"We must rest," Long John said, collapsing on the ground when we finally got to the top of the plateau.
The land descended toward the west, and we all sat and admired the view around us.
Not a sail was upon the sea, and the vastness of the view increased our sense of solitude.
The only sound was the distant surf from Cape of the Woods and the nearby chirp of insects.
"Nothing stops the sea," Dick said. "It makes me feel very alone."
Long John took bearings with his compass.
"There are three 'tall trees' in a direct line from Skeleton Island.
'Spyglass shoulder' means that lower point there.
It's simple to find the treasure now."
"I don't feel so good," Morgan growled. "Thinking of Flint has upset me."
"Just be thankful he's dead," said Long John in a low voice.
"He was an ugly devil," another pirate whispered with a shudder, "and his face was blue!"
"The rum did that," George Merry whispered back.
All of a sudden, a thin, high, trembling voice struck up a well-known tune:
"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest—Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
The song stopped as suddenly as it began.
Instantly, the color drained from every pirate's face.
Two leaped to their feet, and the man with the bandaged head grabbed at the pirate next to him in fear.
Tom Morgan crawled on the ground, trying to find a place to hide.
"It's Flint!" George Merry cried. "His ghost walks!"
"Come now, this won't do," croaked Long John, struggling to get the words out with ashen lips.
"I don't recognize the voice, but someone's trying to scare us—someone who's flesh and blood."
Long John's courage came back as he spoke, and the others nodded, less fearful now.
But then the same voice broke out again—not in song, but in a faint call that echoed among the cliffs of Spyglass Hill.
"Darby McGraw, Darby McGraw!" it wailed again and again.
Then, rising a little higher, it said, "Fetch the rum, Darby!"
The pirates remained rooted to the ground, their eyes bulging.
Long after the voice had died away, they stared in silence.
"That does it!" one gasped. "Let's get out of here."
"Those were his last words," Tom Morgan moaned.
"Flint died asking for more rum. Nobody but us knows that!"
Dick took his Bible out and knelt. "Our Father," he started to pray.
Long John was shivering, but he wasn't about to surrender.
"Flint never scared me in his life, and by thunder, he doesn't scare me now that he's dead.
There's seven hundred thousand dollars worth of gold not a quarter of a mile from here.
Who's going to turn his back on that?
Flint was a drunken, old seaman with a blue face—and he's dead!"
"Stop talking like that, Long John!" George Merry hissed. "Don't insult a ghost."
They huddled around Long John, as if his courage could protect them.
"Ghost? Well, maybe," answered Long John. "But I heard an echo too. No ghost has a shadow. So what's he doing with an echo?"
I thought it was a weak argument, but one can never tell what superstitious people will believe.
However, George Merry was greatly relieved. "You're right, Long John!
Come to think, it was like Flint's voice, but not as clear. It was like—"
"By thunder—Ben Gunn!" roared Long John.
"Aye," shouted Tom Morgan. "It was Ben Gunn!"
"What?" said Dick. "Ben Gunn's not here any more than Flint is."
"Ah, Dick, who's to say he's not?" George Merry cried.
"He was left here, but he still might be alive after all this time."
"That's right!" agreed the man with the head wound.
Their spirits soared, and the pirates grabbed their tools and started off again.
George Merry led with the compass to keep them on the right course.
But Dick, who was very scared and feeling more ill from his malaria, still held his Bible.
"You spoiled your Bible. It can't protect you now," said Long John with a sly grin.
All of us started walking downhill through the pines, great and small.
"Two of these tall trees are wrong by the compass bearings," Long John said.
"But that third tree is tall enough, almost two hundred feet.
It must have been a landmark for sailors out at sea."
The thought of the treasure erased their fear and they started to run.
A whole lifetime of riches and pleasure lay waiting for them.
Long John hobbled on his crutch. His nostrils quivered, and he cursed like a madman as he pulled my leash. "Come on, boy!"
"He's not even pretending," I said to myself.
"He'll seize the treasure, find the Hispaniola, cut every honest throat, and sail away."
I was too haunted by the human tragedy that had happened here to keep up with the pirates.
"How this peaceful place must have echoed with screams!" I thought.
Long John jerked the rope again and gave me another murderous look.
Dick dropped farther behind as his fever got worse.
We were now at the edge of the woods.
"Hurry, mates! Run!" George Merry shouted up ahead.
And suddenly, not ten yards further, the men stopped and a low cry arose.
Long John doubled his pace, pounding through the dirt with his crutch until finally
he and I came to a dead halt as we joined the others before a huge hole.
"It's old," I thought. "The sides have fallen in, and grass is growing on the bottom."
Then I saw a broken pick and the boards of several packing cases.
One board was branded "Walrus"—the name of Flint's ship.
George Merry choked. "Someone beat us to it. The treasure's gone!"