my kind friend, and yours never feel to know the unlimited power of a man before whom innocence and hardship are of no avail to save from his severity.”

In Flinders’ book we are told that the explorer, when ordered by petty officials to remain in Baye du Cap with the Cumberland until General de Caen’s pleasure was known, said:  “I will do nothing of the kind; I am going to Port Louis overland, and I shall take my commission, passport, and papers to General de Caen myself.”  The officers were a little crestfallen, but the Englishman’s short, precise, active manner left nothing to be said, so he went on shore in his simple, severe, threadbare, brine-stained coat, as though Matthew Flinders, of the Cumberland, 29 tons, His Majesty’s exploring vessel, was fully the equal of any hectoring French governor-general.

While waiting in an ante-room to see the governor, some French military officers came in, and began to talk to the Englishman, asking him, among other things, if he had ever come across “M.  Flinedare, who was not unknown to fame.”  It took him some time to find out that it was himself.  At last an interpreter took him into the governor’s reception room, where, without preface, de Caen brusquely said:  “Where is your passport and your commission; and why did you come without the Investigator?”

“She was so rotten fore and aft that she crumbled at a touch,” was the reply.

“Have you an order to come to this isle?  Why did you come?”

“Necessity made me,” answered Flinders calmly.

“You are imposing, sir,” angrily replied de Caen; “you know it is not possible that the governor of New South Wales would send you out in so small a boat.  Take him away, and treat him well,” he added, turning to the guard, and this was Flinders’ last hour of freedom for years to come.

His quarters, shared with Atkin at first, were in a small house, part of a cafe, “under the dark entry, and up the narrow stairs into a bedroom, while the door was bolted, and the regular tramp, tramp, of the sentry kept on hour after hour.”

It was a meagre room, containing two truckle-beds, two rush-bottomed chairs, a broken old gilt-bordered looking-glass, and evil smells.  At 6 a.m. the sleeping men were wakened by the patrol of an armed grenadier in the bedroom—­a needless annoyance.  The meals of fresh meat, bread, fruit, and vegetables were a luxury.

Monistrol, the colonel commanding the garrison, a few days later took Flinders to the home of General de Caen, whose secretary again asked why his vessel was so small.  Where were his scientific men, why did he go to Port Northwest at all, and why did he chase a vessel? (This query referred to his endeavour to overtake a pilot-boat.) He gave his reasons in full, and expected to be allowed to go back to the Cumberland.  Shortly afterwards a message came from the governor asking him to dinner, but he refused, saying, “Unless I am a free man, I will not come to the governor’s table.”