Sometimes, when I’m bored but in an academic setting, I scroll on Wikipedia, reading history articles. To any passing teachers, it looks like I’m engaged in schoolwork, and I’m able to fool myself into believing that I’m being productive. The other day, I was perusing Wikipedia articles on naval history, one of my go-to topics, when I realized that I’d already read practically every single naval battle of the First and Second World Wars, and many of the articles on older battles from the Age of Sail. What was left was what was in between: the transition in naval warfare from sailing ships to steel battleships. So, I began reading about that period in history, and as I scrolled through page after page of warship classes and obscure naval battles, I was struck by how rich this era was in information. The Age of Sail and battleships of the World Wars are supported by an arsenal of media, from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies to video games such as World of Warships. However, the transitional period between them was less popular. Few movies have been made about ironclads and pre-dreadnoughts, but despite that, their Wikipedia articles are filled with paragraphs. Although clearly the forgotten middle child to the wider world, this period of naval history was cherished by someone willing to put in the time to research and write about a topic that few others might have seen. This dynamic, the appreciation for the forgotten and the less-than-glorious, reminded me of a piece of advice my dad had once given me.
In sixth grade, when the COVID-19 pandemic began, I was suddenly stuck at home, cut off from my friends, school, and the small social world I’d been building. I was awkward, restless, and unsure of myself. I remember telling my dad how much I hated that time, how I wondered why I couldn’t just become an adult, finish school, move on with my life, and do what I wanted to do. In response, my dad smiled and told me that I might hate that transitional period of my life then, but one day I would look back and view it not as something to regret, but as an essential period of growth. Now, as I stand at the precipice of adulthood, I can see that he was correct. All the growing pains of that time in my life led to who I am today, and although that period of my life might be unknown or forgotten to most others, at the very least, I can recognize how important it was. So, in honor of my dad’s advice and the unknown Wikipedia editors who wrote and curated the articles that inspired my moment of reflection, I prepared a manual on the evolution of the battleship, spanning the transition from sailships to dreadnoughts.
The origins of the battleship can be traced back to the Age of Sail, when wooden “ships of the line” dominated the oceans from the 1600s to the mid-1800s. These massive vessels evolved from galleons and carracks, which were repurposed trade ships. Ships of the line were so named due to their preferred formation: the line of battle. During this era, communication was limited, consisting of simple visual signals such as flags, lanterns, and rockets. In addition, the sides of the ship provided the most surface area to maximize firepower and broadside weight. As such, the line of battle allowed fleet commanders to maintain organization and a line of communication within their fleet, while ensuring that all their guns would be brought to bear. Although ships of the line underwent a degree of technological advancement during their heyday, spanning the 17th to 19th centuries, the core concept of naval warfare remained largely unchanged; that being might is right. The larger the ship, the more cannons that could be crammed onto it.
In the mid-19th century, however, industrialization would reach the seas. Innovation progressed at a sudden, breakneck speed. Whereas during the Napoleonic Wars, admirals had commanded fleets of the same sailing ships that their predecessors had centuries earlier, made of wood and firing solid shot, a mere 40 years later, they were commanding steam-powered vessels firing explosive shells. High-explosive shells proved to be fateful: at the Battle of Sinop, one of the opening engagements of the Crimean War, a Russian fleet equipped with modern artillery disabled or sank every vessel in an Ottoman fleet of 12. In response, nations rushed to find a way to protect their vessels. The answer would come in the form of armor. Previously, armor had played a minor role in naval warfare: the sheets of iron necessary to protect an entire warship were heavy and expensive to produce, and the reliance on wind to power and navigate ocean-going vessels meant that weight efficiency was of utmost importance. However, with the advent of engines, vessels could now bear the weight of armor. The next milestone in naval development was the emergence of the mighty ironclads, wooden steamships covered by bulky armored plates.
Ironclads are a development that holds an iconic role in America’s own naval history. The American Civil War was the first conflict in which two ironclads would face off against each other: in March of 1862, the Union’s USS Monitor faced off against the Confederacy’s CSS Virginia at the Battle of Hampton Roads. The two vessels were certainly primitive: The Virginia’s main armament was a ram, and the squat and stout appearance of the Monitor caused one Confederate sailor to describe it as “a cheese on a raft.” For four hours, the two ironclad pioneers slugged it out at point-blank range. The armor of both vessels was so thick that neither could penetrate the other, resulting in a stalemate. Nonetheless, this stalemate caught the world’s attention. European powers began launching their own ironclads, starting with Britain’s HMS Warrior, and in 1866, the Austrian navy defeated an Italian fleet of ironclads with their own during the Third Italian War of Independence.
For the rest of the 19th century, naval development proceeded quickly, but quietly. European powers were unwilling to push their luck against the overwhelmingly dominant Royal Navy; however, the late 19th century also became a period when naval prestige equaled national power, and an arms race began, centered around the pre-dreadnought battleship. The name “pre-dreadnought” is a term applied in retrospect. In their contemporaneous time, they would be simply referred to as battleships. Indeed, the word “battleship” was first coined to describe pre-dreadnoughts. Unlike ironclads, which were built of wood and then covered in armor plates, pre-dreadnoughts were built entirely of steel. In addition to their main battery (usually mounted in turrets, another major innovation), pre-dreadnoughts possessed a quick-firing secondary armament consisting of various smaller-caliber weapons. As their name suggests, pre-dreadnoughts are often remembered today for their obsolescence with the introduction of HMS Dreadnought, a revolutionary battleship that focused all its armament on a homogenous battery of large guns, rendering pre-dreadnoughts, with their weaker mixed battery, obsolete.
When the average person thinks of the word “battleships” or “warship” today, the image in their mind is likely one that is reminiscent of a post-dreadnought battleship: a distinct superstructure preceded and succeeded by large gun turrets. Despite this, I think the pre-dreadnought era is a severely underrated chapter in naval history. Although overshadowed by dreadnoughts, the only major and decisive battleship engagement in history was fought by pre-dreadnoughts. In 1905, during the Russo-Japanese War, the Japanese navy inflicted a decisive victory against the Russian Baltic Fleet. That battle remains, to this day, the only conclusive battle fought primarily with battleships, as subsequent conflicts saw navies either fear risking their ships or utilize aircraft carriers in their stead, a new innovation that surpassed even dreadnoughts in power.
As for the pre-dreadnoughts themselves, it’s true that they’re certainly awkward-looking vessels, lacking the cleaner lines that later battleships possessed. The superstructures of pre-dreadnoughts were busy, their hulls were portly, and their decks bristled with a confused mixture of guns, but, like the awkwardness of early teenage years, pre-dreadnoughts are an important symbol of the transition period in history as the Industrial Revolution finally took hold of naval warfare. They served alongside diverse fleets: many older ironclads were still in service, along with other older ships, including even wooden frigates and cruisers. It’s easy to forget from their appearance, but amongst such a motley armada, they were the pride of their countries. They weren’t graceful or romantic like the old sailing ships, nor were they as awe-inspiring as the steel giants that came after. But without them, neither of those eras could have existed. In that sense, those ships feel oddly human. They remind me of that sixth-grade version of myself, awkwardly figuring out who I was in the middle of the pandemic, unsure of what I was becoming but still moving forward. Just like the ironclads and pre-dreadnoughts, that version of me was part of a process—a necessary, messy step between two stages. Perhaps that’s why I continue to read about these forgotten ships, why I find comfort in the Wikipedia entries that most people would scroll past. They remind me that even the unpolished, transitional parts of life, whether in history or within ourselves, have their own quiet importance.