In the background knelt the squaws with buckhorns bound to their heads. Their sobs and lamentations rose to shrieks as the frenzied warriors, black as midnight, tore the suckling babes from their clinging arms to offer them in sacrifice to Okee.
“Let me get behind you, Smith, for mercy’s sake! I see a howling devil glaring right in this direction. Your armor will blunt his arrows before they get around to me,” whispered the irrepressible Adam.
Again the whirling dance and sacrifice went on until the exhausted madmen fell to the ground. In the lull that ensued, Powhatan, seated near his departed ancestors, raised his hand for silence.
“The priests of Okee crave another offering, else the Terrible One will send the warriors when they die to Popagosso under the fiery sun, burning low in the west. The pale face has come among us, taken our lands, and killed our warriors. Okee demands the blood of the white captive at our hands.”
Captain Smith’s hair stood on end with horror, for he realized that the little white boy, given by Newport to Powhatan, was to be the propitiatory victim. The Captain’s mind traveled like lightning over various plans for the release of the child.
While Powhatan was speaking, Pocahontas, sick with the sight of flowing blood, crept noiselessly out. Would not the Great Spirit of the pale face send succor to the unfortunate boy, soon to be slaughtered? she wondered. She would pray to Him. Perhaps He might heed the prayer of an Indian maiden. Her “father” had said the Great Spirit could do all things.
Kneeling down and clasping her hands as she had seen Captain Smith do, she lifted pleading accents to the God of the Indian and the white man.
“O Great Spirit of my ‘father,’ let not Powhatan take the life of the little pale face brother. Pocahontas will give in return the blue beads her ‘father’ gave her.”
“Pocahontas,” whispered Smith, “it is I, your father. Do as I bid you and the boy will be saved.” Then he rapidly whispered directions in her ear.
“Pocahontas understands and obeys. My father will not hurt Powhatan and her people?”
“No, Powhatan and your people shall live,” he answered; but to himself he muttered, “If it were not for the women and children, I could murder every fiend.”