CHAPTER XI.

THE FRIEND IN NEED

Now, if a boy, while eating a fine dinner, should suddenly form the belief that the men who gave the food to him meant it to make him plumper, so that he would form a better dinner for _them_, I am sure he would not have much appetite left. Captain John Smith came to this belief not many hours after finishing a bountiful meal provided by his Indian captors, and he made up his mind not to eat another mouthful. If they meant to feast upon their prisoner, they should find him in the poorest condition possible.

It is easy for anyone to form such a resolve when he has no craving for food, but with the next morning it seemed to Smith that he was never hungrier in his life. And there were two big baskets of pone and venison. After thinking over the question he decided that he might as well eat what was set before him, and begin his fasting after that. By and by it was not hard to persuade himself that it would really make no difference as to what would be finally done with him. So he gave over all thought of punishing himself by going hungry when there was nothing to be gained by it.

The Indians spared his life so long that Captain Smith began to hope they would let him return to Jamestown. When he was taken before a sick man he told the friends he could get his medicine at the settlement that would make the patient well, but they were too cunning to let him go after it.

The next proposal of his captors was that he should help them in destroying Jamestown. They told him nothing could save the place, for the tribes had determined not to allow a white man to remain alive. They promised to give Smith all the lands he could ask, with liberty to choose as many wives as he pleased. He assured the Indians that it was out of their power to hurt the settlement, and that those who tried to do so would suffer awful consequences. His words produced the effect he intended, and the plan was given up.

Smith next did a thing that filled the red men with astonishment. He tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and with a piece of red chalk, whittled to a point, he wrote several sentences. Holding up the slip with the writing on it, he said to the staring warriors:

“The words I speak to you have been put on this paper; they ask my friends at Jamestown to give you the articles which I name. Let some of your messengers take this to Jamestown and show it to my people there, and you will see that I have spoken with a single tongue.”

Not believing what he said, two of fleetest runners set out for the settlement. It was the depth of winter, when there was a good deal of snow on the ground, and the weather was very cold. But the messengers made the journey, and handed the paper to the persons there, who straightway gave them the trifling articles called for, to the unbounded astonishment of the runners, who could not understand how the strange thing was done.

It need hardly be said that the paper contained more on it than the writer had read to the Indians. He told his friends of the plan of the red men to destroy the place, and urged upon them to use the utmost diligence against surprise. In order to impress their dusky visitors, the settlers fired several of their cannon among the ice-laden trees. The shots made a great racket, and sent the branches and bits of ice flying in all directions. When the runners came back to their people and told what they had seen, and proved that the prisoner had really spoken by means of the paper to his friends many miles away, their amazement was beyond words.

Now followed several weeks during which Captain Smith was on exhibition. He was paraded through the country, with crowds swarming to look at him, as we do in these times when some new and strange animal is shown in the museums. No harm was offered him, but he could never feel secure against death, and he was always looking for a chance to escape. Not once, however, did he dare make the attempt. His captors were so watchful that he knew he must fail, and they would be sure to punish him, probably by slaying him at once.

During these troublous times Smith kept looking for Pocahontas or her brother Nantaquas. They must have known of the kindness he had shown the girl, and it would seem that gratitude would lead them to do all they could for him. But he saw nothing of either. His excursions were through the lands that were directly ruled by Opecancanough. The old Indian capital was on York River, about twenty-five miles below the present village of West Point. The spot was known as the “Chief Place of Council,” the Indian name being Werowocomoco.

Finally, as if Opecancanough could not decide for himself what should be done with the captive, who had been exhibited through the country, he was taken to Werowocomoco, before the mighty Powhatan himself. There the great question was to be settled by the most powerful Emperor of all the Indians.

The scene was striking. The tall, glum, haughty Powhatan sat on a framework or couch, suggestive of a throne, covered with mats, and in front of a large fire. He was wrapped in a robe of raccoon skin. On each side sat a young woman who was his wife, and along the sides of the royal lodge stood two rows of men, with the same number of women standing directly behind them. The faces and shoulders of all the females were stained red, most of their heads were adorned with white down, and strings of white beads were around their necks. It was fortunate for the women that such a large fire was burning in the wigwam, for they had very scant covering on their bodies.

