August 18, 1604
Long,
ratted, sandy brown hair cascaded down the sides of one of the X shaped stick
formations. The tattered, champagne, taffeta dress that draped over the trifling
frame of a frail, but firm body was being held up by twigs, those twigs in
which, fatefully, embraced her life. The mangled petti coat dangled
meaninglessly to the floor; the torn edges paint-dipped and matted with mud.
Ghost white, dirt smeared feet suspended dauntlessly over the opposite set of X
fashioned branches; the veins protruding from the beginning of her toes crawled
up to her ankles. They reveal terror, but her state is undeniably dispirited.
Her head remains upheld, strained to keep level with the rest of her body, but
her refusal to let it fall overpowered her painstaking mentality. The petite
figure of a young woman; pale, beautiful, lies there, as if not sure of the
purpose, just present. However, the tenacity of her being at this place was quite
clear to the rest of the gathering.
Taking a
deep breath, captivating in that wonderful feeling of a full set of lungs,
cherishing it for an instant, she opens her puffy, red, dampened eyes for the
first time since her arrival; seeing what appears to be a beautiful landscape,
aside from the ravenous crowd of whom she thought to be her family, dancing and
parading around her, shouting obscurities with their painted bodies. The mountainous
terrain dotted with evergreen trees revealed to her that there was, in fact,
still beauty in this godforsaken world. The lake just next to the closest
foothill endured silent; no sight of ripples or movement whatsoever, oh how the
peacefulness taunted her. The grey sky brought her serenity; the smell of musty
rain gave her a sense of tranquility. She was past the point of confusion, or
even caring. Apathy seeped through and out of her soul. Serenity. Tranquility.
What strange feelings to inhabit at a time of such certain death, for she knew
that in this moment, this brief laps in time, would she surely face her
ultimate expiry. She thought back to earlier that evening when she was hiding
with Apenimon in the forest, like children do, and how they murdered him right
in front of her, stabbing him in the side with a spear. What monsters, what
spawns of Satan. For, she knew no love other than the love that Apenimon gave
her in the 17 years of her life.
The
crowds’ uproar began to crescendo, a drum started to pound; slowly at first,
then increasing in speed and intensity as the chants swelled. The drum roll
ceased immediately in simulation as the cries of the pack. Securing her eyes
shut once more, seeing the sweet face of her beloved Apenimon, she braced
herself for what was to come next.
July
22, 1587
Stepping
off of that colossal, cramped boat felt so prodigious. Walking down the creaky
wooden ramp Captain John White stopped and stood just at the edge of the shore.
He
placed one hand on his haltered hip and the other just above his brow in order to
shade his eyes; in doing so he squinted, crinkling up his tan leathery skin, taking
in the breathtaking scenery. The mountains and deeply green forestry allotted
for a beautiful landscape. Fortunately, the heat wasn’t excruciatingly brutal,
considering the time of the year. This was good seeing as there was a lot of
work to be done on the remains of the village. There were things to be fixed,
rebuilt, and modified. Closing his eyes he took in the smell of pure
wilderness, opportunity really, overwhelming his senses with pure excitement.
Cupping
his strong, rough hands to his deep brown bearded mouth he shouted, “Eleanor!
Eleanor! Ananias! Come look! Feast your eyes upon our new conquest!” Turning
around out of pure anticipation he awaited to see the look on their faces as
they glanced upon their new home for the very first time.
First came
his son-in-law Ananias Dare; his dark hair waved a bit in the breeze, mimicking
the same stance as Captain White had, he admired the view, with a slight smirk
crossing his slightly chapped lips, for what he foresaw was prosperous and
promising. Excitedly walking down the ramp, Ananias jolted out his hand and
enthusiastically shook Captain Whites’. “You did a great thing here Cap. I know
for sure good things are to come. I can just feel it.” Simultaneously, both men
look out once more at the land and the previously deserted town, and all the
other 115 crew members scrambling to unload equipment and fully dock the boats,
both envisioning as to what a bright forthcoming was to be had.
The creaky
floor boards sounded once more, in result, both men jerked their heads towards
the noise to see the gleaming presence of young Mrs. Eleanor Dare White. Her
rosy cheeks indicated slight sunburn on her delicately white skin toned, exposed
face. Her eyes smiled before anything else, the sparkling blue color shone and
reflected the sun, which in turn resulted in the biggest grin. “Oh, Father!
It’s just beautiful!” She placed both hands on her hips and began to waddle
down the ramp; eyes fixated on the skyline.
“Oh
darling, let me help you.” Ananias met her half way, reaching for her hand. “We
certainly don’t need any accidents right now.”
She
grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, placing her other hand on her
stomach, “You’re definitely right, dear. I don’t want anything to spoil this
marvelous moment.” All three of them stood side-by-side, admiring and watching
the busy colonists still unloading, frantically trying to finish their jobs
before sundown.
“Alright,
we’ve got the rest of our lives to stare. Let’s grab our things and make our
way to the village. God knows we have our hands full with that task, let alone
the other ones to be had. No one’s been down there since Raleigh in ‘85.” With
one last glance they turned to retreat back up the ramp to gather their
belongings to bring to their new town.
Once back
on the dock, Eleanor reached over to Ananias, touching his arm, “Our baby is
going to be happy here, isn’t it?”
Ananias
grabbed her hands, kissing each of her fingers, “Ele, darling, our baby will
have you as a mother, and a future with no limits. It will be far more than
just happy. I promise.” With a reassuring smile, he then took her in an
embrace, wrapping one arm fully around her, and placing one hand on her hands that
now rested on her stomach. “Our family, our baby, will be the most pleased in
the world here, in Roanoke.” They at that moment proceeded to follow Captain
White to retrieve their things.
August
18, 1587
The
temperature was overwhelmingly suffocating; no clouds were in sight, leaving
the people vulnerable to the rays of the sun. The heat was so dense that they
could plainly inhale the condensation. The collection of the perspiration
drenched townspeople surrounded the outside of the newly refurbished Roanoke
monastery hospital; no one was without a waving fan. The strong wooden building
stood robust as the second largest structure in the town, the church being the prevalent.
Captain
John White and Ananias Dare were present in this assembly. They both
stood nearest the front; anticipation dripping from their faces. Captain White
had his hat in his left hand placed over his chest, the opposite hand grasping
his saturated mop of hair; his head tilted towards the floor, leaning against a
column for support. Ananias was squatted with his face in his hands, slowly
rocking back and forth, occasionally spouting off a prayer in slight whispers. The
rest of the gathering remained silent, with only the infrequent murmur. The
monumental oak doors remained shut; giving the people no insight as to what was
happening. Only three people were allowed inside at this time; the priest, the
nun, and Mrs. Eleanor. There were multitudes of screaming, shouting, and cries
of mercy from within the structure; with each call it pained Ananias and
Captain White more and more, for there was nothing that they could do for their
lovely Eleanor.
One last
moan bellowed from within Eleanor, soon following the beautiful cry of a
newborn. A gasp concurrently emerged from the congregation. Captain White
pressed his eyes shut even farther than before, pending the news. Ananias
remained in his stance, his prayers a bit louder than formerly. Moments later,
in which seemed like days, the large door slowly scraped opened. All eyes fell
upon Father Smith and the Sister Mary; Captain White’s eyes jerked open, placing
his hat back on his head; standing upright. Ananias looked up, still in his
squat, looking at the priest with concern and pleading eyes.
“Stand up
boy.” Father Smith motioned for Ananias to rise, reaching for his hand. “My
brother, for you are blessed. God has granted you with a beautiful, healthy
little girl.” A sigh of relief escaped from the group and a brief
congratulatory applause, for this was the first birth of a colonist on this
soil; Captain White slapped a hand on Ananias’s shoulder, letting a reassured,
pleased chuckle escape. Father Smith looked at the nun, “Sister, will you
please check on the baby, and clean her up. There are a few people I presume
would be delighted to meet her.” Sister Mary turned around to tend to the
child. Ananias smiled instantly, but soon diminishing back to a face of worry.
“And my
wife?” Ananias looked at Father Smith with beseeching eyes, tears swelling just
at the thought of the answer he dreaded most. The crowd hushed once more.
“Lovely, brave, strong Miss
Eleanor, she is perfectly well.” Ananias released the biggest exhalation of
relief, embracing the long awaited feeling of complete joyfulness. “In fact,
there were absolutely no complications; it was one of the most tranquil births
I have ever witnessed.” Turning, Ananias embraced his father-in-law, both
ecstatic of the news that they were just given. “Mr. Dare, Captain White, if
you’ll follow me back inside please, I’d like to introduce you men to the young
Miss Virginia Dare.” Eagerly they followed Father Smith into the monastery.
