This was an unexpected shout from the heart of the fog, and after the shout came a black boat, and in it was a man dressed like a fisherman. He wore a “sou’wester” and a striped woolen shirt, also big cow-hide boots that came above the knees of his pants.
“Where are we?” asked Will. “Anywhere near Wherren’s wharf?”
“Where are you? Wal, it is safe to say in a gin’ral way that you are in the river.”
“I know that, friend,” said Will, “but are we headed for the shore?”
“That depends on the shore you want to find. It’s my opinion that if you young folks keep on just as your boat is headed, you’ll strike Europe if you have good luck.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed the apothecary, “we can’t be that much out of the way.”
“Try it and see.”
“Well, just where are we and which way ought we to go to reach Wherren’s wharf?”
“We are now down near Forbes’s Island, and—”
“Forbes’s Island!” screamed Aunt Stanshy. “Did you ever!”