THE WELCOME OF AUSTRALIA

A path of moonlight lay across the sea. Into it drifted a great ship,
her engines almost stopped, so that only a dull, slow throb came up from
below, instead of the swift thud-thud of the screw that had pounded for
many weeks. It was late; so late that most of the ship's lights were
extinguished. But all through her was a feeling of pulsating life, of
unrest, of a kind of tense excitement, of long-pent expectation.
There were low voices everywhere; feet paced the decks; along the port
railings on each deck soldiers were clustered thickly, looking out
across the grey, tossing sea to a winking light that flashed and
twinkled out of the darkness like a voice that cried "Greeting!" For it
was the Point Lonsdale light, at the sea gate of Victoria; and the men
of the Nauru were nearly home.

There was little sleep for anyone on board on that last night. Most of
the Nauru's great company were to disembark in Melbourne; the last two
days had seen a general smartening up, a mighty polishing of leather and
brass, a "rounding-up" of scattered possessions. The barber's shop had
been besieged by shaggy crowds; and since the barber, being but human,
could not cope with more than a small proportion of his would-be
customers, amateur clipping parties had been in full swing forward,
frequently with terrifying results. Nobody minded. "Git it orf, that's
all that matters!" was the motto of the long-haired.

No one knew quite when the Nauru would berth; it was wrapped in mystery,
like all movements of troopships. So every one was ready the night
before--kit bags packed, gear stowed away, nothing left save absolute
necessaries. Then, with the coming of dusk, unrest settled down upon
the ship, and the men marched restlessly, up and down, or, gripping
pipe stems between their teeth, stared from the railings northwards. And
then, like a star at first, the Point Lonsdale light twinkled out of the
darkness, and a low murmur ran round the decks--a murmur without words,
since it came from men whose only fashion of meeting any emotion is with
a joke; and even for a "digger" there is no joke ready on the lips, but
only a catch at the heart, at the first glimpse of home.

Norah Linton had tucked herself away behind a boat on the hurricane
deck, and there Cecilia Rainham found her just after dusk. The two
girls had become sworn friends during the long voyage out, in the close
companionship of sharing a cabin--which is