“Yes,” replied the courageous Captain. “Not even an arm can be seen.”
“Tell Pocahontas what lies beyond the setting sun.”
“To the westward live a people whose skin is much like that of Pocahontas. Perhaps in the beginning of things your people wandered from that land to this. There they walk with their feet pressed against ours.”
Pocahontas marveled much at his wonderful narratives, and the child’s love for the pale face grew in strength every day.
“O Pocahontas,” came in accents tremulous with emotion, “you have saved my life and given back hope to my heart. You are as dear to me as a daughter to her father; hereafter I will be your father and I shall call you child.”
Seizing his hands, she pressed her lips upon them and her happy heart made answer.
“Pocahontas is content, for then she will be a child of the pale faces.”
After two days’ imprisonment a horrible figure dressed as Satan appeared before Smith. Unearthly yells, such as lost souls doubtless utter, came from the throats of two hundred black figures who accompanied this apparition. Powhatan and his warriors had come to see if they could make the Captain tremble before the terrors of the devil.
Not a muscle of Captain Smith’s face moved, although an icy hand gripped at his heart. His composure astonished Powhatan. Truly this was a wonderful warrior whom not even Okee could force to cringe. It were better to have his friendship than his enmity. No doubt he was an oracle of the Great Spirit.
So Powhatan left off his incantations and sat down before the prisoner. He was now, he said, the friend of Father Smith, whom he would henceforth love as a son, and would give him land over which to rule. He should go back to Jamestown and send him two great guns and a grindstone.