Our most enduring, enticing mystery

Maybe it's the flag, white with a red cross, fluttering in the breeze in the midst of the brave little earthen fort.

Maybe it's the nature trail that winds through the dense woods on the banks of Roanoke Sound, with signs that spell out the usefulness of wild substances for survival. Boil this, cultivate that, use this for wood, that for winemaking.

"How long could you survive without relying on outside supplies?" a sign asks, and our best answer is to reach for the bug spray.

Whatever it is, whether trampling on the soft, leaf-covered paths of the Fort Raleigh National Historic Site on Roanoke Island or plunging into the literature that deals with this fascinating subject, I am now - like almost everyone else who has ever ventured here on an Outer Banks vacation - hopelessly ensnared in the most enduring mystery in American history.

As if there weren't enough to delve into in Hampton Roads, where America supposedly began, Our Stories fearlessly stumbles into the place where it might have, or should have, or possibly really did begin.

We know the outlines:

With the backing of Sir Walter Raleigh, a first expedition lands at Roanoke Island in the spring of 1585 but leaves the following year after botching whatever good will there was with local Indians.

A much more ambitious attempt is made in 1587, this time with the intention of establishing a permanent settlement on the southern end of the Chesapeake Bay, possibly present-day Virginia Beach or Norfolk. But after what was to be a brief stop at Roanoke, the party of 110 men, women and children is marooned there. The daughter of John White, leader of the settlers, gives birth to Virginia Dare, the first English child born in the New World.

Desperate for supplies, White leaves for England with a promise to return soon, but war with Spain frustrates his attempts. When he finally obtains passage with a group of privateers in 1590, the colonists have vanished, leaving only the word "CROATOAN" carved on a post.

Whether from indecisiveness or powers beyond his control, White never investigates either Croatoan, then the name for Hatteras Island, or the southern Chesapeake, and the would-be colony becomes, forever, the Lost Colony.

Thanks a lot, Mr. White.

So, where did they go?

Twenty-five years ago, historian David Beers Quinn made a strong case that the lost colonists decided their best hope of survival was to go north, to their original destination, and that they lived side by side with the Chesapeake Indians. One possible location was the village called Skicoak on the banks of the Elizabeth near Norfolk. But then, when Powhatan declared war on the Chesapeakes, the white settlers were murdered.

This would have been shortly before 1607, just before the Jamestown settlers arrived, and they did attempt to find their long-lost countrymen, but without even a hint of their passing.

I'd love to think that the lost colony could someday be found here, but the chances are somewhere between none and zero, I think.

Ivor Noel Hume, indisputably the leading authority on early American settlement, told me he's convinced that at least some of the colonists went down to Hatteras, because it would have been the best place to watch for relief ships. But where the rest of them went, he said, "I really don't know - everybody's guessing."

What makes the story so fascinating, he suggests, is the missing child. Virginia Dare's story, like that of Pocahontas, is shrouded in mystery, and all of us, historians, playwrights, tourists and column writers alike, prefer it that way.

When White's party returned to Roanoke Island, they called out the names of their long-lost friends and loved ones, only to be answered by silence.

Today, as we walk the beautiful nature trail on the island, our footsteps and our questions are met by the same response.

Paul Clancy, paulclancy@msn.com,

www.paulclancystories.com