By 1873, the surge of technology and concomitant industrial development in Europe and America were beginning to shift the international power balance, and they were shortly to require a corresponding restatement of the U. S. Navy’s strategic claims. The Naval Institute Proceedings, in the dynamic century that followed, provided the Service with a reliable barometer of change. Its contributors remained attuned to technological developments and responded proportionately when these appeared to dominate the strategic scene. They examined the implications for American seapower in times of international political crisis; they carefully extracted operational lessons from the successive naval wars; they sought, in essay and discussion, to adapt progress in management science to shipboard organization and the naval establishment. And at all times they promoted naval professionalism: the corporate solidity and mental processes on which the efficiency of the Navy as a fighting machine has ever rested. Unlike a house organ, the Proceedings has remained faithful to the original purpose: to serve as the Navy’s forum and as an agency for self-criticism. More than one book critical of the Navy has been buttressed with data provided in the pages of the Proceedings.
1873–1883: The American Naval Nadir. The Navy of the Grant-Hayes era cost the taxpayers little and seldom engaged public attention. This situation was largely inevitable in view of the unparalleled geographical security of the United States. Asia’s peoples were technologically backward and a delicately balanced confrontation in Europe effectively neutralized the major nations there. Thus, no external political or military threat to the United States existed. American defensive potentiality, moreover, appeared impressive. The country’s industrial base grew yearly; in output it was moving up hard on England, the world’s top producer. The U. S. population had already surpassed that of any European country except remote and backward Russia. England alone possessed naval power which could be employed against an American seaboard. But Canada’s complete vulnerability to land attack would permit capture of the only bases from which such British naval offensives could be launched. Canada, in the eyes of American political and military leaders, stood hostage to Britain’s behavior.
It is understandable, then, that most Congressmen, including the large contingent of Civil War veterans, were convinced that this nation had fought its last great war. The magnitude of the recent conflict had created a formidable American military image in Europe. No foreign government attempted to repeat the adventurism of Napoleon III after the collapse of his Mexican intervention in 1867. But the Monroe Doctrine, revived by Secretary of State William H. Seward in the Mexican affair, found its sanction largely in psychology. Of tangible American naval force there was precious little.
The decline of the Navy after the Civil War is an oft-repeated tale. By the mid-1870s, it consisted principally of a handful of war-built, fast decaying wooden cruisers and a dozen prewar wooden veterans of the Minnesota-Hartford-Kearsarge classes distributed around the world. Additional steam sloops and corvettes were out of commission; a dozen surviving monitors lay in the back channels of navy yards. To offset attrition of inferior war-built vessels, a modest construction program produced, by 1876, the 3,200-ton wooden steam frigate Trenton and 14 small (1,020 to 1,900-ton) sloops of war—11 of wood and three of iron, all auxiliary sail. Obsolete in design and armament when they were commissioned and clearly useless for war, these ships were justified for training seamen by a naval generation which put high value on marlinspike seamanship. As late as 1886, we find Rear Admiral Edward Simpson, ordnance expert and member of the policy-shaping Naval Advisory Board, writing “They are convenient and handy, and perform the duties required of a cruiser in time of peace.”
Geopolitical factors, as noted above, made the prospect of hostilities involving the United States appear altogether unlikely during the two decades following the close of the Civil War, and lent Admiral Simpson’s opinion of our warships some credibility. American defense policy, reflecting those factors, remained uncomplicated. Defensively, harbor fortifications, supported by the Navy’s shallow draft monitors, would protect the ports. The small regular army would hold the coast until the state militias should mobilize and take over in overwhelming strength. For offense, cruisers would raid enemy commerce (hypothetically that of England). Commodore William N. Jeffers, Chief of the Bureau of Ordnance, assured his Proceedings readers in 1874 that “having no colonies, it is not probable that we will ever construct cruising ironclads.”
But what of the need for countering a damaging blockade, such as had occurred during the War of 1812? The fear appeared illusory, inasmuch as the proliferation of American railroads in the postwar decade had integrated the nation and greatly reduced the strategic importance of the once vital coastwise shipping. With a rapidly industrializing economy, moreover, the United States had made itself virtually self-sufficient by the 1870s. Requirements from abroad were limited chiefly to capital (from London) and immigrant labor. As for ocean shipping, the formerly dominant American merchant marine had virtually disappeared, leaving the annually mounting farm surpluses to be carried abroad in foreign bottoms. In this era of the Comstock Lode and railroad monopoly profits, the traditional American shipping families shifted investment capital from the oceanic arena of world competition to more lucrative “infant industries” sheltered behind the protective tariff. The nation was looking inward, developing mills, farms, and its great Western domain. Young Americans followed Horace Greeley’s advice, and the Navy as a result enlisted many foreign-born.
These circumstances ordered priorities for the contributors to the early issues of the Proceedings. Of concern were the problems of recruiting and training enlisted men and of restoring the merchant marine. In 1878, Lieutenant Commander Caspar F. Goodrich argued for the establishment of a postgraduate school for the technical training of officers—in view of the Navy’s lack of modern ships and ordnance. Other writers focused on European naval progress, and developments here were impressive. The battery of the Kearsarge during her famous fight with the Alabama had consisted principally of cast iron, smooth-bore 32-pounders, hardly distinguishable from the 24-pounders of “Old Ironsides” or even the 18-pounder culverins with which Drake had defeated the Armada. Less than a decade after, in October 1873, the month which witnessed the creation of the Naval Institute, the prototype of the 20th century battleship was winding up her trials. This was HMS Devastation, a twin screw, 9,330-ton ironclad, capable of steaming to North America and back without coaling. Her 11-inch rifled guns, mounted in centerline turrets fore and aft, fired 700-pound projectiles. Five years later (1878), in HMS Inflexible, displacement increased to 11,880 tons, guns to 80-ton, 16-inch size, with 1,700-pound projectiles, and her wrought iron belt armor to 24-inch thickness. At Essen, the same year, Friedrich Krupp fabricated a 17-inch steel rifled naval gun fitted with sliding wedge breech-loading mechanism.
