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diff --git a/old/1861-h.htm.2021-01-27 b/old/1861-h.htm.2021-01-27 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0589651 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1861-h.htm.2021-01-27 @@ -0,0 +1,2789 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + An Old Town by the Sea, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's An Old Town By The Sea, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: An Old Town By The Sea + +Author: Thomas Bailey Aldrich + +Release Date: March 21, 2006 [EBook #1861] +Last Updated: September 20, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN OLD TOWN BY THE SEA *** + + + + +Produced by Susan L. Farley and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + AN OLD TOWN BY THE SEA + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Thomas Bailey Aldrich + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + PISCATAQUA RIVER + + Thou singest by the gleaming isles, + By woods, and fields of corn, + Thou singest, and the sunlight smiles + Upon my birthday morn. + + But I within a city, I, + So full of vague unrest, + Would almost give my life to lie + An hour upon upon thy breast. + + To let the wherry listless go, + And, wrapt in dreamy joy, + Dip, and surge idly to and fro, + Like the red harbor-buoy; + + To sit in happy indolence, + To rest upon the oars, + And catch the heavy earthy scents + That blow from summer shores; + + To see the rounded sun go down, + And with its parting fires + Light up the windows of the town + And burn the tapering spires; + + And then to hear the muffled tolls + From steeples slim and white, + And watch, among the Isles of Shoals, + The Beacon’s orange light. + + O River! flowing to the main + Through woods, and fields of corn, + Hear thou my longing and my pain + This sunny birthday morn; + + And take this song which fancy shapes + To music like thine own, + And sing it to the cliffs and capes + And crags where I am known! + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <p> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>AN OLD TOWN BY THE SEA</b></big> </a> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I. </a> + </td> + <td> + CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II. </a> + </td> + <td> + ALONG THE WATER SIDE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III. </a> + </td> + <td> + A STROLL ABOUT TOWN + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV. </a> + </td> + <td> + A STROLL ABOUT TOWN (continued) + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V. </a> + </td> + <td> + OLD STRAWBERRY BANK + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI. </a> + </td> + <td> + SOME OLD PORTSMOUTH PROFILES + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII. </a> + </td> + <td> + PERSONAL REMINISCENCES + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> INDEX OF NAMES </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + AN OLD TOWN BY THE SEA + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH + </h2> + <p> + I CALL it an old town, but it is only relatively old. When one reflects on + the countless centuries that have gone to the for-mation of this crust of + earth on which we temporarily move, the most ancient cities on its surface + seem merely things of the week before last. It was only the other day, + then—that is to say, in the month of June, 1603—that one + Martin Pring, in the ship Speedwell, an enormous ship of nearly fifty tons + burden, from Bristol, England, sailed up the Piscataqua River. The + Speedwell, numbering thirty men, officers and crew, had for consort the + Discoverer, of twenty-six tons and thirteen men. After following the + windings of “the brave river” for twelve miles or more, the two vessels + turned back and put to sea again, having failed in the chief object of the + expedition, which was to obtain a cargo of the medicinal sassafras-tree, + from the bark of which, as well known to our ancestors, could be distilled + the Elixir of Life. + </p> + <p> + It was at some point on the left bank of the Piscataqua, three or four + miles from the mouth of the river, that worthy Master Pring probably + effected one of his several landings. The beautiful stream widens suddenly + at this place, and the green banks, then covered with a network of + strawberry vines, and sloping invitingly to the lip of the crystal water, + must have won the tired mariners. + </p> + <p> + The explorers found themselves on the edge of a vast forest of oak, + hemlock, maple, and pine; but they saw no sassafras-trees to speak of, nor + did they encounter—what would have been infinitely less to their + taste—and red-men. Here and there were discoverable the scattered + ashes of fires where the Indians had encamped earlier in the spring; they + were absent now, at the silvery falls, higher up the stream, where fish + abounded at that season. The soft June breeze, laden with the delicate + breath of wild-flowers and the pungent odors of spruce and pine, ruffled + the duplicate sky in the water; the new leaves lisped pleasantly in the + tree tops, and the birds were singing as if they had gone mad. No ruder + sound or movement of life disturbed the primeval solitude. Master Pring + would scarcely recognize the spot were he to land there to-day. + </p> + <p> + Eleven years afterwards a much cleverer man than the commander of the + Speedwell dropped anchor in the Piscataqua—Captain John Smith of + famous memory. After slaying Turks in hand-to-hand combats, and doing all + sorts of doughty deeds wherever he chanced to decorate the globe with his + presence, he had come with two vessels to the fisheries on the rocky + selvage of Maine, when curiosity, or perhaps a deeper motive, led him to + examine the neighboring shore lines. With eight of his men in a small + boat, a ship’s yawl, he skirted the coast from Penobscot Bay to Cape Cod, + keeping his eye open. This keeping his eye open was a peculiarity of the + little captain; possibly a family trait. It was Smith who really + discovered the Isles of Shoals, exploring in person those masses of + bleached rock—those “isles assez hautes,” of which the French + navigator Pierre de Guast, Sieur de Monts, had caught a bird’s-eye glimpse + through the twilight in 1605. Captain Smith christened the group Smith’s + Isles, a title which posterity, with singular persistence of ingratitude, + has ignored. It was a tardy sense of justice that expressed itself a few + years ago in erecting on Star Island a simple marble shaft to the memory + of JOHN SMITH—the multitudinous! Perhaps this long delay is + explained by a natural hesitation to label a monument so ambiguously. + </p> + <p> + The modern Jason, meanwhile, was not without honor in his own country, + whatever may have happened to him in his own house, for the poet George + Wither addressed a copy of pompous verses “To his Friend Captain Smith, + upon his Description of New England.” “Sir,” he says— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Sir: your Relations I haue read: which shew + Ther’s reason I should honor them and you: + And if their meaning I have vnderstood, + I dare to censure thus: Your Project’s good; + And may (if follow’d) doubtlesse quit the paine + With honour, pleasure and a trebble gaine; + Beside the benefit that shall arise + To make more happy our Posterities.” + </pre> + <p> + The earliest map of this portion of our seaboard was prepared by Smith and + laid before Prince Charles, who asked to give the country a name. He + christened it New England. In that remarkable map the site of Portsmouth + is call Hull, and Kittery and York are known as Boston. + </p> + <p> + It was doubtless owing to Captain John Smith’s representation on his + return to England that the Laconia Company selected the banks of the + Piscataqua for their plantation. Smith was on an intimate footing with Sir + Ferinand Gorges, who, five years subsequently, made a tour of inspection + along the New England coast, in company with John Mason, then Governor of + Newfoundland. One of the results of this summer cruise is the town of + Portsmouth, among whose leafy ways, and into some of whose old-fashioned + houses, I purpose to take the reader, if he have an idle hour on his + hands. Should we meet the flitting ghost of some old-time worthy, on the + staircase or at a lonely street corner, the reader must be prepared for + it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. ALONG THE WATER SIDE + </h2> + <p> + IT is not supposable that the early settlers selected the site of their + plantation on account of its picturesqueness. They were influenced + entirely by the lay of the land, its nearness and easy access to the sea, + and the secure harbor it offered to their fishing-vessels; yet they could + not have chosen a more beautiful spot had beauty been the sole + consideration. The first settlement was made at Odiorne’s Point—the + Pilgrims’ Rock of New Hampshire; there the Manor, or Mason’s Hall, was + built by the Laconia Company in 1623. It was not until 1631 that the Great + House was erected by Humphrey Chadborn on Strawberry Bank. Mr. Chadborn, + consciously or unconsciously, sowed a seed from which a city has sprung. + </p> + <p> + The town of Portsmouth stretches along the south bank of the Piscataqua, + about two miles from the sea as the crow flies—three miles following + the serpentine course of the river. The stream broadens suddenly at this + point, and at flood tide, lying without a ripple in a basin formed by the + interlocked islands and the mainland, it looks more like an island lake + than a river. To the unaccustomed eye there is no visible outlet. Standing + on one of the wharves at the foot of State Street or Court Street, a + stranger would at first scarcely suspect the contiguity of the ocean. A + little observation, however, would show him that he was in a seaport. The + rich red rust on the gables and roofs of ancient buildings looking seaward + would tell him that. There is a fitful saline flavor in the air, and if + while he gazed a dense white fog should come rolling in, like a line of + phantom breakers, he would no longer have any doubts. + </p> + <p> + It is of course the oldest part of the town that skirts the river, though + few of the notable houses that remain are to be found there. Like all New + England settlements, Portsmouth was built of wood, and has been subjected + to extensive conflagrations. You rarely come across a brick building that + is not shockingly modern. The first house of the kind was erected by + Richard Wibird towards the close of the seventeenth century. + </p> + <p> + Though many of the old landmarks have been swept away by the fateful hand + of time and fire, the town impresses you as a very old town, especially as + you saunter along the streets down by the river. The worm-eaten wharves, + some of them covered by a sparse, unhealthy beard of grass, and the + weather-stained, unoccupied warehouses are sufficient to satisfy a + moderate appetite for antiquity. These deserted piers and these long rows + of empty barracks, with their sarcastic cranes projecting from the eaves, + rather puzzle the stranger. Why this great preparation for a commercial + activity that does not exist, and evidently had not for years existed? + There are no ships lying at the pier-heads; there are no gangs of + stevedores staggering under the heavy cases of merchandise; here and there + is a barge laden down to the bulwarks with coal, and here and there a + square-rigged schooner from Maine smothered with fragrant planks and + clapboards; an imported citizen is fishing at the end of the wharf, a + ruminative freckled son of Drogheda, in perfect sympathy with the indolent + sunshine that seems to be sole proprietor of these crumbling piles and + ridiculous warehouses, from which even the ghost of prosperity has flown. + </p> + <p> + Once upon a time, however, Portsmouth carried on an extensive trade with + the West Indies, threatening as a maritime port to eclipse both Boston and + New York. At the windows of these musty counting-rooms which overlook the + river near Spring Market used to stand portly merchants, in knee breeches + and silver shoe-buckles and plum-colored coats with ruffles at the wrist, + waiting for their ships to come up the Narrows; the cries of stevedores + and the chants of sailors at the windlass used to echo along the shore + where all is silence now. For reasons not worth setting forth, the trade + with the Indies abruptly closed, having ruined as well as enriched many a + Portsmouth adventurer. This explains the empty warehouses and the unused + wharves. Portsmouth remains the interesting widow of a once very lively + commerce. I fancy that few fortunes are either made or lost in Portsmouth + nowadays. Formerly it turned out the best ships, as it did the ablest ship + captains, in the world. There were families in which the love for blue + water was in immemorial trait. The boys were always sailors; “a + grey-headed shipmaster, in each generation, retiring from the quarter-deck + to the homestead, while a boy of fourteen took the hereditary place before + the mast, confronting the salt spray and the gale, which had blasted + against his sire and grandsire.” (1. Hawthorne in his introduction to The + Scarlet Letter.) With thousands of miles of sea-line and a score or two of + the finest harbors on the globe, we have adroitly turned over our carrying + trade to foreign nations. + </p> + <p> + In other days, as I have said, a high maritime spirit was characteristic + of Portsmouth. The town did a profitable business in the war of 1812, + sending out a large fleet of the sauciest small craft on record. A + pleasant story is told of one of these little privateers—the + Harlequin, owned and commanded by Captain Elihu Brown. The Harlequin one + day gave chase to a large ship, which did not seem to have much fight + aboard, and had got it into close quarters, when suddenly the shy stranger + threw open her ports, and proved to be His Majesty’s Ship-of-War Bulwark, + seventy-four guns. Poor Captain Brown! + </p> + <p> + Portsmouth has several large cotton factories and one or two corpulent + breweries; it is a wealthy old town, with a liking for first mortgage + bonds; but its warmest lover will not claim for it the distinction of + being a great mercantile centre. The majority of her young men are forced + to seek other fields to reap, and almost every city in the Union, and many + a city across the sea, can point to some eminent merchant, lawyer, or what + not, as “a Portsmouth boy.” Portsmouth even furnished the late king of the + Sandwich Islands, Kekuanaoa, with a prime minister, and his nankeen + Majesty never had a better. The affection which all these exiles cherish + for their birthplace is worthy of remark. On two occasions—in 1852 + and 1873, the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the settlement of + Strawberry Bank—the transplanted sons of Portsmouth were seized with + an impulse to return home. Simultaneously and almost without concerted + action, the lines of pilgrims took up their march from every quarter of + the globe, and swept down with music and banners on the motherly old town. + </p> + <p> + To come back to the wharves. I do not know of any spot with such a + fascinating air of dreams and idleness about it as the old wharf at the + end of Court Street. The very fact that it was once a noisy, busy place, + crowded with sailors and soldiers—in the war of 1812—gives an + emphasis to the quiet that broods over it to-day. The lounger who sits of + a summer afternoon on a rusty anchor fluke in the shadow of one of the + silent warehouses, and look on the lonely river as it goes murmuring past + the town, cannot be too grateful to the India trade for having taken + itself off elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + What a slumberous, delightful, lazy place it is! The sunshine seems to lie + a foot deep on the planks of the dusty wharf, which yields up to the + warmth a vague perfume of the cargoes of rum, molasses, and spice that + used to be piled upon it. The river is as blue as the inside of a + harebell. The opposite shore, in the strangely shifting magic lights of + sky and water, stretches along like the silvery coast of fairyland. + Directly opposite you is the navy yard, and its neat officers’ quarters + and workshops and arsenals, and its vast shiphouses, in which the keel of + many a famous frigate has been laid. Those monster buildings on the + water’s edge, with their roofs pierced with innumerable little windows, + which blink like eyes in the sunlight, and the shiphouses. On your right + lies a cluster of small islands,—there are a dozen or more in the + harbor—on the most extensive of which you see the fading-away + remains of some earthworks thrown up in 1812. Between this—Trefethren’s + Island—and Peirce’s Island lie the Narrows. Perhaps a bark or a + sloop-of-war is making up to town; the hulk is hidden amoung the islands, + and the topmasts have the effect of sweeping across the dry land. On your + left is a long bridge, more than a quarter of a mile in length, set upon + piles where the water is twenty or thirty feet deep, leading to the navy + yard and Kittery—the Kittery so often the theme of Whittier’s verse. + </p> + <p> + This is a mere outline of the landscape that spreads before you. Its + changeful beauty of form and color, with the summer clouds floating over + it, is not to be painted in words. I know of many a place where the + scenery is more varied and striking; but there is a mandragora quality in + the atmosphere here that holds you to the spot, and makes the half-hours + seem like minutes. I could fancy a man sitting on the end of that old + wharf very contentedly for two or three years, provided it could be always + in June. