At the council Mataoka listened while the Indians told how the prisoner had shot at their men, one of whom had since died. She was heavy-hearted when she learned the verdict, “Then he too must die--that is the Indian custom!” She watched while some young braves brought in two great stones and placed them in front of Powhatan. She saw them seize the prisoner, drag him before her father, force him down until his head was on the stones, and then tie his hands and feet. And all the time her heart went out to him, so fair, so friendly, so fine a man he was! Meanwhile John Smith, the white captain, not understanding what the Indians were saying, could only guess at his fate. He had often been near to death, in his adventurous life, and he thought now of some of his narrow escapes--of his fighting days in the Low Countries, in the Holy Land against the Turks, and that wonderful day when he met the three Turkish champions in single combat, came out victorious, and was given a coat of arms. He thought of the times he had been robbed and shipwrecked, captured by Barbary pirates and sold into slavery. Yes, he had been close to death before. Would some providence save him this time? No, there were only forbidding looks on the swarthy faces around him, glances of hatred, contempt, of triumph. Smith, from his position on the ground, saw the chief motion to the executioners, who brought in their great war clubs. Now they swung them up over their shoulders and stood ready for the word of command. Powhatan had opened his lips to speak when suddenly there was a commotion in the group as a little figure darted past the platform, slipped through deterring hands, and flung herself on the helpless prisoner. No girl’s game now was the little tomboy playing, as she took John Smith’s head in her arms and with her own body shielded him from death. The executioners stopped, uncertain what to do, for they were fond of the chief’s daughter and would not harm a hair of her head. With flashing eyes she waved them back and pleaded with the stern Powhatan to spare the white captain’s life. At once there was a scene of the wildest commotion. There were shouts and threats and many cries of “Kill! Kill!” for the Indians feared the power of these newcomers and longed to drive them from the land. But the little Pocahontas was a chief’s daughter and stood for her rights. Let them grant this enemy his life and adopt him into their tribe; for what harm had he done them? They ought to be friends. And she had her way. Powhatan raised his hand and when the clamor ceased, he spoke to the warriors who set the plucky paleface free. Mataoka smiled upon him and gave him many a look of wondering curiosity. Smith presented her with some trifling gifts and asked her name. Now it was the Indian custom never to tell a name to a stranger, lest it give him some magic harmful influence, so Powhatan replied that his daughter’s name was Pocahontas.