American naval officers observed this growth of European naval technology with concern, since in addition to ordnance and armor it included proportionate increases in propulsive power and efficiency. Higher steam pressures and multiple expansion engines greatly increased operating range and brought the United States within eight days steaming time from the English Channel. But Congress, the Grant and Hayes administrations, the periodicals, and the press at large, took the position that fiscal economy and national defense could be served equally well by permitting Europe to build and experiment until naval designs should be stabilized, especially lagging cruiser development—which most concerned the United States. This situation changed dramatically in 1882 with the laying down by Armstrong-Whitworth at Elswick on the Tyne of the Chilean cruiser Esmeralda. Constructed of steel, with an armor deck at the waterline covered by a protective layer of coal bunkers, armed with a heavy battery of breech-loaders, and attaining withal the unprecedented speed of 18.28 knots, this 3,000-ton vessel established a new direction in cruiser development. She was the prototype of the 20th century cruiser. With the appearance of the “Elswick” cruisers the United States could no longer postpone the modernization of its navy.
1883–1903: Naval Renaissance and Trial by Battle. By 1887, as rapid industrial development carried the United States into the first place among steel producers, new strains appeared in the fabric of European politics and helped bring about an unprecedented growth of armaments there. In this setting, the appearance of a new steel American navy became inevitable. Other factors, too, made the times propitious. A decade of lean years following the panic of 1873 had given way to annual Treasury surpluses of a size to be downright embarrassing to the Cleveland and Harrison administrations. And, as noted above, the march of naval technology overseas had progressed to a point which could be ignored by Americans only at their peril.
Congress, accordingly, authorized the construction of three steel cruisers in 1883, and of 13 more shortly afterwards. But the United States, while rolling record quantities of steel beams and rails, lacked the equipment for forging armor and heavy guns and mounts. Secretary William C. Whitney, in 1886, moved to terminate such dependence on European firms by issuing a special order requiring that all materials used in construction of U. S. naval vessels be of domestic manufacture. Reconstruction of the gun factories at the Washington Navy Yard (and, for the U. S. Army, the Watervliet Arsenal) had in fact already been taken in hand. The Carnegie and Bethlehem steel companies, stimulated by government contracts, put into operation gigantic plate mills, equipped soon with the world’s largest hydraulic forging presses. The United States indeed, by 1890, had not only advanced from reliance on Europe for heavy ordnance and steel armor to a position of self sufficiency, but also had itself created a revolution in steel armor through the face-carburizing or hardening process patented by Henry A. Harvey in 1888. Understandably, the Proceedings, during this decade, focused more closely on ordnance and armor than in any succeeding period.
Fundamentally, however, the naval renaissance of the 1880s failed to break the crust of custom; it hardly represented more than an updating of traditional American naval specialization. Save for two small experimental battleships, the Texas (2-12” guns) and Maine (4-10” guns), it produced what was essentially a cruiser force conforming with the requirements of a century-old, and still prevailing, strategy of commerce-raiding.
But even as the new ships went into commission, the habitual assumptions of Congress and journalistic opinion-makers in matters naval were being rudely challenged by the visible results of the new technology abroad. In Europe, the modern battleship had come into its own. The British navy maintained its accustomed lead but faced a new order of challenges in all directions. For a decade the Devastation’s successors steadily increased in size, gun power, and thickness of armor protection. They appeared, however, only at intervals and only singly or in pairs. Parsimonious—if eminent—Victorians headed the successive British governments and, united in bipartisan devotion to “peace, retrenchment, and reform,” proceeded to shave naval appropriations as a first step in budget-cutting.
Events overtook the Victorian euphoria in 1884, when England broke with imperialistic France over the occupation of Egypt and, in the following year, with an expanding Russia over the status of Afghanistan. Both of these continental powers embarked on programs of naval construction, and the British, determined to maintain their “two-power” standard, went to battleship-building by whole classes. In 1886 appeared the Collingwood, first of the “Admirals.” The Naval Defense Act of 1889 authorized construction of the eight Royal Sovereigns, and this class, which established basic battleship design for the next 15 years, was followed by nine larger and improved Magnificents in 1894-1896. British historian R. C. K. Ensor put the pace of technological advance in concrete terms: “Supposing, for instance, that HMS Rodney, launched in 1884 and completed in 1888, had been set to fight a fleet comprising every ironclad launched in Great Britain down to 1881, she could, if properly handled, have sunk them all and emerged from the contest an easy winner. A single Magnificent (1894) would not have stood the same chance against a fleet of the ‘Admiral’ class; but, fleet against fleet, the victory of the later type would have been overwhelming.”
With new designs now making existing ships obsolete in ten years, it became quite possible for newcomers, in that age of pre-nuclear technology, to build up fleet strength on even terms with the established naval powers. During the era of sail, the Royal Navy’s accumulation of “wooden walls,” each with an expected service life of 60 years or more, precluded any chance of outbuilding England. In the quarter century after 1885, this margin declined steadily in the ever-accelerating burst of naval construction which, successively provided France, the United States, Germany, Russia, Italy, Austria-Hungary, and Japan with modern battleship fleets.
Most significant, in this turn of events, was the abandonment by the United States of its traditional defense policy based on coastal forts and a moderate sized commerce-raiding cruiser navy. Expanding European battleship navies, able to reach the Atlantic seaboard in a matter of days, aroused fears in the Eastern press. Diplomatic crises in 1889—with England and Canada over North Pacific sealing and with Germany over Samoa—alarmed the country generally. Furthermore, the Proceedings repeatedly disclosed the concern of naval officers with the threat inherent in French construction of a Panama Canal. Mahan, in his first published article dealing with current strategic problems (in the Atlantic Monthly, December 1890) stated that a foreign-owned isthmian canal in time of war would be a “disaster” for the United States, and he called for construction of a battle fleet able to command the Caribbean with its British and French bases. Including heavily armed “coast-defense” ships, it could drive off hostile blockaders and, on the West Coast, make the Pacific an American lake with the outer boundary running from Hawaii to Samoa. Yet this strategy was essentially defensive. More profoundly perhaps than Mahan at this time, Lieutenant J. D. Jerrold Kelley was searching history for guidance in the application of seapower to support national security. “England, for example,” he wrote in 1887 “has always guarded her homes, not at the hearth-stone nor the threshold, but within gunshot of her enemy’s territory; her defense has been an attack on his inner line, and her vessels have been, not corsairs preying upon merchantmen, but battleships, ready for duel or for fleet engagement, whether they had the odds against them or not. That is the true sailor instinct; this has made England’s greatness.”