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, too, one would desire it to be always high water. The tide falls + from eight to twelve feet, and when the water makes out between the + wharves some of the picturesqueness makes out also. A corroded section of + stovepipe mailed in barnacles, or the skeleton of a hoopskirt protruding + from the tide mud like the remains of some old-time wreck, is apt to break + the enchantment. + </p> + <p> + I fear I have given the reader an exaggerated idea of the solitude that + reigns along the river-side. Sometimes there is society here of an + unconventional kind, if you care to seek it. Aside from the foreign + gentleman before mentioned, you are likely to encounter, farther down the + shore toward the Point of Graves (a burial-place of the colonial period), + a battered and aged native fisherman boiling lobsters on a little gravelly + bench, where the river whispers and lisps among the pebbles as the tide + creeps in. It is a weather-beaten ex-skipper or ex-pilot, with strands of + coarse hair, like seaweed, falling about a face that has the expression of + a half-open clam. He is always ready to talk with you, this amphibious + person; and if he is not the most entertaining of gossips—more + weather-wise that Old Probabilities, and as full of moving incident as + Othello himself—then he is not the wintery-haired shipman I used to + see a few years ago on the strip of beach just beyond Liberty Bridge, + building his drift-wood fire under a great tin boiler, and making it + lively for a lot of reluctant lobsters. + </p> + <p> + I imagine that very little change has taken place in this immediate + locality, known prosaically as Puddle Dock, during the past fifty or sixty + years. The view you get looking across Liberty Bridge, Water Street, is + probably the same in every respect that presented itself to the eyes of + the town folk a century ago. The flagstaff, on the right, is the + representative of the old “standard of liberty” which the Sons planted on + this spot in January, 1766, signalizing their opposition to the + enforcement of the Stamp Act. On the same occasion the patriots called at + the house of Mr. George Meserve, the agent for distributing the stamps in + New Hampshire, and relieved him of his stamp-master’s commission, which + document they carried on the point of a sword through the town to Liberty + Bridge (the Swing Bridge), where they erected the staff, with the motto, + “Liberty, Property, and no Stamp!” + </p> + <p> + The Stamp Act was to go into operation on the first day of November. On + the previous morning the “New Hampshire Gazette” appeared with a deep + black border and all the typographical emblems of affliction, for was not + Liberty dead? At all events, the “Gazette” itself was as good as dead, + since the printer could no longer publish it if he were to be handicapped + by a heavy tax. “The day was ushered in by the tolling of all the bells in + town, the vessels in the harbor had their colors hoisted half-mast high; + about three o’clock a funeral procession was formed, having a coffin with + this inscription, LIBERTY, AGED 145, STAMPT. It moved from the state + house, with two unbraced drums, through the principal streets. As it + passed the Parade, minute-guns were fired; at the place of interment a + speech was delivered on the occasion, stating the many advantages we had + received and the melancholy prospect before us, at the seeming departure + of our invaluable liberties. But some sign of life appearing, Liberty was + not deposited in the grave; it was rescued by a number of her sons, the + motto changed to Liberty revived, and carried off in triumph. The + detestable Act was buried in its stead, and the clods of the valley were + laid upon it; the bells changed their melancholy sound to a more joyful + tone.” (1. Annals of Portsmouth, by Nathaniel Adams, 1825.) + </p> + <p> + With this side glance at one of the curious humors of the time, we resume + our peregrinations. + </p> + <p> + Turning down a lane on your left, a few rods beyond Liberty Bridge, you + reach a spot known as the Point of Graves, chiefly interesting as showing + what a graveyard may come to if it last long enough. In 1671 one Captain + John Pickering, of whom we shall have more to say, ceded to the town a + piece of ground on this neck for burial purposes. It is an odd-shaped lot, + comprising about half an acre, inclosed by a crumbling red brick wall two + or three feet high, with wood capping. The place is overgrown with + thistles, rank grass, and fungi; the black slate headstones have mostly + fallen over; those that still make a pretense of standing slant to every + point of the compass, and look as if they were being blown this way and + that by a mysterious gale which leaves everything else untouched; the + mounds have sunk to the common level, and the old underground tombs have + collapsed. Here and there the moss and weeds you can pick out some name + that shines in the history of the early settlement; hundreds of the flower + of the colony lie here, but the known and the unknown, gentle and simple, + mingle their dust on a perfect equality now. The marble that once bore a + haughty coat of arms is as smooth as the humblest slate stone guiltless of + heraldry. The lion and the unicorn, wherever they appear on some cracked + slab, are very much tamed by time. The once fat-faced cherubs, with wing + at either cheek, are the merest skeletons now. Pride, pomp, grief, and + remembrance are all at end. No reverent feet come here, no tears fall + here; the old graveyard itself is dead! A more dismal, uncanny spot than + this at twilight would be hard to find. It is noticed that when the boys + pass it after nightfall, they always go by whistling with a gayety that is + perfectly hollow. + </p> + <p> + Let us get into some cheerfuler neighborhood! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. A STROLL ABOUT TOWN + </h2> + <p> + AS you leave the river front behind you, and pass “up town,” the streets + grow wider, and the architecture becomes more ambitious—streets + fringed with beautiful old trees and lined with commodious private + dwellings, mostly square white houses, with spacious halls running through + the centre. Previous to the Revolution, white paint was seldom used on + houses, and the diamond-shaped window pane was almost universal. Many of + the residences stand back from the brick or flagstone sidewalk, and have + pretty gardens at the side or in the rear, made bright with dahlias and + sweet with cinnamon roses. If you chance to live in a town where the + authorities cannot rest until they have destroyed every precious tree + within their blighting reach, you will be especially charmed by the beauty + of the streets of Portsmouth. In some parts of the town, when the + chestnuts are in blossom, you would fancy yourself in a garden in + fairyland. In spring, summer, and autumn the foliage is the glory of the + fair town—her luxuriant green and golden treeses! Nothing could seem + more like the work of enchantment than the spectacle which certain streets + in Portsmouth present in the midwinter after a heavy snowstorm. You may + walk for miles under wonderful silvery arches formed by the overhanging + and interlaced boughs of the trees, festooned with a drapery even more + graceful and dazzling than springtime gives them. The numerous elms and + maples which shade the principal thoroughfares are not the result of + chance, but the ample reward of the loving care that is taken to preserve + the trees. There is a society in Portsmouth devoted to arboriculture. It + is not unusual there for persons to leave legacies to be expended in + setting out shade and ornamental trees along some favorite walk. Richards + Avenue, a long, unbuilt thoroughfare leading from Middle Street to the + South Burying-Ground, perpetuates the name of a citizen who gave the labor + of his own hands to the beautifying of that windswept and barren road the + cemetery. This fondness and care for trees seems to be a matter of + heredity. So far back as 1660 the selectmen instituted a fine of five + shillings for the cutting of timber or any other wood from off the town + common, excepting under special conditions. + </p> + <p> + In the business section of the town trees are few. The chief business + streets are Congress and Market. Market Street is the stronghold of the + dry-goods shops. There are seasons, I suppose, when these shops are + crowded, but I have never happened to be in Portsmouth at the time. I + seldom pass through the narrow cobble-paved street without wondering where + the customers are that must keep all these flourishing little + establishments going. Congress Street—a more elegant thoroughfare + than Market—is the Nevski Prospekt of Portsmouth. Among the + prominent buildings is the Athenaeum, containing a reading-room and + library. From the high roof of this building the stroller will do well to + take a glance at the surrounding country. He will naturally turn seaward + for the more picturesque aspects. If the day is clear, he will see the + famous Isle of Shoals, lying nine miles away—Appledore, Smutty-Nose, + Star Island, White Island, etc.; there are nine of them in all. On + Appledore is Laighton’s Hotel, and near it the summer cottage of Celia + Thaxter, the poet of the Isles. On the northern end of Star Island is the + quaint town of Gosport, with a tiny stone church perched like a sea-gull + on its highest rock. A mile southwest form Star Island lies White Island, + on which is a lighthouse. Mrs. Thaxter calls this the most picturesque of + the group. Perilous neighbors, O mariner! in any but the serenest weather, + these wrinkled, scarred, are storm-smitten rocks, flanked by wicked sunken + ledges that grow white at the lip with rage when the great winds blow! + </p> + <p> + How peaceful it all looks off there, on the smooth emerald sea! and how + softly the waves seem to break on yonder point where the unfinished fort + is! That is the ancient town of Newcastle, to reach which from Portsmouth + you have to cross three bridges with the most enchanting scenery in New + Hampshire lying on either hand. At Newcastle the poet Stedman has built + for his summerings an enviable little stone chateau—a seashell into + which I fancy the sirens creep to warm themselves during the winter + months. So it is never without its singer. + </p> + <p> + Opposite Newcastle is Kittery Point, a romantic spot, where Sir William + Pepperell, the first American baronet, once lived, and where his tomb now + is, in his orchard across the road, a few hundred yards from the “goodly + mansion” he built. The knight’s tomb and the old Pepperell House, which + has been somewhat curtailed of it fair proportions, are the objects of + frequent pilgrimages to Kittery Point. + </p> + <p> + From the elevation (the roof of the Athenaeun) the navy yard, the river + with its bridges and islands, the clustered gables of Kittery and + Newcastle, the illimitable ocean beyond make a picture worth climbing four + or five flights of stairs to gaze upon. Glancing down on the town nestled + in the foliage, it seems like a town dropped by chance in the midst of a + forest. Among the prominent objects which lift themselves above the tree + tops are the belfries of the various churches, the white façade of the + custom house, and the mansard and chimneys of the Rockingham, the + principal hotel. The pilgrim will be surprised to find in Portsmouth one + of the most completely appointed hotels in the United States. The + antiquarian may lament the demolition of the old Bell Tavern, and think + regretfully of the good cheer once furnished the wayfarer by Master + Stavers at the sign of the Earl of Halifax, and by Master Stoodley at his + inn on Daniel Street; but the ordinary traveler will thank his stars, and + confess that his lines have fallen in pleasant places, when he finds + himself among the frescoes of the Rockingham. + </p> + <p> + Obliquely opposite the doorstep of the Athenaeum—we are supposed to + be on terra firma again—stands the Old North Church, a substantial + wooden building, handsomely set on what is called The Parade, a large open + space formed by the junction of Congress, Market, Daniel, and Pleasant + streets. Here in days innocent of water-works stood the town pump, which + on more than one occasion served as whipping-post. + </p> + <p> + The churches of Portsmouth are more remarkable for their number than their + architecture. With the exception of the Stone Church they are constructed + of wood or plain brick in the simplest style. St. John’s Church is the + only one likely to attract the eye of a stranger. It is finely situated on + the crest of Church Hill, overlooking the ever-beautiful river. The + present edifice was built in 1808 on the site of what was known as Queen’s + Chapel, erected in 1732, and destroyed by fire December 24, 1806. The + chapel was named in honor of Queen Caroline, who furnished the books for + the altar and pulpit, the plate, and two solid mahogany chairs, which are + still in use in St. John’s. Within the chancel rail is a curious font of + porphyry, taken by Colonel John Tufton Mason at the capture of Senegal + from the French in 1758, and presented to the Episcopal Society on 1761. + The peculiarly sweet-toned bell which calls the parishioners of St. John’s + together every Sabbath is, I believe, the same that formerly hung in the + belfry of the old Queen’s Chapel. If so, the bell has a history of its + own. It was brought from Louisburg at the time of the reduction of that + place in 1745, and given to the church by the officers of the New + Hampshire troops. + </p> + <p> + The Old South Meeting-House is not to be passed without mention. It is + among the most aged survivals of pre-revolutionary days. Neither its + architecture not its age, however, is its chief warrant for our notice. + The absurd number of windows in this battered old structure is what + strikes the passer-by. The church was erected by subscription, and these + closely set large windows are due to Henry Sherburne, one of the + wealthiest citizens of the period, who agreed to pay for whatever glass + was used. If the building could have been composed entirely of glass it + would have been done by the thrifty parishioners. + </p> + <p> + Portsmouth is rich in