NEWPORT OF AQUIDNECK.
"This castle hath a pleasant seat: the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses."--_Macbeth._
Newport is an equivoque. It is old, and yet not; grave, though gay;
opulent and poor; splendid and mean; populous or deserted. As the only
place in New England where those who flee from one city are content to
inhabit another, it is anomalous.
In his "Trois Mousquetaires" Alexander Dumas makes his giant, Porthos,
encounter a ludicrous adventure. The guardsman is the complacent
possessor of a magnificent golden sword-belt, the envy of his comrades,
until on one unlucky day it is discovered that the half concealed
beneath his cloak is nothing but leather; whereupon some sword-thrusts
occur. It was M. Besmeaux, afterward governor of the Bastile, who was
the real hero of the sword-belt--half gold, half leather--that Dumas has
hung on the shoulders of his gigantic guardsman.
Newport's ocean side is belted with modern villas, costly, showy, and
ornate. They mask the town in splendid succession, as if each had been
built to surpass its neighbor. This is the Newport of to-day. Behind it,
old, gray, and commonplace by comparison, is the Newport of other days.
The difference between the two is very marked. The old town is the
effete body into which the new is infusing young blood, warming and
invigorating it into new life. If the figure were permissible, we should
say the Queen of Aquidneck had drunk of the elixir of life, so
unexampled is the rapidity with which she transfigures herself.
I like Newport because it is old, quaint, and peculiar. Though far from
insensible to its difficult feats in architecture, I did not come to
see fine houses. To me they embody nothing besides the idea of wealth
and luxurious ease. Many of them are as remarkable for elegance as are
others for ugliness of design; yet I found it much the same as walking
in Fifth Avenue or Beacon Street. They are at first bewildering, then
monotonous; or, as Ruskin says of types of form, mere form, "You learn
not to see them. You don't look at them."
I said Newport was commonplace, and I said it with mental reservation.
It has a matchless site, glorious bay, and delicious climate, that many
have been willing, perhaps a little too willing, to compare with Italy.
If we have in New England any phase of climate we may safely match with
that favored land,[251] I frankly concede Newport possesses it. The Gulf
Stream approaches near enough to temper in summer the harshness of
sea-breezes, and the rigor of cold northern winds in winter. The only
faults I had to find with the summer and autumn aspects of Newport
climate were the fogs and humidity of the nights. The pavements are
frequently wet as if by light showers. This condition of the atmosphere
is the plague of laundresses and hair-dressers at the great houses: the
ringlets you see in Newport are natural.
When at the Isles of Shoals, we were a "thin under-waistcoat warmer"
than on the main-land. Neal says it is a coat warmer in winter at
Newport than at Boston. I remarked that evening promenaders in the
streets there were more thinly clothed than would be considered prudent
elsewhere. In Newport, according to Neal, it would lose much point to
say a man was without a coat to his back. Mr. Cooper, in the "Red
Rover," calls attention to the magnificent harbor of Newport in the
language of the practiced seaman. It fully meets all the requisites of
easy approach, safe anchorage, and quiet basin. Isles and promontories,
frowning with batteries, shield it from danger or insult. The verdure of
the shores is of the most brilliant green, and grows quite to the
water's edge, or to the verge of the cliffs. In a calm day, when the
water is ruffled only by light airs, the tints of sea and sky are
scarcely different: then the bay really looks like
"Un pezzo di cielo caduto in terra."
[Illustration: OLD FORT, DUMPLING ROCKS.]
In approaching Newport from sea, after weathering much-dreaded Point
Judith,[252] we shall fall in with the light-vessel anchored off
Brenton's Reef, the extreme south-west point of the island of Rhode
Island. At the same time the light-house on Beaver Tail[253] flashes
greeting, and we may now enter the port with confidence. Passing beside
the "Dumplings" and the old round tower, perched on a projecting and
almost insulated rock, we steer under the walls of Fort Adams.[254]
Sleepy fishing-boats, coming in with the morning's flood, are sent, with
rattling blocks, and sails idly flapping, reeling and rocking on big
waves caused by the majestic onward march of our great steamer; the beat
of the paddles comes audibly back from rocks washed for a moment by our
attendant wave. As we round the fortress the bugles play. A ball goes
quickly up to the very top of the flag-staff; there is a flash, and a
roar of the morning gun; and when the smoke drifts slowly before the
breeze, we see the dear old flag blowing out clear, with every stripe
still there, and never a reproach in one of them. At our right, and
close inshore, is Lime Rock Light, with its associations of female
heroism.[255] At the left is Goat Island, long and low, with Fort
Wolcott and pleasant cottages for the officers of the torpedo
station.[256] Beyond, rising tier above tier, with the beautiful spire
of Trinity Church in its midst, is Newport.
