Indeed, on a second glance, it seemed impossible to fancy that the body was in a natural position. But for some disarray (the work, perhaps, of the birds that had fed upon him, or of the slow-growing creeper that had gradually enveloped his remains) the man lay perfectly straight⁠—his feet pointing in one direction, his hands raised above his head like a diver’s, pointing directly in the opposite.

“I’ve taken a notion into my old numskull,” observed Silver. “Here’s the compass; there’s the tip-top p’int of Skeleton Island, stickin’ out like a tooth. Just take a bearing, will you, along the line of them bones.”

It was done. The body pointed straight in the direction of the island, and the compass read duly E. S. E. by E.