PICTURESQUE NEWPORT.
"Don't you see the silvery wave?
Don't you hear the voice of God?"
KIRKE WHITE.
There is a walk of singular beauty along the sea-bluffs that terminate
the reverse of the hills on which Newport is built. It is known as the
Cliff Walk. Every body walks there. A broken wall of rock overhanging or
retreating from its base, but always rising high above the water, is
bordered by a foot-path with pleasant windings and elastic turf. The
face of the cliff is studded with stony pimples; its formation being the
conglomerate, or pudding-stone, intermingled with schists. Color
excepted, these rocks really look like the artificial cement used in
laying the foundations of ponderous structures. They appear to resist
the action of the sea with less power than the granite of the north
coast. Masses of fallen rock are grouped along the beach underneath the
cliff, around which the rising waves seethe and foam and hiss.
A persistent pedestrian, having reached the shore at Easton's Beach, may
pass around the southern limb of the island to Fort Adams. He may then
make his way back to town by the Fort Road, or take the little
ferry-boat plying between Newport and Jamestown, on Canonicut. This
ramble has been much, yet not undeservingly, praised.
My first walk here was on one of those rare October days that are to the
New England climate what the bloom is to the peach. The air, after the
sun had swept aside the vapors arising from the ocean, was intoxicating;
it was so light and crystal, it seemed as if it might put new life into
the most confirmed valetudinarian. On one side the sea glittered like
silvery scales on fine armor. The intruding promontories of Sachuest and
Seconnet bathed their feet in tranquil waves; and as the eye roved along
the horizon it lodged an instant on the island known as Cormorant Rock,
betrayed by the whitening foam around it. In the farthest sea-board a
dark cloud of brooding vapor prolonged the land in seeming, and veiled
the approach of ships.
[Illustration: THE BEACH.]
Along the verge of the cliff where I walked the dash of the surf
frequently tossed a shower of fine spray as high as the shelf itself,
drenching the grass, and immeshing for an instant among its myriad drops
the fleeting hues of the rainbow. The rocks had a prevailing purple mass
of color, fringed at the edge with green grass, that sometimes crept
down the face of the cliff and toyed with its wrinkles.
These rocks, constantly varnished by sea-spray, sparkle with glancing
lights that relieve the hardness of their angular lineaments. As you
walk on, they are always presenting new profiles of grotesque
resemblances. Yet not a sphinx of them all would tell how long the sea
had been battering at their rugged features, or of the fire that had
baked their tooth-defying pudding--Old Ocean's daily repast. Now and
then, when standing on the brink of some table-rock, the plunge of a
billow underneath caused a sensible tremor. At various points the
descent of the cliffs is facilitated by steps, and at proper stages of
the tide the outlying rocks are the favorite resort of anglers for
tautog, bass, and perch. The Forty Steps are of note as conducting to
Conrad's Cave, a favorite haunt of lovers who have heart secrets they
may no longer keep. The ways of such people are past finding out. At
Niagara vows are whispered at the brink of the cataract. Perchance there
is a savor of romance about these old sea caverns which plain
matter-of-fact folk may not fathom.
Turning away from the sea, the rambler perceives the long line of
cottages, villas, and country houses, Swiss, Italian, English, or
nondescript, to which these territories pertain.[275] These houses
represent the best and at the same time the most rational feature of a
semi-residence at the sea-side. People are really at home, and may enjoy
the natural beauties of their situation without the disadvantages
inseparable from hotel life. To be sure, at Newport it is only Murray
Hill or Beacon Hill transplanted. The social system revolves with much
the same regularity as the planetary, and with no abatement of its
exclusive privileges. But home life or cottage life at the sea-side is
within the means of all those possessing moderate incomes, who are
content to dispense with luxury or more house-room than they know what
to do with; and it is remarkable how little may serve one's turn where
outdoor life is the desideratum. Those who are content to leave all the
surplusage at home, whether of frivolity or luggage, and honestly mean
to enjoy the shore for itself, come where they may forget the world, the
flesh, and money-getting. To this sort of life--a hint borrowed of
English sea-side customs--Newport has led the way. At Oak Bluffs a city
has sprung into existence on this plan, and the shores of New England
are dotted with little red-roofed cottages.
[Illustration: CLIFF WALK.]
If he has come to the cliffs by the Bath road, the visitor sees, almost
at the beginning of his ramble, the summer cottage of Charlotte Cushman,
whose career has some resemblance to that of the gifted Mrs. Siddons.
Both were poor girls at the outset of their professional lives. The
Englishwoman, even after she became famous, usually refused invitations
to the houses of the great or opulent, excusing herself from accepting
them on the ground that all her time was due to the public, whose
continued favor she wished to merit by unremitting application to her
studies.
