January 4, 1898.  Christmas in Melbourne, New Year’s Day in Adelaide, and saw most of the friends again in both places . . . .  Lying here at anchor all day—­Albany (King George’s Sound), Western Australia.  It is a perfectly landlocked harbor, or roadstead—­spacious to look at, but not deep water.  Desolate-looking rocks and scarred hills.  Plenty of ships arriving now, rushing to the new gold-fields.  The papers are full of wonderful tales of the sort always to be heard in connection with new gold diggings.  A sample:  a youth staked out a claim and tried to sell half for L5; no takers; he stuck to it fourteen days, starving, then struck it rich and sold out for L10,000. . .  About sunset, strong breeze blowing, got up the anchor.  We were in a small deep puddle, with a narrow channel leading out of it, minutely buoyed, to the sea.

I stayed on deck to see how we were going to manage it with such a big ship and such a strong wind.  On the bridge our giant captain, in uniform; at his side a little pilot in elaborately gold-laced uniform; on the forecastle a white mate and quartermaster or two, and a brilliant crowd of lascars standing by for business.  Our stern was pointing straight at the head of the channel; so we must turn entirely around in the puddle—­and the wind blowing as described.  It was done, and beautifully.  It was done by help of a jib.  We stirred up much mud, but did not touch the bottom.  We turned right around in our tracks—­a seeming impossibility.  We had several casts of quarter-less 5, and one cast of half 4—­27 feet; we were drawing 26 astern.  By the time we were entirely around and pointed, the first buoy was not more than a hundred yards in front of us.  It was a fine piece of work, and I was the only passenger that saw it.  However, the others got their dinner; the P. & O. Company got mine . . . .  More cats developed.  Smythe says it is a British law that they must be carried; and he instanced a case of a ship not allowed to sail till she sent for a couple.  The bill came, too:  “Debtor, to 2 cats, 20 shillings.” . . .  News comes that within this week Siam has acknowledged herself to be, in effect, a French province.  It seems plain that all savage and semi-civilized countries are going to be grabbed . . . .  A vulture on board; bald, red, queer-shaped head, featherless red places here and there on his body, intense great black eyes set in featherless rims of inflamed flesh; dissipated look; a businesslike style, a selfish, conscienceless, murderous aspect—­the very look of a professional assassin, and yet a bird which does no murder.  What was the use of getting him up in that tragic style for so innocent a trade as his?  For this one isn’t the sort that wars upon the living, his diet is offal—­and the more out of date it is the better he likes it.  Nature should give him a suit of rusty black; then he would be all right, for he would look like an undertaker and would harmonize with his business; whereas the way he is now he is horribly out of true.