It was observed suddenly that Isaac Martin was absent.
“But the voice was not like his,” said Brown.
The mysterious cry was repeated at the moment, and Christian ran quickly in the direction whence it seemed to come. As they neared a rugged mass of rocks which lay close to the peak on which they had been standing, the cry lost much of its mystery, and finally assumed the tones of Martin’s voice.
“Hallo! hi! murder! help! O my leg! Mr Christian, Adams, Brown, this way. Help! ho! hi!”
What between the muffled sound and the echo, Martin created a noise that would have set his friends into fits of laughter if they had not been greatly alarmed.
In a few seconds the party reached what seemed to be a dark hole, out of which the poor man’s left leg was seen protruding. Christian and Adams grasped it. Brown and one of the Otaheitans lent a hand, and Martin was quickly dragged out of danger and set on his legs.
“I say, Martin,” said Brown, anxiously, “sit down or you’ll bu’st. Every drop o’ blood in your body has gone to your head.”
“No wonder,” gasped Isaac, “if you’d bin hangin’ by one fut half as long, your blood would have blowed your head off altogether.”
“There now, sit down a minute, and you’ll be all right,” said Christian. “How did it happen?”
To this Martin replied that it was simple enough. He had fallen a few yards behind, and, taking a wrong turn, had come on a hole, into which he looked. Seeing something like a light at the bottom of it, he stooped down to look further, slipped on the rocks, and went in head foremost, but was arrested by his foot catching between two rocks and getting jammed.