Newport has been compared to the Lothians and to the Isle of Wight, the
British Eden. By all old travelers it was admitted to be the paradise of
New England. Its beautiful and extensive bay reminds Scotsmen of the
Clyde. In fact, every traveled person at once estimates it with what has
hitherto impressed him most--an involuntary but sure recognition of its
charms.
Previous to the Revolution, Newport was the fourth commercial town in
the colonies, once having more than nine thousand inhabitants. It was at
first tributary to Boston, sending its corn, pork, and tobacco to be
exchanged for European goods. Its commercial recovery from the
prostration in which the old war left it was again arrested by that of
1812; and this time it did not rise again. The whale-fishery was
introduced and abandoned: writers of this period describe it as
lifeless, with every mark of dilapidation and decay. The salubrity of
the climate of Newport had long been acknowledged, and before 1820 it
had become a place of resort for invalids from the Southern States and
the West Indies. This one original gift has ever since been out at
interest, until, where a few acres of grass once flourished, you might
cover the ground with dollars before you became its owner.[257]
At Newport the visitor is challenged by past and present, each having
large claims on his attention. I spent much of my time among old houses,
monuments, and churches. Some of these are in public places and are
easily found, while others are hidden away in forgotten corners, or
screened from observation by the walls of intervening buildings. As is
inevitable in such a place, the visitor will unwittingly pass by many
objects that he will be curious to see, and in retracing his footsteps
will have occasion to remark how much a scrap of history or tradition
adds to the charm of an otherwise uninteresting structure.
The town along the water resembles Salem, except that it has neither its
look of antiquity nor its dilapidation. Here the principal thoroughfare
is Thames Street, long, narrow, and almost wholly built of wood. The
narrowness of Thames Street has been referred to the encroachments of
builders of a former time, the old houses standing at some distance back
from the pavement being pointed to as evidence of the fact. I can only
vouch for glimpses of some very habitable and inviting old residences in
back courts and alleys opening upon the street. Here, too, old
gambrel-roofed houses are plenty as blackberries in August. They have a
portly, aldermanic look, with great breadth of beam, like ships of their
day. When these houses that now stand end to the street had pleasant
garden spots between, a walk here would have been worth the taking. When
there were no sidewalks, it meant something to give the wall to your
neighbor, and tact and breeding were requisite to know when to demand
and when to decline it.
[Illustration: OLD-TIME HOUSES.]
In Thames Street are several imperturbable notables in brick or wood.
The City Hall--for as early as 1784 Newport had reached the dignity of a
city--is usually first encountered. Notwithstanding they tell you it was
one of Peter Harrison's[258] buildings, it is very ordinary-looking,
inside and out. It was built on arches, which indicates the lower floor
to have been intended as a public promenade; and shows that the
architect had the Old Royal Exchange in mind. For some time it was used
as a market. This house came into the little world of Newport in 1763. A
word of admiration from Allston has long been treasured.
In this building I saw hanging the escutcheon of William Coddington,
who, as every body at all familiar with the history of Rhode Island
knows, was one of the founders of Newport, and first governor of the
little body politic organized upon the Isle of Aquidneck.
We have decided to cast a glance backward, and, to know our ground, must
pay our duty to this old founder. William Coddington, Esquire, came to
New England in 1630 with the Boston colonists, as one of the assistants
named in their charter. He was several times rechosen to this important
position, became a leading merchant in Boston, and is said to have built
the first brick house there.[259] The house he afterward built and lived
in at Newport, of the quaint old English pattern, was standing within
the recollection of many older inhabitants.
[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF GOVERNOR CODDINGTON, NEWPORT, 1641.]