August 23, 1587
Father Smith was dressed in all
white, his robe reflecting the sunlight beaming into the church; a sight that
the people had seen just days before in witnessing the baptism of Croatoan
leader, Chief Manteo. Chief Manteo was astounded with the people and their way
of life, he desired to make a peace offering, considering the encounter a few
years previous. Father Smith shared with him the faith in which the town was
founded upon, and as a result, baptized Chief Manteo the following day. Today was
a similar occasion, however a different soul. Today was the day of the
baptismal ceremony for baby Virginia Dare.
Within the towering church
building, Father Smith cradled the infant in his arms, Ananias and Eleanor
proudly stood by his side on the newly built alter, and the place smelled of
freshly cut pine. Virginia’s cheeks were pink and rosy, her skin glowing with a
whiteness only a porcelain doll could mimic, only a few days old and she
already had a full head of golden hair. Dressed in white, she looked like an
angel, as if given straight from the gods as a form of endearment. Everyone was
captivated by her beauty; especially Chief Manteo, for this was a child like he
had never seen, her magnificence, her purity, was enchanting. In the wooden
pews sat the colonists, Captain John White in the front row, and in their own
section to the side; Chief Manteo and the Croatoan tribal people. Chief Manteo
fell in love with the colonists, after his being baptized and reaching a
covenant of neutrality, Captain White invited the chief and his people to
attend his newborn granddaughter’s christening service.
As the provision initiated the
crowd began to hush. Father Smith opened up with the routine prayer by bowing
his grey haired head, slightly singing in a deep vibrato, the congregation recited
along with it as it went, the Indians stood in a mere confused silence, staring
at the face of Virginia, transfixed. With the customary “I will,” from both
Ananias and Eleanor, they promised to raise Virginia up as a godly woman, to
fear naught but the smitten and powerful God Almighty. Rubbing the sacramental
oils upon her forehead in a cross formation, the audience in chorus relayed an
“Amen.”
August 24, 1587
Captain John White was in
ponderous state at the shoreline that he had first arrived at, only a short
month after the arrival to Roanoke, with a hand on his hip, the other hand
ruffling through his hair, Captain White gazed at the land once more, his town;
his conquest. The colony progressed far more than before, the people, adapting
to the new way of life, his family; they would all soon be specks on the island
that eventually would fade in the distance. Eleanor, Ananias, and the lovely
Miss Virginia stood before him, having had helped him carry his things to the
ship. Ananias with the captain’s bags, Eleanor with a dreary look in her eyes
and a baby cradled in her arms, and little Virginia was sound asleep; her
flawless features and clean spirit left a gripping hold on anyone’s heart that
happened to glance her way.
The few
twenty men that were attending the voyage back to England, were anxiously
untying the ship, loading supplies, preparing for the journey in which they
were soon to embark on. Sighing, “I’ll be back in four short months. We are
dire need for supplies, you know this. If I don’t leave now, I fear we will run
out.” Captain White reached over to take the bags from Ananias, making an
understanding moment of eye contact; the captain’s hazel eyes meeting the small
blue eyes of Ananias, and then setting them on the docking ramp. Reaching over
to his wife, Ananias gingerly took Virginia into his strong arms, careful as
not to squeeze too hard and break her delicate body.
Captain
White made his way over to Eleanor, grabbing both of her warm, slightly
perspiring hands. Looking adoringly into her eyes, “Ele, sweetheart, you’re
going to do just fine here without me. You’ve got Ananias, little Virginia over
there, the people, and there’s a nun especially good with medicine if anything
goes wrong. Everything is going to run smoothly, I promise. I love you, dear,
I’m so proud of you.” Giving her hands a gentle squeeze, he pulled her into his
wholehearted, fatherly embrace; kissing her forehead ever so gently.
Walking
over to Ananias, Captain White knelt down, to be level with Virginia, stroking
her soft, pillow-like cheek with his rough forefinger, then placing it in her
tiny, curled up hand for her to hold. “I love you sweet girl,” he whispered
tenderly into her ear, “make Grandfather proud.” He then placed a kiss, quietly
on her nose.
Quite sobs
emerged from Eleanor, “I love you too, Father. Be careful.”
Standing
upright he met Ananias’s hand for a shake. Nothing but a nod was exchanged
between them, the handshake was firm, and the eye contact was stern. A mutual
understanding was met. “Remember Ananias, if anything goes wrong, anything at
all, and a move of the colony is required, you know what to do.”
