LORD CHARLES SCOTT OBJECTS.
June 6.
There is a rumour abroad to the effect that Admiral Lord Charles Scott has put his veto on the dispatch of the fleet until such time as instructions can be received from England, but though this report has been angrily seized upon by the populace, no credence whatever appears to be attached to it in quarters where the most trustworthy information might naturally be looked for. It has served, however, to enliven the city to a very remarkable extent, and the mere hint of opposition to the popular will has created a widespread excitement, and has made it evident that the men of the colonies are bent on having their own way. Collins Street and Bourke Street are patrolled by vast bands, who groan loudly at the name of the Admiral and cheer the local leaders of public opinion. It is quite a fortuitous occurrence that the various bodies of Melbourne cadets had arranged to march with their bands through the principal streets this evening, but the event has given colour and stir to the al fresco entertainment provided by the populace for their own delectation. Special editions of the evening papers confirm the rumoured action of the Admiral, and the excitement is growing to fever heat. Lord Charles Scott’s position is that the squadron of which he holds command is intended for defensive purposes only, and cannot be legitimately employed in offensive operations without the direct sanction of the war authorities at home. He is likely to be technically in the right, but the fact that England and France are already actively engaged is generally held here, amongst the most moderate men, to abrogate this rule, and to make it the immediate and obvious duty of Australia to take her place in action. In the meantime, so the Sydney telegrams inform us, the squadron now lying in the harbour there is making every preparation for active service, and it is entirely probable that, after all, no real delay may ensue.
INSTRUCTIONS FROM THE ADMIRALTY.
DEPARTURE OF THE EXPEDITION.
Midnight.
After all, there will be no waiting. A telegraphic dispatch has been received from the Admiralty, and the instructions are that the squadron shall take instant action. A special train to Sydney has been chartered by the Premier. He will be accompanied by three or four members of the Ministry, and I have succeeded in attaching myself to the party. The train starts in an hour.
June 7.
The Ministerial train has broken the record, and at four o’clock the Ministerial party is steaming across the beautiful harbour towards the flagship. Driving hurriedly through the streets of the city, we have had time to see no more than that the main thoroughfares are gay with bunting, though the streets themselves are empty. The whole population has turned out to witness the departure of the squadron, and from the deck of the launch a crowd of many scores of thousands is visible about Lady Macquarrie’s Chair. The great harbour is thronged with every kind of craft. All the merchant ships are gaily decorated everywhere. The weather is heavenly, and the harbour, with its sparkling waters and majestic lines of headland, can rarely have been seen to more advantage. The spirit of the people is evidently and entirely in the enterprise on which they have embarked. The four ships of the Australian squadron lie in sight of the vast crowd, and are already volleying clouds of smoke. As I lift my eyes from the note-book in which I am rapidly scrawling these lines, I can see that the great hulk of the flagship has begun to move. Flash goes a gun from her black side, and a hundred rolling echoes bellow from the surrounding heights. The crowd sends back a heart-stirring cheer, and a gun from the fort responds to the Admiral’s salute. Vessel after vessel salutes, and the fort answers each in turn. Like leviathans afloat move our bulwarks on the brine, a score of times huger than when Campbell sung the prowess of the British arms at sea. Before we can reach the flagship they are all well under weigh, and forging grandly towards the open waters. Aboard some of the yachts and launches are brass bands, not all of the finest quality. They play ‘God save the Queen’ in all manner of keys and in different times. The result is not what one might fancy, for everybody seems to find it wildly exhilarating. The cheers from the immense concourse near Government House grow fainter and fainter as we recede, and at last die away altogether. There is a fresh breeze in the open, and a roughish sea, and so in a while even the most enthusiastic of the pursuers are willing to turn back again. The spectacle is over. The squadron has steamed away, and Australia stands ready to strike her first blow in the cause of the British race in the seas of the Southern Hemisphere.