Mr. Coddington became involved in the Anne Hutchinson controversy, as
did Wheelwright, the founder of Exeter. Mrs. Hutchinson was banished,
and took refuge with Coddington and others on Rhode Island. In the
presence of Governor Winthrop and of Dudley, his deputy; of the
assistants, among whom were Endicott, Bradstreet, and Stoughton;
confronted by the foremost and hardest-shelled ministers in the colony,
such as Hugh Peters, Eliot, and Wilson, this woman defended herself,
almost single-handed and with consummate address, against a court which
had already prejudged her case, and which stubbornly refused, until the
very last stage of the proceedings, to put the witnesses upon oath. As a
specimen of the way in which justice was administered in the early day,
and of judicial procedure, this trial is exceedingly curious.[260] Here
is a specimen of brow-beating that recalls "Oliver Twist:"
_Deputy-governor._ "Let her witnesses be called."
_Governor._ "Who be they?"
_Mrs. Hutchinson._ "Mr. Leveret, and our teacher, and Mr. Coggeshall."
_Governor._ "Mr. Coggeshall was not present."
_Mr. Coggeshall._ "Yes, but I was, only I desired to be silent until I
was called."
_Governor._ "Will you, Mr. Coggeshall, say that she did not say so?"
_Mr. Coggeshall._ "Yes, I dare say that she did not say all that which
they lay against her."
_Mr. Peters._ "How dare you look into the court to say such a word?"
_Mr. Coggeshall._ "Mr. Peters takes upon him to forbid me. I shall be
silent."
As the governor was about to pass sentence, Mr. Coddington arose and
spoke some manly words:
_Mr. Coddington._ "I do think that you are going to censure, therefore I
desire to speak a word."
_Governor._ "I pray you speak."
_Mr. Coddington._ "There is one thing objected against the meetings.
What if she designed to edify her own family in her own meetings, may
none else be present?"
_Governor._ "If you have nothing else to say but that, it is a pity, Mr.
Coddington, that you should interrupt us in proceeding to censure."
Despite this reproof, Mr. Coddington had his say, and one of the
assistants (Stoughton) insisting, the ministers were compelled to repeat
their testimony under oath; which they did after much parleying and with
evident reluctance. It is curious to observe that in this trial the
by-standers were several times appealed to for an expression of opinion
on some knotty question.[261] Had it not involved the liberty and
fortunes of many more than the Hutchinsons, its ludicrous side would
scarcely have been surpassed by the celebrated cause of "Bardell _vs._
Pickwick."
There is something inexpressibly touching in the decay of an old and
honorable name--in the struggle between grinding poverty and hereditary
family pride. Instead of finding the Coddingtons, as might be expected,
among the princes of Newport, a native of the place would only shake his
head when questioned of them.
Touching the northern limits of Newport is a placid little basin called
Coddington's Cove. It is a remembrancer of the old governor. The last
Coddington inherited an ample estate, upon the principal of which, like
Heine's monkey, who boiled and ate his own tail, he lived, until there
was no more left. The Cossacks have a proverb: "He eats both ends of his
candle at once." Having dissipated his ancestral patrimony to the last
farthing, the thriftless and degenerate Coddington descended all the
steps from shabby gentility to actual destitution; yet, through all
these reverses, he maintained the bearing of a fine gentleman. One day
he was offered a new suit of clothes--his own had the threadbare gloss
of long application of the brush--for the Coddington escutcheon that had
descended to him. Drawing himself up with the old look and air, he
indignantly exclaimed, "What, sell the coat of arms of a Coddington!"
Nevertheless, he at last became an inmate of the poor-house at
Coddington's Cove; and that is the way the family escutcheon came to be
hanging in the City Hall. I tell you the story as it was told to me.
The Wanton House, still pointed out in Thames Street, may be known by
its ornamented cornice and general air of superior condition. It stands
within a stone's-throw of the City Hall. The Wantons, like the Malbones,
Godfreys, Brentons, Wickhams, Cranstons, and other high-sounding Newport
names, were merchants. Like the Wentworths of New Hampshire, this was a
family, I might almost say a dynasty, of governors. When one Wanton went
out, another came in. It was the house of Wanton, governing, with few
intervals, from 1732, until swept from place by the Revolution.[262] As
the king never dies, at the exit of a Wanton the sheriff should have
announced, "The governor is dead. Long live the governor!"
