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 Name:_______________________ CSCI 2490 C++ Programming
Armstrong Atlantic State University
(50 minutes) Instructor: Dr. Y. Daniel Liang

(Open book test, you can only bring the textbook)

Part I: Multiple Choice Questions:

1
12 quizzes for Chapter 7
1 If you declare an array double list[] = {3.4, 2.0, 3.5, 5.5}, list[1] is ________.

A. 3.4
B. undefined
C. 2.0
D. 5.5
E. 3.4
2 Are the following two declarations the same

char city[8] = "Dallas";

char city[] = "Dallas";

A. no
B. yes
3 Given the following two arrays:

char s1[] = {'a', 'b', 'c'};

char s2[] = "abc";

Which of the following statements is correct?

A. s2 has four characters

B. s1 has three characters
C. s1 has four characters
D. s2 has three characters
4 When you pass an array to a function, the function receives __________.

A. the length of the array

B. a copy of the array
C. the reference of the array
D. a copy of the first element
5 Are the following two declarations the same

char city[] = {'D', 'a', 'l', 'l', 'a', 's'};

char city[] = "Dallas";

1
A. yes
B. no
6 Suppose char city[7] = "Dallas"; what is the output of the following statement?

cout << city;

A. Dallas0
B. nothing printed
C. D
D. Dallas
7 Which of the following is incorrect?

A. int a(2);
B. int a[];
C. int a = new int[2];
D. int a() = new int[2];
E. int a[2];
8 Analyze the following code:

#include <iostream>
using namespace std;

void reverse(int list[], const int size, int newList[])

{
for (int i = 0; i < size; i++)
newList[i] = list[size - 1 - i];
}

int main()
{
int list[] = {1, 2, 3, 4, 5};
int newList[5];

reverse(list, 5, newList);
for (int i = 0; i < 5; i++)
cout << newList[i] << " ";
}

A. The program displays 1 2 3 4 5 and then raises an ArrayIndexOutOfBoundsException.

B. The program displays 1 2 3 4 6.
C. The program displays 5 4 3 2 1.
D. The program displays 5 4 3 2 1 and then raises an ArrayIndexOutOfBoundsException.
9 (Tricky) What is the output of the following code:

#include <iostream>
using namespace std;

2
 int main()
{
int x[] = {120, 200, 16};
for (int i = 0; i < 3; i++)
cout << x[i] << " ";
}

A. 200 120 16
B. 16 120 200
C. 120 200 16
D. 16 200 120
10 Which of the following statements is valid?

A. int i(30);
B. int i[4] = {3, 4, 3, 2};
C. int i[] = {3, 4, 3, 2};
D. double d[30];
E. int[] i = {3, 4, 3, 2};
11 Which of the following statements are true?

A. The array elements are initialized when an array is created.

B. The array size is fixed after it is created.
C. Every element in an array has the same type.
D. The array size used to declare an array must be a constant expression.
12 How many elements are in array double list[5]?

A. 5
B. 6
C. 0
D. 4

3 quizzes for Chapter 8

13 Which of the following function declaration is correct?

A. int f(int a[3][], int rowSize);

B. int f(int a[][], int rowSize, int columnSize);
C. int f(int a[][3], int rowSize);
D. int f(int[][] a, int rowSize, int columnSize);
14 What is the output of the following code?

#include <iostream>
using namespace std;

3
 int main()
{
int matrix[4][4] =
{{1, 2, 3, 4},
{4, 5, 6, 7},
{8, 9, 10, 11},
{12, 13, 14, 15}};

int sum = 0;

for (int i = 0; i < 4; i++)

cout << matrix[i][1] << " ";

return 0;
}

A. 3 6 10 14
B. 1 3 8 12
C. 1 2 3 4
D. 4 5 6 7
E. 2 5 9 13
15
Which of the following statements are correct?

A. char charArray[2][2] = {{'a', 'b'}, {'c', 'd'}};

B. char charArray[][] = {{'a', 'b'}, {'c', 'd'}};
C. char charArray[][] = {'a', 'b'};
D. char charArray[2][] = {{'a', 'b'}, {'c', 'd'}};
Part II: Show the printout of the following code:

a. (2 pts)
#include <iostream>
using namespace std;

void swap(int n1, int n2)

{
int temp = n1;
n1 = n2;
n2 = temp;
}

int main()
{
int a[] = {1, 2};
swap(a[0], a[1]);
cout << "a[0] = " << a[0] << " a[1] = " << a[1] << endl;

return 0;
}

4
b. (2 pts)
#include <iostream>
using namespace std;

void swap(int a[])

{
int temp = a[0];
a[0] = a[1];
a[1] = temp;
}

int main()
{
int a[] = {1, 2};
swap(a);
cout << "a[0] = " << a[0] << " a[1] = " << a[1] << endl;

return 0;
}

c. (4 pts) Given the following program, show the values of the array
in the following figure:

#include <iostream>
using namespace std;

int main()
{
int values[5];
for (int i = 1; i < 5; i++)
{
values[i] = i;
}

values[0] = values[1] + values[4];

return 0;
}

5
 After the last statement
After the array is After the first iteration After the loop is in the main method is
created in the loop is done completed executed

0 0 0 0

1 1 1 1

2 2 2 2

3 3 3 3

4 4 4 4

Part III:

Part III:

1. Write a function that finds the smallest element in an

array of integers using the following header:
double min(double array[], int size)

Write a test program that prompts the user to enter ten

numbers, invokes this function, and displays the minimum
value. Here is the sample run of the program:

<Output>

Enter ten numbers: 1.9 2.5 3.7 2 1.5 6 3 4 5 2

The minimum number is: 1.5

<End Output>

2. Write a function that counts the number of letters in

the string using the following header:
int countLetters(const char s[])

6
Write a test program that reads a C-string and displays the number of
letters in the string. Here is a sample run of the program:

