'Do you think they knew each other?' Thomas whispers to Meg, as they watch Smith watch Rebecca, who has come up from her demure cabin for a breathe of air.

'They must have. My father came here before – when he was young. Has your mother ever mentioned him?'

Thomas shakes his head, as they watch Rebecca go to the edge of the deck, and Smith's eyes follow her.

'My father said that what he saw here changed the way he saw the world.'

'Changed it how?'

'Well, he always tells me not to judge until I have walked in someone else's footsteps. And he stops the sailors from being cruel to the native people of whatever country we are in. When we were in Africa we stayed in a port which had slaves for sale, and one runaway was caught, and a sailor helped to catch him and hold him down while they beat him. So my father gave the sailor his pay and abandoned him on the shoreline. And I asked him why and he said a woman taught him understanding, and he has not forgotten.'

Smith gives the wheel to another sailor, walks over to a sail which the crew is having trouble with. As though sensing his movement, Rebecca turns to look at him

'He says the most monstrous thing we do, when we find a new world, is try to make it exactly like the old one. And he has very strong opinions about the Indians, and about how they should not be-'

'We, you mean.' Thomas interrupts. Meg has got a far off look in her eyes, and he feels he has to remind her of who she sits beside. 'I am an Indian, after a fashion, for all my father wishes he could forget this fact.'

'Sorry. You. Strong opinions about how your people should not be exterminated.'

'There are some who think we should be?'

'There are many.' Meg says, sadly. 'I wonder…' she murmurs to herself.

'He has written about all of his travels. And he said that when he was in the new world, there was a girl. A woman. Who saved his life. What is your mother's name?'

'Rebecca.'

'No. Her real name.'

Thomas pauses for a bit. Her real name. The one not given too late, the one she had from birth. The one her father whispered over her.

'Pocahontas.'

'It is her, then.' They watch the Indian woman look away from Smith, just as he glances towards her. The sail flaps above them, out of control but not dangerous, yet. 'She saved him.'

'Should we tell them we know?' Thomas asks.

'No. Never.'

'Why?'

'Because.' Sailors move about the deck like so many ants. The Captain's eyes dart to the woman standing there, looking out into oblivion. 'Because I rather think she broke his heart.'

A beat. A silence.

'Come on and make yourself useful, Thomas – you can help me with this sail.' And Meg stands and Thomas stands and they join her father and the two sailors, and all five of them manage to fix the ropes, and get it under control.

The wind is wild, now. It howls.