Joseph Wanton, the last governor of Rhode Island under the crown, was
the son of William. He was a Harvard man, amiable, wealthy, of elegant
manners, and handsome person. In the description of his outward
appearance we are told that he "wore a large white wig with three curls,
one falling down his back, and one forward on each shoulder." I have
nowhere met with an earlier claimant of the fashion so recently in vogue
among young ladies who had hearts to lose.
[Illustration: NEWPORT STATE-HOUSE.]
Turning out of narrow and noisy Thames Street into the broader and
quieter avenues ascending the hill, we find ourselves on the Parade
before the State-house. Broad Street, which enters it on one side, was
the old Boston high-road; Touro Street, debouching at the other, loses
its identity ere long in Bellevue Avenue, and is, beyond comparison, the
pleasantest walk in Newport.
The Parade, also called Washington Square, is the delta into which the
main avenues of Newport flow. It is, therefore, admirably calculated as
a starting-point for those street rambles that every visitor has enjoyed
in anticipation. On this ground I saw some companies of the Newport
Artillery going through their evolutions with the steadiness of old
soldiers. Their organization goes back to 1741, and is maintained with
an _esprit de corps_ that a people not long since engaged in war ought
to know how to estimate at its true value. A custom of the corps, as I
have heard, was to fire a _feu de joie_ under the windows of a newly
married comrade; if a commissioned officer, a field-piece.
[Illustration: COMMODORE PERRY'S HOUSE.]
At the right of the Parade, and a little above the hotel of his name,
stands the house purchased by Commodore Perry after the battle of Lake
Erie; in Clarke Street, near-by, is the church in which Dr. Stiles,
afterward president of Yale, preached, built in 1733; and next beyond is
the gun-house of the Newport Artillery.
The State-house is a pleasing, though not imposing, building, known to
all evening promenaders in Newport by the illuminated clock in the
pediment of the facade. It is in the style of colonial architecture of
the middle of the last century, having two stories, with a wooden
balustrade surmounting the roof. The pediment of the front is topped by
a cupola, and underneath is a balcony, from which proclamations, with
"God save the king" at the end of them, have been read to assembled
colonists; as in these latter days, on the last Tuesday of May, which is
the annual election in Rhode Island, after a good deal of parading about
the streets, the officials elect are here introduced by the high sheriff
with a flourish of words: "Hear ye! Take notice that his Excellency,
Governor ----, of Dashville, is elected governor, commander-in-chief,
and captain-general of Rhode Island for the year ensuing. God save the
State of Rhode Island, and Providence Plantations!" The candidate
smiles, bows, and withdraws, and the populace, as in duty bound, cheers
itself hoarse. It loves the old forms, though some of them seem cumbrous
for "Little Rhody." Sometimes a sheriff has been known to get his
formula "out of joint," and to tack the words "for the year ensuing" at
the end of the invocation.
During the Revolution the State-house was used as a hospital by British
and French, and of course much abused. In the restoration some little
savor of its ancient quaintness is missed. The interior has paneled
wainscoting, carved balusters, and wood-work in the old style of
elegance. The walls of the Senate chamber are sheathed quite up to the
ceiling, in beautiful paneling, relieved by a massive cornice. Stuart's
full-length portrait of Washington, in the well-known black velvet and
ruffles, is here. I have somewhere seen that the French "desecrated," as
some would say, the building by raising an altar on which to say mass
for the sick and dying. In the garret I saw a section of the old pillory
that formerly stood in the vacant space before the building. Many think
the restoration of stocks, whipping-post, and pillory would do more
to-day to suppress petty crimes than months of imprisonment. They still
cling in Delaware to their whipping-post. There, they assert, the dread
of public exposure tends to lessen crime.
The pillory, which a few living persons remember, was usually on a
movable platform, which the sheriff could turn at pleasure, making the
culprit front the different points of the compass it was the custom to
insert in the sentence. Whipping at the cart's tail was also practiced.
One of the finest old characters Rhode Island has produced was Tristram
Burgess, who administered to that dried-up bundle of malignity, John
Randolph, a rebuke so scathing that the Virginian was for the time
completely silenced. Having roused the Rhode Islander by his Satanic
sneering at Northern character and thrift, his merciless criticism, and
incomparably bitter sarcasm, Burgess dealt him this sentence on the
floor of Congress: "Moral monsters can not propagate; we rejoice that
the father of lies can never become the father of liars."