<Output>

Enter a string: 2010 is coming

The number of letters in 2010 is coming is 8

<End Output>

7
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
came into action, took on Bluecher, while Tiger took No. 3 and Lion
No. 1. When New Zealand came within range, Bluecher was passed
on to her. This was at about 9:35. So early as a quarter to ten the
Bluecher showed signs of heavy punishment, and the first and third
ships of the enemy were both on fire. Lion was engaging the first
ship, Princess Royal the third, New Zealand the Bluecher, while Tiger
alternated between the same target as the Lion and No. 4. For some
reason not explained the second ship in the German line does not
appear to have been engaged at all. Just before this the Germans
attempted a diversion by sending the destroyers to attack. Meteor
(Captain Mead), with a division of the British destroyers, was then
sent ahead to drive off the enemy, and this apparently was done
with success. Shortly afterwards the enemy destroyers got between
the battle-cruisers and the British squadron and raised huge volumes
of smoke, so as to foul the range. Under cover of this the enemy
changed course to the northward. The battle-cruisers then formed a
new line of bearing, N.N.W., and were ordered to proceed at their
utmost speed. A second attempt of the enemy’s destroyers to attack
the British squadron was foiled by the fire of Lion and Tiger.
The chase continued on these lines more or less for the next
hour, by which time the Bluecher had dropped very much astern and
had hauled away to the North. She was listing heavily, was burning
fiercely, and seemed to be defeated. Sir David Beatty thereupon
ordered Indomitable to finish her off, and one infers from this, the
first mention of Indomitable, that she had been unable to keep pace
with New Zealand, Princess Royal, Tiger, and Lion, and therefore
would not be able to assist in the pursuit of the enemy battle-
cruisers.
The range by this time must have been very much reduced. If
between 7:30 and 9:30 a gain of 10,000 yards, or 5,000 yards an
hour, had been made, between 9:30 and 10:45 a further gain of
6,250 yards should have been possible, if the conditions had
remained the same. But with Bluecher beaten, the German battle-
cruisers could honourably think of themselves alone. Unless their
speed had been reduced by our fire, while we ought to have gained,
we should hardly have caught up so much as in the first hour and a
half. But there had, besides, been two destroyer attacks threatened
or made by the enemy, one apparently at about twenty minutes to
ten, and one at some time between then and 10:40. It is highly
probable that each of these attacks caused the British squadron to
change course, and we know that before 10:45 the stations had
been altered. Each of these three things may have prevented some
gain. Still, on the analogy of what had happened in the first two
hours, we must suppose the range at this period to have been at
most about 13,000 yards. At six minutes to eleven the action had
reached the first rendezvous of the German submarines. They were
reported to and then seen by the Admiral on his starboard bow,
whereupon the squadron was turned to port to avoid them. Very few
minutes after this the Lion was disabled.

(LARGER)

The Dogger Bank Affair. Diagram to illustrate the character of the

engagement up to the disablement of Lion
 What happened from this point is not clear. We know that as Sir
David stopped he signalled to Tiger, Princess Royal, and New
Zealand to close on and attack the enemy. Bluecher had been
allotted to the Indomitable some twenty minutes before. The
squadron passed from Admiral Beatty’s command to that of Rear-
Admiral Sir Archibald Moore. In a very few minutes it was, of course,
out of sight of the Vice-Admiral himself. Sir David called a destroyer
alongside and followed at the best pace he could and, soon after
midday, found the squadron returning after breaking off the pursuit
some seventy miles from Heligoland. Bluecher had been destroyed,
but the three battle-cruisers had escaped. Of the determining factors
in these proceedings we know little. Such data as there are will be
examined in the next chapter.
 CHAPTER XVIII
The Dogger Bank II