Whatever money or taste or art has been able to do toward the
embellishment of the grounds along the cliffs--and in this category are
included Bellevue and other favored avenues--has not been omitted. A
horticulturist would see something to notice everywhere. As the houses
stand well back from the shore, the space between is laid out in
bright-hued _parterres_, that look like Persian carpets spread on the
well-kept lawns. The eye at times fairly revels in sumptuous masses of
color. Yet Newport was now deserted by the fashionable world, in the
month of months, when sea and shore are incomparably enticing and
satisfying.
[Illustration: THE CLIFFS.]
[Illustration: A NEWPORT COTTAGE.]
In the angle formed by the meeting of Ocean and Carroll avenues is Lily
Pond, where knights of the rod love to loiter and cast a line. If still
pursuing the cliffs, you pass by Gooseberry Island, whither the old-time
magnates were wont to wend for fishing, bathing, and drinking-bouts.
Spouting Rock, where, in gales, inrolling seas are forced high in air,
lies this way. Bass Rock, of piscatory renown, and Brenton's Reef, the
place of wrecks, show their jagged sides. Point Judith and Block Island
are visible from Castle Hill, where in former times a watch-tower stood.
No other day of the seven in Newport is quite equal to Fort Day. Then
the very long line of equipages directs itself upon the point where Fort
Adams is located. On this gala-day the commandant keeps open house, with
colors flying, music playing, and gates opened wide. The procession
winds around the parade, a very moving picture of peace in the lap of
war. Gay scarfs instead of battle-flags wave, jewels instead of steel,
and dog-carts instead of ammunition-carts flash and rumble. The crash,
glitter, and animation are reminders of Hyde Park Corner or the Bois de
Boulogne. The soldiers I saw were much improved in appearance since the
war, and now seemed really proud of the dress they wore. They paced the
jetty and rampart in jaunty shakos, white gloves, and well-fitting
uniforms, as men not ashamed of themselves, and of whom Uncle Sam need
not be ashamed.
[Illustration: CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN'S RESIDENCE.]
Fort Adams was begun in the administration of the president whose name
it bears. The father of the American navy intended Newport as a station
for her squadrons of the future. To this end fortifications were begun,
designed to guarantee the approaches to the harbor. At this time we were
dreading our late ally, France, more than any other European power.
Fortifying Newport against France now seems incredible, yet the
Directory, with citizen Talleyrand at the helm, would either mould
American politics to its will or trample the ancient amity in the dust.
In 1798, a French cruiser, after the capture of several American
vessels, had the impudence to bring her prize into one of our own ports
to escape the more dreaded English.[276] Mr. Adams brought citizen
Talleyrand and the Directoire Executif to their senses;[277] but Mr.
Jefferson, who decidedly leaned to the French side of European politics,
stopped the work begun by his predecessor. In 1800, Mr. Humphreys, the
naval constructer, was sent to examine the New England ports with regard
to their eligibility as great national dock-yards. He reported that
Newport possessed by far the most suitable harbor for such an
establishment.
Fort Adams was chiefly constructed under the watchful supervision of the
accomplished engineer, General J. G. Totten. It is said that during the
progress of the work a full set of plans of the fortress mysteriously
disappeared, and as mysteriously re-appeared after a long interval. It
is believed in certain quarters that copies of these drawings might be
found in the topographical bureau of the British War Office.
[Illustration: SPOUTING ROCK.]
Before setting out for the campaign of 1812, the Emperor Napoleon, as
Bourrienne relates, wished to have exact information respecting Ragusa
and Illyria. He sent for Marmont, whose answers were not satisfactory.
He then interrogated different generals to as little purpose. Dejean,
inspector of engineers, was then summoned. "Have you," demanded the
emperor, "among your officers any one who is acquainted with Ragusa?"
Dejean, after a moment's reflection, answered, "Sire, there is a chief
of battalion who has been a long time forgotten, who is well acquainted
with Ragusa."
"What do you call him?"
"Bernard."
"Ah, stop a little; Bernard--I recollect that name. Where is he?"
"Sire, he is at Antwerp, employed upon the fortifications."
"Send notice by the telegraph that he instantly mount his horse and
repair to Paris."
The promptitude with which the emperor's orders were always executed is
well known. A few days afterward Bernard was in Paris at the house of
General Dejean, and shortly after in the cabinet of the emperor. He was
graciously received, and Napoleon immediately said, "Tell me about
Ragusa."
When Bernard had done speaking, the emperor said, "_Colonel_ Bernard, I
now know Ragusa." He then conversed familiarly with him, and having a
plan of the works at Antwerp before him, showed how he would
successfully besiege the place. The newly made colonel explained so well
how he would defend himself against the emperor's attacks that Napoleon
was delighted, and immediately bestowed upon him a mark of distinction
which, says Bourrienne, "he never, to my knowledge, granted but upon
this one occasion." As he was going to preside at the council he desired
Colonel Bernard to accompany him, and several times during the sitting
requested his opinion upon the points under discussion. On the
breaking-up of the council, Napoleon said to him, "You are my
aid-de-camp."
