At the top of the hill we all sat down to rest. Below us lay the harbor and Skeleton Island, and far out the open sea. There was no sound except the distant waves and the insects in the bushes.
Silver checked the directions with his compass. “There are three tall trees in the right line from Skeleton Island,” he said. “‘Spyglass shoulder’ must mean that lower point there. It’s child’s play now.”
“I don’t feel well,” said Morgan. “It was thinking of Flint that did it.”
Since they had found the skeleton, they had spoken lower and lower, and now they were almost whispering. Suddenly, from the trees in front of us, a thin, high, shaking voice began to sing:
“Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest—
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”
I never saw men so terrified. The color left their six faces. Some jumped up, some held on to each other, and Morgan lay flat on the ground.
“It’s Flint!” cried Merry.
The song had stopped as suddenly as it began, as if someone had put a hand over the singer’s mouth.
“Come,” said Silver, with gray lips. “This won’t do. I don’t know the voice, but it’s someone playing a joke. Someone of flesh and blood.”
His courage was coming back, and the others were starting to listen to him, when the same voice called out again, far away, and the cry echoed among the rocks of Spyglass Hill.
“Darby McGraw!” it cried, again and again. Then, a little higher: “Darby McGraw! Fetch the rum, Darby!”
The pirates stood as if they had grown into the ground. Long after the voice had stopped, they still stared in front of them.
“Those were his last words,” said Morgan. “His last words on earth.”
Dick had his Bible out and was praying loudly.
But Silver was still not beaten. I could hear his teeth knock together, but he did not give up.
“Nobody on this island ever heard of Darby,” he said quietly, “nobody but us.” Then he cried out, “Mates, I’m here to get that gold, and no man or devil will stop me. I was never afraid of Flint alive, and I’ll face him dead. There are seven hundred thousand pounds a quarter of a mile from here!”
“Stop, John!” said Merry. “Don’t make a ghost angry.”
The others were too frightened to answer. They stayed close to Silver, as if his courage could protect them.
“A ghost? Well, maybe,” said Silver. “But one thing isn’t clear to me. There was an echo. Nobody ever saw a ghost with a shadow. So why would a ghost have an echo?”
It seemed a weak reason to me, but to my surprise George Merry was very relieved.
“That’s true, John,” he said. “And now that I think of it, it was like Flint’s voice, but not exactly. It was more like somebody else’s—”
“Ben Gunn!” roared Silver.
“Aye, so it was!” cried Morgan, jumping to his knees. “Ben Gunn!”
“Does that help?” asked Dick. “Ben Gunn isn’t alive either.”
But the older men laughed at him. “Nobody’s afraid of Ben Gunn,” cried Merry, “dead or alive.”
Their color came back, and soon they picked up their tools and went on, with Merry in front holding Silver’s compass. Only Dick still held his Bible and looked around him with frightened eyes. It was soon clear to me that he was getting sick. His fever was getting worse, as the doctor had said.
The first tall tree was the wrong one, and so was the second. The third rose nearly two hundred feet into the air, a giant with a red trunk as big as a house. But it was not its size that excited the men. Somewhere under its shadow lay seven hundred thousand pounds in gold. They forgot their fear. Their eyes burned, and they walked faster and faster.
Silver hurried on his crutch, breathing hard, and gave me deadly looks. I could read his thoughts like a book: near the gold he had forgotten his promise and the doctor’s warning. I was sure he hoped to take the treasure, find the ship at night, kill every honest man on the island and sail away rich.
Every time I stumbled, he pulled roughly at the rope. Behind us, Dick was saying prayers and curses as his fever rose, and I kept thinking of the six men Flint had killed in this quiet place.
“Hurrah, mates, all together!” shouted Merry, and the first men began to run.
Ten yards further they suddenly stopped, and a low cry went up. Silver ran faster on his crutch, and the next moment we stopped too.
In front of us was a big hole. It was not new, because grass was already growing at the bottom. In it lay a broken pick and the boards of several wooden boxes. On one of the boards I saw a name burned into the wood: Walrus, the name of Flint’s ship.
It was clear. Somebody had found the treasure and taken it. The seven hundred thousand pounds were gone!