"Dit mon la verite!" howled out a very perturbed frontiersman as he placed his hand against his right temple. He stared incredulously at the foggy atmosphere which draped itself all over these woods. As Jack adjusted the straps to his various backpacks, containing the tools of his trade -well apart from the musket which was secured next to the backpacks just over the coat, he began to speak in a slower drawl. "What I reckon yer sayin' is day late, greenback short?" At the tributary, well more appropriately at a dock located at the tributary, a scrawnier looking man in a black frock coat just stared and blinked at Jack. This assistant of the ferrying service could not wrap his head around this mountainman's recent statements. Although judging by the frightened gaze, emphasized by shifting pupils there was [i]some[/i] common ground between them. Taking a moment to breathe in, the assistant looked up at Jack who had seemed to have instantly calmed down from that earlier outburst and began to speak. "Je ne comprends pas ce que tu veux dire.", did the attendant enunciate slowly making sure that each word could be given a bit of time to be recognized by the mountain-man. To help illustrate this point the man began exaggeratedly shaking his head from side to side; these motions were followed by an intense pantomiming of scratching his head with one ear while holding his other hand next to his ear. This was then signed off with a large shrug, a typical body language response for uncertainty. Fortunately for the two, Breaux understood the body-language being displayed [b]alongside[/b] the slowly delivered words. Of course knowing this, Jack slumped a bit with a distinctive frown curling into shape. As he lowered his brow he removed his right hand from the temple as he began snapping his fingers together. Jack racked his brain for the necessary words to further continue this dialogue and establish information necessary to him. Each quick pop produced by the fingers led him closer to remembering the needed words and of course pronunciation. After three snapping motions, Jack N. Breaux began to speak. "Je dois attendre?" The attendant gave a quick smile and nod, knowing more securely this backwoods man could speak properly. "Oh oui. Ce serait trop dangereux maintenant. Et bien sûr, il n'y avait qu'un ferry qui partait d'ici." He gestured wide into the fog before miming himself dying. After a small period of time with his mouth agape and making choking noises, the man snapped out of it and began laughing. Jack meanwhile, while he was not laughing, cracked a smile at the man's impromptu performance. Breaux was certain that this was at least partially done to make himself feel better that he had missed the ferry. Tipping his tricorne hat towards the man Jack once again spoke, "Thank ya kindly; I bid you adieu." With that Jack tromped away from the ferry post as he swung his backpack over his shoulder and dropped it into the mud below. Surely his compatriots in the order would sort a few things out; after all he was not the only one heading over to this village. As long as a few from their squadron made it to the village safe and sound, the mission could be fulfilled. Secured in the thought that someone had the mystery of the doctor's disappearance handled, Jack opened up his backpack and grabbed his hatchet. It was time to make a bit of shelter for the night and he wasn't about to neglect using lumber when he had the chance. It was going to be better than roughing it this night. And so after returning his backpack back onto his person, Jack went to go start chopping down some trees.