On Tuesday morning the greatest fears of the federalists seemed realised. The day dawned grey and overcast and the city was lost in a fog from Bondi to the lower mountains. But before the anti-federalists could thrust aside their curtains and leave their houses to herald this late and much-needed intervention the sun rose above the horizon and the early fog melted away. By the time the clock at the GPO struck eight and the polling booths opened the sky was a clear blue as far as the horizon extended.

Voting began sluggishly in the city, though in the suburban polling stations queues formed even before polling opened and the early risers—the men who worked in the factories and warehouses or with deliveries to make, the tradesmen, some on foot, some in their drays—waited for the doors to open so that they might get on with their days. The pro-federalists were up early handing out cards and leaflets at the tram stops and the railway stations, urging the reticent to do their civic duty. For nothing was certain—a year ago less than half the electorate had voted, a year ago the promised majority had not materialised and the day had been lost. If it failed again today, there would be no third attempt. There would be no Federation.

The anti-federalists were out too, and if they could not win by rational persuasion they would resort to scaremongering, and a cart was seen circling the busier city streets sporting a huge banner that showed a menacing swarm of Chinamen in northern Queensland surging, via a newly built federal railway, towards the white dominions of New South Wales and Victoria—for this would, surely, be the colony’s fate if it chose Federation. At some point during the afternoon the banner was set alight and onlookers cheered as they watched it burn.