She was looking at herself in the ebony-framed mirror that hung opposite the door, much interested in her strange appearance, when the Indian boy entered, following Mistress Lettice.  She saw his face in the glass and recognized him as the son of a Powhatan chief.  She turned and faced him, but knew that he did not recognize her.  He looked no further than her clothes and so believed her an Englishwoman.  It was a rare amusement, she thought, and she watched him eagerly to see his surprise when he should find out his mistake.  She was well rewarded by his puzzled and astonished expression when she called out to him: 

“Little Squirrel!” When she herself had stopped laughing, she added:  “Take this sad message to old Wansutis.  Tell her that her son, Claw-of-the-Eagle, hath met his death bravely and that Pocahontas mourns him with her.”

Then she dismissed the boy.  As he walked away she remembered that she desired him to bear also a special word to Nautauquas, so she started to run and call him back.  But the unaccustomed weight of her clothes and shoes prevented her and she began to pull them off her even before she reached the house, crying out: 

“Nay, I will not prison myself thus; give me back mine own garments,” and she breathed deep breaths of satisfaction when she had resumed them.

Had the manner of her coming to Jamestown been otherwise, with no treachery and no compulsion which hurt her pride, Pocahontas would have much enjoyed her stay and a closer view of the ways of the English.  As it was, she was restlessly awaiting the message her father would return to the demands of the colonists.  The next day the messengers came back, bringing with them the Englishmen who had been held captive by Powhatan and some of the arms.  The werowance promised, they reported, that when his daughter was restored to him he would give the corn which the white men asked for.

This answer did not satisfy the Council, and day by day there were parleyings in which the white men and the red men sought to constrain or evade each other.  Each side recognized the value of Pocahontas as a hostage.  She was not now unhappy.  Even if the colonists had not done their best to requite with kindness all the care she had manifested for their welfare, policy would have led them to treat her with every consideration.  She was made welcome everywhere, and she went from the guard house to that of the Governor, asking questions, eager to learn all details, from the way to fire off a musket to the heating of the sealing wax and the making of a great red seal which Master John Rolfe, Secretary and Recorder General of the Colony, affixed to all the documents sent to the Company in London.

He explained everything to her, taking pains to choose the simplest words, because he found a keen pleasure in watching her dark eyes brighten when she began to comprehend something which had puzzled her, and because her laughter and quick coming and going in the masculine atmosphere of the council room was a most agreeable change from its usual dull calm.  He was a widower and, though he had got over the sadness of the loss of his wife, he still missed a woman’s companionship.  So he was nothing loath to follow when Pocahontas commanded one day: