Left to themselves, the captain and mate made the best preparations which they could for their illustrious passenger.  The largest cabin was turned out and adorned in his honour, and orders were given by which barrels of fruit and some cases of wine should be brought off to vary the plain food of an ocean-going trader.  In the evening the Governor’s baggage began to arrive—­great iron-bound ant-proof trunks, and official tin packing-cases, with other strange-shaped packages, which suggested the cocked hat or the sword within.  And then there came a note, with a heraldic device upon the big red seal, to say that Sir Charles Ewan made his compliments to Captain Scarrow, and that he hoped to be with him in the morning as early as his duties and his infirmities would permit.

He was as good as his word, for the first grey of dawn had hardly begun to deepen into pink when he was brought alongside, and climbed with some difficulty up the ladder.  The captain had heard that the Governor was an eccentric, but he was hardly prepared for the curious figure who came limping feebly down his quarter-deck, his steps supported by a thick bamboo cane.  He wore a Ramillies wig, all twisted into little tails like a poodle’s coat, and cut so low across the brow that the large green glasses which covered his eyes looked as if they were hung from it.  A fierce beak of a nose, very long and very thin, cut the air in front of him.  His ague had caused him to swathe his throat and chin with a broad linen cravat, and he wore a loose damask powdering-gown secured by a cord round the waist.  As he advanced he carried his masterful nose high in the air, but his head turned slowly from side to side in the helpless manner of the purblind, and he called in a high, querulous voice for the captain.

“You have my things?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir Charles.”

“Have you wine aboard?”

“I have ordered five cases, sir.”

“And tobacco?”

“There is a keg of Trinidad.”

“You play a hand at picquet?”

“Passably well, sir.”

“Then anchor up, and to sea!”

There was a fresh westerly wind, so by the time the sun was fairly through the morning haze, the ship was hull down from the islands.  The decrepit Governor still limpid the deck, with one guiding hand upon the quarter rail.

“You are on Government service now, captain,” said he.  “They are counting the days till I come to Westminster, I promise you.  Have you all that she will carry?”

“Every inch, Sir Charles.”

“Keep her so if you blow the sails out of her.  I fear, Captain Scarrow, that you will find a blind and broken man a poor companion for your voyage.”

“I am honoured in enjoying your Excellency’s society,” said the captain.  “But I am sorry that your eyes should be so afflicted.”

“Yes, indeed.  It is the cursed glare of the sun on the white streets of Basseterre which has gone far to burn them out.”