Willow baskets filled with flat cakes made of crushed acorns, buttered with deer suet, were flanked by hot corn pone and hoe cake. Broiled venison and sturgeon, together with wine made from last year’s vintage, completed the repast.
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.