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the anchor. A hydrostatic valve was fitted to determine the depth at which the mine was to float below the surface.

Countermining operations took the usual forms of dragging, sweeping and detonating. There is little available data in regard to the last named method. Electricity has probably been used for this purpose; and many mines have been exploded by gunfire in the English Channel and off the coast of Antivari.

For the purpose of dragging and sweeping, torpedo-boats and destroyers have been especially valuable. In the Adriatic, sweeping operations by allied torpedo-boats resulted in the recovery of over 1000 mines in the Bay of Cattaro alone. The Germans effected their one entrance to the Gulf of Riga after several days of difficult mine-sweeping. British and French destroyers rendered especially valuable service in the Dardanelles. The entrance to Laoshan Bay was patrolled by sweeping destroyers with the assistance of trawlers and patrol boats; and several Japanese destroyers were blown up in the course of the operations.

Finally, the fleet of trawlers rendered inestimable service in mine-sweeping operations. It has been pointed out that this arm of the British fleet has attained astounding proportions; it is a veritable mosquito fleet in itself. Following raids on Scarborough and Hartlepool, over 1500 mines were picked up by trawlers in one week. In the course of work of this nature many boats were lost; frequently mines exploded in the nets. In addition to their value in work of this nature, it is claimed that there is no better protection for a battleship at anchor than a surrounding cordon of trawlers when danger from mines or submarines is apprehended. England has thoroughly demonstrated the value of the trawler fleet. Let us bear in mind that, if the time ever comes to require its service, it would be well for us to have ready to our hand a defensive weapon of such magnitude and efficiency.

U. S. NAVAL INSTITUTE, ANNAPOLIS, MD.

THE STUDY OF NAVAL HISTORY

By ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR H. J. FENTON, U. S. Naval Academy

Mahan says that the study of history is not theoretical but practical because it ends, not in speculation, but in action. If this be true of history in general, it must be peculiarly so of military history since the greater must always include the less, but still more so because no department of history is so likely to stir the imagination and to fill the soul with enthusiasm as that which deals with military operations.

But it is doubtful if all of us get quite this result from our gropings in history, although we may cover the field from Thucydides to Mahan, because we pay too much attention to the bare facts of history and ponder too little the suggestions. To many of us a military operation means so many objectives lost or taken, so many killed or wounded, somebody raised to the pinnacle of fame by victory, or somebody tumbled to oblivion by defeat. These little facts we tuck away in our minds like letters in a drawer, thinking that somehow or some day they will be of use to us. But what avails it to know that Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo if that is all there is to it? What avails it to know that hundreds died in one battle and thousands in another unless we sense and ponder the causes for which they gave their measure of devotion? Of what use is it to read that Nelson at Trafalgar shattered the power of Napoleon on the sea, unless reflection thereon creates in the reader a greater power for individual action?

"The greatest inspiration of my life," said Napoleon, "was a memory." Memory of what? Memory of battle tactics in some long past conflict, or lists of the dead or captured, or the names of the kings and queens, or the political or battle leaders of yesterday? Perhaps so, but I rather think it was the memory of some energetic action done or deed of heroism performed, or of someoneit may have been a general or a private-whose instant decision in a tremendous crisis changed the course of history. I would not in this connection belittle the knowledge of names and dates or of the movements of fleets and armies. These facts have their

value, but it is not supreme. They are useful items for mental lucubrations or for vigorous argument or conversation. But unless somehow they end in action on our part they are theoretical rather than practical. It is in the reaction of historical facts on us that their chief value lies.

From a somewhat lengthy experience in listening to midshipmen recite their lessons in naval history I should say that it is a rare student indeed who sees beyond the bare fact to the lesson or suggestion which the fact might convey to him. Naval history to the majority of students-and is not this true of too many of us who have passed beyond the schoolboy stage?-is theoretical because it ends in recitation or the mere reading. This is more or less true of almost any chapter in naval history that might be selected, but I am thinking in this connection of that fine old battle in the West Indies when Rodney beat De Grasse and in a moment of vigorous action shattered the traditions of a hundred years. What does the casual reader remember of that engagement? Mainly, besides the names of a few ships and a few ship commanders, the fact that the British admiral by a new maneuver broke up the French line of battle and won a great victory. But why should one strive to remember that fact? Is one any better off for memorizing it than he was before? Is a naval officer any better strategist or tactician or a more effective personality for having merely read an account of the battle of the Saints' Passage? I doubt it, unless Rodney's acts mean more to him than naval histories usually express. It is, however, the function of history mainly to tabulate and faithfully record; it is for the reader himself to scrutinize the facts as presented, to reflect and to feel their deeper significance, and every important action in the past has a meaning to the present beyond the mere statement, else it is as valueless as an unrelated date or a proper name. So it is, or should be, with the work of Rodney at the Saints' Passage. As a bit of by-gone tactics it is of no great value to-day, but as a lesson in personal courage, instant decision, and responsibility it is tremendous.

What was the situation? The majority of the readers of the PROCEEDINGS are perfectly familiar with it. Two great fleets were passing each other on opposite courses and at fairly close range, according to the gentlemanly way of conducting naval actions in the olden days. If nothing untoward had happened the two fleets would have passed each other completely, countermarched perhaps

and passed again, and yet again, or until each had been pummeled enough to cause it to be willing to retire with honors even, or until one had withdrawn with the other after it in an attempt to capture either it or stragglers from it. Owing, however, to the erratic action of the light wind a gap suddenly opened in the French line directly opposite to the English flagship, offering to Rodney the chance of a lifetime. But to seize the opportunity thus presented for concentration and for destroying the enemy in detail, meant to break his own orders still flying at the masthead, the "Fighting Instructions" of the British Admiralty, and a hundred years of tradition, which was perhaps as bad. Opportunity said, "Go." Everything else said: "Obey orders, maintain the line, hold fast to tradition."

It was no light thing in those days to obey the voice of opportunity. Originality and initiative were not encouraged then in the British Navy. To deviate from the "Fighting Instructions" meant a court-martial trial with the odds in favor of the court. To break tradition and after all to fail, meant ignominy and almost certain execution. The fate of Byng, it may be, flashed through Rodney's mind in that moment of destiny. A more commonplace officer at such a time, especially if advanced in years, would have played safe; he would have stuck to tradition, he would have maintained his line, and the battle of the Saints' Passage would have meant little or nothing to future generations. But Rodney was above the commonplace, or else he did in a moment of fine frenzy what he might not have done in a time of less excitement. Casting tradition, precedent," Fighting Instructions," and all such hindrances to initiative by the board, he swept into the tempting gap and turned a dubious contest into a tremendous victory.

Such, in brief, was Rodney's operation at the Saints' Passage. Regarded as a mere episode it is striking enough, but when studied in its proper relation to the preceding events its reaction on the reader should be still greater. The battle was not an isolated engagement, but the culmination of a long campaign pursued with persistence but marked by no particular brilliance, no dashing action calculated to set one's blood afire. It had been a military game of hide and seek, of pursuit and escape, of long-range duels from which came no very satisfying results. Against this rather dull background Rodney's action shines with peculiar luster. It is said that there are moments in the lives of men—and is it not more so of military men?-big with destiny. If so, then ac

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