He was dressed in a rough blue suit of clothes, all torn and
much stained by sea water, and his head was covered with a red cap
of wool-work which rested lightly on his tangled masses of hair.
After a time he tossed aside the biscuit he was eating, and looked
down at his companion with a cynical smile. The man at his feet was
a rough, heavy-looking fellow, squarely and massively built, with
black hair and a heavy beard of the same sombre hue. His hands were
long and sinewy; his feet--which were bare--large and ungainly: and
his whole appearance was that of a man in a low station of life. No
one could have told the colour of his eyes, for he looked
obstinately at the ground; and the expression of his face was so
sullen and forbidding that altogether he appeared to be an
exceedingly unpleasant individual. His companion eyed him for a
short time in a cool, calculating manner, and then rose painfully to
his feet.
'So,' he said rapidly in French, waving his hand towards the
frowning cliffs, 'so, my Pierre, we are in the land of promise;
though I must confess'--with a disparaging shrug of the shoulders--
'it certainly does not look very promising: still, we are on dry
land, and that is something after tossing about so long in that
stupid boat, with only a plank between us and death. Bah!'--with
another expressive shrug--'why should I call it stupid? It has
carried us all the way from New Caledonia, that hell upon earth, and
landed us safely in what may turn out Paradise.
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