“Why did this crucial battle occur almost two years after the outbreak of war, especially when German strategic interests argued for earlier resolution?”

By Eric Brose

THE BATTLE OF Jutland, May 31 to June 1, 1916, pitted the two greatest fleets of World War One — those of Great Britain and Imperial Germany — against one another. It would be the largest clash of capital ships in the history of modern naval warfare. At stake for Britain was the maintenance of her strangling blockade of Germany; preserving the supply and reinforcement of allied armies on the Western Front; holding open material lifelines to the British Isles and protecting the homeland from invasion — thereby, arguably, the outcome of the war.

Although twice as costly for the Royal Navy, Britain nonetheless won the Battle of Jutland. To be sure, the Admiralty did not use naval intelligence well; British armories failed to provide superior shells; Royal Navy turret crews ignored safety practices; and the Battlecruiser Fleet under Sir David Beatty “did not shoot famously,” as one German officer said of their poor marksmanship during the clash. The Royal Navy muddled through, however and the Germans failed to thwart Britain’s strategic imperatives mentioned above. Indeed, the Kaiser’s fleet was fortunate to reach home again after narrowly avoiding annihilation.

Although hundreds of books have been written on Jutland, two questions still warrant discussion. First, why did this crucial battle occur almost two years after the outbreak of war, especially when German strategic interests argued for earlier resolution? Secondly, why did it take place 300 miles north of the German bases when, according to a cardinal principle of naval tactics, one strove not to get cut off from them? The location of the battle is especially curious given Kaiser Wilhelm II’s usual preference for remaining within the Helgoland Bight, an action radius of under 100 miles.

One answer points to Germany’s misplaced expectations of a British naval assault in 1914 and persistent confusion over the Royal Navy’s intentions and whereabouts when it failed to materialize. The loss of the heavy cruiser SMS Blücher, and the near-destruction of the battlecruiser SMS Seydlitz) in the January, 1915 Battle of Dogger Bank further eroded any German appetite for risk-taking.

When combined with this timidity, Jellicoe’s own preference for defensive deployments to protect Britain’s northern sea lanes to Scandinavia, guard blockade patrols even farther north and avoid darting recklessly into the heavily defended Bight also helped forestall the day of battle.

While helpful, however, these answers do not tell the full story. For greater insight, historians need to investigate the personal shortcomings of Kaiser Wilhelm II himself, along with the ambitions and operational inclinations of German Admiral Reinhard Scheer.

Kaiser Wilhelm II was neither a strong nor resolute leader. Insecure from youth, dogged by low self-esteem and with a sort of inner emptiness he carried into adulthood, the German emperor papered over his deficiencies with bombast and poorly-thought-through self-righteousness. Because of his failings, however, William tended to be swayed by the opinions of stronger, shrewder personalities. Before the war, Wilhelm’s unconscious emulation of his own warlike advisors, along with ceaseless lobbying by generals and admirals with conflicting agendas, led to a series of flip-flops by the German monarch.

Having yielded to the army’s desire for war in 1914 and then sacrificing any real control of operations, the Kaiser hoped to exercise his authority over the navy. Even then, feuding factions still vied for control of the head man. Thus, at moments during the fall of 1914 Wilhelm seemed to be drawn toward an entourage of hawks who wanted to take on the stronger British navy and invade England. Other times, he found himself championing advocates of less risky strategies, like seeking only a defeat-in-detail-style battle within the Bight or even complete inaction. Not surprisingly, this wavering frustrated his more aggressive-minded advisors.

The more cautious faction had gained the upper hand by early 1915 under the guidance of Chancellor Bethmann Hollweg, who wanted to preserve the fleet intact as a bargaining chip in any post-war negotiations; and Privy Naval Cabinet Chief Georg von Müller, who fought to preserve his influence with Wilhelm and foil a rival, Naval Secretary Alfred von Tirpitz, who desired combat.

Aiding these efforts at finessing the monarch, Bethmann and Müller either knew or sensed that the Kaiser’s not-so-entirely-empty psychic core harbored a meek soul uncomfortable with violence and therefore unfit and unwilling to preside over naval aggression. Throughout 1915, in fact, Müller, often backed by Bethmann, not only restricted the operational options of High Seas Fleer admiral Friedrich von Ingenohl and his successor, Hugo von Pohl, but also blocked Tirpitz’s plot to promote battle-ready Scheer.

Scheer took command of the eight dreadnought battleships of the elite 3rd Squadron in December 1914. Although more timorous factions opposed him in favor of what Müller and, they thought, the Kaiser wanted, many of Scheer’s peers nonetheless admired his operationally aggressive stance.

“He is the man trusted all around because of his character, cleverness, and accomplishments,” claimed one ally. “He is energetic, thorough, has the backbone to do what he thinks is necessary, and is strong enough to assume responsibility.”

Others noted that Scheer’s energy and intellect often manifested themselves in his penchant for thinking in unorthodox, out-of-the-box ways. Consistent with this was his tendency toward behaving instinctively and impulsively as a “man of the moment,” along with his habit of unleashing his characteristic acerbity and choler on “pessimists and quibbling sticklers.” His nickname, “Sic ‘em,” grew out of his reputation for upbraiding cautious or less efficient colleagues.

