“Pleasant, uncommonly pleasant,” he muttered, as he surveyed the landscape.
In front lay a flat beach of sand with the gulf beyond, the horizon being veiled in mist. Up the river there was a flat beach with a hill beyond. It was a black iron-looking hill, devoid of all visible verdure, and it plunged abruptly down into the sea as if it were trying fiercely to drown itself. Down the river there was a continuation of flat beach, with, apparently, nothing whatever beyond. The only objects that enlivened the dreary expanse were, the sloop at the end of the wooden jetty and a small flagstaff in front of the house, from which a flag was flying in honour of the arrival of the new governor. At the foot of this flagstaff there stood an old iron cannon, which looked pugnacious and cross, as if it longed to burst itself and blow down all visible creation.
Jack Robinson’s countenance became a simple blank as he took the first survey of his new dominions. Suddenly a gleam of hope flitted across the blank.
“Perhaps the back is better,” he muttered, opening the door that led to the rear of the premises. In order to get out he had to pass through the kitchen, where he found his men busy with fried pork and flour cakes, and his lieutenant, Teddy, preparing coffee.
“What is that?” inquired Jack, pointing to a small heap of brown substance which Teddy was roasting in a frying-pan.
“Sure it’s coffee,” said the man.
“Eh?” inquired Jack.
“Coffee, sur,” repeated Teddy with emphasis.
“What is it made of?” inquired Jack.
“Bread-crumbs, sur. I’m used to make it of pais, but it takes longer, d’ye see, for I’ve got to pound ’em in a cloth after they’re roasted. The crumbs is a’most as good as the pais, an’ quicker made whin yer in a hurry.”