King to Smith. And thou wert not afraid?
Smith. Nay. Why should I be? I have long ago thought out how to meet my fate. Death and I have looked at each other face to face before now, and death has a kindly smile for anyone who has never wilfully done ill to a fellow creature; to such an one he is no longer a dreaded demon, but a kindly host.
King Powhattan.
King. Well! he'll have a guest before long now; for since you say he is a friend of yours it proves that you are, as my people first told me, some kind of witch or devil yourself. Therefore, it will be well for the land that we do slay thee. Besides, I have not seen a man's red blood for many days, and I am tired of the blood of the Assocks. (Pocahontas shrinks down, holding her ears.) I shall dearly like to see how looks the blood of a white half-man, half-devil. But first I want to see him cower, and squeal for mercy; for therein lies the joy of killing. (Calls to his Warriors.) Ho! there! Stretch out this devil on the ground, and let him learn that death is not the joy he thinks it is. (They drag Smith down, and lay him on his back on the ground, C. One holds his feet, but the rest, finding that he does not struggle, stand back; two prepare to use their battle-axes on him, while the rest dance weird dances, singing Ingonyama chorus round him. The executioners make false blows at his head—but he never flinches.)
Pocahontas (kneeling beside the King. R.). Oh! King—I have not often asked for gifts from you—and now I pray you, on my bended knee, to grant me this request. I have no slave to guard me when I walk abroad. It is not seemly that I take a young brave of our tribe, and the old ones are so very old and slow. Now here; a slave of whom one may be proud—one strange to see, yet strong and great and brave. Ah! give him to thy child instead of unto death.
King. Nay! nay! my child. If you don't like the scene, withdraw, for he shall die. 'Tis sport for me to see how long he lasts before he cries for mercy. And when he does he dies. (To Warriors.) Now stand him up, and try some new device to make him quail.
(Pocahontas shrinks back. They raise Smith, and he stands boldly facing them.)
King. Death now comes to thee, and thou hast no chance of escaping him. Art thou not now afraid of him?
John Smith. Nay. Why should I be? We men are born not for ourselves but as a help to others; and if we act thus loyally we know our God will have us in his care both now and after death.