Also jovial and collegial, Scheer’s was certainly a Janus-faced personality, therefore, one which combined conflicting impulses in only somewhat stable equilibrium — a psychological dynamic yet to be tested in the hyper-stress of combat command.

Because his reputation as a strong man had disqualified him from Müller’s shortlist of successors to Ingenohl in February 1915, Scheer bided his time, allowing others to advocate naval action. But by early 1916, a series of circumstances pushed him to the top of the list. Pohl’s sudden death opened another search for a commander-in-chief; and with the war dragging on, a more aggressive leader was in-demand. The army had failed to knock Russia out of the war in 1915 and the offensive at Verdun, which began in February of 1916, was bogging down. With a stalemate on land, it was increasingly hoped that the navy could help turn the tide by gaining control of the sea. Moreover, with British blockade against Germany tightening, and time clearly working against Central Powers, Müller recommended Scheer, and Wilhelm yielded.

Up until that point, the Kaiser, with Müller’s backing, had resisted naval hawks who sought a decisive showdown with Britain. In fact, the emperor turned down an invitation to meet with naval commanders in Wilhelmshaven, where he might be pressed into committing to such a bold gambit, claiming at one point that the trip would be “too strenuous.” Eventually even the mention of going to Wilhelmshaven made him nervous and excitable.

Having read the Scheer-imperative writing on the wall, however, Müller finally prevailed by stressing the trip’s military necessity, thereby accelerating the trend to isolate the monarch in the military decision-making shadows.

Once in Wilhelmshaven, the Kaiser stuck to Müller’s new script, itself evidently colored by Scheer’s confidence concerning the fleet’s readiness for a major battle going beyond defeat-in-detail if need be.

“The newly named fleet chief, in whom I place great hopes, presented to me this morning all of his intentions and plans, which I approve of, let me make that clear, in every way,” Wilhelm conceded. “Indeed, I believe that these plans are well suited to produce success. Whether it will come to a decisive battle to the finish, dear God only knows, but I, your Kaiser, know for a fact that if it comes to this the fleet will stand up to it like men.”

Scheer wrote later that “this declaration was of great worth to me, as thereby, before all the assembled officers, I was invested with an authority that gave me freedom of action.”

It would not be the first time – witness his bowing to army imperatives in declaring war in August 1914 – or the last – witness the rise of army chiefs Paul von Hindenburg and Erich Ludendorff later in 1916 – that William’s insecurity and inner emptiness had him yielding to stronger personalities in uniform.

And with Scheer “invested with an authority” that Ingenohl and Pohl had lacked, namely, an imperial sanction of freedom of action, Der Tag, “the day” of decisive battle for which his faction had clamored, drew nigh.

That spring pressure mounted on the surface fleet to make a greater contribution to winning the war, especially with a very costly stalemate developing at Verdun.

In late May, Scheer struck north to threaten the important sea lane between Scotland and Scandinavia. His battlecruisers would make their presence known there with wirelesses and that portion of the British fleet sent to destroy them would itself be destroyed by the trailing main body. A ruse involving the call sign of the German flagship would trick the British into thinking Scheer remained behind in port and their squadrons could isolate and sink Germany’s battlecruisers without having to confront the entire German navy. The Admiralty had broken German codes, however, and got both Beatty and Jellicoe to sea.

Accompanying Scheer to battle at Jutland were his chief of staff, “the soberly contemplative” Adolph von Trotha, who “calmly, carefully, and cleverly considered all circumstances;” and the operations chief, Magnus von Levetzow, a “reckless advocate of a spirited offense,” who was imbued with “a pervading and unconditional urge to push forward.”

Scheer could just as easily be swayed by the advice of one as by the other, but usually preferred to end up on rational ground, which might favor Trotha.

At the critical moments of Jutland (6 to 7:30 p.m.), however, it was undoubtedly Levetzow who had the chief’s ear while he followed the battlecruisers into Jellicoe’s crossing of the German “T,” reversed course and then went back again into harm’s way.

That the German fleet reached home with acceptable losses on June 1. Several factors prevented its destruction. First, Scheer came to his rational, Trotha-side senses during the evening of May 31 and withdrew. Also, British shells functioned so poorly that only one dreadnought battlecruiser, SMS Lützow, was lost. Jellicoe briefly reversed course himself during a key moment to avoid Scheer’s destroyers at around 7:20 p.m. that evening. Finally, faulty British nighttime scouting and Admiralty blunders let Scheer slip away to the southeast in the darkness as his pursuers headed southwest instead. The Royal Navy lost contact and could not complete their victory the following morning.

Scheer sortied three more times (1916-1918) in quest of an elusive victory, but the fleets missed one another. Jutland, therefore, became the deciding sea battle of the war. Because much had been at stake, the outcome, accordingly, proved highly significant. The blockade continued, killing hundreds of thousands through malnutrition and susceptibility to disease, exacerbating war weariness and contributing to naval mutiny and revolution in 1918. The flow of Allied supplies and reinforcements to France continued, including the arrival of the AEF (1917-1918). And the German army – also weakened by poor supply and influenza, eroding morale, and unwillingness of many units to fight on – was overwhelmed.

Eric Dorn Brose is the author of Clash of the Capital Ships: From the Yorkshire Raid to Jutland. He was a professor at Drexel University, where he was awarded special emeritus status upon retirement in 2015. His publications in German and European history have included much on the history of warfare in the 19th and 20th centuries.