graveyards—they seem to be a New England + specialty—ancient and modern. Among the old burial-places the one + attached to St. John’s Church is perhaps the most interesting. It has not + been permitted to fall into ruin, like the old cemetery at the Point of + Graves. When a headstone here topples over it is kindly lifted up and set + on its pins again, and encouraged to do its duty. If it utterly refuses, + and is not shamming decrepitude, it has its face sponged, and is allowed + to rest and sun itself against the wall of the church with a row of other + exempts. The trees are kept pruned, the grass trimmed, and here and there + is a rosebush drooping with a weight of pensive pale roses, as becomes a + rosebush in a churchyard. + </p> + <p> + The place has about it an indescribable soothing atmosphere of + respectability and comfort. Here rest the remains of the principal and + loftiest in rank in their generation of the citizens of Portsmouth prior + to the Revolution—stanch, royalty-loving governors, counselors, and + secretaries of the Providence of New Hampshire, all snugly gathered under + the motherly wing of the Church of England. It is almost impossible to + walk anywhere without stepping on a governor. You grow haughty in spirit + after a while, and scorn to tread on anything less than one of His + Majesty’s colonels or secretary under the Crown. Here are the tombs of the + Atkinsons, the Jaffreys, the Sherburnes, the Sheafes, the Marshes, the + Mannings, the Gardners, and others of the quality. All around you + underfoot are tumbled-in coffins, with here and there a rusty sword atop, + and faded escutcheons, and crumbling armorial devices. You are moving in + the very best society. + </p> + <p> + This, however, is not the earliest cemetery in Portsmouth. An hour’s walk + from the Episcopal yard will bring you to the spot, already mentioned, + where the first house was built and the first grave made, at Odiorne’s + Point. The exact site of the Manor is not known, but it is supposed to be + a few rods north of an old well of still-flowing water, at which the + Tomsons and the Hiltons and their comrades slaked their thirst more than + two hundred and sixty years ago. Oriorne’s Point is owned by Mr. Eben L. + Odiorne, a lineal descendant of the worthy who held the property in 1657. + Not far from the old spring is the resting-place of the earliest pioneers. + </p> + <p> + “This first cemetery of the white man in New Hampshire,” writes Mr. + Brewster, (1. Mr. Charles W. Brewster, for nearly fifty years the editor + of the Portsmouth Journal, and the author of two volumes of local sketches + to which the writer of these pages here acknowledges his indebtedness.) + “occupies a space of perhaps one hundred feet by ninety, and is well + walled in. The western side is now used as a burial-place for the family, + but two thirds of it is filled with perhaps forty graves, indicated by + rough head and foot stones. Who there rest no one now living knows. But + the same care is taken of their quiet beds as if they were of the + proprietor’s own family. In 1631 Mason sent over about eighty emigrants + many of whom died in a few years, and here they were probably buried. Here + too, doubtless, rest the remains of several of those whose names stand + conspicuous in our early state records.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. A STROLL ABOUT TOWN (continued) + </h2> + <p> + WHEN Washington visited Portsmouth in 1789 he was not much impressed by + the architecture of the little town that had stood by him so stoutly in + the struggle for independence. “There are some good houses,” he writes, in + a diary kept that year during a tour through Connecticut, Massachusetts, + and New Hampshire, “among which Colonel Langdon’s may be esteemed the + first; but in general they are indifferent, and almost entirely of wood. + On wondering at this, as the country is full of stone and good clay for + bricks, I was told that on account of the fogs and damp they deemed them + wholesomer, and for that reason preferred wood buildings.” + </p> + <p> + The house of Colonel Langdon, on Pleasant Street, is an excellent sample + of the solid and dignified abodes which our great-grandsires had the sense + to build. The art of their construction seems to have been a lost art + these fifty years. Here Governor John Langdon resided from 1782 until the + time of his death in 1819—a period during which many an illustrious + man passed between those two white pillars that support the little balcony + over the front door; among the rest Louis Philippe and his brothers, the + Ducs de Montpensier and Beaujolais, and the Marquis de Chastellus, a + major-general in the French army, serving under the Count de Rochambeau, + whom he accompanied from France to the States in 1780. The journal of the + marquis contains this reference to his host: “After dinner we went to + drink tea with Mr. Langdon. He is a handsome man, and of noble carriage; + he has been a member of Congress, and is now one of the first people of + the country; his house is elegant and well furnished, and the apartments + admirably well wainscoted” (this reads like Mr. Samuel Pepys); “and he has + a good manuscript chart of the harbor of Portsmouth. Mrs. Langdon, his + wife, is young, fair, and tolerably handsome, but I conversed less with + her than her husband, in whose favor I was prejudiced from knowing that he + had displayed great courage and patriotism at the time of Burgoynes’s + expedition.” + </p> + <p> + It was at the height of the French Revolution that the three sons of the + Due d’Orleans were entertained at the Langdon mansion. Years afterward, + when Louis Philippe was on the throne of France, he inquired of a + Portsmouth lady presented at his court if the mansion of ce brave + Gouverneur Langdon was still in existence. + </p> + <p> + The house stands back a decorous distance from the street, under the + shadows of some gigantic oaks or elms, and presents an imposing appearance + as you approach it over the tessellated marble walk. A hundred or two feet + on either side of the gate, and abutting on the street, is a small square + building of brick, one story in height—probably the porter’s lodge + and tool-house of former days. There is a large fruit garden attached to + the house, which is in excellent condition, taking life comfortably, and + having the complacent air of a well-preserved beau of the ancien regime. + The Langdon mansion was owned and long occupied by the late Rev. Dr. + Burroughs, for a period of forty-seven years the esteemed rector or St. + John’s Church. + </p> + <p> + At the other end of Pleasant Street is another notable house, to which we + shall come by and by. Though President Washington found Portsmouth but + moderately attractive from an architectural point of view, the visitor of + to-day, if he have an antiquarian taste, will find himself embarrassed by + the number of localities and buildings that appeal to his interest. Many + of these buildings were new and undoubtedly commonplace enough at the date + of Washington’s visit; time and association have given them a quaintness + and a significance which now make their architecture a question of + secondary importance. + </p> + <p> + One might spend a fortnight in Portsmouth exploring the nooks and corners + over which history has thrown a charm, and by no means exhaust the list. I + cannot do more than attempt to describe—and that very briefly—a + few of the typical old houses. On this same Pleasant Street there are + several which we must leave unnoted, with their spacious halls and carven + staircases, their antiquated furniture and old silver tankards and choice + Copleys. Numerous examples of this artist’s best manner are to be found + here. To live in Portsmouth without possessing a family portrait done by + Copley is like living in Boston without having an ancestor in the old + Granary Burying-Ground. You can exist, but you cannot be said to flourish. + To make this statement smooth, I will remark that every one in Portsmouth + has a Copley—or would have if a fair division were made. + </p> + <p> + In the better sections of the town the houses are kept in such excellent + repair, and have so smart an appearance with their bright green blinds and + freshly painted woodwork, that you are likely to pass many an old landmark + without suspecting it. Whenever you see a house with a gambrel roof, you + may be almost positive that the house is at least a hundred years old, for + the gambrel roof went out of fashion after the Revolution. + </p> + <p> + On the corner of Daniel and Chapel streets stands the oldest brick + building in Portsmouth—the Warner House. It was built in 1718 by + Captain Archibald Macpheadris, a Scotchman, as his name indicates, a + wealthy merchant, and a member of the King’s Council. He was the chief + projector of one of the earliest iron-works established in America. + Captain Macpheadris married Sarah Wentworth, one of the sixteen children + of Governor John Wentworth, and died in 1729, leaving a daughter, Mary, + whose portrait, with that of her mother, painted by the ubiquitous Copley, + still hangs in the parlor of this house, which is not known by the name of + Captain Macpheadris, but by that of his son-in-law, Hon. Jonathan Warner, + a member of the King’s Council until the revolt of the colonies. “We well + recollect Mr. Warner,” says Mr. Brewster, writing in 1858, “as one of the + last of the cocked hats. As in a vision of early childhood he is still + before us, in all the dignity of the aristocratic crown officers. That + broad-backed, long-skirted brown coat, those small-clothes and silk + stockings, those silver buckles, and that cane—we see them still, + although the life that filled and moved them ceased half a century ago.” + </p> + <p> + The Warner House, a three-story building with gambrel roof and luthern + windows, is as fine and substantial an exponent of the architecture of the + period as you are likely to meet with anywhere in New England. The + eighteen-inch walls are of brick brought from Holland, as were also many + of the materials used in the building—the hearth-stones, tiles, etc. + Hewn-stone underpinnings were seldom adopted in those days; the brick-work + rests directly upon the solid walls of the cellar. The interior is rich in + paneling and wood carvings about the mantel-shelves, the deep-set windows, + and along the cornices. The halls are wide and long, after a by-gone + fashion, with handsome staircases, set at an easy angle, and not standing + nearly upright, like those ladders by which one reaches the upper chambers + of a modern house. The principal rooms are paneled to the ceiling, and + have large open chimney-places, adorned with the quaintest of Dutch files. + In one of the parlors of the Warner House there is a choice store of + family relics—china, silver-plate, costumes, old clocks, and the + like. There are some interesting paintings, too—not by Copley this + time. On a broad space each side of the hall windows, at the head of the + staircase, are pictures of two Indians, life size. They are probably + portraits of some of the numerous chiefs with whom Captain Macphaedris had + dealings, for the captain was engaged in the fur as well as in the iron + business. Some enormous elk antlers, presented to Macpheadris by his red + friends, are hanging in the lower hall. + </p> + <p> + By mere chance, thirty or forty years ago, some long-hidden paintings on + the walls of this lower hall were brought to light. In repairing the front + entry it became necessary to remove the paper, of which four or five + layers had accumulated. A one place, where several coats had peeled off + cleanly, a horse’s hoof was observed by a little girl of the family. The + workman then began removing the paper carefully; first the legs, then the + body of a horse with a rider were revealed, and the astonished + paper-hanger presently stood before a life-size representation of Governor + Phipps on his charger. The workman called other persons to his assistance, + and the remaining portions of the wall were speedily stripped, laying bare + four or five hundred square feet covered with sketches in color, + landscapes, views of unknown cities, Biblical scenes, and modern + figure-pieces, among which was a lady at a spinning-wheel. Until then no + person in the land of the living had had any knowledge of those hidden + pictures. An old dame of eighty, who had visited at the house intimately + ever since her childhood, all but refused to believe her spectacles + (though Supply Ham made them(1.)) when brought face to face with the + frescoes. (1. In the early part of this century, Supply Ham was the + leading optician and watchmaker of Portsmouth.) + </p> + <p> + The place is rich in bricabrac, but there is nothing more curious that + these incongruous printings, clearly the work of a practiced hand. Even + the outside of the old edifice is not without its interest for an + antiquarian. The lightening-rod which protects the Warner House to-day was + put up under Benjamin Franklin’s own supervision in 1762—such at all + events is the credited tradition—and is supposed to be the first rod + put up in New Hampshire. A lightening-rod “personally conducted” by + Benjamin Franklin ought to be an attractive object to even the least + susceptible electricity. The Warner House has another imperative claim on + the good-will of the visitor—it is not positively known that George + Washington ever slept there. + </p> + <p> + The same assertion cannot be made on connection with the old yellow + barracks situated in the southwest corner of Court and Atkinson streets. + Famous old houses seem to have an intuitive perception of the value of + corner lots. If it is a possible thing, they always set themselves down on + the most desirable spots. It is beyond a doubt that Washington slept not + only one night, but several nights, under this roof; for this was a + celebrated tavern previous and subsequent to the War of Independence, and + Washington made it his headquarters during his visit to Portsmouth in + 1797. When I was a boy I knew an old lady—not one of the + preposterous old ladies in the newspapers, who have all their faculties + unimpaired, but a real old lady, whose ninety-nine years were beginning to + tell on her—who had known Washington very well. She was a girl in + her teens when he came to Portsmouth. The President was the staple of her + conversation during the last ten years of her life, which she passed in + the Stavers House, bedridden; and I think those ten years were in a manner + rendered short and pleasant to the old gentlewoman by the memory of a + compliment to her complexion which Washington probably never paid to it. + </p> + <p> + The old hotel—now a very unsavory tenement-house—was built by + John Tavers, innkeeper, in 1770, who planted in front of the door a tall + post, from which swung the sign of the Earl of Halifax. Stavers had + previously kept an inn of the same name on Queen, now State Street. + </p> + <p> + It is a square three-story building, shabby and dejected, giving no hint + of the really important historical associations that cluster about it. At + the time of its erection it was no doubt considered a rather grand + structure, for buildings of three stories were rare in Portsmouth. Even in + 1798, of the six hundred and twenty-six dwelling houses of which the town + boasted, eighty-six were of one story, five hundred and twenty-four were + of two stories, and only sixteen of three stories. The Stavers inn has the + regulation gambrel roof, but is lacking in those wood ornaments which are + usually seen over the doors and windows of the more prominent houses of + that epoch. It was, however, the hotel of the period. + </p> + <p> + That same worn doorstep upon which Mr. O’Shaughnessy now stretches himself + of a summer afternoon, with a short clay pipe stuck between his lips, and + his hat crushed down on his brows, revolving the sad vicissitude of things—that + same doorstep has been pressed by the feet of generals and marquises and + grave dignitaries upon whom depended the destiny of the States—officers + in gold lace and scarlet cloth, and high-heeled belles in patch, powder, + and paduasoy. At this door the Flying Stage Coach, which crept from + Boston, once a week set down its load of passengers—and + distinguished passengers they often were. Most of the chief celebrities of + the land, before and after the secession of the colonies, were the guests + of Master Stavers, at the sign of the Earl of Halifax. + </p> + <p> + While the storm was brewing between the colonies and the mother country, + it was in a back room of the tavern that the adherents of the crown met to + discuss matters. The landlord himself was a amateur loyalist, and when the + full cloud was on the eve of breaking he had an early intimation of the + coming tornado. The Sons of Liberty had long watched with sullen eyes the + secret sessions of the Tories in Master Stavers’s tavern, and one morning + the patriots quietly began cutting down the post which supported the + obnoxious emblem. Mr. Stavers, who seems not to have been belligerent + himself, but the cause of belligerence in others, sent out his black slave + with orders to stop proceedings. The negro, who was armed with an axe, + struck but a single blow and disappeared. This blow fell upon the head of + Mark Noble; it did not kill him, but left him an insane man till the day + of his death, forty years afterward. A furious mob at once collected, and + made an attack on the tavern, bursting in the doors and shattering every + pane of glass in the windows. It was only through the intervention of + Captain John Langdon, a warm and popular patriot, that the hotel was saved + from destruction. + </p> + <p> + In the mean while Master Stavers had escaped through the stables in the + rear. He fled to Stratham, where he was given refuge by his friend William + Pottle, a most appropriately named gentleman, who had supplied the hotel + with ale. The excitement blew over after a time, and Stavers was induced + to return to Portsmouth. He was seized by the Committee of Safety, and + lodged in Exeter jail, when his loyalty, which had really never been very + high, went down below zero; he took the oath of allegiance, and shortly + after his released reopened the hotel. The honest face of William Pitt + appeared on the repentant sign, vice Earl of Halifax, ignominiously + removed, and Stavers was himself again. In the state records is the + following letter from poor Noble begging for the enlargement of John + Stavers:— + </p> + <p> + PORTSMOUTH, February 3, 1777. To the Committee of Safety of the Town of + Exeter: GENTLEMEN,—As I am informed that Mr. Stivers is in + confinement in gaol upon my account contrary to my desire, for when I was + at Mr. Stivers a fast day I had no ill nor ment none against the Gentleman + but by bad luck or misfortune I have received a bad Blow but it is so well + that I hope to go out in a day or two. So by this gentlemen of the + Committee I hope you will release the gentleman upon my account. I am + yours to serve. MARK NOBLE, A friend to my country. + </p> + <p> + From that period until I know not what year the Stavers House prospered. + It was at the sign of the William Pitt that the officers of the French + fleet boarded in 1782, and hither came the Marquis Lafayette, all the way + from Providence, to visit them. John Hancock, Elbridge Gerry, Rutledge, + and other signers of the Declaration sojourned here at various times. It + was here General Knox—“that stalwart man, two officers in size and + three in lungs”—was wont to order his dinner, and in a stentorian + voice compliment Master Stavers on the excellence of his larder. One day—it + was at the time of the French Revolution—Louis Philippe and his two + brothers applied at the door of the William Pitt for lodgings; but the + tavern was full, and the future king, with his companions, found + comfortable quarters under the hospitable roof of Governor Langdon in + Pleasant Street. + </p> + <p> + A record of the scenes, tragic and humorous, that have been enacted within + this old yellow house on the corner would fill a volume. A vivid picture + of the social and public life of the old time might be painted by a + skillful hand, using the two Earl of Halifax inns for a background. The + painter would find gay and sombre pigments ready mixed for his palette, + and a hundred romantic incidents waiting for his canvas. One of these + romantic episodes has been turned to very pretty account by Longfellow in + the last series of The Tales of a Wayside Inn—the marriage of + Governor Benning Wentworth with Martha Hilton, a sort of second edition of + King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid. + </p> + <p> + Martha Hilton was a poor girl, whose bare feet and ankles and scant + drapery when she was a child, and even after she was well in the bloom of + her teens, used to scandalize good Dame Stavers, the innkeeper’s wife. + Standing one afternoon in the doorway of the Earl of Halifax, (1. The + first of the two hotels bearing that title. Mr. Brewster commits a slight + anachronism in locating the scene of this incident in Jaffrey Street, now + Court. The Stavers House was not built until the year of Governor Benning + Wentworth’s death. Mr. Longfellow, in the poem, does not fall into the + same error. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “One hundred years ago, and something more, + In Queen Street, Portsmouth, at her tavern door, + Neat as a pin, and blooming as a rose, + Stood Mistress Stavers in her furbelows.”) +</pre> + <p> + Dame Stavers took occasion to remonstrate with the sleek-limbed and + lightly draped Martha, who chanced to be passing the tavern, carrying a + pail of water, in which, as the poet neatly says, “the shifting sunbeam + danced.” + </p> + <p> + “You Pat! you Pat!” cried Mrs. Stavers severely; “why do you go looking + so? You should be ashamed to be seen in the street.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind how I look,” says Miss Martha, with a merry laugh, letting + slip a saucy brown shoulder out of her dress; “I shall ride in my chariot + yet, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + Fortunate prophecy! Martha went to live as servant with Governor Wentworth + at his mansion at Little Harbor, looking out to sea. Seven years passed, + and the “thin slip of a girl,” who promised to be no great beauty, had + flowered into the loveliest of women, with a lip like a cherry and a cheek + like a tea-rose—a lady by instinct, one of Nature’s own ladies. The + governor, a lonely widower, and not too young, fell in love with his fair + handmaid. Without stating his purpose to any one, Governor Wentworth + invited a number of friends (among others the Rev. Arthur Brown) to dine + with him at Little Harbor on his birthday. After the dinner, which was a + very elaborate one, was at an end, and the guests were discussing their + tobacco-pipes, Martha Hilton glided into the room, and stood blushing in + front of the chimney-place. She was exquisitely dressed, as you may + conceive, and wore her hair three stories high. The guests stared at each + other, and particularly at her, and wondered. Then the governor, rising + from his seat, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Played slightly with his ruffles, then looked down, + And said unto the Reverend Arthur Brown: + ‘This is my birthday; it shall likewise be + My wedding-day; and you shall marry me!’” + </pre> + <p> + The rector was dumfounded, knowing the humble footing Martha had held in + the house, and could think of nothing cleverer to say than, “To whom, your + excellency?” which was not cleaver at all. + </p> + <p> + “To this lady,” replied the governor, taking Martha Hilton by the hand. + The Rev. Arthur Brown hesitated. “As the Chief Magistrate of New Hampshire + I command you to marry me!” cried the choleric old governor. + </p> + <p> + And so it was done; and the pretty kitchen-maid became Lady Wentworth, and + did ride in her own chariot. She would not have been a woman if she had + not taken an early opportunity to drive by Staver’s hotel! + </p> + <p> + Lady Wentworth had a keen appreciation of the dignity of her new station, + and became a grand lady at once. A few days after her marriage, dropping + her ring on the floor, she languidly ordered her servant to pick it up. + The servant, who appears to have had a fair sense of humor, grew suddenly + near-sighted, and was unable to the ring until Lady Wentworth stooped and + placed her ladyship’s finger upon it. She turned out a faultless wife, + however; and Governor Wentworth at his death, which occurred in 1770, + signified his approval of her by leaving her his entire estate. She + married again without changing name, accepting the hand, and what there + was of the heart, of Michael Wentworth, a retired colonel of the British + army, who came to this country in 1767. Colonel Wentworth (not connected, + I think, with the Portsmouth branch of Wentworths) seems to have been of a + convivial turn of mind. He shortly dissipated his wife’s fortune in high + living, and died abruptly in New York—it was supposed by his own + hand. His last words—a quite unique contribution to the literature + of last words—were, “I have had my cake, and ate it,” which showed + that the colonel within his own modest limitations was a philosopher. + </p> + <p> + The seat of Governor Wentworth at Little Harbor—a pleasant walk from + Market Square—is well worth a visit. Time and change have laid their + hands more lightly on this rambling old pile than on any other of the old + homes in Portsmouth. When you cross the threshold of the door you step + into the colonial period. Here the Past seems to have halted courteously, + waiting for you to catch up with it. Inside and outside the Wentworth + mansion remains nearly as the old governor left it; and though it is no + longer in the possession of the family, the present owners, in their + willingness to gratify the decent curiosity of strangers, show a + hospitality which has always characterized the place. + </p> + <p> + The house is an architectural freak. The main building—if it is the + main building—is generally two stories in height, with irregular + wings forming three sides of a square which opens in the water. It is, in + brief, a cluster of whimsical extensions that look as if they had been + built at different periods, which I believe was not the case. The mansion + was completed in 1750. It originally contained fifty-two rooms; a portion + of the structure was removed about half a century ago, leaving forty-five + apartments. The chambers were connected in the oddest manner, by + unexpected steps leading up or down, and capricious little passages that + seem to have been the unhappy afterthoughts of the architect. But it is a + mansion on a grand scale, and with a grand air. The cellar was arranged + for the stabling of a troop of thirty horse in times of danger. The + council-chamber, where for many years all questions of vital importance to + the State were discussed, is a spacious, high-studded room, finished in + the richest style of the last century. It is said that the ornamentation + of the huge mantel, carved with knife and chisel, cost the workman a + year’s constant labor. At the entrance to the council-chamber are still + the racks for the twelve muskets of the governor’s guard—so long ago + dismissed! + </p> + <p> + Some valuable family portraits adorn the walls here, among which is a fine + painting-yes, by our friend Copley—of the lovely Dorothy Quincy, who + married John Hancock, and afterward became Madam Scott. This lady was a + niece of Dr. Holme’s “Dorothy Q.” Opening on the council-chamber is a + large billiard-room; the billiard-table is gone, but an ancient spinnet, + with the prim air of an ancient maiden lady, and of a wheezy voice, is + there; and in one corner stands a claw-footed buffet, near which the + imaginative nostril may still detect a faint and tantalizing odor of + colonial punch. Opening also on the council-chamber are several tiny + apartments, empty and silent now, in which many a close rubber has been + played by illustrious hands. The stillness and loneliness of the old house + seem saddest here. The jeweled fingers are dust, the merry laughs have + turned themselves into silent, sorrowful phantoms, stealing from chamber + to chamber. It is easy to believe in the traditional ghost that haunts the + place— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A jolly place in times of old, + But something ails it now!” + </pre> + <p> + The mansion at Little Harbor is not the only historic house that bears the + name of Wentworth. On Pleasant Street, at the head of Washington Street, + stands the abode of another colonial worthy, Governor John Wentworth, who + held office from 1767 down to the moment when the colonies dropped the + British yoke as if it had been the letter H. For the moment the good + gentleman’s occupation was gone. He was a royalist of the most florid + complexion. In 1775, a man named John Fenton, and ex-captain in the + British army, who had managed to offend the Sons of Liberty, was given + sanctuary in this house by the governor, who refused to deliver the + fugitive to the people. The mob planted a small cannon (unloaded) in front + of the doorstep and threatened to open fire if Fenton were not + forthcoming. He forth-with came. The family vacated the premises via the + back-yard, and the mob entered, doing considerable damage. The broken + marble chimney-place still remains, mutely protesting against the + uncalled-for violence. Shortly after this event the governor made his way + to England, where his loyalty was rewarded first with a governorship and + then with a pension of L500. He was governor of Nova Scotia from 1792 to + 1800, and died in Halifax in 1820. This house is one of the handsomest old + dwellings in the town, and promises to outlive many of its newest + neighbors. The parlor has undergone no change whatever since the populace + rushed into it over a century ago. The furniture and adornments occupy + their original positions and the plush on the walls has not been replaced + by other hangings. In the hall—deep enough for the traditional duel + of baronial romance—are full-length portraits of the several + governors and sundry of their kinsfolk. + </p> + <p> + There is yet a third Wentworth house, also decorated with the shade of a + colonial governor—there were three Governors Wentworth—but we + shall pass it by, though out of no lack of respect for that high official + personage whose commission was signed by Joseph Addison, Esq., Secretary + of State under George I. