Journal of Ms. Elizabeth Dare

August 1, 1589
Mother gave me this empty book and said I ought to practice my letters in it. I am Elizabeth Dare, daughter of Ananias and Eleanor Dare, eleven and a half years old and very hungry. I am hungry because there isn't any food, and hasn't been for months, and probably will never be. Oh to have a nice smallcake like Mother used to make me in England. But this is nothing like England – not since Mr. White left. Mr. White? I barely remember him, except that when he was here everyone was happy. Now everyone is sad. I am sure Mother would scold me for using simple words like "happy" and "sad" but I am practicing my letters, not my vocabulary.

August 5, 1589
Writing my letters is quite bothersome but Mother insists. There's a nice word: "bothersome." I'll use it again – it has been quite bothersome listening to the other children talk about how our Roanoke is cursed. Not only is it cursed, they say, but also it is surrounded on every side by Croatan Indians just waiting to run in and scalp us all. Quite bothersome indeed, but of course I do not believe them. We have been here for two years now and I still have my scalp. I might not for long, though, if the older boys don't stop running off and shooting the Croatan livestock for fun. Oh, Virginia wants me to play at marbles with her. She's only two, so of course she's eaten half of them.

August 15, 1589
I saw my first Indian today and I didn't like him. He knocked at the door and I answered, and I'm sure I gasped aloud when I beheld that tall, roughly dressed, dark man hovering over me. He came to speak with Father, and Mother told me to leave but of course I didn't and stayed behind the door. I could see everything and hear some things through the cracks. The Indian was angry, I could tell, though his accent was strange and I didn't make out what he said. I saw that Father had no patience for the yelling dark man. I never expected Father to spit at him though. Straight up the face! Forgive my crude language. The Indian stopped talking and left. I thought hunger was bad but now I'm scared.

August 18, 1589
It's early and it's Virginia's birthday but I've gone for a stroll just to get away from everybody. The Indians are on the other side so I'll be all right. I think if we left the Indians to themselves we would be safe. No matter – it is lovely out here. I am picking flowers so Virginia can wear them in her hair, though she will probably eat them. I'm almost hungry enough to eat them as well. No, mustn't think about that. Mother will like the flowers too.

August 19, 1589
NO NO no no no everyone is gone. How could I have left but what could I have done? Mother and Father both dead, I buried them with the last shovel, but no one else around. Everything in pieces. I saw a strange cross carved next to Father but I smoothed it away because it must have been a bad Indian sign. And oh the blood writing on Father's head – "Cro." Before I found them I thought they had left without me. No, they waited for me. They waited and they are still here, right under here, still.



(Disclaimer: It should be clear that I do not pretend that this is historically accurate)