It was at first intended to place the State-house with its front toward
what was then known as "the swamp," in the direction of Farewell Street.
In 1743 it was completed. Rhode Island may with advantage follow the
lead of Connecticut in abolishing one of its seats of government. At
present its constitution provides that the Assembly shall meet and
organize at Newport, and hold an adjourned session at Providence.[263]
[Illustration: JEWISH CEMETERY.]
Walking onward and upward in Touro Street, the visitor sees at its
junction with Kay Street what he might easily mistake for a pretty and
well-tended garden, but for the mortuary emblems sculptured on the
gate-way. The chaste and beautiful design of this portal, even to the
inverted flambeaux, is a counterpart of that of the Old Granary ground
at Boston. This is the Jewish Cemetery.
"How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves,
Close by the street of this fair sea-port town.
Silent beside the never-silent waves,
At rest in all this moving up and down!
"And these sepulchral stones, so old and brown,
That pave with level flags their burial-place,
Seem like the tablets of the Law, thrown down
And broken by Moses at the mountain's base."
[Illustration: JEWS' SYNAGOGUE, NEWPORT.]
Close at hand is the synagogue, in which services are no longer held,
though, like the cemetery, it is scrupulously cared for.[264] The
silence and mystery which brood over each are deepened by this reverent
guardianship of unseen hands. In 1762 the synagogue was dedicated with
the solemnities of Jewish religious usage. It was then distinguished as
the best building of its kind in the country. The interior was rich and
elegant. Over the reading-desk hung a large brass chandelier; in the
centre, and at proper distances around it, four others. On the front of
the desk stood a pair of highly ornamented brass candlesticks, and at
the entrance on the east side were four others of the same size and
workmanship. As usual, there was for the women a gallery, screened with
carved net-work, resting on columns. Over this gallery another rank of
columns supported the roof. It was the commonly received opinion that
the lamp hanging above the altar was never extinguished.
[Illustration: JUDAH TOURO.]
The Hebrews began to settle on the island before 1677. The deed of their
ancient burial-place is dated in this year. They first worshiped in a
private house. Accessions came to them from Spain, from Portugal, and
from Holland, with such names as Lopez, Riveriera, Seixas, and Touro,
until the congregation numbered as many as three hundred families. The
stranger becomes familiar with the name of Touro, which at first he
would have Truro, from the street and park, no less than the respect
with which it is pronounced by all old residents. The Hebrews of old
Newport seem to have fulfilled the destiny of their race, becoming
scattered, and finally extinct. Moses Lopez is said to have been the
last resident Jew, though, unless I mistake, the Hebrew physiognomy met
me more than once in Newport. This fraction formed one of the curious
constituents of Newport society. Its history is ended, and "_Finis_"
might be written above the entrances of synagogue and cemetery.
Lord Chesterfield once told Lady Shirley, in a serious conversation on
the evidences of Christianity, that there was one which he thought to be
invincible, namely, the present state of the Jews--a fact to be
accounted for on no human principle. The Hebrew customs have remained
inviolate amidst all the strange mutations which time has brought. The
Sabbath by which Shylock registered his wicked oath is still the
Christian's Saturday. In the Jewish burial rite the grave was filled in
by the nearest of kin.
In no other cemetery in New England have I been so impressed with the
sanctity, the inviolability of the last resting-place of the dead, as
here among the graves of a despised people. The idea of eternal rest
seemed really present. Not long since I heard the people of a thriving
suburb discussing the removal of their old burial-place, bodily--I mean
no play upon the word--to the skirts of the town. Being done, it was
thought the land would pay for the removal, and prove a profitable
speculation. Since Abraham gave four hundred shekels of silver for the
field of Ephron, the Israelites have reverenced the sepulchres wherein
they bury their dead. Here is religion without ostentation. In our great
mausoleums is plenty of ostentation, but little religion.
The visitor here may note another distinctive custom of this ancient
people. The inscription above the gate reads, "Erected 5603, from a
bequest made by Abraham Touro."[265] They compute the passage of time
from the creation.