These views carried weight with Secretary of the Navy Benjamin F. Tracy, and the strong recommendations contained in his 1889 Annual Report persuaded Congress, the next year, to authorize construction of three seagoing coastline battleships. Tracy in his reports went a step further than Mahan, urging construction of battleships capable of striking at enemy coasts, but falling considerably short of Kelley’s requirement that they be capable of commanding enemy home waters. Three decades would in fact elapse before this strategy would become implicit in American naval policy when Congress, reacting to the magnitude of the European conflict and to resultant pressures on this country’s maritime interests, approved the 1916 bill authorizing construction of a “navy second to none.”
In any event, the three battleships of the 1890 program (Indiana, Massachusetts, Oregon), though designated “seagoing coastline” proved to be the most heavily armed and protected battleships in the world on commissioning in 1896. Additional battleships followed during the decade, one (Iowa) authorized in 1892, two in 1895, three in 1896, and three in 1898. When the test of war came in the latter year, the bulk of these ships was still under construction, but the United States, with five battleships in service, still held overwhelming superiority. Its opponent, Spain, possessed but one.
As the new steel navy of the United States took shape, its leadership was largely absorbed with material and personnel problems: design, construction, ship maintenance, and general drills. Though Luce had tirelessly urged on his fellow officers the study of tactics and strategy (“the use of the naval weapon in war”), the “material” school was dominant. His long campaign in support of a general staff organization for the Navy likewise failed to advance beyond the discussion stage. War-gaming at the Naval War College was undertaken seriously and on a continuing basis in 1894, but there remained considerable gaps in the Navy’s war plans in 1898.
The United States thus found itself involved in hostilities with Spain, having in readiness a relatively powerful naval fighting force, but ill-equipped with respect to Navy staff organization, plans, and tactical doctrine. The Navy, moreover, totally lacked experience working with the Army in amphibious operations. Efficient gun and engine room divisions rather than exceptional fleet leadership brought overwhelming victory for American arms in less than four months.
In the years immediately following, the Proceedings constituted a forum in which the contrasting views of participants were presented and the war’s strategic and tactical lessons thrashed out. No contributor took a broader view than George Sydenham Clarke, a top-ranking British civil servant, who shortly after was a prime mover in the creation of the Committee of Imperial Defense, the British prototype of today’s National Security Council. In the March 1900 issue,[*] Clarke urged the single command concept in amphibious operations, with the Navy in charge during the transport phase and the Army after the landing. He then took issue with Mahan and struck a surprisingly modern note in holding the value of fortified overseas bases to be exaggerated and arguing the vulnerability of such installations to any enemy which commanded the sea. More important, he claimed, was a nation’s ability to improvise advanced bases, as the United States did at Guantanamo in 1898, and its capability of managing effectively a collier and mobile replenishment force, for “on them a great power will depend in war.”
Clarke agreed with Mahan on the dangers of uninstructed public opinion, leading, during the war with Spain, to an unwise division of the fleet. But he again differed in criticizing the divided control of reconnaissance between Washington (where Mahan sat on the Naval Strategy Board) and Sampson in the operations area, a situation which had enabled Cervera to penetrate the West Indies to Cuba. He took issue with much Service opinion in commenting adversely on Sampson’s bombardment of San Juan as a waste of ammunition without a follow-up occupation force. Contrary to most historians, Clarke held that Hobson’s failure to sink the blockship Merrimac in Santiago channel was “an unqualified gain” since it enabled Cervera to “escape to destruction” instead of sending ships’ guns ashore to make the capture of Santiago a longer and more costly affair for the American army. Finally, Clarke paralleled the Santiago campaign with the general experience of the 19th century in support of the prevailing view that ships could not severely injure guns on shore. Ensuing operations at Port Arthur and Gallipoli would confirm Clarke and harden the belief into dogma. But neither the Proceedings nor any other publication in the country at the turn of the 20th century was able to recognize the watershed in American defense policy created by the war with Spain and the resulting imperialist venture by the United States in the Far East. Unable to penetrate the veil of the future, none could envision the scope of the defense problem created by American retention of the Philippines.
1903–1923: From Dreadnoughts to Disarmament. In authorizing construction of the Kansas, Minnesota, Vermont, Idaho, and Mississippi in March 1903, Congress established the United States by a wide margin as the second naval power in the world with respect to capital ship and heavy cruiser tonnage. Behind this expansion lay the personality and the policy of President Theodore Roosevelt. An admirer of Mahan and himself a naval historian of standing, Roosevelt was especially sensitive to the influence of seapower in bringing about the revolution in the world political balance which he perceived to be taking place in the first decade of the 20th century. Five problem areas appeared to dominate international politics: the rivalry of Russia and Japan in the Far East, leading to the war of 1904–1905; the Anglo-German naval race and the resulting disturbance of the Far Eastern power balance through the reduction of British naval presence in Asian waters; the emergence of navies themselves as factors in the foreign policies of the major states, corollary to the quickened pace of technical development; and the new technology which produced radio communications, improved torpedoes, destroyers, and submarines, turbine propulsion which greatly expanded the range, speed, and reliability of warships, and revolutionary developments in gunnery and fire control culminating in the appearance of the “all-big-gun” (dreadnought) type battleship best adapted to utilize them. Finally, there were the additional threats to the European alliance system posed by local nationalism and great power rivalries in the Balkans, the Middle East, and Africa.
For the United States, the acquisition of the Philippines ushered in a strategic revolution whose problems were never completely resolved before the end of World War II. The resulting defense commitments in the western Pacific made construction of an isthmian canal obligatory to assure expeditious movement of American naval forces from the Atlantic to the Pacific. This led to increased sensitivity to the strategic significance of the Caribbean and its island republics. Some of these appeared to be vulnerable to their European, especially German, bondholders with national navies standing behind them. As a result, Theodore Roosevelt and Congress built specifically against German battleship strength. Thus arrived the first quantitative naval policy in American history: a fleet equal at least to the second largest.
With Germany and Japan standing by to take over surrogate roles after 1898, the United States could not afford to disregard the prospect of having to defend its Philippine possessions in the foreseeable future. It had, in addition, given a moral commitment to China through Secretary of State John Hay’s Open Door notes to the powers in 1899 and 1900, but the empire, chronically decentralized, moved steadily towards revolution and anarchy. To gain approval at home for permanent detachment of an American naval force sufficient to command the waters of East Asia was patently impossible. In these circumstances, the safety of the Philippines depended on the preservation of a balance of power in the Far East. Such a balance was temporarily upset by Japan in the war with Russia, and permanently destroyed in 1907, when both nations composed their differences and agreed to act in concert as an aspect of the forming of the Triple Entente of France, England, and Russia in Europe. These developments transformed the Open Door policy into hardly more than a face-saving rearguard action, as the United States successively agreed to Japanese occupation of Korea and Manchuria in return for a “hands off” commitment concerning the Philippines. To such large aspects of policy, however, the Proceedings gave but passing attention. Its readers were more deeply absorbed in the study of the naval lessons of the recent war in the Far East.