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. OLD STRAWBERRY BANK + </h2> + <p> + THESE old houses have perhaps detained us too long. They are merely the + crumbling shells of things dead and gone, of persons and manners and + customs that have left no very distinct record of themselves, excepting + here and there in some sallow manuscript which has luckily escaped the + withering breath of fire, for the old town, as I have remarked, has + managed, from the earliest moment of its existence, to burn itself up + periodically. It is only through the scattered memoranda of ancient town + clerks, and in the files of worm-eaten and forgotten newspapers, that we + are enabled to get glimpses of that life which was once so real and + positive and has now become a shadow. I am of course speaking of the early + days of the settlement on Strawberry Bank. They were stormy and eventful + days. The dense forest which surrounded the clearing was alive with + hostile red-men. The sturdy pilgrim went to sleep with his firelock at his + bedside, not knowing at what moment he might be awakened by the glare of + his burning hayricks and the piercing war-whoops of the Womponoags. Year + after year he saw his harvest reaped by a sickle of flames, as he peered + through the loop-holes of the blockhouse, whither he had flown in hot + haste with goodwife and little ones. The blockhouse at Strawberry Bank + appears to have been on an extensive scale, with stockades for the shelter + of cattle. It held large supplies of stores, and was amply furnished with + arquebuses, sakers, and murtherers, a species of naval ordnance which + probably did not belie its name. It also boasted, we are told, of two + drums for training-days, and no fewer than fifteen hautboys and + soft-voiced recorders—all which suggests a mediaeval castle, or a + grim fortress in the time of Queen Elizabeth. To the younger members of + the community glass or crockery ware was an unknown substance; to the + elders it was a memory. An iron pot was the pot-of-all-work, and their + table utensils were of beaten pewter. The diet was also of the simplest—pea-porridge + and corn-cake, with a mug of ale or a flagon of Spanish wine, when they + could get it. + </p> + <p> + John Mason, who never resided in this country, but delegated the + management of his plantation at Ricataqua and Newichewannock to stewards, + died before realizing any appreciable return from his enterprise. He + spared no endeavor meanwhile to further its prosperity. In 1632, three + years before his death, Mason sent over from Denmark a number of neat + cattle, “of a large breed and yellow colour.” The herd thrived, and it is + said that some of the stock is still extant on farms in the vicinity of + Portsmouth. Those old first families had a kind of staying quality! + </p> + <p> + In May, 1653, the inhabitants of the settlement petitioned the General + Court at Boston to grant them a definite township—for the boundaries + were doubtful—and the right to give it a proper name. “Whereas the + name of this plantation att present being Strabery Banke, accidentlly soe + called, by reason of a banke where strawberries was found in this place, + now we humbly desire to have it called Portsmouth, being a name most + suitable for this place, it being the river’s mouth, and good as any in + this land, and your petit’rs shall humbly pray,” etc. + </p> + <p> + Throughout that formative period, and during the intermittent French wars, + Portsmouth and the outlying districts were the scenes of bloody Indian + massacres. No portion of the New England colony suffered more. Famine, + fire, pestilence, and war, each in turn, and sometimes in conjunction, + beleaguered the little stronghold, and threatened to wipe it out. But that + was not to be. + </p> + <p> + The settlement flourished and increased in spite of all, and as soon as it + had leisure to draw breath, it bethought itself of the school-house and + the jail—two incontestable signs of budding civilization. At a town + meeting in 1662, it was ordered “that a cage be made or some other meanes + invented by the selectmen to punish such as sleepe or take tobacco on the + Lord’s day out of the meetinge in the time of publique service.” This + salutary measure was not, for some reason, carried into effect until nine + years later, when Captain John Pickering, who seems to have had as many + professions as Michelangelo, undertook to construct a cage twelve feet + square and seven feet high, with a pillory on top; “the said Pickering to + make a good strong dore and make a substantiale payre of stocks and places + the same in said cage.” A spot conveniently near the west end on the + meeting-house was selected as the site for this ingenious device. It is + more than probable that “the said Pickering” indirectly furnished an + occasional bird for his cage, for in 1672 we find him and one Edward + Westwere authorized by the selectmen to “keepe houses of publique + entertainment.” He was a versatile individual, this John Pickering—soldier, + miller, moderator, carpenter, lawyer, and innkeeper. Michelangelo need not + blush to be bracketed with him. In the course of a long and variegated + career he never failed to act according to his lights, which he always + kept well trimmed. That Captain Pickering subsequently became the + grandfather, at several removes, of the present writer was no fault of the + Captain’s, and should not be laid up against him. + </p> + <p> + Down to 1696, the education of the young appears to have been a rather + desultory and tentative matter; “the young idea” seems to have been + allowed to “shoot” at whatever it wanted to; but in that year it was voted + “that care be taken that an abell scollmaster [skullmaster!] be provided + for the towen as the law directs, not visious in conversation.” That was + perhaps demanding too much; for it was not until “May ye 7” of the + following year that the selectmen were fortunate enough to put their + finger on this rara avis in the person of Mr. Tho. Phippes, who agreed “to + be scollmaster for the the towen this yr insewing for teaching the + inhabitants children in such manner as other schollmasters yously doe + throughout the countrie: for his soe doinge we the sellectt men in behalfe + of ower towen doe ingage to pay him by way of rate twenty pounds and yt he + shall and may reserve from every father or master that sends theyer + children to school this yeare after ye rate of 16s. for readers, writers + and cypherers 20s., Lattiners 24s.” + </p> + <p> + Modern advocates of phonetic spelling need not plume themselves on their + originality. The town clerk who wrote that delicious “yously doe” settles + the question. It is to be hoped that Mr. Tho. Phippes was not only “not + visious in conversation,” but was more conventional in his orthography. He + evidently gave satisfaction, and clearly exerted an influence on the town + clerk, Mr. Samuel Keais, who ever after shows a marked improvement in his + own methods. In 1704 the town empowered the selectmen “to call and settell + a gramer scoll according to ye best of yower judgement and for ye advantag + [Keais is obviously dead now] of ye youth of ower town to learn them to + read from ye primer, to wright and sypher and to learne ym the tongues and + good-manners.” On this occasion it was Mr. William Allen, of Salisbury, + who engaged “dilligently to attend ye school for ye present yeare, and + tech all childern yt can read in thaire psallters and upward.” From such + humble beginnings were evolved some of the best public high schools at + present in New England. + </p> + <p> + Portsmouth did not escape the witchcraft delusion, though I believe that + no hangings took place within the boundaries of the township. Dwellers by + the sea are generally superstitious; sailors always are. There is + something in the illimitable expanse of sky and water that dilates the + imagination. The folk who live along the coast live on the edge of a + perpetual mystery; only a strip of yellow sand or gray rock separates them + from the unknown; they hear strange voices in the winds at midnight, they + are haunted by the spectres of the mirage. Their minds quickly take the + impress of uncanny things. The witches therefore found a sympathetic + atmosphere in Newscastle, at the mouth of the Piscataqua—that + slender paw of land which reaches out into the ocean and terminates in a + spread of sharp, flat rocks, lie the claws of an amorous cat. What + happened to the good folk of that picturesque little fishing-hamlet is + worth retelling in brief. In order properly to retell it, a contemporary + witness shall be called upon to testify in the case of the Stone-Throwing + Devils of Newcastle. It is the Rev. Cotton Mather who addresses you—“On + June 11, 1682, showers of stones were thrown by an invisible hand upon the + house of George Walton at Portsmouth [Newcastle was then a part of the + town]. Whereupon the people going out found the gate wrung off the hinges, + and stones flying and falling thick about them, and striking of them + seemingly with a great force, but really affecting ‘em no more than if a + soft touch were given them. The glass windows were broken by the stones + that came not from without, but from within; and other instruments were in + a like manner hurled about. Nine of the stones they took up, whereof some + were as hot as if they came out of the fire; and marking them they laid + them on the table; but in a little while they found some of them again + flying about. The spit was carried up the chimney, and coming down with + the point forward, stuck in the back log, from whence one of the company + removing it, it was by an invisible hand thrown out at the window. This + disturbance continued from day to day; and sometimes a dismal hollow + whistling would be heard, and sometimes the trotting and snorting of a + horse, but nothing to be seen. The man went up the Great Bay in a boat on + to a farm which he had there; but the stones found him out, and carrying + from the house to the boat a stirrup iron the iron came jingling after him + through the woods as far as his house; and at last went away and was heard + no more. The anchor leaped overboard several times and stopt the boat. A + cheese was taken out of the press, and crumbled all over the floor; a + piece of iron stuck into the wall, and a kettle hung thereon. Several + cocks of hay, mow’d near the house, were taken up and hung upon the trees, + and others made into small whisps, and scattered about the house. A man + was much hurt by some of the stones. He was a Quaker, and suspected that a + woman, who charged him with injustice in detaining some land from here, + did, by witchcraft, occasion these preternatural occurrences. However, at + last they came to an end.” + </p> + <p> + Now I have done with thee, O credulous and sour Cotton Mather! so get thee + back again to thy tomb in the old burying-ground on Copp’s Hill, where, + unless thy nature is radically changed, thou makest it uncomfortable for + those about thee. + </p> + <p> + Nearly a hundred years afterwards, Portsmouth had another witch—a + tangible witch in this instance—one Molly Bridget, who cast her + malign spell on the eleemosynary pigs at the Almshouse, where she chanced + to reside at the moment. The pigs were manifestly bewitched, and Mr. + Clement March, the superintendent of the institution, saw only one remedy + at hand, and that was to cut off and burn the tips of their tales. But + when the tips were cut off they disappeared, and it was in consequence + quite impracticable to burn them. Mr. March, who was a gentleman of + expedients, ordered that all the chips and underbrush in the yard should + be made into heaps and consumed, hoping thus to catch and do away with the + mysterious and provoking extremities. The fires were no sooner lighted + than Molly Bridget rushed from room to room in a state of frenzy. With the + dying flames her own vitality subsided, and she was dead before the + ash-piles were cool. I say it seriously when I say that these are facts of + which there is authentic proof. + </p> + <p> + If the woman had recovered, she would have fared badly, even at that late + period, had she been in Salem; but the death-penalty has never been + hastily inflicted in Portsmouth. The first execution that ever took place + there was that of Sarah Simpson and Penelope Kenny, for the murder of an + infant in 1739. The sheriff was Thomas Packer, the same official who, + twenty-nine years later, won unenviable notoriety at the hanging of Ruth + Blay. The circumstances are set forth by the late Albert Laighton in a + spirited ballad, which is too long to quote in full. The following + stanzas, however, give the pith of the story— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And a voice among them shouted, + “Pause before the deed is done; + We have asked reprieve and pardon + For the poor misguided one.’ + + “But these words of Sheriff Packer + Rang above the swelling noise: + ‘Must I wait and lose my dinner? + Draw away the cart, my boys!’ + + “Nearer came the sound and louder, + Till a steed with panting breath, + From its sides the white foam dripping, + Halted at the scene of death; + + “And a messenger alighted, + Crying to the crowd, ‘Make way! + This I bear to Sheriff Packer; + ‘Tis a pardon for Ruth Blay!’” + </pre> + <p> + But of course he arrived too late—the Law led Mercy about twenty + minutes. The crowd dispersed, horror-stricken; but it assembled again that + night before the sheriff’s domicile and expressed its indignation in + groans. His effigy, hanged on a miniature gallows, was afterwards paraded + through the streets. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Be the name of Thomas Packer + A reproach forevermore!” + </pre> + <p> + Laighton’s ballad reminds me of that Portsmouth has been prolific in + poets, one of whom, at least, has left a mouthful of perennial rhyme for + orators—Jonathan Sewell with his + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “No pent-up Utica contracts your powers, + But the whole boundless continent is yours.” + </pre> + <p> + I have somewhere seen a volume with the alliterative title of “Poets of + Portsmouth,” in which are embalmed no fewer than sixty immortals! + </p> + <p> + But to drop into prose again, and have done with this iliad of odds and + ends. Portsmouth has the honor, I believe, of establishing the first + recorded pauper workhouse—though not in connection with her poets, + as might naturally be supposed. The building was completed and tenanted in + 1716. Seven years later, an act was passed in England authorizing the + establishment of parish workhouses there. The first and only keeper of the + Portsmouth almshouse up to 1750 was a woman—Rebecca Austin. + </p> + <p> + Speaking of first things, we are told by Mr. Nathaniel Adams, in his + “Annals of Portsmouth,” that on the 20th of April, 1761, Mr. John Stavers + began running a stage from that town to Boston. The carriage was a + two-horse curricle, wide enough to accommodate three passengers. The fare + was thirteen shillings and sixpence sterling per head. The curricle was + presently superseded by a series of fat yellow coaches, one of which—nearly + a century later, and long after that pleasant mode of travel had fallen + obsolete—was the cause of much mental tribulation (1. Some idle + reader here and there may possibly recall the burning of the old + stage-coach in The Story of a Bad Boy.) to the writer of this chronicle. + </p> + <p> + The mail and the newspaper are closely associated factors in civilization, + so I mention them together, though in this case the newspaper antedated + the mail-coach about five years. On October 7, 1756, the first number of + “The New Hampshire Gazette and Historical Chronicle” was issued in + Portsmouth from the press of Daniel Fowle, who in the previous July had + removed from Boston, where he had undergone a brief but uncongenial + imprisonment on suspicion of having printed a pamphlet entitled “The + Monster of Monsters, by Tom Thumb, Esq.,” an essay that contained some + uncomplimentary reflections on several official personages. The “Gazette” + was the pioneer journal of the province. It was followed at the close of + the same year by “The Mercury and Weekly Advertiser,” published by a + former apprentice of Fowle, a certain Thomas Furber, backed by a number of + restless Whigs, who considered the “Gazette” not sufficiently outspoken in + the cause of liberty. Mr. Fowle, however, contrived to hold his own until + the day of his death. Fowle had for pressman a faithful negro named + Primus, a full-blooded African. Whether Primus was a freeman or a slave I + am unable to state. He lived to a great age, and was a prominent figure + among the people of his own color. + </p> + <p> + Negro slavery was common in New England at that period. In 1767, + Portsmouth numbered in its population a hundred and eighty-eight slaves, + male and female. Their bondage, happily, was nearly always of a light + sort, if any bondage can be light. They were allowed to have a kind of + government of their own; indeed, were encouraged to do so, and no + unreasonable restrictions were placed on their social enjoyment. They + annually elected a king and counselors, and celebrated the event with a + procession. The aristocratic feeling was highly developed in them. The + rank of the master was the slave’s rank. There was a great deal of ebony + standing around on its dignity in those days. For