for instance the evasion of two inferior squadrons attempting to form a combined fleet. The needs of secrecy in evasions so designed are too obvious to need discussion, since it is evident that A seeking to avoid the superior C till he has joined B, will be destroyed by A should his whereabouts be known. Secrecy on such lines is perfectly intelligible. It, however, by no means covers the general modern application of secrecy—a growing official tendency to shroud everything under the mask of 'strictly confidential.'
Examples of this are on every hand. For instance, the British battleship Dreadnought was made a confidential construction. Newspapers were requested to publish nothing in the way of descriptions of the vessel and the public generally was kept quite in the dark about her. The intention was excellent enough—to keep rival powers from building something of the same sort at the same time. Yet it needs a very robust faith to believe that the secret was really kept from those most interested in knowing all about the matter. On the other hand the curiosity of rivals was deliberately excited, and it is difficult to imagine that any real result was obtained beyond enabling a certain number of Admiralty officials to experience that sensation of security enjoyed by the pursued ostrich when its head is hidden in the sand.
France with her submarines made frantic efforts after secrecy. The mere photographing of the exterior of a submarine was made a penal offence, and