The Russo-Japanese War (1904–1905) classically illustrated the effectiveness of naval power in providing cover and support for oversea land operations. This aspect, together with the fleet and torpedo tactics in the Yellow Sea and Tsushima battles received much space in the Proceedings in the articles of Admirals Wainwright, Schroeder, and Mahan. Each of the authors emphasized the key strategic lesson: keep the battle fleet concentrated in peace for effective use in war. President Theodore Roosevelt would shortly act on this lesson.
To the rise of German naval power under the aegis of Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz, more than to any other factor, can be attributed the regrouping of major European powers into two armed camps in an atmosphere of cold war. The British government and people believed German naval ambition to be aggressive and a threat to Britain’s economic lifelines in home waters. In Germany, many laid political and colonial frustrations to British “encirclement,” and Anglophobia became marked. Whitehall composed outstanding disputes with Britain’s traditional rivals, France and Russia, and entered into a cooperative “entente.” In Parliament and the press, bipartisan support rallied to the government’s goal of “the two-power standard plus 10 per cent.” In the context of the construction “race” with Germany which followed, First Sea Lord Sir John Fisher, foremost exponent of the “material school” (“ships first, doctrines later”), pushed advances in design which brought forth the first dreadnought-type battleship in 1906 and battle cruisers two years later. Simultaneously, however, the Admiralty set aside the demands of the “young Turks” for a general staff, a thinking organ for the navy which would concentrate on operational problems and would prepare war plans. Staff functions were not then understood by the British navy at large, their relation to army organization was resented, and they could be an encroachment on the prerogatives of the First Sea Lord. Though a tentative beginning was made in 1911 with the creation of the War Staff, it was not until World War I was well underway that the organization was strengthened sufficiently to permit effective performance.
The United States, meanwhile, with newly acquired defense responsibilities in the western Pacific and sensitive sea frontiers in the Caribbean and on both coasts of North America, under Roosevelt’s leadership had created a fleet which was even greater than the “second largest.” The editor of the 1906 Brassey’s Naval Annual called it “. . . one of the most important factors in the politics of the world.”
At this time, however, the concerns of the navy’s most thoughtful officers extended beyond questions of material to the broader problems of the fleet’s use in war—strategy, war plans, fleet exercises, logistics—and the first need here was for a proper staff organization. Unlike their British counterparts, American naval officers deliberately studied the experience of military administration ashore, especially the German, for suggestive models. They were greatly impressed by the influence and widespread use of the Kriegspiel, or wargaming, by the Kaiser’s army and navy. The Proceedings similarly, and unlike contemporary British service journals, reflected this interest in naval general staff functions. In 1886 and 1888, articles by Captain A. P. Cooke and Rear Admiral S. B. Luce respectively, analyzed the general staff concept in detail and advocated its adoption by the U. S. Navy. The September 1900 Proceedings carried Captain Henry C. Taylor’s “Memorandum for a General Staff for the United States Navy” which is credited with having influenced Secretary Long to create the General Board some four months before.
The General Board, however, was not a general staff: it lacked directive power, it was purely advisory. True, it dealt with large questions of strategy and policy; it approved ship characteristics and recommended construction programs; and it coordinated Naval War College and Office of Naval Intelligence activities in the preparation of war plans. But the plans remained unrealistic because the Board lacked corresponding power to coordinate the operations of the notoriously feudal bureaus of the Navy Department on which the implementation of all plans depended.
The campaign for a naval general staff opened in earnest in 1905, when the Naval Institute awarded its annual prize to Commander Bradley A. Fiske for “American Naval Policy,” a remarkable 50-page essay which proceeded from a general survey of the role of seapower in world politics to the particular responsibilities of the navy for American defense, including policy, strategy, tactics, and administration. But the burden of the article lay in its argument for a general staff organization to effect centralized command in the navy and coordination of all its shore and sea components. The Institute reinforced Fiske’s case by award of second place to Admiral Luce’s “Naval Administration,” an even more detailed defense of and demand for a general staff. For many years, however, the progressives’ program ran into bitter legislative opposition, headed by Senator Eugene Hale of Maine, Chairman of the Committee of Naval Affairs, with support from the five “staff” bureaus whose chiefs objected to line officer control. The Congress, for its part, was reluctant to yield possible elements of its own direct controls over the naval defense establishment.
Matters came to a head early in 1909, during the last days of the Roosevelt administration. Secretary Newberry submitted a scheme for a diluted form of general staff, to coordinate the bureaus in five “divisions” headed respectively by an assistant secretary and four senior officers, but Congress adjourned without taking action. Newberry’s successor, Meyer, in the new Taft administration, effected Navy Department reorganization by executive order along similar lines—grouping the bureaus in Operations, Personnel, Material, and Inspection divisions, each headed by a naval officer “aide.”
To succeed Rear Admiral Richard Wainwright as Aide for Operations, two years later, Secretary Meyer selected Rear Admiral Bradley A. Fiske, the most perspicacious and articulate naval officer of his generation. Inventor extraordinary, Gold Medallist [sic] of the Franklin Institute in electrical engineering, author of five books and some two dozen Proceedings articles and, with 12 one-year terms, the longest tenured President in the history of the Naval Institute, Fiske was ever in the forefront of the fight to build a navy “second to none” and to adapt the latest technology to make it an effective fighting machine. From 1912 he was the country’s foremost exponent of naval attack (torpedo plane) aviation. As Aide, he felt the lack of an adequate supporting staff and bent his chief energies to the creation of a strong Chief of Naval Operations office. On this objective, Fiske staked his career for, on failing, he resigned his appointment in 1915 and retired.
Congress did indeed set up the Office of Naval Operations that year, constituting the Chief the Secretary’s principal professional adviser and making him, under the Secretary’s direction, responsible for fleet operations and war plans. But the Chief had supervisory and not command powers; he remained without an adequate staff; and the bureaus regained their virtual autonomy. While the position of the Chief of Naval Operations was gradually strengthened during the next quarter century, it was not until after the United States had entered World War II that the Navy achieved centralized command and a general staff in a real sense.
