“Take heed what you do, Smith,” implored Adam, his teeth clashing together like castanets, and the knob on his nose working like a pig’s snout with excitement.
“Keep still, and hand me your horn. Stir not from this spot, no matter what happens.” So saying, Captain Smith and Pocahontas disappeared, leaving Adam alone. Now and then curiosity overpowered fear, and he would look again through the crack, only to fall back and begin petitions for deliverance.
Running around to a spot in full view of the door, Captain Smith emptied the powder in Adam’s horn into a piece of clay pipe lying near. Then inserting a lighted fuse, he took to his heels. Fleeing around the corner he ran full tilt into the unconscious Adam, with his eye glued to the crack, and both rolled to the ground. Not knowing what had assaulted him, Adam let out a yell that would have wakened the dead kings lying in state, had it not been drowned in the explosion of the gunpowder.
A roar of thunder split the air, followed by blinding flashes of flame. For a moment a deathly silence hung over the Indians, then shrieks and yells burst from the painted demons. Pandemonium reigned as they fled from the temple. Leading the vanguard was Powhatan, clinging to a litter borne on the shoulders of four warriors who sped away in the darkness.
In the midst of the confusion, Pocahontas snatched the white boy up and made for the place where Captain Smith was vainly trying to pacify the terrified Adam, who was now wallowing on the ground.
“Stop your howls, or I will leave you to the mercy of the Indians! Get up, we have not a moment to lose. Pocahontas is here with the boy. We must hasten to the boat for our lives.”
Leading the way as guide, with the boy clasped in her strong young arms, Pocahontas plunged into the swamp. Over morass, through matted vines, she went with unerring instinct, followed by Smith, trundling the unwieldy form of Adam before him. Down into a hole went Adam for the second time, leaving a boot as a memento of the adventure. As he hobbled painfully along, sick with misery and fear, his strength gave out, and with a moan he pitched forward. Losing no time in an examination of the unfortunate man, Smith merely rolled him over, and catching him in the back of his collar, dragged him along in his flight.
He heaved a sigh of thankfulness as he saw the boat through an opening in the trees. “Saint George!” he shouted, and the men on the beach ran forward to meet him. Picking up the body of Adam as if he were a log of wood, they sped to the boat and dumped him in. Pocahontas placed the boy in Smith’s arms and vanished.
“Row for your lives, men! Death lies in the swamp,” urged Smith.
Bending to their oars, they sent the boat plunging down the stream in reckless haste, nor did they cease to row until the broad York was left behind, and the prow of their barge dipped its nose in the salty waters of the Chesapeake.