clean,” that twelve thousand ships had actually passed in and out of British ports in the first eighteen days of the “blockade.”  And at any moment during those days, at least 3,000 ships could have been found traversing the “danger zone,” which the Germans imagined themselves to have barred.  One is reminded of the Hamburger Nachrichten last year, after the Zeppelin raid in January 1916.  “English industry lies in ruins,” said that astonishing print.  “The sea has been swept clean,” says one of its brethren now.  Yet all the while, there, in the danger zone, whenever, by day or night, one turns one’s thoughts to it, are the three thousand ships; and there in the course of a fortnight, are the twelve thousand ships going and coming.

Yet all the same, as I have said before, there is danger and there is anxiety.  The neutrals—­save America—­have been intimidated; they are keeping their ships in harbour; and to do without their tonnage is a serious matter for us.  Meanwhile, the best brains in naval England are at work, and one can feel the sailors straining at the leash.  In the first eighteen days of February, there were forty fights with submarines.  The Navy talks very little about them, and says nothing of which it is not certain.  But all the scientific resources, all the fighting brains of naval England are being brought to bear, and we at home—­well, let us keep to our rations, the only thing we can do to help our men at sea!

How this grey estuary spread before my eyes illustrates and illuminates the figures I have been quoting!  I am on the light cruiser of a famous Commodore, and I have just been creeping and climbing through a submarine.  The waters round are crowded with those light craft, destroyers, submarines, mine-sweepers, trawlers, patrol boats, on which for the moment at any rate the fortunes of the naval war turns.  And take notice that they are all—­or almost all—­new; the very latest products of British ship-yards.  We have plenty of battle-ships, but “we must now build, as quickly as possible, the smaller craft, and the merchant ships we want,” says Sir Edward Carson.  “Not a slip in the country will be empty during the coming months.  Every rivet put into a ship will contribute to the defeat of Germany.  And 47 per cent, of the Merchant Service have already been armed.”  The riveters must indeed have been hard at work!  This crowded scene carries me back to the Clyde where I was last year, to the new factories and workshops, with their ever-increasing throng of women, and to the marvellous work of the ship-yards.  No talk now of strikes, of a disaffected and revolutionary minority, on the Clyde, at any rate, as there was twelve months ago.  Broadly speaking, and allowing for a small, stubborn, but insignificant Pacifist section, the will of the nation, throughout all classes, has become as steel—­to win the war.