by Valerie Volk
CHAPTER 13
Hamburg, Germany, 1889
Nothing I had read or heard prepared me for the chaos of our arrival in this vast city. Our train clanked to a halt, with a final belching of smoke from the engine funnels, and we stood on the platform, a small bewildered group, our boxes and chests stacked behind us in the midst of a seething mass of people.
Chaos everywhere, as porters raced for custom and shipping agents struggled to find their clients. The thin frosty air of this winter day might otherwise have been bracing, but we just shivered in dismay. Even Gottlieb Schramm was silenced as he listened to the counsel of his brother, urging them to find their shipping agent.
‘For once,’ Hans muttered to me, ‘I could wish we were Jewish.’ I looked around and saw what he meant. Our train had been packed with emigrants, among these many groups of Jews, clear from their dress and their appearance. Everywhere the babel of foreign tongues, for there were groups of refugees from the east, all eager to leave behind the wave of anti-Semitism that was once more rife.
‘Most of these, I think, are Russian,’ said Johan. ‘Life there has been very hard since the Czar passed many laws against them. I hear that they come to Hamburg, to start their voyage to a better future in America.’
‘Or so they hope. But why do you envy them?’
But as I looked around, I understood. They were being greeted and taken away. Where? I wondered. Later I discovered the many relief organisations for their support, and big hostels established for their care until sailing dates. Yes, it might have been easier to arrive here as a Jew.
Men dashed through the crowds with offers of steamship tickets for those lacking them, goods that emigrants would need, or places in lodging houses. In future days we came to know of these men, the Litzers, who worked for the shipping companies and touted for custom. Even now, we knew enough to be wary of them, for many were frauds, and the tickets they sold to naïve emigrants proved useless when they tried to embark.
‘With whom do you travel?’ I asked Gottlieb Schramm. He pulled from his small case a sheaf of papers, relieved there was something he could do.
‘We are with the HAPAG,’ he informed me. ‘Their agent came to us in Mittelwalde and we bought our passages there.’
‘The HAPAG?’ I queried. ‘Not my company. Who are they?’
‘The biggest company taking ships to America.’ He was filled as usual with self-importance. ‘Their name is the Hamburg Amerikanische Packetfahrt-Aktiengesellsschaft. First we must go to their offices to discover what to do now.’
I forebore to point out that his brother had been urging just this.
‘We will need wagons to transport our goods, husband.’ It was Magdalena, who was always practical. ‘You boys, go with your uncle to hire a wagon from here to the shipping office.’
‘But what of you, Frau Werner?’ asked Hans, always concerned for my wellbeing. I had grown fond of the lad; in many ways he reminded me of the son I was seeking.
‘My company deals with travel to Australia, I believe. It is new, but an agent is to meet me here. I think I see him. He has a sign with my name.’ Indeed, a small fat man was bustling toward me, a porter hurrying behind him.
I was sad to part from the Schramms. Losing them, I knew, would be the end of contact with the past. I would be completely alone. In the bustling city and waterfront I feared we might not meet again, so we said farewells with many good wishes. In fact, it was premature, for we lodged together for the next days.
Lydia, whom I no longer saw as a frivolous socialite, had organised well for my trip, finding a company to sail to the Far East and Australia, unlike the swelling masses of American travellers. It was, she had told me, a new company, the DADG.
‘The what?’ I had asked.
‘I have it written down.’ She hunted for the scrap of paper. ‘Such an imposing title, the Deutsch—Australische Dampfschiffs Gesellschaft. The German—Australian steamship line. It has only just begun, but already has seven ships; they hope for a bright future with this new trade route from Germany.’
She had arranged with the company for an agent to meet me at the railway and take me to lodgings.
‘But where is the sea?’ I asked Herr Solomon as we made our way through the streets that led from the railway yards towards the city. ‘Is this not the place where the ocean-going steamships start?’
‘You are right, gnädige Frau.’ He was anxious to please. ‘But here we are on a mighty river that takes us to the sea. It is some sixty-five miles to the North Sea. You will soon see the Elbe, your lodging house is close to the wharves.’
‘How long will I need to wait for departure?’
‘Your boat is the Elberfeld, a fine new ship built in Newcastle—that is in England, you understand.’
I nodded, somewhat amused that he assumed me ignorant.
‘She was launched some weeks ago and it was a fine launch indeed,’ he said. But there has been a delay in bringing her to Hamburg. Strikes in the shipping yards and now the captain wishes further adjustment to the engines.’
‘Is the ship here?’
‘Not yet, but soon. She is on a trial run in the North Sea; Captain Sass is a man well known for his care and caution.’
I thought of Kurt’s experience and breathed a sigh of gratitude. But Herr Solomon was still talking.
‘And then, of course, after her arrival here there will be cargo loading. That will take some days.’
‘Is she not a passenger ship though?’
‘Truly. There will be several hundred passengers, but there will also be a big load of goods for the colonies. So there will be some time yet before she departs, I suspect.’
I was glad of the money Lydia had pressed on me. Emigrant housing had been set up in many big disused warehouses and was not expensive, but there was food to be bought, however cheaply, and I wanted to save my precious store of coins and notes.