[Illustration: THE REDWOOD LIBRARY.]
An hour, or many hours, may be well spent in the Redwood Library,
founded by Abraham Redwood,[266] one of the Quaker magnates of old
Newport. His fine and kindly face has been carefully reproduced in the
engraving. The library building is in the pure yet severe style of a
Greek temple. The painter Stuart considered it classical and refined. It
has a cool and secluded look, standing back from the street and shaded
by trees, that is inviting to the appreciative visitor. This is one of
the institutions of Newport which all may praise without stint. It has
grown with its growth; yet, after repeated enlargements, the increased
collections in art and literature of this store-house of thought have
demanded greater space.
[Illustration: ABRAHAM REDWOOD.]
Another benefactor worthy to be ranked with Abraham Redwood was Charles
Bird King, whose portrait is hanging in the hall. At his death he made a
munificent bequest of real estate, yielding nine thousand dollars, his
valuable library, engravings, and more than two hundred of the paintings
which now adorn the walls.
Among other portraits here are those of Bishop Berkeley in canonicals,
and of Governor Joseph Wanton, in scarlet coat and periwig, his face
looking as if he and good living were no strangers to each other; of
William Coddington, and of a long catalogue of soldiers and statesmen,
many being copies by Mr. King. The library suffered from pilfering
during the British occupation: it now numbers something in excess of
twenty thousand volumes.[267]
I admit the first object in Newport I went to see was the Old Stone
Mill. I went directly to it, and should not venture to conduct the
reader by any route that did not lead to it. I returned often, and could
only wonder at the seeming indifference of people constantly passing,
but never looking at it.
The Old Stone Mill stands within the pleasant inclosure of Touro Park, a
place as fitting as any in Newport for the beginning of a sentimental
journey. It is a pretty sight on a summer's evening, this green spot,
dotted with moving figures sauntering up and down under the grim shadow
of this picturesque ruin.[268] By moonlight it is superb.
[Illustration: THE OLD STONE MILL.]
No structure in America is probably so familiar to the great mass of the
people as this ruined mill. The frequency of pictorial representation
has fixed its general form and character until there is probably not a
school-boy in his teens who would not be able to make a rude sketch of
it on the blackboard. For years it has been the toughest historical
_piece de resistance_ our antiquaries have had to deal with, and by many
it was supposed to embody a secret as impenetrable as that of
Stonehenge.
The Old Mill was dozing quietly away on this hill, when, in 1836, the
Society of Northern Antiquaries, of Copenhagen, declared it to be
evidence of the discovery and occupation of Newport by Northmen, in the
eleventh century. An historical chain was immediately sought to be
established between Dighton Rock, an exhumed skeleton at Fall River, and
this tower, of which the inscription at Monhegan Island was believed to
be another link.
Common opinion, prior to the declaration of the Danish antiquaries, was
that the tower was the remains of a windmill, and nothing more. In a
gazetteer of Rhode Island, printed in 1819, is the following paragraph:
"In this town (Newport) there is now standing an ancient stone mill, the
erection of which is beyond the date of its earliest records; but it is
supposed to have been erected by the first settlers, about one
hundred-and eighty years ago. It is an interesting monument of
antiquity."
About this time Timothy Dwight, formerly president of Yale, was in
Newport. In his letters, published in 1822, he has something to say of
the Old Stone Mill: "On a skirt of this town is the foundation of a
windmill erected some time in the seventeenth century. The cement of
this work, formed of shell-lime and beach gravel, has all the firmness
of Roman mortar, and when broken off frequently brings with it part of
the stone. Time has made no impression on it, except to increase its
firmness. It would be an improvement in the art of building in this
country, if mortar made in the same manner were to be generally
employed."[269]
All readers of early New England history know that nothing was too
trivial, in the opinion of those old chroniclers, to be recorded.
Winthrop mentions the digging-up of a French coin at Dorchester in 1643.
It is pertinent to inquire why Roger Williams, Hubbard, Mather, the
antiquary, and correspondent of the Royal Society, Prince, Hutchinson,
and others, have wholly ignored the presence of an old ruin antedating
the English occupation of Rhode Island? Would not Canonicus have led the
white men to the spot, and there recounted the traditions of his people?
