the open borders of the grove, and saw the sea lying blue and sunny
to the horizon and the surf tumbling and tossing its foam along the
beach.

I have never seen the sea quiet round Treasure Island. The sun might
blaze overhead, the air be without a breath, the surface smooth and
blue, but still these great rollers would be running along all the
external coast, thundering and thundering by day and night; and I scarce
believe there is one spot in the island where a man would be out of
earshot of their noise.

I walked along beside the surf with great enjoyment, till, thinking
I was now got far enough to the south, I took the cover of some thick
bushes and crept warily up to the ridge of the spit.

Behind me was the sea, in front the anchorage. The sea breeze, as though
it had the sooner blown itself out by its unusual violence, was already
at an end; it had been succeeded by light, variable airs from the south
and south-east, carrying great banks of fog; and the anchorage, under
lee of Skeleton Island, lay still and leaden as when first we entered
it. The HISPANIOLA, in that unbroken mirror, was exactly portrayed from
the truck to the waterline, the Jolly Roger hanging from her peak.

Alongside lay one of the gigs, Silver in the stern-sheets--him I could
always recognize--while a couple of men were leaning over the stern
bulwarks, one of them with a red cap--the very rogue that I had seen
some hours before stride-legs upon the palisade. Apparently they were
talking and laughing, though at that distance--upwards of a mile--I
could, of course, hear no word of what was said. All at once there began
the most horrid, unearthly screaming, which at first startled me badly,
though I had soon remembered the voice of Captain Flint and even thought
I could make out the bird by her bright plumage as she sat perched upon
her master's wrist.

Soon after, the jolly-boat shoved off and pulled for shore, and the man
with the red cap and his comrade went below by the cabin companion.

Just about the same time, the sun had gone down behind the Spy-glass,
and as the fog was collecting rapidly, it began to grow dark in earnest.
I saw I must lose no time if I were to find the boat that evening.

The white rock, visible enough above the brush, was still some eighth of
a mile further down the spit, and it took me a goodish while to get up
with it, crawling, often on all fours, among the scrub. Night had almost
come when I laid my hand on