Then when the fire died down and the storyteller's voice had grown
drowsy, Pocahontas fell asleep, her arm resting on a baby bear that had
been taken away from its dead mother and that would cuddle close to the
person who lay nearest the fire.

Opechanchanough had not the same deep affection for children as that
which Powhatan showed to his sons and daughters. He was as brave a
fighter but not as great a leader in peace as Wahunsunakuk. It irked
him that he had to give way to his brother and that he must obey his
commands; yet he knew that only by unity between the different tribes of
the seacoast could they be safe from their common enemies, the Iroquois.
His vanity was very great and he had felt hurt at the ridicule which
Pocahontas had caused to fall upon him. Had she come on her visit sooner
he had surely not received her so kindly. But now there were other
strange happenings and more important matters to consider, and he was
too wise a chief to worry long over a child's pranks. Besides, he had
learned, from his own observance and from the tongues of others, how his
brother cherished her more than any of his squaws or children. So policy
as well as his native hospitality dictated a kindly reception.

In the morning after they had eaten, Opechanchanough offered to send
Pocahontas and her maidens in a canoe down to where a cape jutted out
into the ocean that they might see the breakers at their highest, but
Pocahontas declined.

"Nay, Uncle," she said, "but my maidens have never seen the sea. They be
stay-at-homes and I would not affright them too sorely by the sight of
mountains of water. Have no care for us save to bid some one supply us
with food to take along. I know the way down to a smooth beach where we