back to
England they found that island in an excited state. The great Spanish
Armada was being prepared to invade and conquer Elizabeth's realm, and
hasty preparations were making to defend the British soil. The fate of
the Armada is well known. England triumphed. But several years passed
before Raleigh, who was now deep laden with debt, was able to send out a
vessel to the relief of his abandoned colonists.

When the people sent by him landed on the island, they looked around
them in dismay. Here were no happy homes, no smiling fields, no bustling
colonists. The island was deserted. What had become of the inhabitants
was not easy to guess. Not even their bones had been left, as in the
case of the hapless fifteen, though many relics of their dwelling-places
were found. The only indication of their fate was the single word
"Croatan" cut into the bark of a tree.

Croatan was the name of an island not far from that on which they were,
but it was the stormy season of the year, and John White, the captain,
made this an excuse for not venturing there. So he sailed again for home
with only the story of a vanished colony.

From that time to this the fate of the colony has been a mystery. No
trace of any of its members was ever found. If they had made their way
to Croatan, they were never seen there. Five times the noble-hearted
Raleigh sent out ships to search for them, but all in vain; they had
gone past finding; the forest land had swallowed them up.

It has been conjectured that they had mingled with a friendly tribe of
Indians and become children of the forest like their hosts. Some
tradition of this kind remained among the Indians, and it has been
fancied that the Hatteras Indians showed traces of English blood. But
all this is conjecture, and the fate of the lost colonists of Roanoke
must remain forever unknown.

_THE THRILLING ADVENTURE OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH._

For those who love stories of the Indians, and the strange and perilous
adventures of white men in dealing with the forest tribes, we cannot do
better than give a remarkable anecdote of life in the Virginia woodlands
three centuries ago.

On a day near the opening of the winter of 1608 a small boat, in which
were several men, might have been seen going up the James River under
the shadow of the high trees that bordered its banks.

They came at length to a point where a smaller stream flowed into the
James, wide at its mouth but soon growing narro