of 104, the population fell to 17 in 1956. 

 The post office locked its doors in 1959. 



By 1970, just three residents — 

 including Marian Gray Babb, Dominique's 

 older sister, and Elma Dixon, Dominique's 

 aunt — still called the island home, though 

 they spent winters on the mainland. When 

 the only man among the trio, Henry Pigott, 

 died in January 1971, Dixon and Babb 

 reluctantiy moved to Beaufort. Dixon died 

 in 1990, Babb in 1993. 



The rescue service recruited local men 



for its ranks. The "surf soldiers" 



drilled rigourously for dangerous 



sea rescues, and the station commander 



was a community leader. 



During their years on the mainland, 

 both longed to be back in Portsmouth. 

 They kept their Portsmouth houses ready 

 to occupy, but returned to their island 

 homes only to visit. 



And the village of their younger years 

 was frozen in time. 



Recollections of Portsmouth's past 

 have cast a spell reaching far beyond its 

 former inhabitants. The last generation of 

 residents has become nearly legendary 

 through the oft-repeated accounts of their 

 daily routines — Miss Annie Salter, the 

 postmistress who wore her hair in a neat 

 bun; Miss Mary Dixon, who taught for 37 

 years in the one-room school; Henry Pigott 

 and his sister Lizzie, descendents of the 

 slaves who toiled in the lightering business. 



Henry Pigott, "A Friend To All," 

 according to a tribute to him in the church, 



was the island's last mailman. Like others 

 before him, he piloted a skiff out to meet the 

 Ocracoke-bound mailboat to pick up 

 Portsmouth's letters and parcels. Lizzie 

 Pigott grew lovely flowers and cut 

 islanders' hair until a stroke confined her to 

 a wheelchair. 



Like many others, the park service's 

 Heupel finds these vignettes of Portsmouth 

 life irresistible. 



"I've read so much about the village 

 and the people, I think the people should be 

 there when I go," Heupel says. "I'm looking 

 for the lifesavers to be drilling. I'm looking 

 for Henry to be getting the mail. I'm 

 looking for the croquet matches to be going 

 on in front of the post office." 



Portsmouth attracts about 700 visitors 

 a month in warm weather, a figure that has 

 steadily risen over the past few years. Some 

 of the increase is likely due to the growing 

 popularity of Ocracoke as a vacation spot. 

 A ferry service from Ocracoke is the only 



practical means of transportation to 

 Portsmouth for the majority of visitors. 



Heupel thinks some visitors are 

 seeking something besides an afternoon's 

 distraction. 



"Lately people are looking for a 

 connection to the simpler times," she says. 

 "This is one of the places to find it." 



Portsmouth in pleasant weather does 

 inspire wistful images of an uncomplicated 

 existence. The quaint yellow houses look so 

 cozy, the wide front porches are so inviting, 

 the birdsong on a sweet, salt-scented breeze 

 is so soothing. The church sanctuary is 

 serene and still, a hymn book open on the 

 organ's music stand. 



Though Portsmouth life had its simple 

 appeals, it also had hardships. Most means 

 of livelihood — fishing, clamming, the 

 rescue service — could be difficult and 

 hazardous work. 



As for housekeeping, the kerosene 

 cooking stoves burned hot enough to dictate 



The establishment of a U.S. Life Saving Service station in 1894 

 brought a new mission to the village. 



10 EARLY SUMMER 1999 