The Schramms did not have so long to wait. We discovered our lodgings were close together, and it was pleasing to explore Hamburg with company. Magdalena and Emilia rarely moved further than the nearby shops, but Christian’s two sons were eager to see life in this city, and happy to escort me. At times, laughing and talking with them, I could forget that I was moving toward my fiftieth birthday, for they treated me as a friend, an equal, not an old woman to be cared for.
We walked often among the wharves, fascinated by the crowds of emigrants from so many different lands.
‘America will soon be over-populated,’ the boys laughed. ‘We should be coming with you to Australia.’
We were intrigued by the huge warehouses for the Jewish emigrants, not only from Russia, but from Galicia and Romania, even from persecution in Austria—Hungary. Their numbers grew each year and accommodation was running short, but the Jewish emigrants who were waiting departure were allocated to licensed landlords. We were impressed by the organisation: lodging houses were supervised and inspected by a Board of Emigration.
This business was a revelation. In this very year, they were quick to tell us, there were forty licensed lodging houses, and people coming and going all the time. They needed a board to control transit and provide security for ships. But they also looked after thousands of emigrants, making medical checks to prevent epidemics, and providing travellers with information. Most important, I thought, were the authorities’ efforts to protect them from fraudulent practices of the so-called Litzer.
The boys had been talking to others their age in the big warehouse lodgings. I had never heard of Litzers before, but now they told me about them—I could hardly believe what was being done. The Litzers worked for the clerks of the shipping companies, landlords, for special stores selling useful and useless utensils for the voyage, and for money changers. It was no wonder they worked hard. They were paid a commission on each customer they brought, and many emigrants were cheated out of their small stores of money with worthless tickets or unnecessary goods.
‘It is evil,’ thundered Gott
lieb Schramm, when his nephews explained the role of the Litzers. ‘God will surely punish them for the way they exploit the poor!’ It seemed to me that they were prospering, in spite of this threat of divine retribution.
The warehouse district too was a revelation, beyond my comprehension. In the last three years they had demolished huge areas and moved over 20,000 people from what became known as City of Warehouses. Huge waterfront storage areas, built on timber-pile foundations, and interlacing canals had made this Speicherstadt the biggest warehouse district in the world. Understandable, for this was a customs-free zone, where goods could be freely transferred. One might enter from water or land—it was indeed an amazing concept. We walked among these new buildings filled with pride at the achievement.
Hamburg brought other pleasures. The weather was warming now, a cold spring had given way to a glorious summer. The waters of the Alstersee were no longer frozen, the winter skaters now joining boating parties to enjoy the late afternoons before the sun went down. The trees grew fresh and green, and gardens from the homes of the wealthy curved graciously down to the water’s edge.
‘See how these people live,’ marvelled the boys as we walked around the lakeside paths. ‘It is no wonder the Social Democrats wish to change the world.’
‘Hush.’ I was nervous with such talk. One did not know who might be listening. I did not wish to jeopardise my departure by falling foul of the police. Too much depended on emigration papers.
‘No matter,’ said Johan. ‘Where we are going, we too will buy homes like these. All the letters say America is a land of great opportunity.’
The young men visited the huge Exhibition of Trade and Industry, and even Gottlieb and Christian accompanied them for this display of German production to the world. I had little interest in such matters. It would have been different if Kurt had been with me, his passion for engineering would have me seeing it through other eyes.
For me, the joy lay in the splendid public buildings.
‘You must come,’ I begged Magdalena and Emilia, using our familiar names even though we had known each other such a short time. ‘Please do come with me to see at least the St Michael’s church. And the Opera House.’
I had selected two I thought might appeal. In my lodging house there was discussion of what should be done during this time of enforced waiting. I felt nothing but scorn for those who simply sat each day, waiting for their time of embarkation.
So with Magdalena and her sister we explored the famous church that all had told me was the key sight of this city. We could see why. The steeple, that landmark for ships as they came up the Elbe, soared above the city, its copper covering glinting in the sunlight. I could not induce my companions to climb the more than four hundred steps to the viewing platform, so they remained below in the pews to pray for safe passage on the journey.
Possibly they also prayed for my safety as I climbed, but the view over the city was so spectacular that it was worth the hazards of managing my long skirt as I toiled upwards. There below me Hamburg spread, second only to Berlin in size and wonder, but we had not seen Berlin. My memories of that great city were of an uncomfortable night in a station waiting room. Here I knew I would never forget sights, like the enormous bronze statue of the Archangel Michael conquering the devil that guarded the entrance to this church.
‘But is it Lutheran?’ Emilia asked fearfully, pointing to the statue. ‘It has a Popish look.’
I assured her that this gold-and-white splendour was no Roman Catholic building, not even one that had been converted to Protestantism from its origins. This had been built for the Lutheran faith, making it acceptable to my friends, and they marvelled at the beauties of the marble baptismal font and the crypt with its burial places for the wealthy of this prosperous city. I smiled to myself as I thought of the comment her son would have made about this further sign of privilege. It might be as well that those youths were going to a new land.
