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"We must rest," Long John said, collapsing on the ground when we finally got to the top of the plateau.
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The land descended toward the west, and we all sat and admired the view around us.
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Not a sail was upon the sea, and the vastness of the view increased our sense of solitude.
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The only sound was the distant surf from Cape of the Woods and the nearby chirp of insects.
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"Nothing stops the sea," Dick said. "It makes me feel very alone."
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Long John took bearings with his compass.
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"There are three 'tall trees' in a direct line from Skeleton Island.
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'Spyglass shoulder' means that lower point there.
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It's simple to find the treasure now."
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"I don't feel so good," Morgan growled. "Thinking of Flint has upset me."
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"Just be thankful he's dead," said Long John in a low voice.
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"He was an ugly devil," another pirate whispered with a shudder, "and his face was blue!"
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"The rum did that," George Merry whispered back.
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All of a sudden, a thin, high, trembling voice struck up a well-known tune:
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"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest—Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
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The song stopped as suddenly as it began.
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Instantly, the color drained from every pirate's face.
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Two leaped to their feet, and the man with the bandaged head grabbed at the pirate next to him in fear.
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Tom Morgan crawled on the ground, trying to find a place to hide.
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"It's Flint!" George Merry cried. "His ghost walks!"
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"Come now, this won't do," croaked Long John, struggling to get the words out with ashen lips.
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"I don't recognize the voice, but someone's trying to scare us—someone who's flesh and blood."
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Long John's courage came back as he spoke, and the others nodded, less fearful now.
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But then the same voice broke out again—not in song, but in a faint call that echoed among the cliffs of Spyglass Hill.
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"Darby McGraw, Darby McGraw!" it wailed again and again.
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Then, rising a little higher, it said, "Fetch the rum, Darby!"
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The pirates remained rooted to the ground, their eyes bulging.
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Long after the voice had died away, they stared in silence.
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"That does it!" one gasped. "Let's get out of here."
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"Those were his last words," Tom Morgan moaned.
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"Flint died asking for more rum. Nobody but us knows that!"
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Dick took his Bible out and knelt. "Our Father," he started to pray.
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Long John was shivering, but he wasn't about to surrender.
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"Flint never scared me in his life, and by thunder, he doesn't scare me now that he's dead.
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There's seven hundred thousand dollars worth of gold not a quarter of a mile from here.
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Who's going to turn his back on that?
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Flint was a drunken, old seaman with a blue face—and he's dead!"
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"Stop talking like that, Long John!" George Merry hissed. "Don't insult a ghost."
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They huddled around Long John, as if his courage could protect them.
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"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?"
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I thought it was a weak argument, but one can never tell what superstitious people will believe.
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However, George Merry was greatly relieved. "You're right, Long John!
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Come to think, it was like Flint's voice, but not as clear. It was like—"
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"By thunder—Ben Gunn!" roared Long John.
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"Aye," shouted Tom Morgan. "It was Ben Gunn!"
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"What?" said Dick. "Ben Gunn's not here any more than Flint is."
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"Ah, Dick, who's to say he's not?" George Merry cried.
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"He was left here, but he still might be alive after all this time."
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"That's right!" agreed the man with the head wound.
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Their spirits soared, and the pirates grabbed their tools and started off again.
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George Merry led with the compass to keep them on the right course.
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But Dick, who was very scared and feeling more ill from his malaria, still held his Bible.
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"You spoiled your Bible. It can't protect you now," said Long John with a sly grin.
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All of us started walking downhill through the pines, great and small.
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"Two of these tall trees are wrong by the compass bearings," Long John said.
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"But that third tree is tall enough, almost two hundred feet.
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It must have been a landmark for sailors out at sea."
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The thought of the treasure erased their fear and they started to run.
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A whole lifetime of riches and pleasure lay waiting for them.
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Long John hobbled on his crutch. His nostrils quivered, and he cursed like a madman as he pulled my leash. "Come on, boy!"
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"He's not even pretending," I said to myself.
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"He'll seize the treasure, find the Hispaniola, cut every honest throat, and sail away."
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I was too haunted by the human tragedy that had happened here to keep up with the pirates.
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"How this peaceful place must have echoed with screams!" I thought.
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Long John jerked the rope again and gave me another murderous look.
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Dick dropped farther behind as his fever got worse.
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We were now at the edge of the woods.
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"Hurry, mates! Run!" George Merry shouted up ahead.
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And suddenly, not ten yards further, the men stopped and a low cry arose.
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Long John doubled his pace, pounding through the dirt with his crutch until finally
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he and I came to a dead halt as we joined the others before a huge hole.
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"It's old," I thought. "The sides have fallen in, and grass is growing on the bottom."
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Then I saw a broken pick and the boards of several packing cases.
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One board was branded "Walrus"—the name of Flint's ship.
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George Merry choked. "Someone beat us to it. The treasure's gone!"