Controversial though these matters of naval policy, organization, and administration might be, the attention of the average serving officer, during the decade preceding World War I, was more closely drawn to material concerns, and most of all to the overriding problem of fleet gunnery. Because fire control had failed to keep pace with gun power, effective range was limited to 3,000 yards while the heaviest guns could reach 20,000. This was the lesson of the battle of Santiago. The problem was pressing; it brought to the foreground a group of the ablest and most articulate officers in the Navy’s history: Fiske, inventor of the telescopic gun sight, the stadimeter, the horizometer, and the electric range finder; the buoyant and hard-driving William S. Sims and his brilliant classmate, Philip R. Alger, ballistics authority. For the Navy, the problem was set in perspective by Alger’s 1903 Prize Essay “Gunnery in Our Navy.” Sims, inspector, later director of target practice, set forth in detail in the September 1904 and November 1906 issues the new “continuous aim” and spotting procedures underlying the spectacular improvement in the Navy’s marksmanship for which he was so largely responsible. Taking issue with Mahan—who favored medium-sized ships with middle-caliber guns, to be built in large numbers—Lieutenant Commander Sims argued for fewer battleships, if necessary, but carrying the maximum number of heavy guns with maximum armor protection and of the greatest possible displacement. This, he held, was the corollary of the gunnery revolution, and history was to vindicate the viewpoint. Proceedings contributors had already, in 1902, three years before the famous Dreadnought was laid down, prefigured the all-big-gun ship with accompanying plans. The discussion in fact reached a climax the next year, with the publication of Homer C. Poundstone’s “Size of Battleships for the U. S. Navy,” and “Proposed Armament for Type Battleship of U. S. Navy.”
The material progress of the Roosevelt-Taft era was accompanied—and prompted—by a comparable intellectual ferment in the Navy, as testified by the Proceedings, the principal vehicle of its expression. Meanwhile, in the leading American and European periodicals, the strategic aspects of the international scene, particularly as they affected the United States, received continuous analysis from the tireless pen of Mahan. Under the American constitutional system, however, the military and their civilian superiors propose while the legislative branch disposes. As international tensions in these years moved towards the breaking point in 1914, the Navy felt the consequences of a congressional backlash against the strong leadership of Theodore Roosevelt, a reaction which continued into the administration of his politically less capable successor. The Taft administration fell victim both to partisan bitterness in Congress and to intraparty strife and came dangerously short of coordinating its naval policy with its foreign policy. Pursuing a vigorous and independent course in Manchuria, designed to promote American investment while reducing Japanese controls, it risked hostilities precisely at the time it was unable to provide leadership sufficient to secure passage of essential fleet-type construction.
The administration of Woodrow Wilson, like its predecessor, failed initially to proportion naval construction to national commitments. On the outbreak of war in Europe in 1914, the United States found itself with an unbalanced fleet, under strength in all categories except battleships and submarines, but with a government determined to assert traditional American neutral rights. Chief of these was the freedom of American citizens to sell supplies and provide funding, without prejudice, to any belligerent able to avail itself of them. But these rights lacked a firm basis in international law. The European belligerents, reverting to the law of necessity, progressively disregarded them.
It was quickly apparent that the American industrial economy would in fact provide an arsenal for one side only, since the British navy from the outset had swept the German merchant marine from the oceans and locked up the High Seas Fleet in the eastern North Sea and the Baltic. It was equally clear that the flow of munitions and food from the United States would prove to be decisive in a protracted conflict, and both England and Germany moved to interdict American aid to their respective opponents.
The United States, as it had done since the Revolutionary War, based its policy on the “free ships make free goods” maxim. A neutral ship could carry any cargo except contraband anywhere except through a legal, which is to say, close blockade. Since the submarine and mine had now ruled out such inshore operations, the British extended the contraband list to make it virtually all-inclusive, and could therefore seize on the high seas, or in the British ports to which they required neutral vessels to put in for search, all goods en route to the Central Powers directly or through intermediate neutral countries. But they agreed that controverted seizures of neutral goods should be justiciable and negotiable after the peace.
With its surface fleet contained by British seapower, the Admiralty Staff in Berlin saw in the U-boat the most effective weapon for offensive employment. The submarine arm, which had been in fourth place—behind Great Britain, France, and the United States—in 1913, was steadily expanded and its boats turned into commerce destroyers with license to sink without warning, under the claim of necessity. With the loss of American lives resulting from such sinkings, President Wilson took a legalistic stand and asserted the traditional right of non-combatants to safe passage, or at least to abandon ship in safety. But these lives, unlike the American cargoes seized by the Allies, were neither justiciable nor negotiable. The shock to public opinion, beginning with the Lusitania, cumulatively constituted a principal overt reason for the ultimate entry of the United States into the war.
As early as 1915, some prominent Americans, including Theodore Roosevelt, Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, and Secretary of State Robert Lansing, came to believe that in the 20th century America could no longer remain a hemisphere unto itself, and that national security would henceforth depend on the maintenance of a balance of power in Europe. This would call for American willingness to cooperate actively in averting the domination of the continent by a militaristic power, such as Germany showed itself to be in the invasions of Belgium and northern France. While seldom framed in formal expression, this concept became an inarticulate major premise in the thinking of many public men. And it became another major factor in the decision for war in 1917.
For the three years of American neutrality the Proceedings expressed the Navy’s concern with the belligerents’ excesses of search and contraband control, as well as with the illegal practices of submarines. Understandably, contributors endorsed the administration’s shift to its “Preparedness” program—including creation of the Office of Naval Operations in 1915, together with the Naval Consulting Board, the Navy’s pioneer research and development unit—and its policy of a “navy second to none” embodied in the landmark 1916 appropriations act.
German Chancellor Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg clearly understood the need for keeping the United States neutral. For some 20 months after the Lusitania sinking he had given way to Wilson’s protests and used his influence successfully to hold the U-boats to “cruiser rules” which required warning before attack on merchant ships. To take advantage of Germany’s superior military position, he moved towards active support of Wilson’s mediation efforts in December 1916, while the Allies, for similar reasons, remained aloof. To the German Army High Command and the Admiralty Staff, however, the vast and increasing Allied purchasing from the United States was bringing about a fatal stalemate. It was their belief that victory was possible, but only as the result of an all-out “sink on sight” submarine campaign. England, most dangerous of their enemies, would be starved and driven from the war in a matter of months and any significant involvement of the United States thereby made impracticable.