Meeting
his gaze, Ananias remembered what he was told; if there was anything to go wrong and the townspeople needed to
relocate, carve the new location in on the pole of the entry gate. “Yes
sir. I remember.”
Picking up
his things, he walked up the creaky ramp, once at the top he handed over his
things to a crew member, then turning around to get one last good look that
would endure the four months he anticipated to be gone. Cupping his hands to
his face he hollered down, “Goodbye my pets, I’ll see you all very, very soon.
Ha! Don’t let anyone make a mess of what we just cleaned up alright? Be safe.”
January 28, 1587
Two men sat on the floor in a
tent-like structure; Chief Manteo, leader of the Croatoan people, and Chief
Powhatan, leader over all tribes in the region. Chief Manteo was a fairly small
man, his shoulders were broad, but the rest of his body was petite. His eyes
were small and wrinkled at the edges, and he had four lines of burgundy paint
smeared on each cheek. Chief Manteo was wearing his usual dress for this time
of year; buffalo fur coat, shirtless, and tribal pants, and moccasins. His head
wear consisted of eagle feathers and beads, his long, braided, black hair hung
on each sides of his face, both braids were tied with a leather strap. Chief
Powhatan had very similar features, except, he was much bigger. His eyes were
cold, stern, unmoving. His stature was very large and bulky, well over a head
taller than Chief Manteo. The traditional tribal wear was also worn by Chief
Powhatan. On his bare chest were four handprints, two big handprints in blue
placed on the outer sides, and in between those hands, were two very small
hands painted in blood red.
“Chief Manteo, I was informed
that one of the Holy One’s was attending the little colony that you befriended.
Tell me, please, they must have been mistaken, correct? I can’t imagine you’d
keep something like that from me.” Chief Powhatan just stared blankly into
Chief Manteo’s eyes.
“This can be neither confirmed
nor denied. Yes, the newborn was quite enticingly pure. But these people,
they’re not what they seem to be. They are kind, and welcoming. If you’d ju—“
“Never! Never say that to me,”
slamming down his hand on the floor, his eyes growing wide, a vain bulging from
his wide neck. “I am Chief of this region. Me! Do not question my authority. If
there is a Holy One at that village, I demand the proper actions to be taken.
Or else YOU will be the sacrifice, understood?”
“Yes Chief.”
“There will be war when I find
her. There will be bloodshed. That town will be no more, and that girl will be
ours. That is the way it was prophesied, and that is the way the gods want it
to be. No arguments.”
**********
Sitting on the front porch of
their house just on the outskirts of the town, in the rocking chair maid by
Captain White was one of Ananias’s favorite things to do. Just rocking back and
forth, pondering all of his innermost thoughts, mainly including the expedition
back to England, the captain should be back by now, in addition to the serenity
of the wilderness. He had his left leg crossed over his right, drumming his
fingers on the armrest. Yes, the weather was a bit chilly, the mist didn’t help
either, but it was so nice to have after being trapped inside all day. The sun
started to peak through a cl—
“Ananias! Where is Virginia?”
Chief Manteo was jumping frantically up and down, running down the pathway to
the house.
“Manteo, calm yourself brother.
She’s inside with her mother. What is it that you need?” He rose from his chair
to support himself up with his left arm on the railing.
“It’s Chief Powhatan, he wants
Virginia.” Ananias immediately stood straight up, his eyes dilated and his
nostril’s flared. “There is going to be a war soon if we don’t get these people
out of Roanoke and into Croatoa. It’s a long story Ananias. Just bring me to
Eleanor and Virginia. If Powhatan’s men get here before we leave, we’re done for.”
A crashing of glass sounded, followed
by the startled cry of a baby, “Ahhh! Ananias! Someone!”
“It’s too late they’ve already
been through the town.” Chief Manteo took a moment to process.
Ananias
ran inside to aid to Mrs. Dare. The first thing that caught their eyes was the
chair knocked over; they allowed their eyes to scan the floor, searching for a
clue as to what went wrong. A womanly hand, delicate and pale lay on the
entryway floor from the nursery. Ananias became ghost-like. He slowly walked
over to the door, grasping the wall for balance, keeping his eyes on the hand
and nothing more. Putting his hand on his heart, bracing himself, he followed
the hand up to the arm; blood was starting to drip down slowly into the creases
of the elbow. The lacy edge of a peach colored dress draped over the shoulder,
a mourning sob escaped from Ananias’s lips, putting his hands over his mouth.
