On and on they went, mocked at by owls and whippoorwills, crossing streams over log bridges, wading through others when the cold water splashed at a misstep up in his face.  At last the blackness turned to grey, in which he could make out the fingers of his hand.  Dawn was near.  Why, thought the Englishman, did they delay striking so long?  If they meant to kill him, he hoped it might be done quickly.  The phantom figure which had accompanied them after the halt following the wildcat call must soon act.  Even a brave man must wish such a night as this to end.

Then the world ahead of him seemed to grow wider and lighter.  The trees had larger spaces between them and the figures of the Indians were like a blurred drawing.  Was it a star shining before them, that light that grew brighter and brighter?

“Jamestown!” he cried out in his own tongue.  “Jamestown!  Yon is Jamestown!  God be praised!”

The Indians gathered about him and began to question him eagerly.  Would he give presents to them all; would they have the guns to carry back with them?

As they stood in a little knot, each individual of which was growing more distinct, a young man ran up behind them.

“Claw-of-the-Eagle!” they exclaimed.

The boy put into the hands of the astonished Smith a necklace of white shells he remembered to have seen Pocahontas wear.

“Princess Pocahontas sends greetings,” he said, “and bids thee farewell for to-day now that she hath seen thee safe again among thy people.”  His own scowl belied the kindliness of the message.

So John Smith knew that Pocahontas had accompanied him through the forest and that if death had been near him that night, it was she who had averted it from him.

[Illustration:  Decorative]

CHAPTER XI

POCAHONTAS VISITS JAMESTOWN

“We have brought the white werowance safely back to his tribe again,” said Copotone, one of the guides, as they approached the causeway leading to Jamestown Island.

“Of a surety,” remarked Smith, “since thus it was that Powhatan commanded.”

It was his policy—­a policy which did credit to the head of one who, in spite of his knowledge of the world, was still so young—­never to show any suspicion of Indian good-faith.

“Now that we have led thee thither,” continued Copotone, who on his side had no intention of betraying any secrets of the past night, “wilt thou not fulfil thy promise and give to us the guns and grindstone?”

“Ye shall take to your master whatever ye can carry,” answered Smith, whose heart was beating fast at the sight of the huts and fort before him, the outlines of which grew more distinct each moment with the brightening day.  He had answered the hail of the sentry who, when he had convinced himself that his ears and eyes did not betray him, ran out and clasped the hands of one he had never thought to behold alive again.