On this bright June morning all of the inhabitants of the village were abroad. The little embryo warriors, clad only in their copper-colored skins, waged mimic warfare with one another. From the low branches of the trees swung the papooses, like cocoons from which the gay-colored butterflies were already emerging. Over the fires hung many kettles in which the patient squaws, young in years but old in hardships, were cooking the morning meal for their lords, while near the beach, stretched at full length, lay the warriors, smoking their long-stemmed pipes, and discussing the news which Opechancanough had brought—news of the pale faces who had pitched their wigwams far down on the banks of the river.
Calling him to them, he was again asked to recite the wonderful tale. True, they had heard that many years ago there had been a tribe of pale faces far down on Roanoke Island, and the Hatteras Indians even now told strange tales of a pale face people who had once been there, but not one of Powhatan’s warriors had ever seen them.
Sitting down, Opechancanough again recited the tale of the wonderful tribe who had come among them.
“They wear curious mantles of many colors,” said he, “and one among them has his body covered with a hard shining shell, which doubtless the Great Spirit has given him. Their canoes have great white wings, and hidden in each one is an evil spirit which sends forth fire and thunder.”
In the midst of his story one of the warriors suddenly lifted his hand for silence, and with head to one side and chin outstretched, turned his gaze upon the river. The rest of the warriors followed his example. Their keen ears quickly caught the sound of oars beating the water with measured strokes, and presently there came into view a boat with twenty-two pale faces in it, their gleaming muskets resting on their knees.
“These are the pale faces Opechancanough has told you of. Receive them in a friendly manner, for they are mighty and powerful,” said that wily chief.
As the prow of the boat touched the beach all of the warriors went down to meet it. Many gestures on the part of the Indians gave Captain Smith and his party to understand that they were welcome.
“We would speak with your great chief,” said Captain Smith, who instinctively acted as spokesman for the rest of the party.
“My brother Powhatan is not here,” said Opechancanough. “He has gone to his winter home at Weriwocomoco. His chiefs and myself welcome you in his stead. Opechancanough has told them of your coming and the presents you bring.”
Still keeping their muskets by their side, the voyagers seated themselves on the beach near to their boat. Then the squaws, who had been curiously watching them, came forward at the command of Opechancanough with food for their refreshment.