As Captain Smith was brought before this imposing company, naturally he was filled with wonder as to what the end would be. He knew that the grim, gaunt Emperor was about to decide his fate—or, rather, would make it known, for the prisoner had been led thither to hear his sentence.

As the Captain made a grave obeisance to Powhatan he cast searching looks around the lodge in quest of Pocahontas and her brother Nantaquas, and saw the latter. He was standing on the right of the Emperor, at the head of the double line of warriors, which was the place of honor. All these men had their weapons with them. Knives and tomahawks showed in their girdles, and the end of each bow, as tall as themselves, rested on the floor, being grasped around the thick portion in the middle.

Smith noticed that the stature of Nantaquas was the equal of the warrior next to him, though, in truth, he was only a boy. His eyes met those of Smith, but there was not the slightest change of expression. Whatever his feelings might be, the youth dared give no sign in the presence of his stern father.

But where was Pocahontas? Twice, Smith searched hurriedly among the group, all of whom he saw despite the rows in front, but that fair, pitying face was not among them. The prisoner’s heart sank. He gave up hope. A woman known as the “Queen of Appomattox” was ordered to bring a wooden bowl of water, in which he washed his hands. Another woman handed him a soft bunch of feathers, which he used as a towel. After this came a barbarous feast for the hapless captive, and then a long consultation.

It is probable that Powhatan and his brother chiefs would have spared Captain Smith, but for the fact that he had slain two of their number. That was an offence which could not be forgiven, and he was sentenced to death. Two warriors appeared at the entrance of the lodge, each bearing a heavy stone. It was the most they could do to carry them to the open space in front of the chieftain, where they were laid on the ground, beside each other.

At a sign from Powhatan half a dozen of his men sprang to where Smith stood, watching the dreadful preparations. He was dragged and pushed forward, his hands tied behind his back and then flung to the ground, and his head forced down, so that it rested on the larger of the two stones. He did not resist, for this man of so many strange adventures felt that the last of them all had come.

Hardly had his head been placed on the rough support, when most of the warriors fell away, leaving one ranged on either side of the prostrate captive. These stood near his shoulders, and each grasped a huge club, the large end swinging clear of the ground, in position for them to draw it back and bring it down on the head of Smith with such force that no second blow on the part of either would be needed.

It was an awful moment. Intense silence reigned in the lodge. No one seemed to breathe, and only the soft rustle of the fire and the moaning of the wintry wind outside the wigwam broke the stillness. The position of everyone was rigid, and all eyes were fixed upon the captive and his executioners. Not a sign of pity showed on the face of anyone. The countenance of Powhatan was like that of a graven image, but his black eyes gleamed. To him the tragedy was one of fine enjoyment. He did not give any command or speak, for it was not needed. The couple with the clubs knew their duty.

At this moment of tense emotion a movement was heard on the left of the Emperor, and just behind the wife who was standing at the head of the row. With a gasping exclamation, Pocahontas dashed between the men in front of her, thrusting them out of her path, and, bounding like a fawn across the intervening space, dropped on one knee, placed an arm on either side of the Captain’s head, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, looked up at her father.

“You must not kill him! He is my friend! He was kind to Pocahontas! Spare his life, dear father, for _me_!”

No one moved or spoke. Powhatan glared angrily at his daughter for neither she nor anyone had ever dared to do a thing like this before. Had it been anyone else, he would have struck the person dead at his feet.

But he could not raise his hand against the loved child of his heart. He started to rise, but changed his mind and sank back again. The executioners looked at him, awaiting his command, and paying no attention to the girl kneeling between them, with her arms still about the neck of Captain Smith, who looked up into her dark, pitying eyes. A warm tear fell on his bronzed forehead. With one hand Pocahontas brushed back the heavy brown hair which had dropped over his eyes, and smiling through her grief, said:

“You shall not be harmed! Your life is spared!”