He was still observing; past the shoulder he began to examine her torso, her
dress was torn at the chest where an arrow had punctured just below her left
breast, and another in the direct middle of her abdomen. Blood was spewing and
soaking into the dress, no longer peach colored.
“No. No. No. No.” Ananias
repeated over and over in between his cries of fury. He then made his way up to
her face; her crystal blue eyes were open, no longer filled with happiness, but
empty. Her cheeks were not rosy as they once were. Her color was that of a
white table sheet. Ananias sank down, grabbing her hand, kissing each finger
tenderly as he once used to. “No. No. No. No.” Tears streamed down his face.
“Ananias, brother, Virginia,
they took Virginia. We must get out of the town. We have to leave.” Chief
Manteo offered his hand to support his getting up.
“Who, who is they? Who are these
monsters? Virginia. How could I forget?” Crawling, his knees spreading and
sliding in the puddles of blood that was shed on the floor, over to her face,
Ananias kissed her forehead, shut her eyes, and whispered in a raspy, crackly
voice “I love you.” His hands quivering he stroke her cheek one last time and
rose to his feet with the help of Manteo by giving him his right hand.
As he stood, Ananias felt a pain
begin to emerge in his right ribcage. There was a growing warm sensation about
it. He looked down to see blood emerging
from a gaping wound, in a state of shock he placed both hands over the hole and
looked up at Manteo, with a spear in his hand. “Manteo, why?” Ananias slammed
up against the wall for sustenance.
“It’s the
prophecy. She’s the sacrifice. Virginia is a pure soul. She’s a Holy One, my
brother. I am sorry for this I am, I even tried to stop it, but it was too
late. What’s done is done, and neither of us can fight it. At her ripe time of
age Virginia will be a detriment to the gods. They will be very pleased with
this.”
Ananias
collapsed to his knees. His breathing slowing down, his vision becoming blurred,
the smell of his warm blood began to intoxicate him. His voice only as a
whisper, coughing, “Virginia, I’m sorry. I love you.”
August 18, 1604
Long,
ratted, sandy brown hair cascaded down the sides of one of the X shaped stick
formations. The tattered, champagne, taffeta dress that draped over the
trifling frame of a frail, but firm body was being held up by twigs, those
twigs in which, fatefully, embraced her life. The mangled petti coat dangled
meaninglessly to the floor; the torn edges paint-dipped and matted with mud.
Ghost white, dirt smeared feet suspended dauntlessly over the opposite set of X
fashioned branches; the veins protruding from the beginning of her toes crawled
up to her ankles. They reveal terror, but her state is undeniably dispirited.
Her head remains upheld, strained to keep level with the rest of her body, but
her refusal to let it fall overpowered her painstaking mentality. The petite
figure of a young woman; pale, beautiful, lies there, as if not sure of the
purpose, just present. However, the tenacity of her being at this place was
quite clear to the rest of the gathering.
Taking a
deep breath, captivating in that wonderful feeling of a full set of lungs,
cherishing it for an instant, she opens her puffy, red, dampened eyes for the
first time since her arrival; seeing what appears to be a beautiful landscape,
aside from the ravenous crowd of whom she thought to be her family, dancing and
parading around her, shouting obscurities with their painted bodies. The
mountainous terrain dotted with evergreen trees revealed to her that there was,
in fact, still beauty in this godforsaken world. The lake just next to the
closest foothill endured silent; no sight of ripples or movement whatsoever, oh
how the peacefulness taunted her. The grey sky brought her serenity; the smell
of musty rain gave her a sense of tranquility. She was past the point of
confusion, or even caring. Apathy seeped through and out of her soul. Serenity.
Tranquility. What strange feelings to inhabit at a time of such certain death,
for she knew that in this moment, this brief laps in time, would she surely
face her ultimate expiry. She thought back to earlier that evening when she was
hiding with Apenimon in the forest, like children do, and how they murdered him
right in front of her, stabbing him in the side with a spear. What monsters,
what spawns of Satan. For, she knew no love other than the love that Apenimon
gave her in the 17 years of her life.
The
crowds’ uproar began to crescendo, a drum started to pound; slowly at first,
then increasing in speed and intensity as the chants swelled. The drum roll
ceased immediately in simulation as the cries of the pack. Securing her eyes
shut once more, seeing the sweet face of her beloved Apenimon, she braced
herself for what was to come next.
