Our journey was drawing to its end. We were coming to a strange land
indeed. And yet I knew there were Scots folk there--where in the
world are there not? I thought they would be glad to see me, but how
could I be sure? It was a far, far cry from Dunoon and the Clyde and
the frost upon the heather on the day I had set out.
We were to land at Sydney. I was a wee bit impatient after we had
made our landfall, while the old _Sonoma_ poked her way along. But
she would not be hurried by my impatience. And at last we came to the
Sydney Heads--the famous Harbor Heads. If you have never seen it I do
not know how better to tell you of it than to say that it makes me
think of the entrance to a great cave that has no roof. In we went--
and were within that great, nearly landlocked harbor.
And what goings on there were! The harbor was full of craft, both
great and sma'. And each had all her bunting flying. Oh, they were
braw in the sunlight, with the gay colors and the bits of flags, all
fluttering and waving in the breeze!
And what a din there was, with the shrieking of the whistle and the
foghorns and the sirens and the clamor of bells. It took my breath
away, and I wondered what was afoot. And on the shore I could see
that thousands of people waited, all crowded together by the water
side. There were flags flying, too, from all the buildings.
"It must be that the King is coming in on a visit--and I never to
have heard of it!" I thought.
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