“How can you know that, my good friend?”

“Do you not see?” she asked in turn, grasping one of his bound arms above the elbow, as if to help him to his feet.

At this moment Captain Smith saw what she meant by her question. The warriors with their huge clubs had stepped away from the two. Powhatan could not deny the prayer of Pocahontas, and had signalled to them to spare the life of the white man.

When the Captain stood erect, his face flushed with embarrassment. Not knowing what to do, he did nothing, but stood with his eyes on the ground. Pocahontas fluttered about him like a bird. She tried to untie the knots that bound his wrists behind his back, and though she would have succeeded in a few minutes, she was impatient. She beckoned to her brother Nantaquas, who came hastily forward and cut the thongs with his knife. He turned inquiringly to Powhatan, who motioned for his son to take the man away. Clasping the hand of the prisoner in his own, the youth led him through the door to the outside of the wigwam. Pocahontas did not follow, but did another thing that astonished the group gathered round. Forgetful of all kingly dignity in the stress of her feelings, she bounded to the throne, flung her arms about the neck of her parent, and laying her head on the gaunt shoulder, sobbed with thankfulness, murmuring words which only Powhatan could hear.

And for the moment he forgot that he was King. He stroked the masses of black hair until she regained command of herself, when he told her in a low voice that he had spared the prisoner because he could deny nothing to the one who asked it. She faced about with glowing countenance, on which the tears still shone, and moved back to the place she had held before doing the noble act.

Meanwhile Nantaquas guided Captain Smith to his own lodge, which stood at the eastern end of the village. It was small, for only he dwelt there. It was hardly a dozen feet in length, and no more than two-thirds of that in width, but a fire was smouldering at the farther end, the skins of animals were spread on the ground, and his favorite bow leaned in one corner. On the ridge pole of the wigwam were hung the furs of bears, deer, and wolf. Primitive as was the dwelling, it was as comfortable as it could be.

Captain Smith was not a “gushing” man. In this respect he was like Nantaquas. The Indian youth had learned the white men’s custom of greeting one another by shaking hands. When the Captain, therefore, offered his hand to his friend, it was grasped by him.

“I shall always be thankful to you, Nantaquas.”

“Your thanks belong to my sister,” was the gentle reply.

“I know that, and she will ever dwell in my heart. Does this mean that my life is spared for a short time only?”

“I will learn; wait till I come back.”

Lifting the flap of the lodge, the dusky youth slipped outside. Captain Smith sat down on one of the furs spread on the floor, and gave himself over to thinking of the strange things that had come to him in the past. He was sitting thus, sunk in meditation, when his friend returned.

Nantaquas had talked with Powhatan, who told him that Smith was to stay among the Indians, and give his time to the making of moccasins, bows and arrows, robes and pots, and especially to the manufacture of beads, bells, and copper trinkets for Pocahontas. The Captain accepted the proposal with great pleasure, for he knew that the end, sooner or later, would be his return to Jamestown. What a contrast between the many stormy scenes he had passed through and this quiet toiling in the depths of the American woods! He took up the task with the same energy he put in everything, and pleased Nantaquas; who showed a real friendship for him. Powhatan was also well satisfied, and Pocahontas, who often came to the little workshop and watched the sturdy Captain at labor, was delighted. She would sometimes sit for a long time on a mat in front of him, noting with childish interest the movements of the sturdy fingers that were more used to handling the sword than to fashioning the delicate ornaments and trinkets. She could not restrain her happiness as the articles gradually took form. When the Captain completed a pair of moccasins that were as dainty as the slippers of Cinderella, she slipped them on her feet, clapped her hands, and danced about the wigwam, just as any little English or American girl would have done. Nantaquas and Captain Smith smiled at the pretty picture, and the brave and good Captain felt well rewarded for his trouble. Indeed, could he ever repay this sweet daughter of the forest for what she had done for him? He often asked himself the question, and the answer was always a soft but earnest “_No!_”