There Was No Trouble

by Jan Ross

“For he shall give
his angels charge over
thee, to keep thee
in all thy ways.”
Psalm 91:11

y birth name is Virginia Dare. Although there may be a remote chance you’ve heard about me, it’s doubtful you really know about me as my life has been shrouded in mystery. As far as anyone knows, I mysteriously disappeared years ago with everyone from the colony. But, here … let me tell you the true story.

My story begins on my fourth birthday on July 21, 1591, a day that is fairly vivid in my memory. Everyone on Roanoke Island was gathered to celebrate my birthday with my mother and father. There were only a few younger children as I was the first one born in the new settlement.

Some older children were there who, if my memory serves me correctly, came from England to settle in the new colony with their parents. My parents worked hard along with their friends to rebuild an old settlement that had been abandoned years before.

That afternoon I overheard my dad’s friend, John White, talking to the men. It was decided he should travel back to England to bring supplies back before winter set in. They said our stores were critically low because they spent more time rebuilding the settlement than planting new crops. He left them with specific instructions as he walked toward the boat waiting on the shore.

“If you have to leave this island, carve a message on a tree to tell me where you are when I return. If you are in trouble, carve a cross over the message.”

Although it didn’t make much sense then, it does now. I had no idea how my life was about to change.

Mr. White wasn’t gone but just a few days when some Indians from a nearby Croatoan Island showed up. I remember being very afraid—I’d heard stories of how entire villages were massacred by Indians. Sensing my fear, mother held me close, comforted and assured me they were friendly and came to help us.

We watched through the window in our house as the men and a few of the Indian leaders met together discussing what appeared to be some important business. Mother later told me that the Indians offered to help us in any way they could until Mr. White returned from England with the supplies.

The days quickly turned into weeks and months. Every day the men would use their looking glass to search the waters for any sign of Mr. White’s return. Every day they returned with the news that there was no sign of him.

Every day we prayed God would send him back safely. I could sense fear building in my father’s heart … it was as if the entire village was uncertain of the future. Apparently, everyone was afraid we’d been abandoned and forgotten by Mr. White and England.

More than two years passed without anyone coming with the sorely needed supplies. We thanked God daily for the Indians from Croatoan who shared their bounties with us. Finally, when the air was once again crisp with winter’s approach; we had no choice, but to leave Roanoke and join the Indians on Croatoan.

I watched my father carve the word “Croatoan” on the tree just as Mr. White instructed two years earlier; he put no cross over the carving—there was no trouble. God had sent the Indians as angels in disguise to help us through.

Within two days our belongings were packed; we began our journey. The weather turned bad and the snow began to blow, making each step harder as we pressed on toward the Indians’ offer of refuge.

We gathered at the shore where some Indians waited to help take us to Croatoan. Four large rafts made of wood bound together with ropes were waiting to carry all of us together. I remember holding my mother’s hand so tightly she decided it would be easier to pick me up and carry me. Of course, I didn’t refuse the comfort of my mother’s love at such an uncertain time.

I have to tell you, though, the Indians were so wonderful! They put our belongings on one raft and helped us onto the remaining rafts as the cold winds blew. Once we were ready to set off, the waves began to pound at the shoreline. We couldn’t go back—there was nothing to go back to.

My heart is still burdened with grief as I share this story. Only one raft made it to Croatoan that day, and of those on that raft, only three survived—two of the Indians and me. My family and the others died from exposure and the cold. That infamous day, the Indians became the family I lost.

Three years after Mr. White first left Roanoke he returned to find no one to greet him. Carved on the tree was a message—“Croatoan.” Stricken with grief for the delays he’d experienced, he came looking for the colony he left behind and found only me. Rather than demanding I return with him, Mr. White returned to England with the news that no survivors were found.

I now belonged to the Croatoan’s as they cared for and raised me as their own.

Today, Roanoke is known as “The Lost Colony,” however, I know it is not lost … Roanoke lives on in my heart, my children’s and grandchildren’s and great-grandchildren’s hearts. The colony may have vanished, but the memory still lives as the story is passed down throughout my generations. And, as difficult as those days were, there truly was no trouble as God’s provision was more than enough in the time of need.

© Jan Ross
All Rights Reserved