The thinking of Hindenburg, Ludendorff, and Admiral von Holtzendorff, however, was more narrowly based than the Chancellor’s in failing to sense psychological and political factors which would lead to American intervention, to the mobilization of an unparalleled productivity and, in consequence, to heightened morale in England and France. The General Staff failed also to perceive coming revolution in Russia with an opportunity to shift German forces to the West. Rather, its planners dealt in quantifiable factors: U-boat successes, losses, and replacement rates; available Allied and neutral ships and shipbuilding capacity; British import requirements; and the American naval and military preparedness buildup, then in its initial stage.
On 9 January 1917, the military threw the die which doomed the German empire. They overrode the Chancellor’s conciliatory approach and forced a declaration of unrestricted submarine warfare, effective on 1 February. The U. S. government thereupon broke diplomatic relations with Germany and, following the sinking of seven American merchant ships, mostly without warning, declared war on 6 April.
With the coming of hostilities the increased requirement for security narrowed the scope both of article and professional discussion and precluded significant analysis in the Proceedings of large areas of the naval operations which attended the American and Allied victory. Only in general terms did the publication unfold the story of the great shipbuilding effort which created the “bridge to France” with its attending destroyers and antisubmarine craft; of the operation of the 558-ship Naval Overseas Transportation Service which carried roughly half of the A.E.F. and the bulk of its supplies to France (The British Ministry of Shipping carried the remainder); of the naval air arm’s growth in 18 months from a strength of 368 personnel to 35,760 and 42 aircraft to 2,200 and the proliferation of its operations from antisubmarine patrol to the bombing of U-boat pens; of the 14-inch gun railroad batteries which helped cut German rail communications in France at ranges up to 23 miles; and of Admiral Hugh Rodman’s battleship squadron attached to the Grand Fleet.
But even the most general treatment in the Proceedings could scarcely conceal the magnitude of the Navy’s achievement in helping win the First Battle of the Atlantic in 1917–1918. Since the success of antisubmarine mining depended on secrecy, it was not until after the war’s end that the Navy made public the remarkable production record of its Bureau of Ordnance under Admiral Ralph Earle: the development of the Mark VI “antenna” mine and its manufacture in quantity sufficient in the last days of the war to close to U-boats the northern exit of the North Sea by means of the 230-mile long mine “barrage.” More widely publicized during the war was the decision to adopt convoy, the true solution of the antisubmarine problem and the principal tactic in the final defeat of the U-boat in World War I.
This conflict provided a whole postwar generation of naval officers with a never-failing body of recorded combat experience from which to extract lessons for current application. The articles dealing with the tactical lessons of the battle of Jutland by Lieutenant Commander H. H. Frost (1920–1921) or, a decade later, the study of naval gunfire support at the Gallipoli landings by Lieutenant W. C. Ansel attest the high quality of research and analysis which characterizes much of this writing. That the Navy’s viewpoint at this period was not oriented to the past, however, is indicated by the vigorous comment in article and discussion as early as 1921 on the employment of high-level bombing and torpedo bombing, beginning with “The Torpedo Plane, The New Weapon Which Promises To Revolutionize Naval Tactics.”
1923–1941: Scrapped Hulls and Treaties. The recovery of the Weimar Republic from disastrous inflation in 1924 cleared the European political skies, and the negotiation, the next year, of the Locarno treaties buried the historic Franco-German feud and raised the world’s hopes for a lasting era of peace. Already in Washington, the first international agreement to limit naval construction had been signed on 6 February 1922. Steered with great skill by Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes through the Washington Conference, the treaty climaxed a diplomacy of deceptive simplicity: first to remove the causes of war and then to limit the size of navies. The causes of war were eliminated in this case by phasing out the Anglo-Japanese Alliance and securing agreement of the nine conferee nations to sustain the Open Door in China. Actually, the Five Power Naval Treaty, which was to dominate American naval policy for the next 15 years, emerged from an unusual conjunction of strategic, economic, and personality factors.
Ironically, in 1921, two years after the Paris Peace Conference “to end all wars,” its most visible result appeared to be a gathering naval building race among the United States, Japan, and Great Britain. Somewhat earlier, President Wilson had sought to strengthen his hand at the conference by reactivating the 1916–1918 capital ship construction program (10 battleships, 6 battle cruisers) which had been suspended during the war in favor of more urgently needed antisubmarine types. Japan thereupon expedited work on the Eight (battleship) Four (battle cruiser) Fleet Law program of 1917. Great Britain, crippled by the economic wastage of four years of total war and the consequent loss of its overseas markets, joined reluctantly, and made moves to lay down four super-Hoods.
Public opinion in the United States, meanwhile, influenced by depressed business conditions, called for the “return to normalcy” on which President Warren Harding had campaigned for election. Congress, yielding to the economizing temper of the times, eliminated from fiscal 1922 naval appropriations all funds for continued construction of the big ships. The Japanese 8–4 program had simultaneously run into similar difficulties. In that country, after the end of World War I, naval expenditures were outrunning the army’s, and the military budget threatened to surpass government spending for all other purposes. Secretary Hughes’s invitations to the proposed naval conference accordingly received a cordial welcome in Tokyo and London.
That an agreement among the powers was reached was owing to the recognition of a de facto “parity” in the naval power positions of the United States, Great Britain, and Japan as a basis of negotiation. Thus the 5:5:3 capital ship ratio (which could quite possibly become 10:3 with the termination of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance) was counterbalanced by the non-fortification provisions, confirming, in effect, American supremacy in the Central Pacific beyond the Hawaiian Islands, Japanese supremacy in the Western Pacific, and British supremacy from the North Sea to Singapore. It is likely that nothing less than such “regionalism,” applied to waters it considered to be strategically vital, would have been accepted by any of the three powers involved. But many of the Japanese delegates came to Washington determined on a 10:7 capital ship ratio as the absolute minimum which their country could safely accept. That the delegation—and the conference—were subsequently held together was due to the strong leadership and conciliatory attitude of the sailor-statesman Tomosaburo Kato.