No spot of ground in New England has had more learned and observing
annalists. Where were Bishop Berkeley, Rochambeau, Chastellux, Lauzun,
Abbe Robin, Segur, Dumas, and Deux-Pouts, that they make no mention, in
their writings or memoirs, of the remarkable archaeological remains at
Newport? Yet, on the report of the Danish Society, nearly or quite all
our American historians have admitted their theory of the origin of the
Old Stone Mill to their pages. With this leading, and the ready credence
the marvelous always obtains, the public rested satisfied.[270]
The windmill was an object of the first necessity to the settlers. More
of them may be seen on Rhode Island to-day than in all the rest of New
England. That this mill should have been built of stone is in no way
surprising, considering that the surface of the ground must have been
bestrewed with stones of proper size and shape ready to the builders'
hands.[271] I saw these flat stones of which the tower is built turned
up by the plowshare in the roads. Throughout the island the walls are
composed of them.[272]
[Illustration: THE PERRY MONUMENT.]
The cut on the preceding page represents the Old Stone Mill, with the
moon's radiance illuminating its arches. It is a cylindrical tower,
resting on eight rude columns, also circular. The arches have no proper
key-stone,[273] and two of them appear broader than the others, as if
designed for the entrance of some kind of vehicle. One column is so
placed as to show an inner projection, an evident fault of workmanship.
Two stages are also apparent, and there are two windows and a
fire-place. On the inside the haunches are cut to receive the timbers of
the first-floor, just at the turn of the arch. Some cement is still seen
adhering to the interior walls. The whole tower I estimated to be
twenty-five feet high, with an inside diameter of twenty feet. This was
probably nearly or quite its original height. For the rude materials, it
is a remarkable specimen of masonry.[274]
I could see that even some of the best-informed Newporters with whom I
talked were reluctant to let go the traditional antiquity of their Old
Stone Mill. It is more interesting when tinged with the romance of Norse
vikings than as the prosaic handiwork of English colonists, who had corn
to grind, though American antiquaries have ceased to attribute to it any
other origin. I confess to a feeling of remorse in aiding to destroy the
illusion which has so long made the Old Mill a tower of strength to
Newport. Its beauty, when seen draped in ivy and woodbine, clustering so
thickly as to screen its gray walls from view, is at least not
apocryphal.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[251] Judah Touro, the philanthropist, was born here in Newport, in
1775, the year of American revolt. His father, the old rabbi, Isaac,
came from Holland, officiating as preacher in 1762 in Newport. When
still a young man, Judah Touro removed to New Orleans, where he acquired
a fortune. He was a volunteer in the battle of 1815, and was wounded by
a cannon-ball in the hip. Though a Jew, Judah Touro was above sect,
generously contributing to Christian church enterprises. Bunker Hill
Monument, toward which he gave ten thousand dollars, is a memorial of
his patriotic liberality.
[252] At Naples the summer temperature is seldom above 73 deg.; in winter it
does not fall below 47 deg.
[253] Point Judith is named from Judith Quincy, the wife of John Hull,
coiner of the rare old pine-tree shillings of 1652.
[254] Beaver Tail is a peninsula at the southern extremity of Canonicut
Island, so named from its marked resemblance, on the map, to the
appendage of the beaver.
[255] Fort Adams is situated at the upper (northern) end of a point of
land which helps to form the harbor of Newport; it also incloses a piece
of water called Brenton's Cove.
[256] By our American Grace Darling, Miss Ida Lewis.
[257] Goat Island was the site of a colonial fortress. During the reign
of King William, Colonel Romer advised the fortification of Rhode
Island, which he says had never been done "by reason of the mean
condition and refractoriness of the inhabitants." In 1744 the fort on
Goat Island mounted twelve cannon. At the beginning of the Revolution
General Lee, and afterward Colonel Knox, marked out defensive works; but
they do not appear to have been executed when the British, on the same
day that Washington crossed the Delaware, took possession of the island.
The Whigs, in 1775, removed the cannon from the batteries in the harbor.
Major L'Enfant, the engineer of West Point, was the author of Fort
Wolcott.
