All shipbuilding firms, from the enormous concerns of international fame to the smallest, have been taken up by the Government, or are at least working for it.
Godeffroy, Stülchen, Weichhorst, etc., are now specially occupied in the construction of submarines. The strictest secrecy is observed about the plant, and the number of ships under construction is not known.
The enormous Vulcan Works on the other side of the town, the commercial Altona, and the still larger Blohm and Voss works, are turning out at present four battleships, and the former firm has nearly finished a new floating dock which is said to be the largest in existence. Hamburg will have altogether six large floating docks, which will certainly prove of great help in the work of rescuing damaged warships. In less than two hours they may be taken right down to the open sea, through the Elbe, and from there reach at full speed any ships too badly damaged to steam by their own means and convey them to the Hamburg dockyards.
To say that the shipbuilding concerns have been "taken up" by the Government is really inexact and superficial; nearly all of the firms have furnished the German Navy with some ships during the last few years—Blohm, for instance, is responsible for the Von der Tann, the Moltke, and the Goeben.
A Hamburg firm that specialises in lighthouses, etc., is now constructing an enormous number of searchlights, which are to be added to those already possessed by the Navy, and which are mentioned here as specially made for the attack on the British coasts. Other searchlights, almost equally powerful, but not quite so heavy, are fixed on all balloons and aeroplanes.
The unemployment plague, which is very serious all over Germany, especially among women, is worse here than anywhere else; nearly all the factories, mills, and works having been closed long since. While great activity reigns in the dockyards, the Asia and America quay, the Petroleum-Hafen, and the quays of the great steamship companies, which generally present a picturesque and busy scene, are deserted. The big ships, bereft of all their goods, have a sort of sleepy look about them, and they give the impression that not a soul is on board.
Near the Ellenzhobz-Hafen one of the large steamers of the Hamburg-America line is being converted into a Red Cross Hospital. The gilded furniture, the carpets and pictures are being taken away and deposited on the bank by a large steam crane, and the Red Cross mark has already been painted on the ship.
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I would much rather not go over again my return journey. It is a sickening story of slow trains, stopped at every station, of annoyances of every kind, of hurried meals in bad railway station buffets, of hours and hours of waiting because a train was cancelled at the last minute and the next one was full of soldiers or wounded, and did not take ordinary passengers, etc.
At Bremen I am stopped as an alien enemy, insulted by a drunken crowd and taken to the police station, where I am detained the rest of the night. In the morning the inspector comes, looks at the mysterious passport I got in Berlin, apologises and releases me just in time to have missed the morning train. This identical scene is repeated at the Dutch frontier.