vessels, each constructed for one sole and special purpose, without loss of efficiency and concentration of power. Nor could it be supplanted by a type which, like the sea-going torpedo-boat, could only count on an ascendancy over it in certain moments of its own choosing—for example, at night-time or in a fog. To every novel species of attack the ironclad proved superior, calling to its aid the appropriate defensive measures.