There are several matters of technical and general interest to be

noted about this action. In the two torpedo attacks by destroyers on
Sir David Beatty’s fleet, we see the first employment of this weapon
for purely defensive purposes in a fleet action. It is defensive, not
because the torpedo is certain to hit, and therefore to remove one of
the pursuing enemy, but because if shoals of torpedoes are fired at a
squadron, it will almost certainly be considered so serious a threat as
to make a change of course compulsory. This is of double value to
the weaker and retreating force. By compelling the firing ships to
manœuvre, the efficiency of the fire control of their guns may be
seriously upset, and hence their fire lose all accuracy and effect. To
impose a manœuvre, then, is to secure a respite from the pursuers’
fire. But it does something more. By driving the pursuer off his
course he is thrown back in the race, and his guns therefore kept at
a greater distance. If the pursuer has then to start finding the range,
and perhaps a new course and speed of the enemy, all over again,
an appreciable period of time must elapse before his fire once more
becomes accurate. And if he is prevented closing, the increase of
accuracy, which shorter range would give, is denied him. Apart
altogether, then, from quite good chances of a torpedo hitting, the
evolution is of the utmost moment to the inferior force. It was
employed in this action for the first time.
Again, for the first time we find the destroyers getting between
the pursuing ships and the chase, and creating a smoke screen to
embarrass the pursuers’ aiming and fire control. Finally, we find that
Von Hipper has directed his flight to a prearranged point, where
certainly submarines had been gathered and possibly mine-fields
had been laid. This of course was a contingency that had always
been foreseen. In an article published in the Westminster Gazette a
week or two before the action, I dealt with Von Tirpitz’s remark, that
“the German Fleet were perfectly willing to fight the English, if
England would give them the opportunity,” and interpreted this to
mean, that the Germans would be willing to fight if they had such a
choice of ground and position as would give them some equivalent
for their inferior numbers. And writing at that time, I naturally set
out what may be called the general view of North Sea strategy. No
good purpose would have been served by questioning it—even if
such questioning had been permitted. Nor, in view of the very
narrow margin of superiority that we possessed in capital ships, had
I any wish to question it.
I began with the supposition that the enemy might attempt, on
a big scale, exactly what, on a much smaller scale, we ourselves had
attempted in the Bight of Heligoland five months before.
“Assuming,” I said, “that it is a professed German object to draw
a portion of the English Fleet into a situation where it can be
advantageously engaged, what would be the natural course for them
to pursue? The first and perhaps the simplest form of ruse would be
to dangle a squadron before the English Fleet, so that our fastest
units should be drawn away from their supports, and enticed within
reach of a superior German force. If we suppose the Scarborough
raid to be carried out by a squadron used for this purpose, we must
look upon that episode not merely as an example of Germany
practising its much-loved frightfulness, but as an exercise in wiliness
as well. That the Admiralty had taken every step it could think of to
catch and destroy this squadron, we may safely infer from the
character of the communications made to us. The measures adopted
were, we also know, frustrated by the thick weather, so that no
engagement actually took place. Is it not highly probable that the
Germans, not knowing the character of the English counter-stroke,
may have concluded that our failure to bring their squadron to action
was brought about quite as much by prudence as by ill-luck? At any
rate, it is rather a curious phenomenon that the German papers
during the last two weeks have been filled with the most furious
articles descanting upon the pusillanimity of the British Fleet. To our
eyes such charges, of course, seem absurd, nor when we know how
welcome the appearance of the German Fleet in force would be to
Admiral Jellicoe and his gallant comrades can we conceive any sane
man using such language; but if we interpret this as the expression
of disappointed hopes, as evidence of the failure of a plan to catch a
portion of our Fleet, a reasonable explanation of what is otherwise
merely nonsense is afforded.
“The average layman probably supposes that a fleet action
between the English Grand Fleet and the German High Seas Fleet
would be fought through on the lines of previous engagements in
this war, and of the two naval battles of the Russo-Japanese war.
They would expect the contest to be an artillery fight in which
superior skill in the use of guns, if such superiority existed on either
side, would be decisive; and if equality of skill existed, that victory
would go to the side possessing a superior number of guns of
superior power. But other naval weapons have advanced enormously
in the last eight years. We not only have torpedoes that can run five
and six miles with far greater accuracy and certainty than the old
torpedo could go a third of this distance, but we know that Germany
—almost alone amongst nations—has carried the art and practice of
sowing mines to a point hitherto not dreamt of. When the first raid
was made on Yarmouth, it will be remembered that the German
ships retreated from a British submarine, and that the submarine ran
into and was blown up and sunk by a mine left by the German ship
in its wake. Again, after the North-Eastern raid, many ships—some
authorities say over a dozen—were blown up by running into
German mines left in the waters which the raiders had been
through. The German naval leaders are perfectly aware that in
modern capital ships they have an inferiority of numbers, and that
gun for gun their artillery force is inferior to ours in an even greater
degree. It is certain, therefore, that in thinking out the conditions in
which they would have to fight an English fleet they are fully
determined to use all other means that can possibly turn the scale of
superiority to their side. Just as they have relied on the torpedo and
the mine to diminish the general strength of the English Fleet, while
it was engaged in the watch and ward of the North Sea, so as to
redress the balance before the time for a naval action arrived; so,
too, they have counted, when actually in action, on crippling and
destroying English ships by mines and torpedoes, so that the artillery
preponderance may finally be theirs. If we suppose that the German
admirals have really thought out this problem, and we must suppose
this, it is not difficult to see that with a fast advance battle-cruiser
squadron engaged in mine laying, the problem of so handling a fleet
as to pursue and cut off this squadron without crossing its wake
must be extremely intricate and difficult. If further we imagine that
this fast squadron has drawn the hostile squadron towards its own
waters, where mine-fields unknown to us have been laid, we have
not only the problem of the mines left in the wake of the enemy, but
the further difficulty of there being prepared traps, so to speak, lying
across the path which the attacking squadron would most naturally
take. If we imagine the problem still further complicated by an
attack on a battleship line by flotillas of fast destroyers firing high-
speed, long-range torpedoes, to intersect the course that that
squadron is taking, we have the third element of confusion. It does
not need much imagination then to see that with mines actually
dropped during the manœuvres that lead up to or form part of the
battle, with mine-fields scattered over the chosen battlefield, and
with the possibility of a battle fleet being rendered liable at the
shortest notice to a massed attack of long-range torpedo fire, a
naval battle will be a totally different affair from the comparatively
simple operations that took place in the engagement of August 10,
or at the battle of Tsushima.
“Such conditions as these demand extraordinary sagacity on the
part not only of the Commander-in-chief, but of all the squadron
commanders under him. It requires insistent vigilance; but then, for
that matter, such vigilance is the daily routine of the Navy always.
Finally, it makes demands on the art of gunnery of which we have
hitherto had no practical experience at all. For reasons that hardly
need discussion, all practice gunnery is carried out in conditions
almost ludicrously unlike war, and quite absurdly unlike the kind of
naval engagement that seems to me probable. The principal
difference between the two is that it is impossible to practise with
