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When the party from Jamestown reached the Indian village the river was frozen over for a half-mile from shore. With his usual impetuous courage the Captain broke the ice by jumping into the frozen stream, and swam ashore, followed by the others, who were ashamed to be less courageous than he. It was nearly night, and they took possession of a deserted wigwam in the woods near the shore and sent word to Powhatan that they were in immediate need of food, as their journey had been a long one, and asked if he would not send provisions at once. In response an Indian runner came to their wigwam bearing bread, turkeys, and venison, much to the delight of the half-starved colonists. Refreshed by a good meal, they slept heavily in the still forest, and early the next morning went to pay their respects to Powhatan, who was in his “Chief Place of Council” awaiting their visit in his gala robe of luxurious skins and elaborate feather head-dress. His greeting was courteous, but he at once turned to Captain Smith and asked:

“When are you going away? I did not invite you to come.”

Although taken by surprise, quick-witted Captain Smith did not show his feelings, but pointing to a group of Indian warriors standing near, he said:

“There are the very men who came to Jamestown to invite us here!”

At this Powhatan gave a guttural laugh and changed the subject at once, by asking to see the articles which Captain Smith had brought for exchange. Then began a long and hot discussion in which neither the Captain nor the wily Emperor gained a point. Powhatan refused to trade unless the white men left their firearms on their barges and would barter corn only for the coveted articles. Captain Smith would not accede to his demands even to get the much-needed corn, and was on his guard because of the warning he had received, knowing that Powhatan was only waiting for the right moment to kill him.

The debate went on for hours, during which there had been only one trade made when Smith exchanged a copper kettle for forty bushels of corn. Annoyed at this, he determined to take matters into his own hand. Beckoning to some friendly Indians, he asked them to go to the river bank and signal to his men on the barges to come ashore with baskets to take back the corn for which he had traded the kettle. Meanwhile he kept up a brisk conversation with the old Werowance to divert his attention, assuring him that on the next day he and his men would leave their firearms on the ships, trusting to Powhatan’s promise that no harm should come to them.

Powhatan was too clever to be fooled by any such delightful promise; he knew the quick-witted Captain was probably playing the same game that he was, and feared lest the white man should be quicker than he at it. He slyly whispered a command to a young warrior, and at a sign from him two gaily decorated squaws darted forward and, squatting at the feet of the Captain, began to sing tribal songs to the beating of drums and shaking of rattles, and while they sang Powhatan silently drew his fur robe about him and stole away to a forest retreat long prepared for an hour of danger. Before him went a supply of provisions, and with him some women and children, but not Pocahontas. Meeting her father in his hasty flight, she listened to his request that she go with him, but with a laughing gesture of refusal she fled through the woods to the place where the white men were grouped. The old Chief’s power over his daughter had been greatly weakened by the coming of the colonists to Jamestown, and who knows what a fire of envy that may have kindled in his heart?