SMITH'S GAOLER
The following morning Claw-of-the-Eagle, passing before the lodge
assigned to the prisoner, beheld Pocahontas seated on the ground in
front of it.
"What dost thou here?" he asked, "and where be the guards?"
"I sent them off to sleep as soon as the Sun came back to us," she
answered, looking up at the tall youth beside her. "I can take care of
him myself during the day."
"Hast thou seen him yet? Tell me what is he like. I saw him but for the
minute yesterday."
"He sleeps still. I peeped between the openings of the bark covering
here and beheld him lying there with all those queer garments. I am
eager for his awakening; there are so many questions I would ask him."
"Let me have a look, too," pleaded the boy.
Pocahontas nodded and motioned graciously to the opening of the lodge.
It pleased her to grant favors, and Powhatan sometimes smiled when he
marked how like his own manner of bestowing them was that of his
daughter.
With the same caution with which he crept after a deer in a thicket,
Claw-of-the-Eagle moved on hands and knees along the ground within the
lodge. Lying flat on his stomach, he gazed at the Englishman. He had
heard repeated about the village the night before the details of his
rescue as they had taken place within the ceremonial wigwam. Those who
told him were divided in their opinions; some looked upon Powhatan's
decision as a danger to them all, and others scouted the idea that those
palefaces were to be feared by warriors such as the Powhatans.
Claw-of-the-Eagle, however, did not waver in his belief: each of the
white strangers should be killed off as quickly as might be. His loyalty
to his adopted tribe was as great as if his forefathers had sat about
its council fires always. He was sorry that Pocahontas, much as she
pleased him, had persuaded her father to save the life of the first of
the palefaces that had fallen into his power. He believed The Powhatan
himself now regretted that he had yielded to affection and to an ancient
custom, and that he would gladly see his enemy dead, in order that the
news carried to his interloping countrymen might serve as a warning of
the fate that awaited them all.
Suppose then--the thought flashed through his brain--that he,
Claw-of-the-Eagle, should make this wish a fact! Powhatan would never
punish the doer of the deed.
He crept nearer still to the sleeping man, loosening the knife in his
girdle. There was no sound within the lodge, only the faint crooning of
Pocahontas without; yet something, some feeling of danger, aroused the
Englishman. Through his half-closed lids he scarce distinguished the
slowly advancing red body from the red earth over which it was moving.
But when the boy was close enough to touch him with the outstretched
hand. Smith opened his eyes wide. He did not move, did not cry out,
though he saw the knife in the long thin fingers; all he did was to fix
his gaze sternly upon the boy's face. Claw-of-the-Eagle tried to strike,
but with those fearless eyes upon him he could not move his arm.
Slowly, as he had come, he crawled back to the entrance, unable to turn
his head from the man who watched him. It was only when he was out in
the air again that he felt he could take a long breath.
"He is a good sleeper," was all he remarked.
"And doubtless he is as good an eater and will be hungry when he wakes.
Wilt thou not stop at our lodge, Claw-of-the-Eagle, and bid them bring
me food for him?"
He did as she asked, and shortly after the squaws arrived with earthen
dishes filled with bread and meat. They peered eagerly through the
crevices till Pocahontas commanded them to be off. Hearing a noise
within the lodge, she was about to bear the food inside when Smith
stepped to the entrance.
He was astonished to see the kind of sentinel they had set to guard him.
He had expected to find that his unexpected guest would be waiting
outside for another chance at his life, and he preferred to hasten the
moment. He realized that this maiden, however, would be as efficient a
gaoler as a score of braves. Should he dream of escaping, of finding his
way without guides or even his compass, back to Jamestown, her outcry
would bring the entire village to her aid. He recognized his saviour of
the day before and bowed low, a bow meant for the princess and for his
protector. Pocahontas, though a European salutation was as strange to
her as Indian ways were to him, felt sure his ceremonious manner was
intended to do her honor, and received it gravely and graciously.
"Here is food for thee, White Chief," she said, placing it on a mat she
had spread on the ground; "sit and eat."
"It is welcome," he answered, "yet first harken to me. I have not words
of thy tongue, little Princess, to pay thee for thy great gift, and
though my words were as plentiful as the grains of sand by the waters,
they were still too few to offer thee."
"Gifts made to chiefs," she answered with a dignity copied from her
father's, "can never pay for princely benefits."
Smith could not help smiling at the grandiloquence of the child's
language, for in spite of her height, he realized that her years were
but few.
"Yet," she continued, seating herself, "it pleaseth me to receive thy
thanks."
Now she put aside her grown-up air and her curious glances were those of
the child she was. She fingered gently the sleeve of his doublet stained
by the morass in which he had been captured and torn by the briars of
the forests through which he had been led.
"'Tis good English cloth," he remarked, "to have withstood such storm,
and I bless the sheep on whose backs it grew."
