I turned to Zolca, and he answered:
“The same death as your friends. Hung up on a rope.”
“Never!” cried Paul, and leaping on Zolca he snatched the old cutlass from the king’s belt, and, before a hand could be raised, cut him down.
Too late, alas!—for the whole thing was instantaneous,—I caught Paul by the wrists, and even as I did so he was stabbed by every one of the infuriated Indians who could get near enough to do it. I relaxed my grasp and he fell dead, with a dozen fatal wounds in his body.
I next turned my attention to Zolca. The blow had been struck at his head, but in his mad haste Paul had only wounded him on the shoulder, at the base of the neck, and the blood was gushing from the wound. I made the Quadrucos, with the exception of one or two, draw back, and with the aid of strips torn from our dresses, managed at last to staunch the bleeding. A litter was soon made, and on it we carefully conveyed the senseless body to his house.
The dismay of Azolta and Zolca’s wife may be imagined, but the former retained her presence of mind, and took her place by her wounded brother. I was almost in despair myself, as I had no knowledge of surgery, and knew that the wound wanted skilful treatment which I could not apply to it, in fact might make matters worse.
In this extremity some one called from outside:
“Captain Diedrich!”
Going out I found the Dutch gunner left behind by Hoogstraaten, who had witnessed the trial from some distance. He asked me about the king, and I told him my trouble.
“That is the reason I came to you,” he said. “I have often assisted the surgeon, and when we had that scuffle with the pirate there were a good many cutlass wounds to be attended to. I have some material for dressing in my kit, and if you will allow me I will examine the king’s wound.”