Hi readers, I’ve been working on a long short story (or novella, as it is defined) called The New Colony. It is a historically inaccurate account of the English attempt to establish a settlement on Roanoke Island in the late 1500’s, better known as the lost colony. It is written in journal entry form which I found to be quite neat. I am currently looking to get the story self-published in both e-book and print versions, which is super exciting, to say the least!
So without further ado, I give you a sneak peak into the story that is The New Colony.
Day 1
We finally leave port after over a month’s delay. All one hundred and seventeen of us crowded onto the Lyon with the flyboat and pinnace by our sides. All of our hearts burdened with fears, anxieties, and excitements; we were, after all, sailing to a new world.
…
Day 72
I was finally allowed to go on deck with Mother to see with our own eyes the land slowly approaching us. The mere sight of the sun was enough to partially awaken that sense of adventure I had let submerge into the depths of my heart for too long now. As we reached the forward most part of the bow, as we were allowed, we caught sight of the growing land mass. It looked all the more inviting than ever land did in all my life. Seventy-two days aboard a vessel will do that to a man, or any such persons. Mother cried out with a victorious holler, grabbing my hand and joyously flailing it about. “We’ve made it, dear, we’ve made it!” she shouted. I celebrated along with her, but a part of me was on the lookout for Alis, seeing if I might catch the smallest glimpse of her anywhere. But the moment did not occur and before I knew it I was being summoned by Mother below deck, back to our foul and cold dungeon to wait.
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Day 95
It has been now twenty days past since we first anchored off the coast of Roanoke Island. And in those twenty days, there has been much progress with the village and surrounding fort walls. We’ve come a long way, I suppose. But within the progress much anxiousness can also be felt. With supplies running low, the ominous natives who can be seen here and there watching us from the forests, and the unfavorable weather conditions, our hopes are being run aground. White has been attempting his best at keeping morale up, but there’s only so much the man can do. We will press on, however. A second failure on this island would not do at all.
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Day 117
This morning… oh, what a horrid sight it was. This morning the men out fishing in the sea came running back to the village with great fear in their eyes. They attempted to explain what was happening but no one could understand them in their frantic state. I could see them from my vantage point on a roof I was working on. They eventually convinced some men to go back with them to have a look with their own eyes. I decided to follow. Huge mistake. As soon as I reached the clearing of the shoreline I saw it. A great herd of all kinds of animals were there in the sea, swimming, drowning, and floating upside down in the water dead. There was silence, except for the splashing and the waves hitting the shore. The men all stood looking on in bewilderment, as did I. What was happening? It was the only question I could think of…
…
Wait, what is that? I can hear many shouts and cries outside these walls. Have the natives decided to attack us instead? No gunshots have been heard yet. Outside my window I can see… nothing. Odd. There seems to be a great, thick fog settling over the island. It is quickly seeping into my room, blurring my sight. Gunshot. Another gunshot. Where is Mother?
C.J. Huffman 