the big guns at a fast target. There is no way of manœuvring and
running a target at high speed unless it is propelled by its own
power, and that power is kept supplied and is got by human agents,
and obviously you cannot fire at a ship which is full of people. And
when you fire at a towed target the differences are, first, that no
target can be towed beyond perhaps a third of a battleship’s speed,
and next, that it cannot be manœuvred as a ship can. Lastly, the
firing ship, so far as I am aware, is never called upon to fire while
executing the kind of manœuvres, or subject to the kind of
limitations, that would be incident to a modern battle.
“To sum up my argument. The present indications are that
Germany, carrying out its previously expressed intentions, has made
a first, and is now aiming at getting the information for a second,
attempt to draw the English Fleet into fighting on ground which she
can mine before we are drawn on to it, and to fight in conditions in
which she can use a fast advance squadron to compel our ships to
adopt certain manœuvres, and to turn that advance squadron into
mine-layers, so as to limit our movements or make them exceedingly
perilous. She will try to make the battlefields as close as she can to
her own ports, both so as to facilitate the preliminary preparation by
mines and to surprise us with unexpected torpedo attacks. I
interpret the fulminations of Captain Persius and others as
expressions of their anger at the failure of their first attempt, and I
interpret the air raids as attempts to get information for making a
second.
“We can, I am sure, rely upon Sir John Jellicoe being at no point
inferior to his enemy, either in wiliness or in resources. It is to be
remembered that, so far as we are concerned, much as we should
like to have all anxiety settled by hearing of the definite destruction
of the German Fleet, its continued existence is nevertheless perfectly
innocuous, so long as it is unable to affect the transporting of our
troops or the conduct of our trade.”
The foregoing article, I think, fairly represents what the
Spectator, in referring to it, called the case for “naval patience.” But
it did not mean, nor was it intended to mean, that it would be
improper in any circumstances for a British ship to face any risks
from torpedoes and mines, nor that to fight the Germans in their
own waters was necessarily the same thing as fighting them on their
own terms. It is indeed clear that I expected the British commanders
to be more their equal to circumventing the enemy’s ingenuity. But
no resource can rob war of risk—and if it were made a working
principle that risks from torpedoes and mines were never to be
faced, then the clearing of the British Fleet out of the North Sea
would be a very simple process. It would only be necessary for the
enemy to send out a score or so of submarines to advance in line
abreast when, ex hypothesi, the Fleet would have no choice but
incontinent flight.
My object was first to show the public that the problem of the
naval engagement was far more complicated than was generally
supposed, and that the ingenuity, resource, and vigilance of the
Admiral in command would be taxed. It seemed to me important
that a sympathetic understanding of these anxieties should be
created in the public mind. Next, however, it was not less important
to discount any extravagant expectation in the matter of naval
gunnery. We had not at that time any full accounts of the Battle of
the Falkland Islands; but it seemed clear that, in this respect, the
performance of the two battle-cruisers had been disappointing. If in
the North Sea an action was to be fought in poor light, with the
ships made to manœuvre by torpedo attack and the enemy from
time to time veiled in smoke screens, it seemed quite certain that a
task would be set to the service fire-control with which it would be
quite unable to deal.
 And if these were the weaknesses of our fire-control, it was
further highly desirable to keep before our eyes the certainty that, if
the opportunity arose and a fleet action, intended to be decisive and
pushed to a decision, took place, we were almost bound to lose
ships by torpedoes and mines. At any rate, it seemed as if such a
risk must be run if our own gunfire was to be made effective. And
for such losses the public should be prepared.
This being the situation, it seems to me most unfortunate that
the Admiralty followed the course they did in communicating their
various accounts of this action to us. For there were three accounts
given, and no two of the three agreed as to the reason why the
pursuit was broken off! For two days we were not told that Lion was
injured, and for four days were ignorant of the fact that the control
of the British Fleet had passed out of Sir David Beatty’s hands some
time before the action was ended. It was not till March 3—that is,
five weeks after the action—that we were told the name of the
officer on whom command had devolved when Lion fell out of line!
This suppression was really extraordinary. To be mentioned in
despatches had always been an acknowledged honour. To be
ignored was a new form of distinction. How was the public to take so
singular an omission? Had it ever happened before that an officer
had been in command of a fleet at so grave a crisis and the fact of
his being in command suppressed in announcing the fact of the
engagement? No one quite knew how to take it. The discrepancies
in the communiqués are worth noting. In the first, of January 25,
was this curiously worded paragraph:
“A well-contested running fight ensued. Shortly after one o’clock
Bluecher, which had previously fallen out of the line, capsized and
sank. Admiral Beatty reports that two other German battle-cruisers
were seriously damaged. They were, however, able to continue their
flight, and reached an area where dangers from German submarines
and mines prevented further pursuit.”
Did whoever drafted this statement suppose that the Bluecher
was a battle-cruiser? We are now, however, more concerned with
the reasons given for breaking off the action. An area was reached
where “dangers from German submarines and mines prevented
further pursuit.” The communiqué of January 27 was silent on this
point. On the 28th was published what purported to be “a
preliminary telegraphic report received from the Vice-Admiral.” The
paragraph dealing with this matter is as follows:
“Through the damage to Lion’s feed-tank by an unfortunate
chance shot, we were undoubtedly deprived of a greater victory. The
presence of the enemy’s submarines subsequently necessitated the
action being broken off.”
In this statement the excuse of mines is dropped. In the
despatch published on March 3 the end of the action is treated by
the Vice-Admiral as follows:
“At 11:20 I called the Attack alongside, shifted my flag to her at
about 11:35. I proceeded at the utmost speed to rejoin the
squadron, and met them at noon retiring north-northwest. I boarded
and hoisted my flag in Princess Royal at about 12:20, when Captain
Brock acquainted me with what had occurred since Lion fell out of
line, namely, that Bluecher had sunk, and that the enemy battle-
cruisers had continued their course to eastward in a considerably
damaged condition.”
Here observe no mention was made of submarines necessitating
the action being broken off, nor of an area being reached where
dangers from submarines and mines prevented further pursuit. The
whole incident is passed by the Vice-Admiral without comment,
unless indeed the phrase about the accident to the Lion, in the
telegraphic report, is a comment. Did the Vice-Admiral imply that
had he remained in command he would have seen to it that his
specific orders—viz. that Indomitable should settle Bluecher and the
other ships pursue the battle-cruisers—were carried out?
A very unfortunate situation resulted from these reticences and
contradictions. Naval writers in America were naturally enough
amazed by the statement attributed to Admiral Beatty in the
telegraphic report, for, if the presence of submarines could stop
pursuit, could not submarines drive the British Fleet off the sea?
These authors naturally expressed extreme astonishment that an
admiral capable of breaking off action in these conditions, and
publicly acknowledging so egregious a blunder, was not at once
brought to court-martial. No one in his senses could have supposed
that Sir David Beatty, who dealt with submarines without the least
concern in the affair of Heligoland and earlier in the day on January
28, could possibly have accepted the dictum that the presence of a
German submarine would justify pursuit having been broken off. It
was then quite evident that the quotation from the Vice-Admiral’s
telegraphic report could not have represented the Vice-Admiral’s
opinion on a point of warlike doctrine. What the actual facts of the
case were, we do not to this day know. Rear-Admiral Moore did not
