To the Indians this seemed like magic; they marvelled greatly at the
shining needle which they could see so plainly and yet not touch.
Seeing their interest Smith went on to explain other marvels of
the sun, and moon, and stars, and the roundness of the earth, until
those who heard were quite sure he was a great "medicine man."
Thus Smith fought for his life. But at length utterly exhausted, he
could say no more. So while the chief still held the little ivory
compass, and watched the quivering needle, his followers led Smith
away to his own camp fire. Here lay the other white men dead, thrust
through with many arrows. And here the Indians warmed and chafed
his benumbed body, and treated him with all the kindness they knew.
But that brought Smith little comfort. For he knew it was the Indian
way. A famous warrior might be sure of kindness at their hands if
they meant in the end to slay him with awful torture.
And so, thoroughly warmed and restored, in less than an hour Smith
found himself fast bound to a tree, while grim warriors, terribly
painted, danced around him, bows and arrows in hand. They were about
to slay him when the chief, holding up the compass, bade them lay
down their weapons. Such a medicine man, he had decided, must not
thus be slain. So Smith was unbound.
For some weeks Smith was marched hither and thither from village to
village.
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