[258] There should be added to the detail of maps given in the initial
chapter that of Jerome Verrazani, in the College de Propaganda Fide, at
Rome, of the supposed date of 1529. This map is described and discussed,
together with the detail of Giovanni Verrazani's letter to Francis I.,
dated at Dieppe, July 8th, 1524, in "Verrazano, the Navigator," by J. C.
Brevoort. A reduced copy of the map or "Planisphere" is there given. The
author adopts the theory, not without plausibility, that Verrazani
passed fifteen days at anchor in Narraganset Bay. As I have before said,
there is something of fact in these early relations; but if tested by
the only exact marks given (latitude, distances, and courses), they
establish nothing.
[259] Harrison, the first architect of his day in New England, was the
author of many of the older public buildings in Newport, Trinity Church
and Redwood Library among others. He also designed King's Chapel,
Boston, and did what he could to drag architecture out of the mire of
Puritan ugliness and neglect.
[260] He owned, besides his house and garden in Boston, lands at Mount
Wollaston, now Quincy, Massachusetts. Coddington is mentioned in Samuel
Fuller's letter to Bradford, June, 1630. "Mrs. Cottington is dead," he
also says.
[261] It may be found at length in Hutchinson, appendix, vol. ii.
Governor Hutchinson was a relative of the schismatic Anne.
[262] This was called an appeal to the country. A judge would hardly, at
the present day, permit such an expression in court.
[263] William Wanton, 1732 to 1734; John Wanton, 1734 to 1741; Gideon
Wanton, 1745 to 1746, and from 1747 to 1748; Joseph Wanton, from 1769 to
1775. The last named left Newport with the British, in 1780, and died in
New York. His son Joseph, junior, commanded the regiment of loyalists
raised on the island.
[264] One of the most curious chapters of Rhode Island's political
history was the "Dorr Rebellion" of 1842, growing out of a partial and
limited franchise under the old charter.
[265] A fund bequeathed by Abraham Touro, who died in Boston in 1822,
secures this object.
[266] It was incorporated 1747: the same year Mr. Redwood gave five
hundred pounds sterling, in books, or about thirteen hundred volumes.
The lot was the gift of Henry Collins, in 1748; building erected
1748-'50; enlarged in 1758; and now (1875) a new building is erecting.
Abraham Redwood was a native of Antigua. When the library sent its
committee to Stuart, with a commission to paint a full-length portrait
of Mr. Redwood, Stuart refused, for reasons of his own, to execute it.
[267] Dr. Ezra Stiles was librarian for twenty years.
[268] The discovery of any portion of the coast of New England by
Northmen belongs to the realms of conjecture. It is not unreasonable to
suppose that they may have fallen in with the continent; but what should
have brought them so far south as Rhode Island, when Nova Scotia must
have appeared to their eyes a paradise? The vine grows there. Champlain
called Richmond's Island Isle de Bacchus, on account of its grapes.
[269] "Travels in New England and New York:" New Haven, 1822, vol. iii.,
p. 56.
[270] Among the records of Newport was found one of 1740, in which
Edward Pelham bequeathed to his daughter eight acres of land, "with an
Old Stone Wind Mill thereon standing and being, and commonly called and
known as the Mill Field." The lane now called Mill Street appears to
have been so named from its conducting up the hill to the mill. The wife
of Pelham was granddaughter of Governor Benedict Arnold. In the
governor's will, dated in 1677, he gives direction for his burial in a
piece of ground "being and lying in my land in or near ye line or path
from my dwelling-house, leading to my stone-built Wind Mill in ye town
of Newport above mentioned."
[271] I incline to the opinion that the Indians had here, as at
Plymouth, cleared a considerable area. There the carpenters had to go an
eighth of a mile for timber suitable for building.
[272] Within five miles of Boston is standing an ancient stone windmill,
erected about 1710. It had been so long used as a powder-magazine that
no tradition remained in the neighborhood that it had ever been a
windmill. They still call it the Old Powder-house.
[273] The keys are compound, and, though rude, are tolerably defined. No
two are alike; they are generally of a hard gray stone, instead of the
slate used in the structure.
[274] This building may have been mentioned by Church in his account of
Philip's War, when, after some display of aversion on the part of a
certain captain to a dangerous enterprise, he was advised by the Indian
fighter to lead his men "to the windmill on Rhode Island, where they
would be out of danger."
[Illustration: BOAT LANDING.]