The king from his own door, where he could not be reached by any bullet of the defenders, was watching the futile assault with an impatience and anger that could hardly be restrained.

His soul became like a volcano, as he saw his brave warriors fall back, with many of them biting the dust.
Had not the traditions of his country forbade such a proceeding, he would have placed himself at the head of the natives and led the decisive charge.
Seeing how it was at the front, Ziffak cautiously made his way to the rear.

There were few warriors there, and he instinctively felt that if his white friends were to get off at all, it must be through the rear opening.
While intently debating with himself what he could do to help them, he stealthily slipped down to where the large boat was lying under the bank.

No one was near it, for the attention of all was concentrated on the fight under way.

Unobserved, he shoved the craft out into the stream and saw it drift with the current.
Returning to the rear of the besieged building again, he formed the plan of getting the warriors to the front and then dashing back and helping them out.