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.

And then they made me understand that it was all for me!

If there were tears in my eyes when they made me believe that, will you blame me?  There was that great harbor, all alive with the welcome they made for me.  And on the shore, they told me, a hundred thousand were waiting to greet me and bid me: 

“Welcome, Harry!”

The tramways had stopped running until they had done with their welcome to inc.  And all over the city, as we drove to our hotel, they roared their welcome, and there were flags along the way.

That was the proudest day I ha d ever known.  But one thing made me wistful and wishful.  I wanted my boy to be there with us.  I wished he had seen how they had greeted his Dad.  Nothing pleased him more than an honor that came to me.  And here was an honor indeed—­a reception the like of which I had never seen.

CHAPTER II

It was on the twenty-ninth day of March, in that year of 1914 that dawned in peace and happiness and set in blood and death and bitter sorrow, that we landed in Sydney.  Soon I went to work.  Everywhere my audiences showed me that that great and wonderful reception that had been given to me on the day we landed had been only an earnest of what was to come.  They greeted me everywhere with cheers and tears, and everywhere we made new friends, and sometimes found old ones of whom we had not heard for years.