With right good will the hungry voyagers fell to and did full justice to the food set before them.
“Where is the source of this river you call Powhatan?” said Captain Newport, addressing Opechancanough.
“Far away toward the setting sun, among the great mountains, it begins, and gathering other streams into its embrace, swells into the river gliding by,” he answered.
After the meal was over pipes and tobacco were brought, and Indian and White man smoked the pipe of peace together.
“Who is your king, and where is your country?” asked Nantaquas, son of Powhatan.
“Many days’ journey across the great waters lives a mighty chief called James,” replied Captain Smith. “Thousands of warriors obey his commands and speed on his errands. He has sent us to seek out the friendship of his brother king, Powhatan, and bring him presents as tokens of his love.”
“It is well,” said Opechancanough. “Dearly will Powhatan love his brother and his presents.”
Just then came the sound of voices lifted in song, broken now and then by shouts of laughter. Not knowing what this might portend, the white men grasped their muskets and turned toward the direction from whence came the sound.
A gently sloping hill crowned with a dense growth of sycamores, gradually thinning out near the bottom, lay directly behind them.
Forth from the trees on the brow came a group of twelve maidens whirling and bending in a sinuous circle around a young goddess in their midst. Raising their arms aloft they showered her with great white daisies inset with hearts of gold, then bending their knees in homage, uplifted their voices in plaintive chant, while she in turn bent her body in graceful salute. On went the whirling dance and battle of flowers, in and out among the sycamores, until they reached the foot of the hill.
Then, catching sight of the stranger guests, the maidens paused with uplifted arms as if stiffened into stone. Opechancanough went toward them and informed them of the coming of the pale faces in their absence.
Quickly the links of the chain fell apart and ranged themselves behind the maiden who had been in the center. Like a young aspen against a background of autumn-tinted foliage stood Pocahontas, daughter of Powhatan and Virginia Dare. All of the girlish abandon with which she had whirled down the hill had vanished. In its place was the royal bearing of the queen.