continue long in Sir David Beatty’s squadron after this, but there was
no court-martial nor any public expression of the Admiralty’s opinion
by way of approval or disapproval of his proceedings. In a speech
made a month after the action in the House of Commons, Mr.
Churchill passed over the fact that the action had not been fought
out, as if such a thing was of no exceptional importance or interest
whatever. Soon afterward it became known that the Rear-Admiral in
question had got another and very important command elsewhere,
so that it became plain that his conduct had not met with their
Lordships’ reprobation.
War in modern conditions undoubtedly makes it exceedingly
important to keep the enemy as far as possible in ignorance of a
great many things. It imposes too a continuous strain upon
practically the whole personnel of the Navy, and these two things
taken together have been quoted to explain why the old rule of
holding a public court-martial on the captain of every ship that was
lost, or on every individual officer whose action in battle gave rise to
uncertainty or question, has virtually been abrogated. But it is
doubtful whether the Navy has not lost more by the abandonment of
this wholesome practice than the enemy could have gained by its
Spartan application.
 This point came in for a good deal of public discussion at the
beginning of 1915, and I venture to quote a contribution to it.
Looking back upon this controversy, it is easy enough to see now
wherein lay the chief disadvantage of the suppression of courts-
martial. There was no general staff at the Admiralty, representative
of the best Service opinion, and, deprived of court-martial, the Navy
had no means of expressing a corporate judgment on the vital issues
as they arose. The doctrine with regard to torpedo risk, which seems
to have been acted on at the close of this action, was evidently one
which either the Admiralty had laid down, or at least accepted as
correct. Could it have been referred to the corporate judgment of
the Service and had that judgment not endorsed it, the history of
the war might have been altogether different.
Mr. Churchill’s speech in the official reports is entitled ‘British
Command of the Sea: Admiralty Organization.’ It would have been as
well if this description had been given out before the speech was
made, for, as it happened, many thought it was intended as a survey
of the first epoch of the war and were disappointed that, in so
eloquent and forceful a review, there was hardly a word of tribute to
the incomparable services of our officers and men. There was lavish
praise of the generosity of the House of Commons; of the foresight
of Lord Fisher; of the excellence of the Admiralty’s preparedness at
every point; of the amazing scale and success of the provisioning
with coal and supplies of a vast fleet always at sea; of the
astonishing perfection of the work of the engineering branch. But
there was singularly little of the work of the fighting men. The
officers were dismissed simply as ‘painstaking.’ No doubt the tribute
will be made at another time. Is there any time, however, which is
not the right time for acknowledging these services? On Tuesday we
learned that between 300 and 400 officers have died for us—and
over 6,000 men. Is it gracious to postpone their eulogy? And the
absence of eulogy was emphasized by the forceful manner in which
the First Lord asked that he and his colleagues should be entrusted
with the most absolute and dictatorial powers. Indeed, he excused
the departure from the Service custom of holding courts-martial
whenever a ship was lost on the ground that modern conditions
called for instant action, with which courts-martial were
incompatible. But the court-martial, as I have before pointed out, is
the palladium of the Navy’s liberties. To abolish it is like suspending
the Habeas Corpus. It is so extreme a measure because it ignores
the great unwritten law of the Navy, which is that, in spite of the
authority of Whitehall over the Navy, of an admiral over a fleet, and
of a captain over a ship’s company, being necessarily and in each
case absolute, yet there must always be an appeal from authority to
the profession itself. If this is necessary for the protection of
subordinate officers and men against arbitrary action by a captain,
against arbitrary and prejudiced action by an admiral in a fleet, how
much more necessary is it as a protection of naval standards and
traditions against arbitrary action by the Board? For a captain is at
any rate an entirely naval authority; an admiral is certainly an officer
of large naval experience, acting generally with at least one other
admiral. But the Board is largely a lay body. Indeed, it is now by a
majority a lay body. And like all boards, it is liable to be the
mouthpiece of its strongest personality. If this, as sometimes
happens, is a seaman, he may be a partisan—I say it in no invidious
sense—of certain policies and so prejudiced against brother officers
who differ. If the stronger character is a layman, he may be ignorant
of, or see no danger in waiving, naval traditions that are embodied in
no statute or regulation, but are not embodied simply because their
cogency has never been questioned. In other words, the autocracy
of the Admiralty is a necessity of executive administration, but can
only be exercised safely if its enforcement is continuously tested by
professional opinion.
How many people, I often wonder, really appreciate how singular
a body is that which is made up of admirals, captains, commanders,
and lieutenants of the Royal Navy? The accomplishments that make
the seaman confuse the landsman by their strangeness and intricacy.
Indeed, if one wishes to express the extremity of bewilderment, he
does so best by the metaphor which describes the sailor’s normal
environment. When we say we are “at sea,” we do so because
language expresses no greater helplessness. To master these
conditions calls for forms of knowledge and proficiency that are only
acquired by a lifetime’s familiarity. But these conditions are not only
baffling, they are incredibly dangerous. If steam has done much to
lessen the perils of the sea, speed, the product of steam, has added
to them. The sailor then, even in times of peace, passes his days,
and still more his nights, encompassed by the threat of irreparable
disaster. An oversight that may take thirty seconds to commit—and a
hundred deaths, a wrecked ship, and a shattered reputation reward
thirty years of constant and unblemished devotion to duty. To face a
life and responsibilities like these calls for more than great mental
and physical skill, though nowhere will you find these in a higher
degree or more widely diffused than in the Fleet. It calls for moral
and spiritual qualities, for a development of character in patience,
unselfishness, and courage which few landsmen have any
inducement to cultivate. A life lived daily in the presence of death
must be a unique life, and it is not surprising that men bred to these
conditions—always as hard and ascetic as they are uncertain and
unsafe—grow to be a body quite unlike other men, with standards
and traditions of their own, and a corporate spirit and capacity that
are unique, wonderful, and to most landsmen incomprehensible.
Their standards and traditions can only be maintained and can
only be enforced by themselves. And the great peril that follows
from excluding all reference to them of the accidents and failures of
war is that, failing this reference, we have no security that naval
action will be judged as it should be, solely by the highest naval
standard.
Much was said in the House of Commons about the loss of ships.
Mr. Churchill assumed that the only motive for asking for courts-
martial was to find a scapegoat. Lord Charles Beresford only made
clear that a court-martial was as much for clearing the character as
for finding criminals. There was a significant phrase in Mr. Churchill’s
speech that raises, it seems to me, a point in this connection of far
greater importance. The battle of the Dogger Bank, he said, was
“not fought out because the enemy made good their escape into
waters infested by submarines and mines.” The officer who had to
call off a fleet in these circumstances was necessarily faced by a
grave and almost terrifying responsibility. To be too bold was to risk
everything, to be too cautious was to throw away a victory. Can any
tribunal, except the Navy, judge whether this responsibility was
rightly exercised? When we remember that in our greatest days
hardly a naval battle took place that was not followed by courts-
martial, it seems to me a most perilous thing to allow these
tremendous issues to go by the board because unless they are
adjudicated upon by the profession itself they are not adjudicated
upon at all.
 CHAPTER XIX
The Battle of Jutland
I. NORTH SEA STRATEGIES

