Two or three rods in advance, on the same line the two had been pursuing, stood a tall Indian, fully six feet in stature, motionless, and surveying the couple with an enquiring expression. He was three score years of age, his long locks were sprinkled with grey, and his face was stern and seamed by the passage of the many stormy years. He was thin almost to emaciation, but the fire burned in the black eyes as fiercely as when he first went on the warpath. He was dressed much like the younger warrior, except that the upper part of his body was encased in a jacket similar to that of the girl, and his countenance was unstained. In the girdle about his waist were thrust a long knife and the handle of a tomahawk, but he carried no bow and quiver. Standing rigidly upright, with his coppery face like that of a stone image, he looked sternly at the two.
Hardly had the girl caught sight of him, when she ran forward, and, throwing both arms about his waist, called out in pretended panic:
"Father, save me from Nantaquas! He means to kill me!"
Laying one hand fondly on the wealth of hair about his chest, the parent gazed at the young man and demanded:
"What is the meaning of these strange actions?"
Standing in his garments, still wet from his recent upset, the smiling son pointed to his sister.
"She will tell Powhatan her story."
The American Indian has the reputation of being stoical. It is true that he will bear the most poignant anguish and torture without a sign of suffering. He is trained to suppress his emotions, especially before strangers, but there are no persons in the world who love their children more affectionately; and when beyond the sight of strangers they often indulge in expressions of that love.
The chieftain of whom I am now speaking was the most famous Indian connected with the colonial history of Virginia. He was Powhatan, one of the sternest and most unflinching leaders of his race. He ruled over numerous tribes, nearly all of whom he had conquered and brought under his sway. From Virginia to the far south none was his equal. He had several homes, at each of which he lived a part of every year, and was always surrounded when at any of them by a strong guard, numbering forty or fifty of his tallest warriors.
Since you have learned that Powhatan was the father of the two who now stood before him, there is no longer any excuse for keeping back the name of the girl, for I am sure you guessed it long ago. She was Pocahontas, pretty, bright, and kind hearted, and the favorite of the terrible Powhatan, who permitted any liberties from her, and rarely refused her a request which he could gratify. Nantaquas was another favorite, though he had other sons who were well worthy of their father's fame.