example, Governor + Langdon’s manservant, Cyrus Bruce, was a person who insisted on his + distinction, and it was recognized. His massive gold chain and seals, his + cherry-colored small-clothes and silk stockings, his ruffles and silver + shoe-buckles, were a tradition long after Cyrus himself was pulverized. + </p> + <p> + In cases of minor misdemeanor among them, the negros themselves were + permitted to be judge and jury. Their administration of justice was often + characteristically naive. Mr. Brewster gives an amusing sketch of one of + their sessions. King Nero is on the bench, and one Cato—we are + nothing if not classical—is the prosecuting attorney. The name of + the prisoner and the nature of his offense are not disclosed to posterity. + In the midst of the proceedings the hour of noon is clanged from the + neighboring belfry of the Old North Church. “The evidence was not gone + through with, but the servants could stay no longer from their home + duties. They all wanted to see the whipping, but could not conveniently be + present again after dinner. Cato ventured to address the King: Please you + Honor, best let the fellow have his whipping now, and finish the trial + after dinner. The request seemed to be the general wish of the company: so + Nero ordered ten lashes, for justice so far as the trial went, and ten + more at the close of the trial, should he be found guilty!” + </p> + <p> + Slavery in New Hampshire was never legally abolished, unless Abraham + Lincoln did it. The State itself has not ever pronounced any emancipation + edict. During the Revolutionary War the slaves were generally emancipated + by their masters. That many of the negros, who had grown gray in service, + refused their freedom, and elected to spend the rest of their lives as + pensioners in the families of their late owners, is a circumstance that + illustrates the kindly ties which held between slave and master in the old + colonial days in New England. + </p> + <p> + The institution was accidental and superficial, and never had any real + root in the Granite State. If the Puritans could have found in the + Scriptures any direct sanction of slavery, perhaps it would have continued + awhile longer, for the Puritan carried his religion into the business + affairs of life; he was not even able to keep it out of his bills of + lading. I cannot close this rambling chapter more appropriately and + solemnly than by quoting from one of those same pious bills of landing. It + is dated June, 1726, and reads: “Shipped by the grace of God in good order + and well conditioned, by Wm. Pepperills on there own acct. and risque, in + and upon the good Briga called the William, whereof is master under God + for this present voyage George King, now riding at anchor in the river + Piscataqua and by God’s grace bound to Barbadoes.” Here follows a + catalogue of the miscellaneous cargo, rounded off with: “And so God send + the good Briga to her desired port in safety. Amen.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. SOME OLD PORTSMOUTH PROFILES + </h2> + <p> + I DOUBT if any New England town ever turned out so many eccentric + characters as Portsmouth. From 1640 down to about 1848 there must have + been something in the air of the place that generated eccentricity. In + another chapter I shall explain why the conditions have not been favorable + to the development of individual singularity during the latter half of the + present century. It is easier to do that than fully to account for the + numerous queer human types which have existed from time to time previous + to that period. + </p> + <p> + In recently turning over the pages of Mr. Brewster’s entertaining + collection of Portsmouth sketches, I have been struck by the number and + variety of the odd men and women who appear incidentally on the scene. + They are, in the author’s intention, secondary figures in the background + of his landscape, but they stand very much in the foreground of one’s + memory after the book is laid aside. One finds one’s self thinking quite + as often of that squalid old hut-dweller up by Sagamore Creek as of + General Washington, who visited the town in 1789. Conservatism and + respectability have their values, certainly; but has not the + unconventional its values also? If we render unto that old hut-dweller the + things which are that old hut-dweller’s, we must concede him his + picturesqueness. He was dirty, and he was not respectable; but he is + picturesque—now that he is dead. + </p> + <p> + If the reader has five or ten minutes to waste, I invite him to glance at + a few old profiles of persons who, however substantial they once were, are + now leading a life of mere outlines. I would like to give them a less + faded expression, but the past is very chary of yielding up anything more + than its shadows. + </p> + <p> + The first who presents himself is the ruminative hermit already mentioned—a + species of uninspired Thoreau. His name was Benjamin Lear. So far as his + craziness went, he might have been a lineal descendant of that ancient + king of Britain who figures on Shakespeare’s page. Family dissensions made + a recluse of King Lear; but in the case of Benjamin there were no + mitigating circumstances. He had no family to trouble him, and his realm + remained undivided. He owned an excellent farm on the south side of + Sagamore Creek, a little to the west of the bridge, and might have lived + at ease, if personal comfort had not been distasteful to him. Personal + comfort entered into no part of Lear’s. To be alone filled the little + pint-measure of his desire. He ensconced himself in a wretched shanty, and + barred the door, figuratively, against all the world. Wealth—what + would have been wealth to him—lay within his reach, but he thrust it + aside; he disdained luxury as he disdained idleness, and made no + compromise with convention. When a man cuts himself absolutely adrift from + custom, what an astonishingly light spar floats him! How few his wants + are, after all! Lear was of a cheerful disposition, and seems to have been + wholly inoffensive—at a distance. He fabricated his own clothes, and + subsisted chiefly on milk and potatoes, the product of his realm. He + needed nothing but an island to be a Robinson Crusoe. At rare intervals he + flitted like a frost-bitten apparition through the main street of + Portsmouth, which he always designated as “the Bank,” a name that had + become obsolete fifty or a hundred years before. Thus, for nearly a + quarter of a century, Benjamin Lear stood aloof from human intercourse. In + his old age some of the neighbors offered him shelter during the + tempestuous winter months; but he would have none of it—he defied + wind and weather. There he lay in his dilapidated hovel in his last + illness, refusing to allow any one to remain with him overnight—and + the mercury four degrees below zero. Lear was born in 1720, and vegetated + eighty-two years. + </p> + <p> + I take it that Timothy Winn, of whom we have only a glimpse, would like to + have more, was a person better worth knowing. His name reads like the + title of some old-fashioned novel—“Timothy Winn, or the Memoirs of a + Bashful Gentleman.” He came to Portsmouth from Woburn at the close of the + last century, and set up in the old museum-building on Mulberry Street + what was called “a piece goods store.” He was the third Timothy in his + monotonous family, and in order to differentiate himself he inscribed on + the sign over his shop door, “Timothy Winn, 3d,” and was ever after called + “Three-Penny Winn.” That he enjoyed the pleasantry, and clung to his sign, + goes to show that he was a person who would ripen on further acquaintance, + were further acquaintance now practicable. His next-door neighbor, Mr. + Leonard Serat, who kept a modest tailoring establishment, also tantalizes + us a little with a dim intimation of originality. He plainly was without + literary prejudices, for on one face of his swinging sign was painted the + word Taylor, and on the other Tailor. This may have been a delicate + concession to that part of the community—the greater part, probably—which + would have spelled it with a y. + </p> + <p> + The building in which Messrs. Winn and Serat had their shops was the + property of Nicholas Rousselet, a French gentleman of Demerara, the story + of whose unconventional courtship of Miss Catherine Moffatt is pretty + enough to bear retelling, and entitles him to a place in our limited + collection of etchings. M. Rousselet had doubtless already mad excursions + into the pays de tendre, and given Miss Catherine previous notice of the + state of his heart, but it was not until one day during the hour of + service at the Episcopal church that he brought matters to a crisis by + handing to Miss Moffatt a small Bible, on the fly-leaf of which he had + penciled the fifth verse of the Second Epistle of John— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And now I beseech thee, lady, not as though I + wrote a new commandment unto thee, but that + which we had from the beginning, that we love one another.” + </pre> + <p> + This was not to be resisted, at lease not by Miss Catherine, who demurely + handed the volume back to him with a page turned down at the sixteenth + verse in the first chapter of Ruth— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I + will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my + God: where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be + buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but + death part thee and me.” + </pre> + <p> + Aside from this quaint touch of romance, what attaches me to the happy + pair—for the marriage was a fortunate one—is the fact that the + Rousselets made their home in the old Atkinson mansion, which stood + directly opposite my grandfather’s house on Court Street and was torn down + in my childhood, to my great consternation. The building had been + unoccupied for a quarter of a century, and was fast falling into decay + with all its rich wood-carvings at cornice and lintel; but was it not full + of ghosts, and if the old barracks were demolished, would not these + ghosts, or some of them at least, take refuge in my grandfather’s house + just across the way? Where else could they bestow themselves so + conveniently? While the ancient mansion was in process of destruction, I + used to peep round the corner of our barn at the workmen, and watch the + indignant phantoms go soaring upward in spiral clouds of colonial dust. + </p> + <p> + A lady differing in many ways from Catherine Moffatt was the Mary Atkinson + (once an inmate of this same manor house) who fell to the lot of the Rev. + William Shurtleff, pastor of the South Church between 1733 and 1747. From + the worldly standpoint, it was a fine match for the Newcastle clergyman—beauty, + of the eagle-beaked kind; wealth, her share of the family plate; high + birth, a sister to the Hon. Theodore Atkinson. But if the exemplary man + had cast his eyes lower, peradventure he had found more happiness, though + ill-bred persons without family plate are not necessarily amiable. Like + Socrates, this long-suffering divine had always with him an object on + which to cultivate heavenly patience, and patience, says the Eastern + proverb, is the key to content. The spirit of Xantippe seems to have taken + possession of Mrs. Shurtleff immediately after her marriage. The freakish + disrespect with which she used her meek consort was a heavy cross to bear + at a period in New England when clerical dignity was at its highest + sensitive point. Her devices for torturing the poor gentleman were + inexhaustible. Now she lets his Sabbath ruffs go unstarched; now she + scandalizes him by some unseemly and frivolous color in her attire; now + she leaves him to cook his own dinner at the kitchen coals; and now she + locks him in his study, whither he has retired for a moment or two of + prayer, previous to setting forth to perform the morning service. The + congregation has assembled; the sexton has tolled the bell twice as long + as is custom, and is beginning a third carillon, full of wonder that his + reverence does not appear; and there sits Mistress Shurtleff in the family + pew with a face as complacent as that of the cat that has eaten the + canary. Presently the deacons appeal to her for information touching the + good doctor. Mistress Shurtleff sweetly tells them that the good doctor + was in his study when she left home. There he is found, indeed, and + released from durance, begging the deacons to keep his mortification + secret, to “give it an understanding, but no tongue.” Such was the + discipline undergone by the worthy Dr. Shurtleff on his earthly + pilgrimage. A portrait of this patient man—now a saint somewhere—hangs + in the rooms of the New England Historical and Genealogical Society in + Boston. There he can be seen in surplice and bands, with his lamblike, + apostolic face looking down upon the heavy antiquarian labors of his busy + descendants. + </p> + <p> + Whether or not a man is to be classed as eccentric who vanishes without + rhyme or reason on his wedding-night is a query left to the reader’s + decision. We seem to have struck a matrimonial vein, and must work it out. + In 1768, Mr. James McDonough was one of the wealthiest men in Portsmouth, + and the fortunate suitor for the hand of a daughter of Jacob Sheafe, a + town magnate. The home of the bride was decked and lighted for the + nuptials, the banquet-table was spread, and the guests were gathered. The + minister in his robe stood by the carven mantelpiece, book in hand, and + waited. Then followed an awkward interval—there was a hitch + somewhere. A strange silence fell upon the laughing groups; the air grew + tense with expectation; in the pantry, Amos Boggs, the butler, in his + agitation split a bottle of port over his new cinnamon-colored + small-clothes. Then a whisper—a whisper suppressed these twenty + minutes—ran through the apartments,—“The bridegroom has not + come!”. He never came. The mystery of that night remains a mystery after + the lapse of a century and a quarter. + </p> + <p> + What had become of James McDonough? The assassination of so notable a + person in a community where every strange face was challenged, where every + man’s antecedents were known, could not have been accomplished without + leaving some slight traces. Not a shadow of foul play was discovered. That + McDonough had been murdered or had committed suicide were theories + accepted at first by a few, and then by no one. On the other hand, he was + in love with his fiancee, he had wealth, power, position—why had he + fled? He was seen a moment on the public street, and then never seen + again. It was as if he turned into air. Meanwhile the bewilderment of the + bride was dramatically painful. If McDonough had been waylaid and killed, + she could mourn for him. If he had deserted her, she could wrap herself in + her pride. But neither course lay open to her, then or afterward. In one + of the Twice Told Tales Hawthorne deals with a man named Wakefield, who + disappears with like suddenness, and lives unrecognized for twenty years + in a street not far from his abandoned hearthside. Such expunging of one’s + self was not possible in Portsmouth; but I never think of McDonough + without recalling Wakefield. I have an inexplicable conviction that for + many a year James McDonough, in some snug ambush, studied and analyzed the + effect of his own startling disappearance. + </p> + <p> + Some time in the year 1758, there dawned upon Portsmouth a personage + bearing the ponderous title of King’s Attorney, and carrying much gold + lace about him. This gilded gentleman was Mr. Wyseman Clagett, of Bristol, + England, where his father dwelt on the manor of Broad Oaks, in a mansion + with twelve chimneys, and kept a coach and eight or ten servants. Up to + the moment of his advent in the colonies, Mr. Wyseman Clagett had + evidently not been able to keep anything but himself. His wealth consisted + of his personal decorations, the golden frogs on his lapels, and the + tinsel at his throat; other charms he had none. Yet with these he + contrived to dazzle the eyes of Lettice Mitchel, one of the young beauties + of the province, and to cause her to forget that she had plighted troth + with a Mr. Warner, then in Europe, and destined to return home with a + disturbed heart. Mr. Clagett was a man of violent temper and ingenious + vindictiveness, and proved more than a sufficient punishment for Lettice’s + infidelity. The trifling fact that Warner was dead—he died shortly + after his return—did not interfere with the course of Mr. Clagett’s + jealousy; he was haunted by the suspicion that Lettice regretted her first + love, having left nothing undone to make her do so. “This is to pay + Warner’s debts,” remarked Mr. Clagett, as he twitched off the table-cloth + and wrecked the tea-things. + </p> + <p> + In his official capacity he was a relentless prosecutor. The noun Clagett + speedily turned itself into a verb; “to Clagett” meant “to prosecute;” + they were convertible terms. In spite of his industrious severity, and his + royal emoluments, if such existed, the exchequer of the King’s Attorney + showed a perpetual deficit. The stratagems to which he resorted from time + to time in order to raise unimportant sums reminded one of certain scenes + in Moliere’s comedies. