“Come, come,” said Silver; “stow this talk.  He’s dead, and he don’t walk, that I know; leastways, he won’t walk by day, and you may lay to that.  Care killed a cat.  Fetch ahead for the doubloons.”

We started, certainly; but in spite of the hot sun and the staring daylight, the pirates no longer ran separate and shouting through the wood, but kept side by side and spoke with bated breath.  The terror of the dead buccaneer had fallen on their spirits.

32

The Treasure-hunt—­The Voice Among the Trees

Partly from the damping influence of this alarm, partly to rest Silver and the sick folk, the whole party sat down as soon as they had gained the brow of the ascent.

The plateau being somewhat tilted towards the west, this spot on which we had paused commanded a wide prospect on either hand.  Before us, over the tree-tops, we beheld the Cape of the Woods fringed with surf; behind, we not only looked down upon the anchorage and Skeleton Island, but saw—­clear across the spit and the eastern lowlands—­a great field of open sea upon the east.  Sheer above us rose the Spyglass, here dotted with single pines, there black with precipices.  There was no sound but that of the distant breakers, mounting from all round, and the chirp of countless insects in the brush.  Not a man, not a sail, upon the sea; the very largeness of the view increased the sense of solitude.

Silver, as he sat, took certain bearings with his compass.

“There are three ‘tall trees’” said he, “about in the right line from Skeleton Island.  ‘Spy-glass shoulder,’ I take it, means that lower p’int there.  It’s child’s play to find the stuff now.  I’ve half a mind to dine first.”

“I don’t feel sharp,” growled Morgan.  “Thinkin’ o’ Flint—­I think it were—­as done me.”

“Ah, well, my son, you praise your stars he’s dead,” said Silver.

“He were an ugly devil,” cried a third pirate with a shudder; “that blue in the face too!”

“That was how the rum took him,” added Merry.  “Blue!  Well, I reckon he was blue.  That’s a true word.”

Ever since they had found the skeleton and got upon this train of thought, they had spoken lower and lower, and they had almost got to whispering by now, so that the sound of their talk hardly interrupted the silence of the wood.  All of a sudden, out of the middle of the trees in front of us, a thin, high, trembling voice struck up the well-known air and words: 

     “Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest—­
     Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”

I never have seen men more dreadfully affected than the pirates.  The colour went from their six faces like enchantment; some leaped to their feet, some clawed hold of others; Morgan grovelled on the ground.

“It’s Flint, by ——!” cried Merry.

The song had stopped as suddenly as it began—­broken off, you would have said, in the middle of a note, as though someone had laid his hand upon the singer’s mouth.  Coming through the clear, sunny atmosphere among the green tree-tops, I thought it had sounded airily and sweetly; and the effect on my companions was the stranger.