CHAPTER X

THE IRONCLAD 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. § 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 manœuvring, 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. § 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