Admiral Baron Kato, Navy Minister since 1913, feared a naval building race with the United States and, being conscious also of Japan’s fiscal limitations, came to the conference willing to accept the 5:5:3 ratio and determined to improve Japanese-American relations, which had experienced crises in 1905, 1907, 1909, 1911, 1912, 1915, and 1919. For Kato the only sensible relationship between the industrially powerful United States and capital-hungry Japan was firm cordiality. Returning home to become prime minister, Kato sought to reduce the dangerous independence of the Japanese military in budgetary matters, and he moved to strengthen cabinet control by replacing the traditional uniformed army and navy ministers with civilians.
Whether the “regionalism” actually brought about a relaxation of tensions between the three naval powers is a question upon which historians differ, but it is certain that there followed an immediate clearing of the political atmosphere. The United States, in 1923, gained great good will as a result of the generous contributions of its citizens to the Tokyo earthquake sufferers. But in the next year Kato died before he could consolidate his reforms. To the forefront in the naval service moved more militant leaders, who urged revision of treaty limits and who saw their navy’s best interest lying in minimum cooperation with the army, in a policy of separatism—in strategy and in budget. Aimed at achieving equality with the larger, senior, and more prestigious army, these attitudes were a legacy of the navy’s new-found influence after the great victory at Tsushima. The navy’s leaders, including the venerated Togo, had then evolved a separate strategic doctrine designed to free the navy from mere auxiliary status in the army’s amphibious ambitions in Manchuria. The new doctrine postulated expansion to the south, the East Indies area, and it replaced the army’s hypothetical enemy, Russia, with the United States, the nation able to bring the largest naval force to bear against the proposed expansion. Advocates of imperialist expansion, working from the top positions in the Naval General Staff, were able to dominate Japanese naval policy during much of the 15-year period that followed.[†]
In 1924, relations with Japan worsened with the passage of the Immigration Bill which virtually excluded entry of its people to the United States and brusquely superseded the self-control features which had marked the pre-existing gentlemen’s agreement. During the next four years, the Japanese navy laid down or completed 12 heavy cruisers, establishing a 50% lead over the United States in this unrestricted category. American naval officers, who did not favor the Five Power Naval Treaty, looked on these developments with concern. Captain Dudley W. Knox, alone, contributed some half-dozen articles to the Proceedings. He pointed out that the United States, in accepting the “regional” compromise, had actually stultified its own announced Far Eastern foreign policy in rendering itself helpless to defend the Philippines—in the absence of strong established bases there—or to support China, should this be required under the moral obligation of the Open Door, a policy which the United States itself had initiated.
What influence the work and the followers of Tomosaburo Kato (who numbered among them Commander Isoroku Yamamoto) might ultimately have exercised on the course of Japanese-American relations, no man can say, for the Great Depression hit both hemispheres with devastating effects in the years after 1930. In Europe, democratic governments survived the economic storm in Great Britain, France, the Low Countries, and Scandinavia only. Elsewhere on the continent, power was seized by “crisis” governments, committed to the “leader” principle, frankly cynical of contractual obligations, and openly avowing the virtues of violence. With the appointment of Adolf Hitler as Chancellor of the expiring Weimar Republic in 1933, Europe was firmly fixed on the course towards war.
“Forward” policy enthusiasts, entrenched in the Japanese Naval Staff, meanwhile were able to subordinate the Navy Ministry to the Naval Staff and thereby transfer policy control from the Cabinet to the Staff. Paralleling this development, the course of the army’s violent career towards acquiring the status of state within a state is sufficiently indicated by the events of the decade: the Mukden incident leading to the seizure of Manchuria in 1931; the initiation of full-scale war to take over China in 1937, and the sinking of the USS Panay in the same year; the Tripartite Pact with the Axis in 1940; and, following the fall of France, the army’s adoption of the navy-sponsored “southern strategy” and the move towards the Southern Resources Area, beginning with Indochina. The Naval General Staff, myopically focusing on textbook strategy, now decided to eliminate the only force which could threaten its flank during the drive southward, namely the U. S. Pacific Fleet, in disregard of whether it would attempt to do so. This, in Admiral Morison’s celebrated phrase, was “strategic imbecility”—and the blunder was compounded by the further decision to fight a war of limited objectives to hold the Southeast Asia perimeter against an opponent of overwhelming potential superiority, fully aroused, and committed initially to total war and ultimately to unconditional surrender.
1941–1953; From Victory to Cold War. After Pearl Harbor, the Proceedings, as was the case during World War I, provided hardly more than narrative accounts of events, including some notable combat experience pieces which would later be anthologized. Readers followed the progress of the U-boat battle in the Atlantic, though technological details such as radar, sonar, and schnorkels remained veiled. Similarly, the landings in North Africa, Sicily, and Normandy were recorded. But it would be the historians of the postwar period who would develop the details of strategic planning and tactical problems, the revolutionary developments in amphibious doctrine and techniques, the development of naval gunfire and tactical air support of opposed landings, and the general problems of interallied and interservice cooperation.
A decisive turn in the course of the Pacific war was recognized as early as Midway: underdog victory in perhaps the greatest of all naval battles, though the American intelligence advantage obtained by code-breaking remained secret. Getting into print sporadically and in disconnected sequence were the trials of the Marines on Guadalcanal and of the Navy in Ironbottom Sound, the combined land-sea drive up the Solomons and the coast of New Guinea, and the takeoff of the Fifth Fleet—the most concentrated spearhead of naval striking power ever assembled—across the Central Pacific in giant strides from the Gilberts. Here, it must be confessed, the Proceedings, in common with all other publications during the war, failed to do justice to the concept, the versatility, and the missions of the Fast Carrier Task Force of the Third-Fifth Fleet, and to the importance of the individual roles in over-all operations played by its air admirals. Readers gained a general impression of the battle of the Philippine Sea and the “Marianas Turkey Shoot” with no hint of radar operation or the use in this campaign of the VT-fused shell. And, of course, the wartime issues were devoid of all information “from the other side of the hill:” the attrition of Japanese naval pilots, the jealousy and lack of cooperation between army and navy at critical junctures, and the failure to appreciate the gravity of the war situation until too late.
