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 Spy-glass, 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.