The battle off Jutland Bank, which took place on May 31, 1916,
was the first and, at the time of writing, has been the only meeting
between the main naval forces of Great Britain and Germany. It was
from the first inevitable that we should have to wait long for a sea
fight. It was inevitable, because the probability of a smaller force
being not only decisively defeated, but altogether destroyed in a sea
fight, is far greater than in a land battle, and the consciousness of
this naturally makes it chary of the risk. Sea war in this respect
preserves the characteristic of ancient land fighting, for—as is
luminously explained in Commandant Colin’s incomparable
“Transformations of War”—it was a common characteristic of the
older campaigns that the main armies would remain almost in touch
with each other month after month before the battle took place. He
sums up his generalization thus:
“From the highest antiquity,” he says, “till the time of Frederick
II, operations present the same character; not only Fabius or
Turenne, but also Cæsar, Condé, and Frederick, lead their armies in
the same way. Far from the enemy they force the pace, but as soon
as they draw near they move hither and thither in every direction,
take days, weeks, months in deciding to accept or to force battle.
Whether the armies are made up of hoplites or legionaries, or
pikemen or musketeers, they move as one whole and deploy very
slowly. They cannot hurl themselves upon the enemy as soon as
they perceive him, because while they are making ready for battle
he disappears in another direction.
“In order to change this state of affairs we must somehow or
another be able to put into the fight big divisions, each deploying on
its own account, leaving gaps and irregularities along the front.
“This, as we have seen, is what happened in the eighteenth
century.
“Up to the time of Frederick II, armies remained indivisible
during operations; they are like mathematical points on the huge
theatres of operations in Central Europe. It is not possible to grasp,
to squeeze, or even to push back on some obstacle, an enemy who
refuses battle, and retires laterally as well as backwards. There is no
end to the pursuit. It is the war of Cæsar, as it was that of Condé,
Turenne, Montecuculi, Villars, Eugène, Maurice de Saxe, and
Frederick. It is the sort of war that all more or less regular armies
have made from the remotest antiquity down to the middle of the
eighteenth century.
“Battle only takes place by mutual consent, when both
adversaries, as at Rocroi, are equally sure of victory, and throw
themselves at one another in open country as if for a duel; or when
one of them, as at Laufeld, cannot retreat without abandoning the
struggle; or when one is surprised, as at Rossbach.
“And certainly to-day, as heretofore, a general may refuse battle;
but he cannot prolong his retreat for long—it is the only means that
he has for escaping the grip of the enemy—if the depth of the
theatre of operations is limited. On the other hand, an enemy
formerly could retire laterally, and disappear for months by
perpetually running to and fro, always taking cover behind every
obstacle in order to avoid attack.”
But at sea a fleet has to-day precisely the same power of
avoiding action that an army had in former days. It cannot disappear
for months by “running to and fro,” but it can disappear for years by
burying itself in inaccessible harbours. It can, in other words, take
itself out of the theatre of war altogether while yet retaining liberty
at any moment to re-enter it. How, in view of these potentialities,
did the rival fleets dispose their forces?
On April 25, 1916, some German cruisers made an attack on
Lowestoft, similar in character but far less considerable in result to
those made in the autumn of 1914, on the same small town, on
Scarborough, Whitby, and the Hartlepools. As in 1914, there was
considerable perturbation on the East Coast, and the Admiralty,
urged to take steps for the protection of the seaboard towns, made
a somewhat startling announcement. While this was going forward
in England, the German Admiralty put out an inspired commentary
on the raid, which dwelt with great exultation over the picture of
“the Island Empire, once so proud, now quivering with rage at its
own impotence.” These two documents, the First Lord’s and the
German apology, led to a good deal of discussion, which I dealt with
at the time in terms that I quote textually, as showing the general
conception of naval strategy underlying the dispositions of the British
Fleet.
“The directly military employment of the British Fleet has during
the last week been made the subject of discussion. Mr. Balfour has
written a strange letter to the Mayors of the East Coast towns, which
foreshadows important developments; an inspired German apology
for the recent raid on Yarmouth and Lowestoft has been published,
and both have aroused comment. Mr. Balfour’s letter was inspired by
a desire to reassure the battered victims of the German
bombardment. He realized that the usual commonplace that these
visits had little military value no longer met the case, and proceeded
to threaten the Germans with new and more effective methods of
meeting them, should these murderous experiments be repeated.
The new measures were to take two forms. The towns themselves
would be locally defended by monitors and submarines, and, without
disturbing naval preponderance elsewhere, new units would be
brought farther south, so that the interception of raiders would be
made more easy. But for one consideration the publication of such a
statement as this would be inexplicable. If the effective destruction
of German raiders really had been prepared, the last thing the
Admiralty would be expected to do would be to acquaint the enemy
with the disconcerting character of its future reception. Count
Reventlow indeed explains the publication by the fact that no such
preparations have indeed been made. But the thing is susceptible of
a more probable explanation.
“When Mr. Churchill, in the high tide of his optimism, addressed
the House of Commons at the beginning of last year—he had the
Falkland Islands and the Dogger Bank battles, the obliteration of the
German ocean cruising force, the extinction of the enemy merchant
marine, the security of English communications to his credit—he
explained the accumulated phenomena of our sea triumph by the
splendid perfection of his pre-war preparedness. The submarine
campaign, the failure of the Dardanelles, the revelation of the
defenceless state of the northeastern harbours, these things have
somewhat modified the picture that the ex-First Lord drew. And, not
least of our disillusions, we have all come to realize that in our
neglect of the airship we have allowed the enemy to develop, for his
sole benefit, a method of naval scouting that is entirely denied to us.
That the British Admiralty and the British Fleet perfectly realize this
disadvantage is the meaning of Mr. Balfour’s letter. He would not
have told the enemy of our new North Sea arrangements had he not
known that he could not be kept in ignorance of them for longer
than a week or two, once they were made. The letter is, in fact, an
admission that our sea power has to a great extent lost what was at
one time its supreme prerogative, the capacity of strategical
surprise.
“But this does not materially alter the dynamics of the North Sea
position, although it greatly affects tactics. The German official
apologist will have it, however, that another factor has altered these
dynamics. Admiral Jellicoe, he says, may be secure enough with his
vast fleet in his ‘great bay in the Orkneys,’ and, between that and
the Norwegian coast, hold a perfectly effective blockade line, but all
British calculations of North Sea strategy have been upset by the