"What beasts are those?" she queried, and Smith endeavored to explain
the various uses and the looks of Southdown flocks.
"Did thy squaws make thy coat for thee when thou hadst slain that--that
new beast?"
"I have no squaw, little Princess."
"I am glad," she sighed.
"And why?"
"I do not know", her brow wrinkling as she tried to fathom her own
feelings. "Perhaps it is because now thou wilt not pine for her and to
be gone from amongst us."
"But I must leave here soon, little maid; my people at Jamestown are
waiting for me."
He said this in order to try and discern what was the intention of
Powhatan towards him. Now that his life was saved, his thought was for
his liberty.
"Thou shalt not go," she cried, springing up. "Thou belongest to me and
it is my will to keep thee that thou mayst tell me tales of the world
beyond the sunrise and make new medicine for us. Thou shalt not go."
"So be it," said Smith in a tone he tried to render as unemotional as
possible. He sighed inwardly as he thought of his fellows at Jamestown,
ill, starving, and now doubtless believing him dead. Perhaps if he bided
his time he would find some way of communicating with them. In the
meantime, policy, as well as inclination, urged his making friends with
this eager little savage maiden.
Now that he did not attempt to oppose her, Pocahontas sank down again
beside him. Already there was an audience: braves, squaws and children
were crowding about, watching the paleface eat. Smith had learned since
his captivity the value the Indians set upon an impassive manner, so he
continued cutting off bits of venison and chewing them with as little
attention to those about him as King James himself might show when he
dined in state alone at Guildhall. But for Pocahontas's presence, whose
claim to the captive every one respected, they would have come even
nearer. As it was, one boy slipped behind her and jerked at Smith's
beard. Pocahontas ordered him away and said in excuse:
"Do not be angry, he wanted only to find out if it were fast."
She shared the child's curiosity in regard to the beard. Might it not
be, she wondered, some kind of adornment put on when he set out on the
warpath, as her people decked themselves on special occasions with
painted masks?
Smith tugged at his beard with both hands, smiling, and his audience
burst out laughing. They could appreciate a joke, it seemed, and he was
glad to see that their temper to him was friendly, for the moment at
least. One of the older men pointed to the pocket in his jerkin and
asked what he had in it. Compass and watch were gone, but Smith delved
into its depths in hopes of finding something he had forgotten which
might interest them. He brought out a pencil and a small note-book. He
wrote a few words and handed them to Pocahontas, saying:
"These are medicine marks. If one should carry them to Jamestown they
would speak to my people there and they would hear what I say at
Werowocomoco."
Pocahontas shook her head as did those to whom she passed the leaf. The
stranger might do many wonderful things, but this claim passed the
bounds of even the greatest shaman's power.
Smith, however, determined to keep her thinking of the possibility of
his return to Jamestown, continued:
"It is possible for me, in truth. Princess, and if thou would'st
accompany me thither I could show thee stranger marvels still."
"Nay," she cried angrily, "thou shalt never go there. Thou art mine to
do as I will. Is it not so?" she appealed to those about her.
They all shouted affirmation, confirming Smith's belief that his fate
had been placed in a girl's hands. It was not the first time such a
thing had happened to him; once before in his life a woman had been his
gaoler, and he again made up his mind to bide his time. He answered the
numerous questions put to him as best he could, about the number of days
he had been with the Pamunkeys, his capture, and why he had separated
from his fellows. In turn he questioned them about their harvests, the
time and method of planting and the moon of the ripening of the maize;
but the Indians showed plainly that they liked better to ask than to
answer.
As the day advanced the crowd began to dwindle. The captive would not
fail to be there whenever they desired to observe him and there was
hunting to be done and cooking, and already some of the boys had
strolled off to play their ever-fascinating game of tossing plumstones
into the air. At last only Pocahontas was left with the prisoner.
Smith glanced about to see what the chances of escape might be should he
make a sudden dash, but the sight of some braves at a lodge not more
than a hundred feet away busied in sharpening arrowheads made him settle
down again.
"Tell me, White Chief," said Pocahontas as she lighted a pipe she had
filled with tobacco and gave it now to Smith, "tell me about thyself and
thy people. Are ye in truth like unto us; do ye die as we do or can
your medicine preserve you forever like Okee? Canst thou change thyself
into an animal at will? If so, I fain would know how to do it, too."