With military victory attained, the United States, long the exponent of “isolation” and “non-entanglement” in its foreign affairs, now found itself launched in a world in process of being transformed. Strategic, diplomatic, and technological revolutions were underway. It had become clear to a majority of the American people and their leaders that a nation whose technological advance had made it dependent on raw materials brought from the other side of the globe must concern itself to assure the political stability of such sources. Moreover, the disappearance of Germany as a great power and the war-created impoverishment which reduced most other states to second class status left the Soviet Union, despite its manpower losses and the destruction of half its industry, a super-power relative to the West, and the master of Central Europe. The triumph of Mao’s followers, four years later, completed the structure of “monolithic communism.” Against this combination the joint defensive capabilities of the Western European, Southern European, and Middle Eastern nations were heavily outmatched. Already the Communist spearhead had entered Greece and threatened Italy. The United States alone could restore a balance. The balance of power concept, employed with success by England vis à vis the European continent for 300 years, but abhorrent to Americans since their origin as a nation, was accepted as the price of survival Traditional American foreign policy underwent a revolution, virtually overnight. The new policy henceforth would seek to (a) rebuild Western Europe economically and promote its unity, together with the unity of the areas fringing the Communist heartland, and (b) establish military alliances supported by the United States, to assure the security of the non-Communist Free World. The landmark Truman Doctrine (1947), the Marshall Plan (1948), the Eisenhower Doctrine (1957) and the Nixon Doctrine (1970) marked the achievement of the first objective; the NATO, SEATO, CENTO, ANZUS, and the Japanese and Philippine defense treaties gave reality to the second.
From the strategic viewpoint, command of the sea in these postwar years took on a significance unprecedented in the American experience. The United States, with dependent allies now situated in the Eastern Atlantic, Mediterranean, Red Sea, Persian Gulf, Indian Ocean, and Western Pacific areas was required to expand its seapower correspondingly. Its prospective opponents, the Soviet Union and Communist China, were self-contained in the Eurasian heartland. The precise nature of American strategy would be determined by these geographic factors, in combination with the weapons systems evolved in the technological revolution which commenced in World War II: the atomic warhead, the cruise and the ballistic missiles, nuclear ship propulsion, and electronic sensors.
1953–1963: The Technological Revolution—From “Nautilus” to Polaris. History furnishes few examples which provide clearer demonstration of the influence of technology upon strategy than the achievement of the Rickover and the Raborn Special Projects team in producing, respectively, the nuclear-powered submarine (1955) and the associated Polaris ballistic missile (1960). For much of the first decade after the Great Sea War in the Pacific, the Navy was at a nadir of influence and well-being. Both the public and Congress accepted the view that the hypothetical enemy was the Soviet Union, a land mass well protected by location and expansive area from attack by naval forces, and vulnerable only to long-range strategic bombers carrying atomic weapons. Equal acceptance was accorded the corollary, that ships, and especially aircraft carriers, were highly vulnerable to atomic bombs. It was taken for granted, furthermore, that hostilities would inevitably involve nuclear intrusion; the concept and reality of limited war fought with conventional weapons were yet to be discovered. The only viable strategy, in short, was that which was advocated by the Air Force: nuclear strategic attack or massive retaliation. Dominating the strategic scene was the manned bomber. The Air Force, in the popular mind, had replaced the Navy as the nation’s “first line of defense.” Not surprisingly, in the circumstances, the Air Force during much of the 1950s was allocated one-half of the defense budget, with the remainder going equally to the Army and Navy. The Navy’s strategic argument—emphasizing the need to command the sea and to secure seaborne logistics lines to dependent allies—met with indifferent response.
The situation changed noticeably with the Soviet acquisition of nuclear bombs after 1948, and dramatically after the launch of Sputnik in 1957, with its promise of an intercontinental ballistic delivery system. Rocketry, it was perceived, had numbered the days of the manned bomber—as a major defense component, at any rate—and raised doubts concerning the security of fixed-missile sites. The Polaris and Poseidon submarine, with high mobility, complete concealability, and submerged endurance limited only by the physical and psychological capacities of her crew, could reach any target in an enemy area. The Navy, in the space of five years, by the mid-1960s, had regained—and with the advent of the larger and more powerful Tritons, promises to retain in the foreseeable future—its proud traditional title of first defense line.
1963–1973: From Cold War to Multipower Balance. In this context of radical change in the postwar world there occurred a radical change in the contents of the Proceedings. Aspects of the national policy, analyzed in realistic terms of global strategic factors, broken down in specific geographic, political, and economic power elements, became favorite subjects for prize essays, replacing the more generalized, not to say abstract, products of the prewar era. Almost every issue presented detailed discussion of international security affairs as they involved Sixth Fleet operations, for example, or NATO components, or political developments behind the Iron Curtain. Contributors debated the largest issues of American defense—control of vital sea lanes by strategic bombing threat, as advocated by the Air Force, or more immediate control by carrier task forces. The mobile task forces could move in quickly and graduate response with precision to the requirements of the specific situation, as advocated by the Navy since 1945, and, unlike fixed bases, employ mobility to evade retribution. These articles reflected accurately the thinking of a generation conditioned to the strategy of interallied cooperation and no longer bound by the traditional “one enemy” and “one battle” concepts.
Finally, the Proceedings has enabled its readers to gain perspective on the two major strategic developments of the 1970s: the rise of Soviet sea power and second, the implications for the armed forces of the détente in the relations of the United States and the Soviet Union since the death of Joseph Stalin, in 1953. This détente may well be the major defense and foreign policy determinant for both powers in the decade to come.
With the realism that typically has characterized and informed Proceedings discussions of international questions during the Cold War era, Raymond J. Barrett looked beyond the continental United States and discovered fundamental change—from bipolar centralization to “polycentrism” within both major alliance systems. “We are seeing the re-emergence of a multi-power world,” he wrote. “This is a change of historic proportions. It marks the return to the multiple balance of power situation that was the basis of American foreign policy until World War II. A multipower world is not an easy one; it is more complex and filled with additional uncertainties. But it can be a more peaceful one. The implications for our national security and for U. S. policies are basic and need to be thought through. . . .”
Thus is repeated the challenge to “think through” issued one hundred years ago by the tiny group who called their fellow Navy men to form an Institute, the better to grasp the relation of their Service to the nation, and of their nation to the world.
And for the interim years, can one more appropriately phrase the bibliographical note tucked away at the end of Elting E. Morison’s life of Admiral Sims? “The United States Naval Institute Proceedings stands alone. It acts as a standard in format, style, and content that the house organs of those professions which like to call themselves learned would do well to emulate.
* See G. S. Clarke, “The War and Its Lessons,” March 1900 Proceedings, pp. 127-141.
† Acknowledgment is made to the studies of Dr. Jun Tsunoda.