establishment of new enemy naval bases at Zeebrügge, Ostend, and
Antwerp. He speaks glibly, as if the co-operation of the forces based
on the Bight with those in the stolen Belgian ports had altered the
position fundamentally. This, of course, is the veriest rubbish. So far
no captured Belgian port has been made the base for anything more
important than submarines that can cross the North Sea under
water, and for the few destroyers that have made a dash through in
the darkness. Such balderdash as this, and that the German battle-
cruisers did not take to flight, but simply ‘returned to their bases’
without waiting for the advent of ‘superior forces,’ imposes on
nobody. It remains, of course, perfectly manifest that our surface
control of the North Sea is as absolute as the character of modern
weapons and the present understanding of their use make possible.
“The principles behind our North Sea Strategy are simple. One
hundred years ago, had our main naval enemy been based on
Cuxhaven and Kiel, we should have held him there by as close a
blockade as the number of ships at our disposal, the weather
conditions, and the seamanship of our captains made possible. The
development of the steam-driven ship modified the theory of close
blockade and, even without the torpedo, would have made, with the
speed now attainable, an exact continuation of the old practice
impossible. The under-water torpedo has simply emphasized and
added to difficulties that would, without it, have been insuperable.
But it has undoubtedly extended the range at which the blockading
force must hold itself in readiness. To reproduce, then, in modern
conditions the effect brought about by close blockade in our previous
wars, it is necessary to have a naval base at a suitable distance from
the enemy’s base. It must be one that is proof against under-water
or surface torpedo vessel attack, and it must be so constituted that
the force that normally maintains itself there is capable of prompt
and rapid sortie, and of pouncing upon any enemy fleet that
attempts to break out of the harbour in which it is intended to
confine it.
“The great bay in the Orkneys’ may, for all I know to the
contrary, supply at the present moment the Grand Fleet’s main base
for such blockade as we enforce. But there are a great many other
ports, inlets, and estuaries on the East Coast of Scotland and
England which are hardly likely to be entirely neglected. Not all, nor
many, of these would be suitable for fleet units of the greatest size
and speed, but some undoubtedly are suitable, and all those that
are could be made to satisfy the conditions of complete protection
against secret attack. Assuming the main battle fleet to be at an
extremely northerly point, any more southerly base which is kept
either by battle cruisers, light cruisers, or submarines may be
regarded as an advance base, if for no other reason than that it is so
many miles nearer to the German base. The Orkneys are 200 miles
farther from Lowestoft than Lowestoft is from Heligoland. An Orkney
concentration while making the escape of the Germans to the
northward impossible, would leave them comparatively free to harry
the East Coast of England. If, approaching during the night, they
could arrive off that coast before the northern forces had news of
their leaving their harbours, they would have many hours’ start in
the race home. It is not, then, a close blockade that was maintained.
This freedom had to be left the enemy—because no risk could be
taken in the main theatre. It is assumed on the one side and
admitted on the other, that Germany could gain nothing and would
risk everything by attempting to pass down the Channel. The
Channel is closed to the German Fleet precisely as the Sound is
closed to the British. It is not that it is physically impossible for
either fleet to get through, but that to force a passage would involve
an operation employing almost every kind of craft. Minefields would
have to be cleared, and battleships would have to be in attendance
to protect the mine-sweepers. The battleships in turn would have to
be protected from submarine attack, and as the operation of
securing either channel would take some time, there would be a
virtual certainty of the force employed being attacked in the greatest
possible strength. In narrow waters the fleet trying to force a
passage would be compelled to engage in the most disadvantageous
possible circumstances. The Channel is closed, then, for the
Germans, as the Sound is closed to the British, not by the under-
water defences, but by the fact that to clear these would involve an
action in which the attacking party would be at too great a
disadvantage. The concentration, then, in the north of a force
adequate to deal with the whole German Fleet—again I have to say
in the light of the way in which the use of modern weapons is
understood—remains our fundamental strategical principle.”
I then went on to reply to the critics who had said that the use
of monitors for coast defence was the most disturbing feature of a
very unwise series of departures from true policy, and then passed
on to what seemed to me the more serious criticism, as follows:
“The attack on this part of Mr. Balfour’s policy is vastly more
damaging. For it asserts that the policy of defensive offence, Great
Britain’s traditional sea strategy, has now been reversed. The East
Coast towns may expect comparative immunity, but only because
the strategic use of our forces has been altered. It is a modification
imposed upon the Admiralty by the action of the enemy. Its
weakness lies in the ‘substitution of squadrons in fixed positions for
periodical sweeps in force through the length and breadth of the
North Sea.’ Were this indeed the meaning of Mr. Balfour’s letter and
the intention of his policy, nothing more deplorable could be
imagined.
“But what ground is there for thinking that this is Mr. Balfour’s
meaning? He says nothing of the kind. He makes it quite clear that a
new arrangement is made possible by additional units of the first
importance now being ready to use. The old provision of adequate
naval preponderance at the right point has not been disturbed. It is
merely proposed to establish new and advanced bases from which
the new available squadrons can strike. It stands to reason that the
nearer this base is to the shortest line between Heligoland and the
East Coast, the greater the chance of the force within it being able
to fall upon Germany’s cruising or raiding units if they venture within
the radius of its action. To establish a new or more southerly base,
then, is a development of, and not a departure from, our previous
strategy—it shortens the radius of German freedom. If there is
nothing to show that the old distribution is changed, certainly there
is no suggestion that the squadron destined for the new base will be
‘fixed’ there. If squadrons now based on the north are there only to
pounce upon the emerging German ships, why should squadrons
based farther south not be employed for a similar purpose?”
The foregoing will make it clear that the general idea of British
strategy was to maintain, to the extreme north of these islands, an
overwhelming force of capital ships. It was adopted because it
economized strength and secured the main object—viz. the paralysis
of our enemy, outside certain narrow limits.
The southern half of the North Sea—say, roughly from Peterhead
to the Skagerack, 400 miles; from the Skagerack to Heligoland, 250;
from Heligoland to Lowestoft, 300; and from Lowestoft to Peterhead,
350 miles—was left as a kind of no man’s land. If the Germans
chose to cruise about in this area, they took the chance of being cut
off and engaged by the British forces, whose policy it was to leave
