It was supposed to be the first settlement under her majesty Queen Elizabeth I in the New World, ahead of the French, ahead of the Spanish. They had already conquered the north and the south. They would not obtain this. Spain may have already claimed Florida, but they would go no further. They would go no more.
It was supposed to be glorious.
117 souls stepped onto new and unfamiliar soil in August of 15867 after months of hurled motions and hurled stomachs. They weren’t sure if their legs were wobbling with anticipation or the lack of waves underneath them.
John White was one of those 117. He gazed upon the wild thistles and trees that surrounded him, eager to begin setting roots in this untamed island of Roanoke, to create something truly wonderful. But it was more than a personal endeavor; he had a duty to uphold as the self-proclaimed governor of this new settlement by the queen herself. He had a duty to these people, whose lives were his responsibility.
Most of all, he had a duty to his daughter Eleanor, who will soon give birth to the first English child of these lands. Truly, a momentous event for queen and country. A beacon representing new life and a new era for the British Empire.
It was supposed to be glorious.
Little Virginia Dare came into the world before the end of the first day. The settlers cooed and pawed at this small miracle, an immediate boost in morale. A sign of good fortune to come.
John White could not have been prouder of his daughter and granddaughter. He had ten days with them. Ten wonderful days. Ten days before the colony of Roanoke realized that their supplies would not last until spring. Ten days until they realized that harvest season had long passed to grow anything. Ten days before John White made the decision to return to England for more supplies, a journey that should take him no more than six months to return.
It took him three years.
Three years of guilt-ridden anxiety, not knowing the state of his people. What they must think of him. Their governor, their savior, abandoning them at their most desperate hour. Not being able to see his granddaughter, watching her grow, not knowing if she was even alive.
Ten days to leave. Three years to return. And when he did return, he found no celebration nor a retching mob to hang him, not even the rotting corpses of friends and family. Nothing. There was nothing.
He found nothing.
Roanoke was gone, disappeared without a trace. Nothing but a husked and overgrown fort and a perimeter wall. And on that wall, a solitary word scratched in haste.
Croatoan.
Any remnants or discovery of this lost colony was never found, and there has been no true explanation of how 117 souls disappeared.
Ten days. Three years.
But for the moment, ten days had not passed. Nor three years. Not even an hour had passed after the birth of Virginia Dare, her sleeping form wrapped in a blanket and in John White’s arms.
For the moment, he saw no lost child but a glorious creature of God in a new land that was all hers. And she was glorious.
It was supposed to be glorious.
If you were to visit Roanoke Island, you would see a thriving and bustling civilization. A lot has changed since 1587. The Island breathes life anew. After the disappearance of the Roanoke Colony. After the Native American tribes left, either wiped out by each other or another band of European settlers looking for land to call their own.
All that remains of that turbulent and mysterious past are tribal bones and a worn-down fort, both nothing more than shadows of the past.
Yet, there are stories and rumors that circulate this island, talks of ghosts and curses that have clung on for centuries, observing the world that passed them by.
This island seems to still hold many mysteries that are waiting to be discovered.
There is no official explanation as to what happened to the Lost Colony. There are those who believe they were wiped out, either by native tribes or the Spanish. Others conclude that they attempted to sail back to England themselves but were taken to the depth by a storm or enemy ship.
Yet, there is one theory that many have taken to be true. There are those who believe that the tribe assimilated to neighboring tribes when their supplies ran out and John White had not returned.
The most likely tribe they were able to assimilate to was the nearby Croatoan tribe, hence why it was etched into the perimeter wall of the abandoned settlement. A message to where they had gone.
This brings us to Virginia Day, John White’s granddaughter.
Legend tells that she grew in the Croatoan tribe after the colony supposedly fled, and that she grew up beautiful. She gained the attention of many suitors, one being a native witch doctor named Chico.
Yet, her heart was not for him to take. She rejected his advancements, and in anger, he transformed her into a white doe.
Okisko, a chieftain who had also fallen for the maiden, was desperate to return Virginia to her human. He had a pearl tip arrow made by a native magician that would transform her back once it pierced her heart.
Another chieftain had gotten word of this white doe and set out to kill this magical creature with a silver arrow to mark himself a warrior to his people.
Both men had managed to track the doe at the same time. With steady hands, they drew their bows and released their magical arrows. The arrows pierced the creature’s heart. The pearl arrow restored Virginia to her human form. But the silver one took her life.
To this day, people have reported glimpses of a white doe in the forest, only to disappear in the thick brush. Could it be the spirit of Virginia Day? The last and true remnant of Roanoke?
Only the White Doe knows.