It is in my mind that some fair day the mask will be dropped.

Here's the village." Until our interview with Chanco the Christian, the village of the Paspaheghs, and not the village of the Chickahominies, had been our destination, and since leaving the block house we had made good speed; but now, within the usual girdle of mulberries, we were met by the werowance and his chief men with the customary savage ceremonies.

We had long since come to the conclusion that the birds of the air and the fish of the streams were Mercuries to the Indians.
The werowance received us in due form, with presents of fish and venison, cakes of chinquapin meal and gourds of pohickory, an uncouth dance by twelve of his young men and a deal of hellish noise; then, at our command, led us into the village, and to the lodge which marked its centre.

Around it were gathered Opechancanough's own warriors, men from Orapax and Uttamussac and Werowocomoco, chosen for their strength and cunning; while upon the grass beneath a blood-red gum tree sat his wives, painted and tattooed, with great strings of pearl and copper about their necks.

Beyond them were the women and children of the Chickahominies, and around us all the red forest.
The mat that hung before the door of the lodge was lifted, and an Indian, emerging, came forward, with a gesture of welcome.