“It’s Voalavo,” cried Hockins, and rushed to the rescue.
“Das so,” cried the negro, following suit with blazing eyes.
Snatching the silver spear from the Secretary, Mark sprang forward like a wild-cat, and, sweeping it right and left, brought down two of the men. His comrades overturned two others whose muskets they seized, while Voalavo, with the power of a giant, hurled two others from him as if they had been boys. He did not stop to speak, but to the surprise of his rescuers, ran straight into a neighbouring coppice, and disappeared.
For one moment the remaining soldiers lowered their bayonets as if to charge, but the Secretary, grasping the Hater of Lies, said, in a commanding tone—
“What means this haste? Ye shall answer to the Queen for what you have done! Go! Return to your quarters. You are under arrest. Carry your comrades with you!”
Cowed by this speech, for they all knew the Secretary to be a man of position and power in the palace, the soldiers humbly picked up their fallen comrades and retired. The victors immediately ran into the coppice in search of Voalavo, whom they found on his knees, digging up the earth with both hands as if for very life! Just as they came up he had uncovered the face of Ravonino, who had been buried alive, and was already as pale as if he were dead.
“Have they killed him?” gasped Laihova, as he dropped on his knees with the others, and began to dig.
“No—they do not kill when the sentence is to bury alive,” said the Secretary, “but no doubt he is half-suffocated.”
The grave was very shallow—not more than a foot deep, and a living man might without much difficulty have struggled out of it, but the poor man had been bound to a long pole, which was buried along with him, so that he could not move. They soon got him out, and were about to cast him loose when there arose a cry in the city which quickly increased to a mighty roar.
“They have found out our trick,” said the Secretary. “Nothing can save us now but flight. Come—take him up. This way!”