The top of the plateau was dotted thickly with pine-trees of varying height.
The plateau being somewhat tilted towards the west, this spot on which we had paused commanded a wide prospect on either hand.
It was fine open walking here, upon the summit; our way lay a little downhill, for, as I have said, the plateau tilted towards the west.
We had thus proceeded for about half a mile and were approaching the brow of the plateau when the man upon the farthest left began to cry aloud, as if in terror.
In a more open part of the plateau, we could see the three survivors still running in the same direction as they had started, right for Mizzenmast Hill.
Now, right before us the anchorage was bounded by a plateau from two to three hundred feet high, adjoining on the north the sloping southern shoulder of the Spy-glass and rising again towards the south into the rough, cliffy eminence called the Mizzen-mast Hill.
This also added to my wretchedness, and to crown all, I was haunted by the thought of the tragedy that had once been acted on that plateau, when that ungodly buccaneer with the blue face—he who died at Savannah, singing and shouting for drink—had there, with his own hand, cut down his six accomplices.
Yet, I think, none treated him better than a dog, unless it was Ben Gunn, who was still terribly afraid of his old quartermaster, or myself, who had really something to thank him for; although for that matter, I suppose, I had reason to think even worse of him than anybody else, for I had seen him meditating a fresh treachery upon the plateau.