Smith looked critically at the girl who sat on a mat beside him. He had
never seen a maiden whose spirit was more eager for life. In her avidity
for the miraculous he recognized something akin to his own love of
adventure and desire to explore new lands and to sample new ways. She
could not sail across the ocean in search of them as he had done--_he_
was her great adventure, he realized, a personified book of strange
tales to fire her imagination, as his had been stirred as a boy by
stories of the kingdom of Prester John, of the El Dorado, of the Spanish
Main and of the lost Raleigh Colony. The tobacco, which he had learned
to smoke while with the Pamunkeys, soothed him; he was in no immediate
danger; the warm sun was pleasant and the bright-eyed girl beside him
was a sympathetic audience. He was always fond of talking, of living
over the picturesque happenings that had crowded his twenty-eight years,
and now he let himself run on, seeing again in his mind's eye the faces
and the scenes of many lands, none of them, however, more strange than
his present surroundings. The only difficulty was his insufficient
vocabulary; but his mind was a quick and retentive one and each new
word, once captured, came at his bidding. Also, Pocahontas was a bright
listener; she guessed at much he could not express and helped him with
gesture and phrase.
"Princess," he began, when she interrupted:
"Call me Pocahontas as do my people. Perchance some day I'll tell thee
my other name."
"Pocahontas, then," he repeated slowly, impressing the name on his
memory, "I will obey thee. We are but men, as are thy kinsfolk, subject
to cold and hunger, ills and death. Yet, as God, our Okee, is greater
than your Okee, so our power and our medicine excel those of the mighty
Powhatan and of his shamans. Thou asketh for tales of the land whence I
come. They are so many that like the leaves of the forest I cannot count
them. If we sat here until thou wert a wrinkled old crone like her
yonder," and he pointed to old Wansutis who was hobbling by, "I could
not relate half of them. Therefore, if it pleaseth thee, I will tell
thee of some matters that have affected thy captive."
Pocahontas nodded her approbation.
"Our land, fair England, set in a stormy sea, is a mighty kingdom many,
many days' journey over the waters. There all men and women are as white
or whiter than I, now so weatherworn, as indeed are those of many other
kingdoms further towards the sunrise. Our land, now ruled by a king who
wields dominion over hundreds of tribes, was a few years ago under the
sway of a mighty princess."
"Was she fair?" asked Pocahontas.
Smith hesitated. The glamour which had once hovered about "Good Queen
Bess," obscuring the eyes of her loyal subjects, had since her death
been somewhat dispelled. He thought of the pinched face, the sandy hair,
the long nose, the small eyes--but then he had a vision of her as his
boyish eyes had first beheld her, the sovereign riding her white steed
before the host assembled to encounter the forces of the Armada Spain
was sending to crush her realm.
"Not beautiful was she," he replied, "but a very king of men!"
He puffed a moment reminiscently, then continued:
"I was born some years ago in a part of our island called Lincolnshire,
where it is low and marshy in places like unto the morass where thine
uncle took me prisoner. Yet it is a land I love, though it grew too
small for me, and when I was old enough to be a brave my hands itched to
be fighting our enemies. So I went forth on the warpath against our foes
in France and in the Netherlands. Then when I had fought for many moons
and had gained fame as a warrior I felt a longing to return to mine own
home. I abode there for a time, then I set forth once more and travelled
long in a land called Italy and entered later the service of a great
werowance, the Emperor Rudolph, to fight for him against the tribes of
his foes, the Turks. I cannot explain to thee, Princess, how different
are their ways from our ways; perchance theirs were nearer to thine
understanding since they are not given to mercy and take to themselves
many squaws; but let that rest. I fought them hard and often, and one
day before the two armies, that ceased their combat to witness, I slew
three of their great fighters, for which the Emperor did allow me to
bear arms containing Three Turks' Heads--that is, as if one of thy
kinsmen should sew upon his robe three scalps of enemies he had killed.
But soon after that was I taken prisoner by these Turks and sold into
captivity as a slave."
"Ah!" breathed Pocahontas deeply. For once in her life she was getting
her fill of adventures.
"I was given as a slave to another princess--Tragabizzanda--in the City
of Constantinople; then I was sent to Tartary, where I was most cruelly
used. One day I fell upon the Bashaw of Nolbrits, who ill-treated me,
and I slew him. I clothed myself in his garments and escaped into the
desert and finally after many strange adventures I reached again a land
where I had friends. Then--"
"Tell me of the princess," interrupted Pocahontas. "Did she ill-use thee
also?"
"Nay, in truth, she was all kindness to me," replied Smith, his eye
kindling at the remembrance of the Turkish lady who had aided him. "She
was very beautiful, with lovely garments and rich jewels," he added,
thinking to interest the girl with descriptions of her finery, "and I
owe her many thanks."
"Was she more beautiful than I?" asked Pocahontas, her brows knitting
angrily.
"She was very different," the amused Englishman answered. It was
scarcely possible for him to consider these savages as being real human
creatures, to be compared even with the Turks; yet he did not wish to
hurt the feelings of one who had done so much for him. "She was a grown
woman," he added, "and therefore it boots not to compare her with the
child thou art."
"I am no child. I am a woman!" cried Pocahontas, springing up in a fury
and rushed off like a whirlwind towards the forest.
John Smith looked after her in dismay. If he had turned his only friend
against him then was he indeed in a sad plight!
[Illustration: Decorative]