seek the great salt sea just beyond. I have crossed one already, and many other waters. My companions flung me into the Mediterranean like poor Jonah of old. But the Lord looked out for me too."

"Who was Jonah?"

"Quite a fellow. He had a way with fish. You know we tried to catch some in frying-pans, yours are so bountiful. Then we decided fish first, fry afterwards."

"You know nothing of sport. You make too much noise in the woods and along the streams. If you have been around as much as you say, you should know better. You talk too much, but I would hear you out. Tell me some more about this God of yours. I have heard of Captain Smith's God!"

They had a wholesome respect for the Smith God, the Smith nerve, and the Smith tongue, which was no laggard in any language. All these attributes stood him in good stead now, but it would not be for long. Smith lapsed into a long harangue about the mysterious ways God moved, his wonders to perform, and the mysterious doings of the universe. "Know ye not that the earth is round, it doth move, and the sun also?" He made grand gestures describing the movements of the planets.

"What goes on in the world away?" Opechancanough just had to know. Curiosity killed a cat, but it was not going to kill him, for he was sparing Captain Smith long enough to empty his mind like a casket for his captor. What a captive he had bagged! He had none of his big brother Powhatan's tolerance of the invader. Powhatan was old, fat, and rich—not enough fight left in him. The people should see what manner of chief was heir to his dozen tribes, and what a white beast he had leashed. He sent couriers ahead so that no village between here and Werowocomoco should fail to note the parade he made of this captain with the bristling red beard, the flexing muscles, and the bragging airs. He arranged a square of twenty warriors around him—one with tomahawk to the left, another with tomahawk to the right of him, and a straggling, painted and feathered queue bringing up the rear.

John Smith, a swaggering Elizabethan on any stage, however humiliating his role, contrived to look as if he had matters quite in hand, even though his hands were tied. Although he had apprehensions about the medicine man's rites at night he did not bat an eye, later did not close one. Opechancanough had planned this ceremony to make sure that Smith was shorn of whatever magic still lurked in his being. He had already handed over his compass to the chief, of his own accord. Hungry as he was, Smith had little appetite for the quantity of food offered him, and he spurned it at first, until he had made sure that it was not poisoned.

"You'd make a nice meal yourself, paleface. Admit we are feeding you well. That is an old custom of ours. We fatten our captives for the slaughter."

"Cannibals?" insinuated Smith, insolently.

"Algonquins. You should know. You talk our language. Your head is full of too much if not your stomach. I'd like to scalp a bushy head like that."

"Then why don't you?" Smith wondered coolly.

"I'm just the chief's brother. He saves the best of everything for himself, including the privilege of doing away with you how and when he likes. He has a line of scalps drying between trees in his back yard every morning. Old as he is, he has the pick of young women about. You will see a young one on either side of him, and a row at the back of the discarded ones, about twenty. He hands them down to favorite warriors, in order as he thinks them most deserving. Mind you, don't cast a speculative eye on any of those. You are not a favorite warrior, nor even a favorite captive." He suspected that this brave man might have a way with women. "All the women you see, all the feasting will be to tantalize you, all to make you appreciate how excruciatingly sweet life can be, when your minutes are numbered."

Smith's bluff was being called. He was frightened over Powhatan's power over many tribes, but most just now over his own hide. He admitted to himself that he was intimidated by this emperor, as he was led into his long house, and in awe of his strange dignity. This savage chieftain reclining on a couch-like throne could show King James how majestic a monarch should look. His face wrinkled, round and ugly, seemed to be carved of granite, and it neither crinkled with mirth nor softened with mercy. He wore pearls about his neck and a raccoon mantle about his shoulders. He had two handmaidens bring to Smith, first, a basin in which to rinse his fingers, then feathers to dry them. The other women surrounding him, as his brother had described, were silent and motionless.

A certain little girl in their midst was more moved than any by Smith's brave appearance, and his fascinating self-defense. Earnest concern for him made her look more serious than usual, for all her names described her sunny nature—Pocahontas, they called her, meaning "Playful," "Bright Stream between Two Hills," "Quick Water," "Sunlight Running Through Darkness." She was as blithe and trusting of the stranger as her father and uncle were wary.

Opechancanough introduced him as the dangerous enemy of the red men, the toughest and craftiest of his tribe. He showed the compass, and told of how cleverly Smith had defended himself single-handed. If his brother wanted peace at any price, now was the time to annihilate this most dangerous of the invaders.

Powhatan listened without changing his expression. "Now what can you say for yourself, paleface?"

John Smith said as much as he could, and that was always a great deal. He boasted of the places to which he had been, miraculously guided by his compass. He had decapitated three Turks with his sword. If any did not believe it, they had only to observe his arms.

Powhatan inquired with superb scorn: "Why have you and your people come into my land without an invitation?"

Smith fibbed: "We had to land while struggling both with our old enemies, the Spaniards, and the weather."

"Then why did you come up so far in your boat?"

"We were seeking the back sea for salt water. Besides we wanted to avenge Newport's child who had been slain by the Monacans." He invented this one, knowing that the Monacans were Powhatan's enemies.

Powhatan could not swallow so many answers whole. Nothing Smith had said seemed to have made a dent on his equanimity after several conferences, and Smith, who read faces, began to foresee his doom. "Lay the death stones beside the fire," commanded Powhatan of two warriors. As soon as that was done, he motioned to several others to pick him up and lay him thereon.

Facing first Powhatan's granite countenance, and now the stones, Smith knew that he had struck real barriers. He was numb with despair as tomahawks were raised to brain him. His usual imagination could not make him hopeful.

Pocahontas, as fleet of foot as of heart, darted in the way of the tomahawks. Smith, barely conscious and having committed his soul to Divine Mercy alone, broke into a cold sweat, as her soft dark cheek was pressed against his blanched one. "Save him Father to make toys for me and hatchets for you if you like."

Powhatan did not like it, but he paused to ponder, as the tomahawks hung heavily over John Smith's head.

The surly crowd, thirsting for blood, snarled "Pocahontas!" as this child meddled with grim manly business, Opechancanough's temper leading the fury. Was that fool brother of his going to let a child keep him from annihilating this captive? He ought to be on the throne instead of this weak indulger of children's whims, for no pampered daughter should challenge his will.

Powhatan had looked obdurate, but with the wilful whimsy of kings, he suddenly changed his mind, motioning to the warriors to stay their tomahawks.

"Certainly my daughter can