"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."