It had grown dark and John Smith, his legs cramped with long sitting, stretched himself out by the side of the fire in his lodge into which he had thrown some twigs, so that the embers which had smouldered all day now blazed up brightly.  The cheerful crackling was welcome, it seemed to him to speak in English words of home and comfort, not the heathenish jargon he had listened to perforce for several weeks.  Not only was it a companion but a protection.  While it blazed he might be seized and put to death, but at least he should see his enemies.  He missed Pocahontas for her own sake, not only because her staying away argued ill for his safety.  Gratitude was not the only reason for his interest in her:  she seemed to him the freest, brightest creature he had ever come across, as much a part of the wilderness nature as a squirrel or a bird.  Like all cultured Englishmen of his day, he had read many books and poems about shepherdesses in Arcadia and princesses of enchanted realms; but never yet had any writer, not even the great Spenser or Sir Philip Sidney, imagined in their words so free and wild and sylvan a creature as this interesting Indian maiden.

His thoughts were disturbed by the entrance of two Indians.  “We are come,” they said, “at The Powhatan’s bidding to take thee to his lodge in the wood.”

He knew not what this order might mean, yet he was glad that come what would, the monotony of his captivity was broken.  He rose quickly and followed them through the village, each lodge of which had its ghostly curl of smoke ascending through the centre towards the dark sky.  Within some of the wigwams he could see the fire and sitting around it families eating before lying down to sleep.  Then they left the palisades of Werowocomoco behind them and came out into the forest, to a lodge as large as that in which he had first been led before Powhatan.

This one, however, was differently arranged.  It was divided into two parts, separated by dark hanging mats that permitted no light to pass through.  Into the smaller apartment, to give it such a name.  Smith was ushered, and there the two Indians, after stirring up the fire and throwing on fresh logs, left him alone.

Not long, however, did Smith imagine himself the lodge’s only inhabitant.  The sound of muffled feet, even though they moved softly, betrayed the presence of a number of persons on the other side of the mat.  His ears, his only sentinels, reported that the unseen foes had seated themselves and then, after a short silence, he heard a voice begin a low, weird chant.  He could not understand the words, but from the monotonous shaking of a rattle and the steps that seemed to be moving in some dance round and round from one part of the room to the other, Smith was certain that it was a shaman beginning the chant for some sacred ceremony.  Then one by one the different voices joined in, uttering hideous shrieks, and the ground shook with the shuffling