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Clagett had for his ame damnee a constable of the town. They were made + for each other; they were two flowers with but a single stem, and this was + their method of procedure: Mr. Clagett dispatched one of his servants to + pick a quarrel with some countryman on the street, or some sailor drinking + at an inn: the constable arrested the sailor or the countryman, as the + case might be, and hauled the culprit before Mr. Clagett; Mr. Clagett read + the culprit a moral lesson, and fined him five dollars and costs. The + plunder was then divided between the conspirators—two hearts that + beat as one—Clagett, of course, getting the lion’s share. Justice + was never administered in a simpler manner in any country. This eminent + legal light was extinguished in 1784, and the wick laid away in the little + churchyard in Litchfield, New Hampshire. It is a satisfaction, even after + such a lapse of time, to know that Lettice survived the King’s Attorney + sufficiently long to be very happy with somebody else. Lettice Mitchel was + scarcely eighteen when she married Wyseman Clagett. + </p> + <p> + About eighty years ago, a witless fellow named Tilton seems to have been a + familiar figure on the streets of the old town. Mr. Brewster speaks of him + as “the well-known idiot, Johnny Tilton,” as if one should say, “the + well-known statesman, Daniel Webster.” It is curious to observe how any + sort of individuality gets magnified in this parochial atmosphere, where + everything lacks perspective, and nothing is trivial. Johnny Tilton does + not appear to have had much individuality to start with; it was only after + his head was cracked that he showed any shrewdness whatever. That happened + early in his unobtrusive boyhood. He had frequently watched the hens + flying out of the loft window in his father’s stable, which stood in the + rear of the Old Bell Tavern. It occurred to Johnny, one day, that though + he might not be as bright as other lads, he certainly was in no respect + inferior to a hen. So he placed himself on the sill of the window in the + loft, flapped his arms, and took flight. The New England Icarus alighted + head downward, lay insensible for a while, and was henceforth looked upon + as a mortal who had lost his wits. Yet at odd moments his cloudiness was + illumined by a gleam of intelligence such as had not been detected in him + previous to his mischance. As Polonius said of Hamlet—another + unstrung mortal—Tilton’s replies had “a happiness that often madness + hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered + of.” One morning, he appeared at the flour-mill with a sack of corn to be + ground for the almshouse, and was asked what he knew. “Some things I + know,” replied poor Tilton, “and some things I don’t know. I know the + miller’s hogs grow fat, but I don’t know whose corn they fat on.” To + borrow another word from Polonius, though this be madness, yet there was + method in it. Tilton finally brought up in the almshouse, where he was + allowed the liberty of roaming at will through the town. He loved the + water-side as if he had had all his senses. Often he was seen to stand for + hours with a sunny, torpid smile on his lips, gazing out upon the river + where its azure ruffles itself into silver against the islands. He always + wore stuck in his hat a few hen’s feathers, perhaps with some vague idea + of still associating himself with the birds of the air, if hens can come + into that category. + </p> + <p> + George Jaffrey, third of the name, was a character of another complexion, + a gentleman born, a graduate of Harvard in 1730, and one of His Majesty’s + Council in 1766—a man with the blood of the lion and the unicorn in + every vein. He remained to the bitter end, and beyond, a devout royalist, + prizing his shoe-buckles, not because they were of chased silver, but + because they bore the tower mark and crown stamp. He stoutly objected to + oral prayer, on the ground that it gave rogues and hypocrites an + opportunity to impose on honest folk. He was punctilious in his attendance + at church, and unfailing in his responses, though not of a particularly + devotional temperament. On one occasion, at least, his sincerity is not to + be questioned. He had been deeply irritated by some encroachments on the + boundaries of certain estates, and had gone to church that forenoon with + his mind full of the matter. When the minister in the course of reading + the service came to the apostrophe, “Cursed be he who removeth his + neighbor’s landmark,” Mr. Jeffrey’s feelings were too many for him, and he + cried out “Amen!” in a tone of voice that brought smiles to the adjoining + pews. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jaffrey’s last will and testament was a whimsical document, in spite + of the Hon. Jeremiah Mason, who drew up the paper. It had originally been + Mr. Jaffrey’s plan to leave his possessions to his beloved friend, Colonel + Joshua Wentworth; but the colonel by some maladroitness managed to turn + the current of Pactolus in another direction. The vast property was + bequeathed to George Jaffrey Jeffries, the testator’s grandnephew, on + condition that the heir, then a lad of thirteen, should drop the name of + Jeffries, reside permanently in Portsmouth, and adopt no profession + excepting that of gentleman. There is an immense amount of Portsmouth as + well as George Jaffrey in that final clause. George the fourth handsomely + complied with the requirements, and dying at the age of sixty-six, without + issue or assets, was the last of that particular line of Georges. I say + that he handsomely complied with the requirements of the will; but my + statement appears to be subject to qualification, for on the day of his + obsequies it was remarked of him by a caustic contemporary: “Well, yes, + Mr. Jaffrey was a gentleman by profession, but not eminent in his + profession.” + </p> + <p> + This modest exhibition of profiles, in which I have attempted to preserve + no chronological sequence, ends with the silhouette of Dr. Joseph Moses. + </p> + <p> + If Boston in the colonial days had her Mather Byles, Portsmouth had her + Dr. Joseph Moses. In their quality as humorists, the outlines of both + these gentlemen have become rather broken and indistinct. “A jest’s + prosperity lies in the ear that hears it.” Decanted wit inevitably loses + its bouquet. A clever repartee belongs to the precious moment in which it + is broached, and is of a vintage that does not usually bear + transportation. Dr. Moses—he received his diploma not from the + College of Physicians, but from the circumstance of his having once + drugged his private demijohn of rum, and so nailed an inquisitive negro + named Sambo—Dr. Moses, as he was always called, had been handed down + to us by tradition as a fellow of infinite jest and of most excellent + fancy; but I must confess that I find his high spirits very much + evaporated. His humor expended itself, for the greater part, in practical + pleasantries—like that practiced on the minion Sambo—but these + diversions, however facetious to the parties concerned, lack magnetism for + outsiders. I discover nothing about him so amusing as the fact that he + lived in a tan-colored little tenement, which was neither clapboarded nor + shingled, and finally got an epidermis from the discarded shingles of the + Old South Church when the roof of that edifice was repaired. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Moses, like many persons of his time and class, was a man of protean + employment—joiner, barber, and what not. No doubt he had much pithy + and fluent conversation, all of which escapes us. He certainly impressed + the Hon. Theodore Atkinson as a person of uncommon parts, for the + Honorable Secretary of the Province, like a second Haroun Al Raschid, + often summoned the barber to entertain him with his company. One evening—and + this is the only reproducible instance of the doctor’s readiness—Mr. + Atkinson regaled his guest with a diminutive glass of choice Madeira. The + doctor regarded it against the light with the half-closed eye of the + connoisseur, and after sipping the molten topaz with satisfaction, + inquired how old it was. “Of the vintage of about sixty years ago,” was + the answer. “Well,” said the doctor reflectively, “I never in my life saw + so small a thing of such an age.” There are other mots of his on record, + but their faces are suspiciously familiar. In fact, all the witty things + were said aeons ago. If one nowadays perpetrates an original joke, one + immediately afterward finds it in the Sanskirt. I am afraid that Dr. + Joseph Moses has no very solid claims on us. I have given him place here + because he has long had the reputation of a wit, which is almost as good + as to be one. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. PERSONAL REMINISCENCES + </h2> + <p> + THE running of the first train over the Eastern Road from Boston to + Portsmouth—it took place somewhat more than forty years ago—was + attended by a serious accident. The accident occurred in the crowded + station at the Portsmouth terminus, and was unobserved at the time. The + catastrophe was followed, though not immediately, by death, and that also, + curiously enough, was unobserved. Nevertheless, this initial train, + freighted with so many hopes and the Directors of the Road, ran over and + killed—LOCAL CHARACTER. + </p> + <p> + Up to that day Portsmouth had been a very secluded little community, and + had had the courage of its seclusion. From time to time it had calmly + produced an individual built on plans and specifications of its own, + without regard to the prejudices and conventionalities of outlying + districts. This individual was purely indigenous. He was born in the town, + he lived to a good old age in the town, and never went out of the place, + until he was finally laid under it. To him, Boston, though only fifty-six + miles away, was virtually an unknown quantity—only fifty-six miles + by brutal geographical measurement, but thousands of miles distant in + effect. In those days, in order to reach Boston you were obliged to take a + great yellow, clumsy stage-coach, resembling a three-story mud-turtle—if + zoologist will, for the sake of the simile, tolerate so daring an + invention; you were obliged to take it very early in the morning, you + dined at noon at Ipswich, and clattered into the great city with the + golden dome just as the twilight was falling, provided always the coach + had not shed a wheel by the roadside or one of the leaders had not gone + lame. To many worthy and well-to-do persons in Portsmouth, this journey + was an event which occurred only twice or thrice during life. To the + typical individual with whom I am for the moment dealing, it never + occurred at all. The town was his entire world; he was a parochial as a + Parisian; Market Street was his Boulevard des Italiens, and the North End + his Bois de Boulogne. + </p> + <p> + Of course there were varieties of local characters without his + limitations; venerable merchants retired from the East India trade; + elderly gentlewomen, with family jewels and personal peculiarities; one or + two scholarly recluses in by-gone cut of coat, haunting the Athenaeum + reading-room; ex-sea captains, with rings on their fingers, like Simon + Danz’s visitors in Longfellow’s poem—men who had played busy parts + in the bustling world, and had drifted back to Old Strawberry Bank in the + tranquil sunset of their careers. I may say, in passing, that these + ancient mariners, after battling with terrific hurricanes and typhoons on + every known sea, not infrequently drowned themselves in pleasant weather + in small sail-boats on the Piscataqua River. Old sea-dogs who had + commanded ships of four or five hundred tons had naturally slight respect + for the potentialities of sail-boats twelve feet long. But there was to be + no further increase of these odd sticks—if I may call them so, in no + irreverent mood—after those innocent-looking parallel bars + indissolubly linked Portsmouth with the capital of the Commonwealth of + Massachusetts. All the conditions were to be changed, the old angles to be + pared off, new horizons to be regarded. The individual, as an eccentric + individual, was to undergo great modifications. If he were not to become + extinct—a thing little likely—he was at least to lose his + prominence. + </p> + <p> + However, as I said, local character, in the sense in which the term is + here used, was not instantly killed; it died a lingering death, and passed + away so peacefully and silently as not to attract general, or perhaps any, + notice. This period of gradual dissolution fell during my boyhood. The + last of the cocked hats had gone out, and the railway had come in, long + before my time; but certain bits of color, certain half obsolete customs + and scraps of the past, were still left over. I was not too late, for + example, to catch the last town crier—one Nicholas Newman, whom I + used to contemplate with awe, and now recall with a sort of affection. + </p> + <p> + Nicholas Newman—Nicholas was a sobriquet, his real name being Edward—was + a most estimable person, very short, cross-eyed, somewhat bow-legged, and + with a bell out of all proportion to his stature. I have never since seen + a bell of that size disconnected with a church steeple. The only thing + about him that matched the instrument of his office was his voice. His + “Hear All!” still deafens memory’s ear. I remember that he had a queer way + of sidling up to one, as if nature in shaping him had originally intended + a crab, but thought better of it, and made a town-crier. Of the crustacean + intention only a moist thumb remained, which served Mr. Newman in good + stead in the delivery of the Boston evening papers, for he was + incidentally newsdealer. His authentic duties were to cry auctions, + funerals, mislaid children, traveling theatricals, public meetings, and + articles lost or found. He was especially strong in announcing the loss of + reticules, usually the property of elderly maiden ladies. The unction with + which he detailed the several contents, when fully confided to him, would + have seemed satirical in another person, but on his part was pure + conscientiousness. He would not let so much as a thimble, or a piece of + wax, or a portable tooth, or any amiable vanity in the way of tonsorial + device, escape him. I have heard Mr. Newman spoken of as “that horrid + man.” He was a picturesque figure. + </p> + <p> + Possibly it is because of his bell that I connect the town crier with + those dolorous sounds which I used to hear rolling out of the steeple of + the Old North every night at nine o’clock—the vocal remains of the + colonial curfew. Nicholas