ree to say that it is only by the kindness of sympathetic audiences
that my oratorical bark was held on even keel. Soon after my first
talk the kind doctor came to me with words of approval. As in many
other of my enterprises, I had gone about it at once and without
second thought. "Man, man," said he, "great nervousness is only a sign
of brain, and the more brain a man has the longer it takes him to get
over the affliction; but," he added reflectively, "you will get over
it." However, in my own behalf I think it only fair to say that I am
not yet entirely cured.

The _Spray_ was hauled out on the marine railway at Devonport and
examined carefully top and bottom, but was found absolutely free from
the destructive teredo, and sound in all respects. To protect her
further against the ravage of these insects the bottom was coated once
more with copper paint, for she would have to sail through the Coral
and Arafura seas before refitting again. Everything was done to fit
her for all the known dangers. But it was not without regret that I
looked forward to the day of sailing from a country of so many
pleasant associations. If there was a moment in my voyage when I could
have given it up, it was there and then; but no vacancies for a better
post being open, I weighed anchor April 16,1897, and again put to sea.

The season of summer was then over; winter was rolling up from the
south, with fair winds for the north. A foretaste of winter wind sent
the _Spray_ flying round Cape Howe and as far as Cape Bundooro farther
along, which she passed on the following day, retracing her course
northward. This was a fine run, and boded good for the long voyage
home from the antipodes. My old Christmas friends on Bundooro seemed
to be up and moving when I came the second time by their cape, and we
exchanged signals again, while the sloop sailed along as before in a
smooth sea and close to the shore.

The weather was fine, with clear sky the rest of the passage to Port
Jackson (Sydney), where the _Spray_ arrived April 22, 1897, and
anchored in Watson's Bay, near the heads, in eight fathoms of water.
The harbor from the heads to Parramatta, up the river, was more than
ever alive with boats and yachts of every class. It was, indeed, a
scene of animation, hardly equaled in any other part of the world.

A few days later the bay was flecked with tempestuous waves, and none
but stout ships carried sail. I was in a neighboring hotel then,
nursin