The unexplained disappearance of Virginia Dare, and of the Lost Roanoke colony, in general, has been a subject of intrigue and speculation ever since its occurrence over four hundred years ago. Countless rumors of survival, decimation, escape and intermingling have been put forward. So it is perhaps unsurprising that such rumors would naturally give way to legend and tales of the fantastic. Above all, how curious that Virginia Dare, never knowing the fullness of life, would yet achieve immortality in death?


There are many different ways to frame the story of the Lost Roanoke Colony. One such lens is found in the personage of Virginia Dare. What one may truly say about Virginia Dare is very little. Virginia Dare was born on August 18, 1587 to English colonists, Eleanor White and Ananias Dare. Exactly three years later, on the anniversary of her birth, John White, governor of the colony, returned to find the place deserted and no trace of the hundred or so colonists. The only sign, the only clue remaining was the word “CROATOAN” hewn into the wood of a post.

As history knows that is where the story ends. While many would go in search of the colonists no conclusive evidence would ever be brought to light on their disappearance. Yet there are so many roads that folklore knows and history does not. And it is these roads we have to travel.

Apart from being the first child of immigrants to what would become America, Virginia Dare represents many different things. Above all, however, Virginia Dare is uniquely positioned as a blank slate for generations of storytellers. This is a double-edged sword as her likeness is one that has been appropriated by both America’s best and its worst. Still, more so than matters of right or wrong, this or that, Virginia Dare represents a question, the great “What if?” And whether driven by our greatest hopes or deepest regrets, Virginia Dare has become something of a personification not of the U.S.A. as it is, but of what it might have been, what it could be. Virginia Dare is emblem of the great “What if?” of America.

For instance, what if relations between Europeans and Native Americans had gone differently? What if colonist had lived with nature instead of against it? What if you live lost in the woods away from civilization, are you the one who is truly lost or is society? Such questions allow us to reevaluate our history, think more critically of it and help prevent the same mistakes moving forward. The history of Virginia Dare is not the same as the legend of Virginia Dare. The history tells us what was done, but the legend is what makes us think what we should do differently.

This is the inherent value of folklore, of a story, the thing that touches the root of someone's heart when his or her mind is closed off. Something within that can make him or her give a listen when all rational arguments fail.

Within any good story there are multiple versions, separate and distinct retellings. The following is “patchwork,” taking multiple inspirations. It represents one of the most retold myths of Virginia Dare, the legend of “The White Doe or The Silver Arrow.” Itself, a mixture between the lore of both indigenous and latter Americans.

This is my telling. The real challenge is to make it yours. I waive all my rights to the following text and release it into the public domain. It belongs not to me but to the people. Feel free to add to it and mold it into whatever vision of hope or regret, towards a brighter tomorrow, you can dream up. A few hundred years or so ago, on the eighteenth of August 1587, Virginia Dare was born. Her birth dawned a new age, the first to come of many born of immigrants in this westward land. And yet— she vanished altogether, along with the unexplained disappearance of the Lost Roanoke Colony, a story, perhaps, for another time. But where facts end legend so often begins. And the legend of Virginia Dare is one that endures long after she vanished from the scene.

Virginia Dare’s fate is clouded in story, mystery for those lacking imagination. For the spirited lumberjack, teller of oft-told tales and champion of the Southern logging camps, is apt to say that Virginia Dare not only survived the fall of Roanoke but was brought up somewhere abouts, nobody knows quite well where, deep among the virgin dogwood and loblolly pine forests. Virginia Dare, with the remnants of the colony, were accepted with open arms by a Croatoan tribe living in the woods of Panawicke. There, not only did they live but flourish. Naturally, it came to pass that Virginia Dare reached maturity, blossoming into a beautiful young maiden, and coveted was she by a number of suitors. Among these was he whose name is lost to time, the son of Manteo. Manteo (son) was noted for his courage, for his daring, and eagerly sought some grand, some might would think it impossible, undertaking with what he might could prove his devotion to his beloved Virginia. And so, the cycle of courtship ensued. That is until one day, Virginia Dare, like Roanoke before her, disappeared.

Stranger still was the appearance of a singular white doe. The particular animal became the choice mark of many daring hunters, all of whom could not come close to procuring this rare prize. Time went on, as so often it does, and the white doe continued to elude the most skillful among huntsmen. However, early one morning, a learned elder was induce to admit that the white doe could only be slain by a silver arrow.

Now, fortune favors who fortune favors, sometimes the bold, other times the lucky or clever. In this story, it is the patient. For here reenters the young admirer, Manteo (son), who readily took up the trail of the curious specimen. Manteo (son) awaited the return of Virginia Dare, having heard tell that she ventured off over to another tribe for a spell. With fabled silver arrow in hand, Manteo (son) was intent to prove his worth with the fullness of his heart. He scoured the wild wood carefully inspecting every pass and ridge with rigor and zeal.

Several suns came and went, until at last, there the white doe stood, drinking over by the lake shore. Manteo (son), with great precision, took hold of his bow, with careful aim, he fired the projectile. Over the thickets and briars the silver dart flew. In a moment’s time, forever though it seemed, it raced until it met the heart of the noble animal. Manteo (son) watched the arrow plunge, the creature lose its foothold and return to the earth. However, upon inspection of its final resting place, Manteo (son) found no white doe. Rather, Manteo (son) stumbled upon a sight agasp for words. There would be no hero’s welcome. No triumphant return, no trophy for the hunter, nor token for his beloved. For rather than the white doe, Manteo (son), with heavy heart, carried back only the lifeless body of his dearest. Time revealing that the white doe and Virginia Dare were one in the same, the maiden having been transformed after rejecting the hand of a sorcerer, or so the story goes. “The tradition of a white doe and a silver arrow has survived through three centuries, and not only lingers where the events occurred, but some portions of it are found wherever in our land forests abound and deer abide. From Maine to Florida lumbermen are everywhere familiar with an old superstition that to see a white doe is an evil omen. In some localities lumbermen will quit work if a white deer is seen. That such a creature as a white deer really exists is demonstrated by their capture and exhibition in menageries, and to-day the rude hunters of the Allegheny Mountains believe that only a silver arrow will kill a white deer.”

—Sallie Southall Cotten, The White Dow: The Fate of Virginia Dare (1901)

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