died at Savannah, singing and shouting for drink—had there, with his own hand, cut down his six accomplices. This grove, that was now so peaceful, must then have rung with cries, I thought; and even with the thought I could believe I heard it ringing still. We were now at the margin of the thicket.
"Huzza, mates, altogether!" shouted Merry, and the foremost broke into a run.
And suddenly, not ten yards farther, we beheld them stop. A low cry arose. Silver doubled his pace, digging away with the foot of his crutch like one possessed, and next moment he and I had come also to a dead halt.
Before us was a great excavation, not very recent, for the sides had fallen in and grass had sprouted on the bottom. In this were the shaft of a pick broken in two and the boards of several packing cases strewn around. On one of these boards I saw branded with a hot iron, the name "Walrus"—the name of Flint's ship.
All was clear to probation.1 The cache2 had been found and rifled—the seven hundred thousand pounds were gone!
