“Ignorance? I thought you knew nearly every thing.”
“Nearly nothing,” said the doctor, laughing. “I mean as compared to what there is to know. Now, for instance, there are charts in the captain’s cabin, and the proper instruments for taking observations—sextants and chronometer. I ought to be able to tell exactly where we are, Carey, and mark it upon a chart, but I can’t.”
“Never mind, sir, it’s very beautiful,” said the boy. “I say, though, we can’t see the Chusan from here.”
“No, it is cut off by the projecting part of the mountain.”
“Yes, and the lower parts and mouth of the river too. But we can see all round the other side of the island.”
“Yes, and see what prisoners we are and shall be till some ship comes on a voyage of discovery and sees the great wreck.”
“Well,” said Carey, thoughtfully, “if it wasn’t for one thing I like it, and don’t feel in a bit of a hurry to go away.”
“And what is the one thing?” asked the doctor.
“Mother and father’s trouble. They must think I’m dead.”