black billows of rolling clouds, their ragged edges gold-rimmed by the full-orbed moon, raced with mighty speed across the heavens. hidden in a mass of dense trees whose matted branches were interwoven with tangled vines stood the temple of okee. the rank vegetation exhaled poisonous vapors which were absorbed by the stagnant waters of the slimy marsh, and wild yells of demons came in weird and faint echoes to the ears of the english voyagers on the banks of the pamunkey.
“now what on earth can that be?” cried adam. “surely all the angels of satan must be in that swamp.”
“we will reconnoiter,” said smith.
“have you gone daft, man? do you want them to seize you by the hair and bear you off to toast on a pitchfork?”
“you should not be afraid of your familiar friends,” returned the captain, his brown eyes twinkling. “pocahontas said you were the chief of the terrible tribe. who will go with me to reconnoiter?” he added.
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“i will go,” spoke up adam, “i might just as well be scalped there as here.”
“i thought you were afraid!” taunted a fellow voyager.
“i am safer with smith than with you. he is worth all the rest of the colony put together.”
“now listen to my instructions, men,” said the captain. “if any danger threatens us, i will cry ‘saint george,’ and do four of you fellows come to our aid, while the rest stand ready to push off the boat.”
armed with their muskets and powder-horns, captain smith and adam clotworthy started on their perilous adventure through the dark swamp. knowledge of danger was to captain smith like the scent of battle to the pawing war-horse. his spirits rose at every step. not so the worthy adam; his courage drained down to his toes as he stumbled along over deceitful hillocks showing dimly under the fitful light of the moon. choosing an eminence covered with lush grass, he stepped upon it. immediately it gave away and he slid down into a pool filled with black, slimy ooze.
“they have got me!” he wailed under his breath. “i can feel their icy claws upon my feet. lord have mercy upon my100 sinful soul! don’t let the devil have me! you know i am not fit to die. only let me get out and i swear i will never utter another oath, and i will go to church regularly every day. indeed i will!”
captain smith caught him by the shoulders just under the arms, and bracing himself against a tree, gave a mighty jerk. forth came the bedraggled adam, smeared in slime up to his breast. the ludicrous sight filled the captain with silent mirth as he plodded along beside him and listened to the slimy water slushing in his boots at every step.
after an hour of arduous toil they came out upon firm ground. there before them rose the temple. trees planted thickly together formed the walls; their branches twisted and matted together, the roof. countless passion-flowers crept in and out among the trunks, and spread their purple flowers in a thick coverlet over the entire structure. a yellow glare from pitch pine torches within gleamed through the many crevices, like millions of fireflies.
adam would not stir a step until with much labor he had gotten off his boots and emptied out the mud and slime.
not an indian was to be seen as they stole toward the house, and, avoiding the101 door, made for an opening in the wall through which a broad beam of light streamed out. this opening was so large that both smith and adam could gain a clear view of the interior without being seen themselves.
as adam opened his mouth to utter a groan of horror, smith clapped his hand upon it and whispered, “do you want to be scalped? keep still if you value your life.”
such an awful picture they had never looked upon before. here in the midst of the american wilderness was dante’s inferno. at the end of the temple opposite the door, high up on a framework of reeds, lay the shriveled remains of past kings and priests. the bodies were painted and decorated in a fearful manner, their claw-like fingers still grasping the bow and arrow. at their feet crouched the stuffed bodies of favorite hounds. occupying the center of the room was the image of okee, his frightful face painted in red and black stripes. ropes of pearls as large as peas hung around his neck, and from the crown of his head stood up a tuft of eagle feathers dyed green and red. his staring eyes, enclosed in broad white circles, gazed unwinkingly upon the priests surrounding him.
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their naked bodies, clothed only in an apron of skin, were painted red and black in imitation of the god. writhing green snakes, hanging in holes bored in their ears, hit viciously with arrow-head tongues at their foaming lips as they whirled in the devil’s dance.
rattling pebbles shut up in conch shells, together with the hollow boom of membrane stretched over gourds, added their deafening din to the confusion.
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 another103 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 in104 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.”
looking now through the crack, he saw the lad dragged forth toward the priests. his cries for mercy were met by the taunting “ohe, ohe,” of his tormentors. no time was to be lost. turning to adam he said, “give me your powder-horn.”
“take heed what you do, smith,” implored adam, his teeth clashing together like castanets, and the knob on his nose working like a pig’s snout with excitement.
“keep still, and hand me your horn. stir not from this spot, no matter what happens.” so saying, captain smith and pocahontas disappeared, leaving adam alone. now and then curiosity overpowered fear, and he would look again105 through the crack, only to fall back and begin petitions for deliverance.
running around to a spot in full view of the door, captain smith emptied the powder in adam’s horn into a piece of clay pipe lying near. then inserting a lighted fuse, he took to his heels. fleeing around the corner he ran full tilt into the unconscious adam, with his eye glued to the crack, and both rolled to the ground. not knowing what had assaulted him, adam let out a yell that would have wakened the dead kings lying in state, had it not been drowned in the explosion of the gunpowder.
a roar of thunder split the air, followed by blinding flashes of flame. for a moment a deathly silence hung over the indians, then shrieks and yells burst from the painted demons. pandemonium reigned as they fled from the temple. leading the vanguard was powhatan, clinging to a litter borne on the shoulders of four warriors who sped away in the darkness.
in the midst of the confusion, pocahontas snatched the white boy up and made for the place where captain smith was vainly trying to pacify the terrified adam, who was now wallowing on the ground.
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“stop your howls, or i will leave you to the mercy of the indians! get up, we have not a moment to lose. pocahontas is here with the boy. we must hasten to the boat for our lives.”
leading the way as guide, with the boy clasped in her strong young arms, pocahontas plunged into the swamp. over morass, through matted vines, she went with unerring instinct, followed by smith, trundling the unwieldy form of adam before him. down into a hole went adam for the second time, leaving a boot as a memento of the adventure. as he hobbled painfully along, sick with misery and fear, his strength gave out, and with a moan he pitched forward. losing no time in an examination of the unfortunate man, smith merely rolled him over, and catching him in the back of his collar, dragged him along in his flight.
he heaved a sigh of thankfulness as he saw the boat through an opening in the trees. “saint george!” he shouted, and the men on the beach ran forward to meet him. picking up the body of adam as if he were a log of wood, they sped to the boat and dumped him in. pocahontas placed the boy in smith’s arms and vanished.
“row for your lives, men! death lies in the swamp,” urged smith.
bending to their oars, they sent the boat plunging down the stream in reckless haste, nor did they cease to row until the broad york was left behind, and the prow of their barge dipped its nose in the salty waters of the chesapeake.