their bases from time to time for what Sir John Jellicoe in the Jutland
despatch describes as “periodic sweeps through the North Sea.” But
the German Fleet being supplied with Zeppelins, could, in weather in
which Zeppelins could scout, get information so far afield as to be
able to choose the times for their own cruises in the North Sea, and
so make the procedure a perfectly safe one, so long as chance
encounters with submarines and straying into British mine-fields
could be avoided. Thus for the old policy of close blockade was
substituted a new one, that of leaving the enemy a large field in
which he might be tempted to manœuvre; and it had this value, that
should he yield to the temptation, an opportunity must sooner or
later be afforded to the British Fleet of cutting him off and bringing
him to action. Meantime he was cut off from any large adventure far
afield. He would have to fight for freedom. It gave, so to speak, the
Germans the chance of playing a new sort of “Tom Tiddler’s ground.”
The point to bear in mind is, that it left the Germans precisely the
same freedom to seek or avoid action as the armies of antiquity
possessed. Thus no naval battle could be expected unless—as Colin
says—the weaker wished to fight, or was cornered or surprised.
 Now, against surprise, the German Fleet was seemingly
protected by Zeppelins. It could hardly be cornered unless, in
weather in which aerial scouting was impossible, it was tempted to
some great adventure—such as the despatch of a raiding force to
invade—which would enable a fast British division to get between
this force and its base. So that the chance of a fleet action really
turned upon the Germans being willing to fight one. And they could
not be expected to be anxious for this. “A war,” says Colin, “is always
slow in which we know that the battle will be decisive, and it is so
important as to be only accepted voluntarily.”
The state of relative strength in May, 1916, was not such as to
afford the Germans the slightest hope of a decisive victory if it
brought the whole British Fleet to action. Nor was the naval situation
such that there was any stroke that Germany could execute if it
could hold the command of some sea passage for twenty-four hours
or so. There was nothing it could expect to achieve if, by defeating
or at any rate standing off one section of the British Fleet, it could
enjoy a brief local ascendancy.
The argument, indeed, was all the other way. The professed
main naval policy of Germany, viz., the blockade of England by
submarine, though for the moment in abeyance, was being held in
reserve until the military and political situation made the stake worth
the candle. Now, deliberately to risk the High Seas Fleet in an action
on the grand scale, when the chances of decisive victory were
remote and the probability of annihilation extremely high, was to
jeopardize not the fleet alone but also the blockade. For, with the
High Seas Fleet once out of the way, the one stroke against the
submarine which could alone be perfectly effective, viz., the close
under-water blockade by mines, immediately outside the German
harbours, would at once become feasible. So far, then, as military
considerations went, the arguments against seeking action were far
stronger than those in its favour.
But in war it is not always reasons which are purely military that
operate; and as this war got into its second year there were many
forces, each of which contributed something towards driving the
German Navy into action. First, and in all probability by far the most
powerful, would be the impatience of a large body of brave and
skilful seamen—in control of an enormous sea force—with the rôle of
idleness and impotence that had been imposed upon them. The
German apologist, when uttering his pæans of triumph over the
bombardments of Lowestoft, said, on May 7:
“It must not be assumed that this adventure was a mere
question of bombarding some fortified coast places. It would also be
a mistake to think that it was only an expression of the spirit of
enterprise in our young Navy. The spirit is indeed just as fresh as
ever, and is simply thirsting for deeds, and when one sees or talks to
officers and men one reads on their lips the desire ‘If only we could
get out.’ The sitting still during the spring and winter may also play
their part in this. Only a well-considered leadership knows when it
will use this thirst for action, and employ it in undertakings which
keep the great whole in view. Our Navy, thank God, does not need
to pursue prestige policy; the services which it has already rendered
us are too considerable and too important for that.”
There is no occasion to quarrel with a word in this passage. The
German admirals and captains in command of twenty-three or
twenty-four of the most powerful ships in the world must certainly
have been straining at the leash. This, then, would be a predisposing
cause to a battle of some kind being voluntarily sought by the
weaker force.
And in May, 1916, there were other causes as well. The German
Higher Command, while ignorant perhaps of the exact points at
which the Allies would attack, must have been very perfectly aware
that attacks of the most formidable character, and on all fronts, were
impending. It also knew that the resources of the Central Empires
were to this extent relatively exhausted, that all the Allied attacks,
when they came, must result in a series of successes, not of course
immediately decisive, but such as no counter-attacks could balance
or neutralize. Austria and Germany, in short, would be shown to be
on the defensive. They would have to yield ground. It may not have
seemed a situation bound to lead to military defeat. For the
superiority of the Allies—at least so it may have appeared to the
German command—in men and ammunition and moral, would have
to be overwhelming to bring this about.
But the Higher Command had made the mistake of carrying the
civil population with them in the declaration and prosecution of the
war, first by the promise and then by the assertion of overwhelming
victory. But the victory that was claimed did not materialize in the
way that is normal to great victories. There was no submission of
the enemy, and no sign of a wish for an honourable peace. What
was worse, the defeated enemy had shown an almost unlimited
capacity to starve and hamper their conquerors. It was bad enough
that they should not acknowledge themselves beaten. It was worse
that the flail of hunger should fall on those who should be fattening
on the fruits of victory. What would the state of mind of the German
people be if, on the top of all this, the conquered Allies were to
evince a capacity for winning a few battles themselves? It was
manifestly a position in which, at any cost, the moral of the German
people should be braced for a new trial. Given a fleet impatient to
get out and a higher command anxious for news of a victory, these
are surely elements enough to explain the events that led to the
action of May 31.
But the most powerful motive of all was this: Not only was
German moral badly in need of refreshment, it was especially that
Germany’s belief in her naval power needed to be confirmed. For, in
the last week in April, the Emperor and his counsellors had been
compelled to submit to a peremptory ultimatum despatched by
President Wilson with the endorsement of both houses of Congress
behind him. Towards the end of the winter 1915–16 the German
people had been led to expect a decisive stroke against England by
the new U-boats which the Tirpitz building programme of the
previous year was reputed to be producing in large and punctual
numbers. The Grand Admiral himself, amid the vociferous applause
of the Jingoes and Junkers, announced that the campaign would
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