My friends were less impressed by the Opera House, which I could understand. The square plainness of the old building was being redecorated; I could see that the added columns and pediment might soften the Spartan look—but such matters were of no interest to my companions. Nor was the fact that the full Ring Cycle of Herr Wagner had been performed there only a few years ago—I doubt they would have heard of this man with his strange and stirring works.
But at least they had been induced to see a little of this great city, beyond the fish markets and shops, and I knew when they had gone I would now be confident to explore on my own.
Their departure date approached. We had all been occupied in discovering what conditions would be like on their boat. They had been fortunate indeed, for they were ticketed for the Augusta Victoria, a new HAPAG acquisition.
‘It was named,’ they assured me with pride, ‘for our Kaiser’s wife, although,’ they added sadly, ‘the name was somewhat mistaken at the launching.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘They named her the Augusta—not, as it should have been, the Auguste—’ she put heavy emphasis on the last letter, ‘the Auguste Victoria. They say this will be changed in the future.’
I smiled to myself as I listened to the pedantic fussiness. It was typical of so many of my countrymen. Once again I sent up prayers of thanks for the Countess who had changed my outlook on the world. Without her I too might have been as concerned with trivia as my friends were. Yet they were good people, kind hearted and practical. I shook my head at my own petty criticisms even as I made them.
We had walked past the boat where she lay in the quay, with loading continuing every day. She was claimed as the first German express boat for this voyage, making the crossing in under ten days, including the routing via Southampton.
Compared to the weeks for this voyage on the old clipper ships, this seemed an impossibility, but the men had seized eagerly on details of its structure, with talk of twin screws and steel hulls and triple expansion engines. I thought again of my son with longing, and his passion for these matters.
We heard people exclaim at the promised average speed of eighteen to nineteen knots, and the impressive sight of her three funnels and three tall masts. For sail was still there—a safeguard we could believe in, whether used or not.
‘Gott im Himmel, she is so big!’ exclaimed Gottlieb the first day we saw her.
‘Ach, Vati, remember how many people she must carry,’ said his son. ‘I have spoken with the agent, who told me there is accommodation for four hundred people in first class, and more than a hundred in second. We will be with near to six hundred third-class passengers.’
‘Do not forget the crew,’ Johan pointed out.
‘That would be bad,’ Hans laughed. ‘Yes, they say the crew will be another two hundred and forty-five.’
His mother was aghast. ‘But that is over a thousand people!’
‘Which is why the ship must be so big.’
‘It is also why,’ practical Magdalena added, ‘we can now see them loading so much foodstuff.’
‘I think it will be better than the old days. It would have to be.’
‘Why do you say this, Hans?’
‘Ach, there is so much talk in the quarters where we live. One man had a paper about the old clipper ships, an advertising paper from the old days, and it listed the food they could expect. It was not good!’
‘Tell us,’ said his little sister. I had noticed what a greedy girl she was, food always an interest to her.
Hans was keen to share his knowledge. He pulled the flyer from his pocket.
‘He gave it to me. It says,’ and he began to quote in pompous official tones:
there will be sustaining and nutritious food such as salt beef, salt pork, herrings, peas, beans, pearl barley, oats, rice, sauerkraut, butter, plums, pastries, pudding, etc., all in sufficient quantity and of the best quality. Coffee is served in the mornings, and in the evenings tea and ship’s bread with butter.
‘Well, that sounds quite good.’
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‘True, but that was on paper. They didn’t actually get that.’
‘I heard,’ Johan added, ‘that by the end of the voyage the bread was mouldy and anything fatty was rancid. Bugs in the flour, the water almost undrinkable.’
‘By law they had to provision the ships for ninety days.’
‘But that is over twelve weeks!’ Emilia was aghast.
‘The sailing ships sometimes took that long, but generally it was six to nine weeks, depending on wind and weather. We are fortunate that steam ships are faster—and this Augusta Victoria of ours is to be the fastest of all.’
‘They say we will sail in two days,’ Gottlieb sounded confident. ‘We must be ready to board early in the morning.’
I watched from the deck as their departure began, with ship’s agents calling the names of passengers and supervising their loading. Our farewells were sad; we had come to feel almost like family during these days. Although they were travelling in steerage, at least these days it was no longer the rat-infested filthy area of the earlier ships. I knew they would have separate compartments for single men, for women and for families. But that number of people! The scenes at the quay were chaotic and it seemed to me a miracle that eventually all had mounted the narrow gangplank and made their way to the deck for allocation to their quarters. There was a final wave towards me as they set off down below.
The next day I stood on the pier as the Augusta Victoria began its stately progress down the Elbe towards the sea. Plumes of black smoke billowed from the mighty chimneys, and I knew I was truly alone. A crazy woman, setting off to an unknown destination. And for what? I did not know.
It was July before my ship, the Elberfeld, was ready to sail. Delays, delays, delays. But her North Sea trial run had been successful, and I had no argument with a captain who was anxious to check and double check all aspects of this new craft before the longer and more hazardous route she was to undertake.