Newman has passed on, perhaps crying his losses + elsewhere, but this nightly tolling is still a custom. I can more + satisfactorily explain why I associate with it a vastly different + personality, that of Sol Holmes, the barber, for every night at nine + o’clock his little shop on Congress Street was in full blast. Many a time + at that hour I have flattened my nose on his window-glass. It was a gay + little shop (he called it “an Emporium”), as barber shops generally are, + decorated with circus bills, tinted prints, and gaudy fly-catchers of + tissue and gold paper. Sol Holmes—whose antecedents to us boys were + wrapped in thrilling mystery, we imagined him to have been a prince in his + native land—was a colored man, not too dark “for human nature’s + daily food,” and enjoyed marked distinction as one of the few exotics in + town. At this juncture the foreign element was at its minimum; every + official, from selectman down to the Dogberry of the watch, bore a name + that had been familiar to the town for a hundred years or so. The + situation is greatly changed. I expect to live to see a Chinese policeman, + with a sandal-wood club and a rice-paper pocket handkerchief, patrolling + Congress Street. + </p> + <p> + Holmes was a handsome man, six feet or more in height, and as straight as + a pine. He possessed his race’s sweet temper, simplicity, and vanity. His + martial bearing was a positive factor in the effectiveness of the + Portsmouth Greys, whenever those bloodless warriors paraded. As he brought + up the rear of the last platoon, with his infantry cap stuck jauntily on + the left side of his head and a bright silver cup slung on a belt at his + hip, he seemed to youthful eyes one of the most imposing things in the + display. To himself he was pretty much “all the company.” He used to say, + with a drollness which did not strike me until years afterwards, “Boys, I + and Cap’n Towle is goin’ to trot out ‘the Greys’ to-morroh.” Though + strictly honest in all business dealings, his tropical imagination, + whenever he strayed into the fenceless fields of autobiography, left much + to be desired in the way of accuracy. Compared with Sol Holmes on such + occasions, Ananias was a person of morbid integrity. Sol Holmes’s tragic + end was in singular contrast with his sunny temperament. One night, long + ago, he threw himself from the deck of a Sound steamer, somewhere between + Stonington and New York. What led or drove him to the act never + transpired. + </p> + <p> + There are few men who were boys in Portsmouth at the period of which I + write but will remember Wibird Penhallow and his sky-blue wheelbarrow. I + find it difficult to describe him other than vaguely, possibly because + Wilbird had no expression whatever in his countenance. With his vacant + white face lifted to the clouds, seemingly oblivious of everything, yet + going with a sort of heaven-given instinct straight to his destination, he + trundled that rattling wheelbarrow for many a year over Portsmouth + cobblestones. He was so unconscious of his environment that sometimes a + small boy would pop into the empty wheelbarrow and secure a ride without + Wibird arriving at any very clear knowledge of the fact. His employment in + life was to deliver groceries and other merchandise to purchasers. This he + did in a dreamy, impersonal kind of way. It was as if a spirit had somehow + go hold of an earthly wheelbarrow and was trundling it quite + unconsciously, with no sense of responsibility. One day he appeared at a + kitchen door with a two-gallon molasses jug, the top of which was wanting. + It was not longer a jug, but a tureen. When the recipient of the damaged + article remonstrated with “Goodness gracious, Wibird! You have broken the + jug,” his features lighted up, and he seemed immensely relieved. “I + thought,” He remarked, “I heerd somethink crack!” + </p> + <p> + Wibird Penhallow’s heaviest patron was the keeper of a variety store, and + the first specimen of a pessimist I ever encountered. He was an excellent + specimen. He took exception to everything. He objected to the telegraph, + to the railway, to steam in all its applications. Some of his arguments, I + recollect, made a deep impression on my mind. “Nowadays,” he once observed + to me, “if your son or your grandfather drops dead at the other end of + creation, you know of it in ten minutes. What’s the use? Unless you are + anxious to know he’s dead, you’ve got just two or three weeks more to be + miserable in.” He scorned the whole business, and was faithful to his + scorn. When he received a telegram, which was rare, he made a point of + keeping it awhile unopened. Through the exercise of this whim he once + missed an opportunity of buying certain goods to great advantage. “There!” + he exclaimed, “if the telegraph hadn’t been invented the idiot would have + written to me, and I’d have sent a letter by return coach, and got the + goods before he found out prices had gone up in Chicago. If that boy + brings me another of those tapeworm telegraphs, I’ll throw an axe-handle + at him.” His pessimism extended up, or down, to generally recognized + canons of orthography. They were all iniquitous. If k-n-i-f-e spelled + knife, then, he contended, k-n-i-f-e-s was the plural. Diverting tags, + written by his own hand in conformity with this theory, were always + attached to articles in his shop window. He is long since ded, as he + himself would have put it, but his phonetic theory appears to have + survived him in crankish brains here and there. As my discouraging old + friend was not exactly a public character, like the town crier or Wibird + Penhallow, I have intentionally thrown a veil over his identity. I have, + so to speak, dropped into his pouch a grain or two of that magical + fern-seed which was supposed by our English ancestors, in Elizabeth’s + reign, to possess the quality of rendering a man invisible. + </p> + <p> + Another person who singularly interested me at this epoch was a person + with whom I had never exchanged a word, whose voice I had never heard, but + whose face was as familiar to me as every day could make it. For each + morning as I went to school, and each afternoon as I returned, I saw this + face peering out of a window in the second story of a shambling yellow + house situated in Washington Street, not far from the corner of State. + Whether some malign disease had fixed him to the chair he sat on, or + whether he had lost the use of his legs, or, possible, had none (the upper + part of him was that of a man in admirable health), presented a problem + which, with that curious insouciance of youth I made no attempt to solve. + It was an established fact, however, that he never went out of that house. + I cannot vouch so confidently for the cobwebby legend which wove itself + about him. It was to this effect: He had formerly been the master of a + large merchantman running between New York and Calcutta; while still in + his prime he had abruptly retired from the quarter-deck, and seated + himself at that window—where the outlook must have been the reverse + of exhilarating, for not ten persons passed in the course of the day, and + the hurried jingle of the bells on Parry’s bakery-cart was the only sound + that ever shattered the silence. Whether it was an amatory or a financial + disappointment that turned him into a hermit was left to ingenious + conjecture. But there he sat, year in and year out, with his cheek so + close to the window that the nearest pane became permanently blurred with + his breath; for after his demise the blurr remained. + </p> + <p> + In this Arcadian era it was possible, in provincial places, for an + undertaker to assume the dimensions of a personage. There was a sexton in + Portsmouth—his name escapes me, but his attributes do not—whose + impressiveness made him own brother to the massive architecture of the + Stone Church. On every solemn occasion he was the striking figure, even to + the eclipsing of the involuntary object of the ceremony. His occasions, + happily, were not exclusively solemn; he added to his other public + services that of furnishing ice-cream for the evening parties. I always + thought—perhaps it was the working of an unchastened imagination—that + he managed to throw into his ice-creams a peculiar chill not attained by + either Dunyon or Peduzzi—arcades ambo—the rival confectioners. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps I should not say rival, for Mr. Dunyon kept a species of + restaurant, while Mr. Peduzzi restricted himself to preparing confections + to be discussed elsewhere than on his premises. Both gentlemen achieved + great popularity in their respective lines, but neither offered to the + juvenile population quite the charm of those prim, white-capped old ladies + who presided over certain snuffy little shops, occurring unexpectedly in + silent side-streets where the football of commerce seemed an incongruous + thing. These shops were never intended in nature. They had an impromptu + and abnormal air about them. I do not recall one that was not located in a + private residence, and was not evidently the despairing expedient of some + pathetic financial crisis, similar to that which overtook Miss Hepzibah + Pyrcheon in The House of the Seven Gables. The horizontally divided street + door—the upper section left open in summer—ushered you, with a + sudden jangle of bell that turned your heart over, into a strictly private + hall, haunted by the delayed aroma of thousands of family dinners. Thence, + through another door, you passed into what had formerly been the front + parlor, but was now a shop, with a narrow, brown, wooden counter, and + several rows of little drawers built up against the picture-papered wall + behind it. Through much use the paint on these drawers was worn off in + circles round the polished brass knobs. Here was stored almost every small + article required by humanity, from an inflamed emery cushion to a + peppermint Gibraltar—the latter a kind of adamantine confectionery + which, when I reflect upon it, raises in me the wonder that any Portsmouth + boy or girl ever reached the age of fifteen with a single tooth left + unbroken. The proprietors of these little knick-knack establishments were + the nicest creatures, somehow suggesting venerable doves. They were always + aged ladies, sometimes spinsters, sometimes relicts of daring mariners, + beached long before. They always wore crisp muslin caps and steel-rimmed + spectacles; they were not always amiable, and no wonder, for even doves + may have their rheumatism; but such as they were, they were cherished in + young hearts, and are, I take it, impossible to-day. + </p> + <p> + When I look back to Portsmouth as I knew it, it occurs to me that it must + have been in some respects unique among New England towns. There were, for + instance, no really poor persons in the place; every one had some + sufficient calling or an income to render it unnecessary; vagrants and + paupers were instantly snapped up and provided for at “the Farm.” There + was, however, in a gambrel-roofed house here and there, a decayed old + gentlewoman, occupying a scrupulously neat room with just a suspicion of + maccaboy snuff in the air, who had her meals sent in to her by the + neighborhood—as a matter of course, and involving no sense of + dependency on her side. It is wonderful what an extension of vitality is + given to an old gentlewoman in this condition! + </p> + <p> + I would like to write about several of those ancient Dames, as they were + affectionately called, and to materialize others of the shadows that stir + in my recollection; but this would be to go outside the lines of my + purpose, which is simply to indicate one of the various sorts of changes + that have come over the vie intime of formerly secluded places like + Portsmouth—the obliteration of odd personalities, or, if not the + obliteration, the general disregard of them. Everywhere in New England the + impress of the past is fading out. The few old-fashioned men and women—quaint, + shrewd, and racy of the soil—who linger in little, silvery-gray old + homesteads strung along the New England roads and by-ways will shortly + cease to exist as a class, save in the record of some such charming + chronicler as Sarah Jewett, or Mary Wilkins, on whose sympathetic page + they have already taken to themselves a remote air, an atmosphere of + long-kept lavender and pennyroyal. + </p> + <p> + Peculiarity in any kind requires encouragement in order to reach flower. + The increased facilities of communication between points once isolated, + the interchange of customs and modes of thought, make this encouragement + more and more difficult each decade. The naturally inclined eccentric + finds his sharp outlines rubbed off by unavoidable attrition with a larger + world than owns him. Insensibly he lends himself to the shaping hand of + new ideas. He gets his reversible cuffs and paper collars from Cambridge, + Massachusetts, the scarabaeus in his scarf-pin from Mexico, and his ulster + from everywhere. He has passed out of the chrysalis state of Odd Stick; he + has ceased to be parochial; he is no longer distinct; he is simply the + Average Man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INDEX OF NAMES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ADAMS, NATHANIEL + ADDISON, JOSEPH + ALLEN, WILLIAM + ANANIAS + ATKINSON, THEODORE + AUSTIN, REBECCA + BEAUJOLAIS, DUC DE + BLAY, RUTH + BOGGS, AMOS + BREWSTER, CHARLES WARREN + BRIDGET, MOLLY + BROWN, REV. ARTHUR + BROWN, CAPTAIN ELIHU D. + BRUCE, CYRUS + BURROUGHS, REV. DR. CHARLES + BYLES, REV. MATHER + CAROLINE, QUEEN + CHADBORN, HUMPHREY + CHARLES, PRINCE + CHASTELLUX, MARQUIS DE + CLAGETT, WYSEMAN + COPLEY, JOHN SINGLETON + D’ORLEANS, DUC + DUNYON, WILLIAM + ELIZABETH, QUEEN + FENTON, JOHN + FOWLE, DANIEL + FOWLE, PRIMUS + FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN + FURBER, THOMAS + GEORGE I + GERRY, ELBRIDGE + GORGES, SIR FERDINAND + GUAST, PIERRE DE + HAM, SUPPLY + HANCOCK, JOHN + HAWTHORNE, NATHANIEL + HILTON, MARTHA + HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL + HOLMES, SOL + JAFFREY, GEORGE + JAFFRIES, GEORGE JAFFREY + JEWETT, SARAH ORNE + KEAIS, SAMUAL + KEKUANAOA + KENNY, PENELOPE + KNOX, GENERAL HENRY + LAFAYETTE, MARQUIS DE + LAIGHTON, ALBERT + LAIGHTON, OSCAR + LANGDON, COLONEL JOHN + LEAR, BENJAMIN + LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH + MACPHEADRIS, ARCHIBALD + MCDONOUGH, JAMES + MASON, JEREMIAH + MASON, JOHN + MASON, JOHN TUFTON + MARCH, CLEMENT + MATHER, REV. COTTON + MESERVE, GEORGE + MICHELANGELO + MITCHEL, LETTUCE + MOFFATT, CATHERINE + MOLIERE + MONTPENSIER, DUC DE + MOSES, JOSEPH + NEWMAN, EDWARD + NOBLE, MARK + ODIORNE, EBEN L. + PACKER, THOMAS + PEDUZZI, DOMINIC + PENHALLOW, WIBIRD + PEPPERELL, SIR WILLIAM + PEPYS, SAMUAL + PHILIPPE, LOUIS + PHIPPES, THOMAS + PHIPPS, GOVERNOR + PICKERING, JOHN + PITT, WILLIAM + POTTLE, WILLIAM + PRING, MARTIN + QUINCY, DOROTHY + ROCHAMBEAU, COUNT DE + ROUSSELET, NICHOLAS + RUTLEDGE, EDWARD + SERAT, LEONARD + SEWELL, JONATHAN + SHAKESPEARE + SHEAFE, JACOB + SHERBURNE, HENRY + SHURTLEFF, MARY ATKINSON + SHURTLEFF, REV. WILLIAM + SIMPSON, SARAH + SMITH, CAPTAIN JOHN + SOCRATES + STAVERS, DAME + STAVERS, JOHN + STEDMAN, EDMUND CLARENCE + STOODLEY, JAMES + THAXTER, CELIA + THOREAU, HENRY DAVID + TILTON, JOHNNY + TOWLE, GEORGE WILLIAM + WALTON, GEORGE + WARNER, JONATHAN + WASHINGTON, GEORGE + WEBSTER, DANIEL + WENTWORTH, BENNING + WENTWORTH, JOHN + WENTWORTH, JOHN 2D + WENTWORTH, COLONEL JOSHUA + WENTWORTH, MARY + WENTWORTH, MICHAEL + WENTWORTH, SARAH + WESTWERE, EDWARD + WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF + WIBIRD, RICHARD + WILKINS, MARY E. + WINN, TIMOTHY + WITHER, GEORGE + XANTIPPE +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s An Old Town By The Sea, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN OLD TOWN BY THE SEA *** + +***** This file should be named 1861-h.htm or 1861-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/1861/ + +Produced by Susan L. 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