"First and foremost, where are we?" asked Sid Russell.
"Yes, an' how fur is it to somewhere else?" questioned Billy Bowlegs.
"An' is we gwine to somewher's or somewher's else?" demanded black Joe, with a grin.
"One question at a time," said Sam, "and they will go a good deal farther."
"Well, begin with Sid's question, then?" said Tommy. "His is the most sensible; where are we?"
"We're on an island," returned Sam, "and the island is somewhere here in the upper part of Escambia bay. You see how it lies on our map. The bay ends down there in Pensacola bay, and there is Pensacola, about fifteen miles away. We came here, you know, to find out what is going on in Pensacola and its neighborhood, and my plan is to run down past the town, to some point four or five miles below, in the neighborhood of Fort Barrancas. There I'll set up a fishing camp, but first I must get tackle, and, if possible, some duck cloth for a sail."
At this point the conversation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a canoe's bow in their midst. Their fire was built near the water's edge, and the canoe which interrupted them had been paddled silently to the bank, so that its bow extended nearly into their fire.
"Ugh, how do," said a voice in the canoe, "how do, pale faces," and with that the solitary occupant of the canoe leaped ashore and seated himself in the circle around the fire.
Joe was frightened, but the other boys were reasonably self-possessed.