“LOST,” ca 1587

Today was history day, and this area reeks of it.  Between the mainland and the Outer Banks lies Roanoke Island, site of the first attempted English colony in 1587.  Now, before the ghost of my high school history teacher raps my knuckles, there was an earlier, all-male outpost of men sent by Sir Walter Raleigh in 1585.   However, although they built “Fort” Raleigh, they had a rough go of it, and the survivors packed off for England the following year.  But, in 1587, Raleigh dispatched a true permanent colony effort, including women and children.  On August 18, not long after their arrival, Virginia (for the “Virgin Queen”) Dare, became the first English child born in the New World.  Poor Virginia.

The Island today sports Festival Park, devoted to recreations of life in those colonial times.  It features the Elizabeth II, a composite replica of the type of merchant ship used by Raleigh to transport his 1585 stalwarts.  It’s remarkably small, and belowdecks was pretty crowded with equipment, like this windlass for raising the anchors and other tasks.  The voyagers

slept on any available surface, here and on deck.  Can’t imagine spending months like this, although I suppose life on a submarine isn’t a lot more spacious.  Apparently, colorful paint schemes were the order of the day for these craft:

 

We wandered through the period village where those creepy folks who pretend they’re from the 16th century interact with you.  Always makes my skin crawl.  They were demonstrating the construction of a dugout canoe, which involves burning out the interior of a log:

 Creepy person on the right; ordinary park staff pyrotechnician spreading the fuel.  A lively blaze lasted about two minutes, then it was down to embers and smoke.  We moved on the the various village establishments, watched a blacksmithing demo, and tried out the foot-treadle lathe to turn a piece of wood.

It works, but I think the cutting tool actually dated from 1587.  Dull, dull, dull.

We then took off on the scoot to visit “Fort” Raleigh.  Eagle-eyed readers will note the use of quote marks around the “Fort.”  I don’t know what we were expecting of a national historic site, but it wasn’t this:

Yup, that’s it.  An irregularly shaped earth berm.  They plant a flag in the center to let you know that “X” marks the spot.  Originally, of course, the fort had post walls, buildings, etc.  But all that was destroyed eons ago.  So this is all that is left, and even the berms aren’t original, they are reconstructed from some old drawing.  My question:  why bother?  Can you believe that there are National Parks Rangers who actually have been stationed here for many, many years?  I can.  We listened to one describe this site, and I think he’s in bad need of a transfer.  Think Tim Conway on speed.

Our final dose of history was to buy tickets for the evening’s performance of “The Lost Colony,” a play about the 1587 bunch that has been running since 1937!  You see, after the expedition leader (not Raleigh; the Queen wouldn’t let him go himself) dropped off the colonists, he returned to England to secure provisions and supplies.  However, the war with Spain and dealing with the Spanish Armada prevented his return until 1590, when he found the colonists had vanished.  He spent years trying to run down rumors posited by the indigino’s, but he never established what happened to them.  Hence, the “Lost Colony,” and fodder for the North Carolina tourist trade.  The play is done outside:

We had third row seats, so had closeups of the cast, which numbered at least 60!  Fortunately, there was a good audience to outnumber them.  The play is entertaining, but won’t be making it to Broadway (or Peoria) anytime, ever.  We had a good time, but our standards are quite plebian.  The best thing for me was the masts and sails of the ship, that went from left to right behind the wall as if sailing off.  Great stage effect. They didn’t allow photography at the performance, so you’ll just have to imagine Indians and colonists bursting into song.  Given the hardships they were enduring (like starvation), God knows why.

The most exciting part of the evening was the 15 mile ride back to camp.  It’s pitch black on the Banks, and a screaming crosswind threatened to send us to the same fate as the colonists.  It was the most frightening ride we’ve ever done.