Bourrienne continues: "At the end of the campaign he was made general of
brigade; shortly after, general of division; and he is now known
throughout Europe as the first officer of engineers in existence. A
piece of folly of Clarke's[278] has deprived France of the services of
this distinguished man, who, after refusing most brilliant offers made
to him by different sovereigns of Europe, has retired to the United
States of America, where he commands the engineers, and where he has
constructed on the side of the Floridas fortifications which are by
engineers declared to be masterpieces of military skill."[279]
Bernard came to the United States in 1816, and was associated with the
late General Totten in carrying out the now discarded system of
sea-coast fortifications. It is said that Colonel M'Cree, then chief of
engineers, resigned rather than serve under him. Accord between the
French engineer and Colonel Totten was only secured by a division of the
works, and agreement to accept, on the part of each, the other's plans.
Bernard wished to construct one great fortress, like Antwerp or the once
famous strongholds of the Quadrilateral. Fortress Monroe is the result
of this idea. He also planned the defenses of Mobile.[280]
From Fort Adams it is a short sail across to the Dumplings, and the
circular tower of stone, built also in the administration of John Adams.
This work, now in ruins, is second only in picturesqueness to the Old
Stone Mill, if indeed it should yield the first place to that singular
structure. The parapet has crumbled, and the bomb-proofs are choked with
rubbish. It is about a hundred feet from the crown of the parapet to the
water, and, though the elevation is inconsiderable, is one of the choice
points of observation in Narraganset Bay. The neighboring rocks are of
good report among fishermen, and the tower and its neighborhood are
places much affected by picnic parties. Taken altogether, the old fort
on Canonicut, with its swarthy rock foundations, is one of the last
objects to fade from the recollection. Seen with the setting sun gilding
the broken rampart or glancing from out its blackened embrasures, it
embodies something of the idea of an antique castle by the sea.
Being here on the island of Canonicut, the visitor will find it pleasant
sauntering along the shores, or across a broad, smooth road leading to
the farther side of the island and the ferry to the opposite main-land.
The water between is called the Western Passage. When I saw it, not
fewer than a hundred vessels were lying wind-bound, their sails spread
to catch the first puff of the land-breeze. Dutch Island, with its
light-house, appears in full view, about midway of the passage. The rock
formation of this side of Canonicut is largely slate, with abundant
intrusion of white quartz. Along the beach the slate is so decomposed as
to give way to the pressure of the foot.
Canonicut is a beautiful island, with graceful slopes and fertile soil.
It is here, on the northern end, a cottage city is designed of summer
houses, accessible to people who do not keep footmen or carriages, or
give champagne breakfasts. Five hundred acres have been laid out in
avenues, parks, and drives: the shores, by special reservation, are to
remain forever open for the equal enjoyment of all who resort
hither.[281]
[Illustration: THE DUMPLINGS.]
At the coming of D'Estaing and the French fleet, Canonicut was
garrisoned by Brown's provincial corps, and two regiments of Anspach,
who were compelled to evacuate it. The French land troops then took
possession of the Dumpling and Beaver Tail batteries.[282] In the year
1749 a light-house was erected on Beaver Tail.
[Illustration: HESSIAN GRENADIER.]
Newport has not treasured the memory of the Hessians. They were never in
favor, being about equally feared and hated. At the battle of Long
Island they pinned American soldiers to the trees with their bayonets.
Loaded down with arms and accoutrements, they marched and fought with
equal phlegm. As foragers they were even more to be dreaded than in
battle, as they usually stripped a garden or a house of its last root or
crust. Brutalized by the removal of the only incentive that is honorable
in the soldier, they lived or died at so much per head.
Newport as a British garrison was the resort of numbers of courtesans,
many of whom had followed the army from New York. Quarrels between
Hessian and British officers, growing out of their amours, were
frequent. A Hessian major and captain at last fought a duel about a
woman of the town, in which glorious cause the major was run through the
body and killed. General Prescott then ordered all the authors of these
troubles to be confined in Newport jail.
Driving in Newport is one of the duties the fashionable world owes to
itself and to society. On every fine day between four in the afternoon
and dusk Bellevue Avenue is thronged with equipages, equestrians, and
promenaders. Nowhere in America can so many elegant turnouts be seen as
here: every species of vehicle known to the wheeled vocabulary is in
requisition. The cortege is not, as might be supposed, a racing mob, but
a decorous-paced, well-reined procession--a sort of reunion upon wheels
of all that is brilliant and fascinating in Newport society. The quiet
though elegant carriages with crests on them are Bostonian; the most
"stylish" horse-furniture and mettled horses are at home in Central
Park: Philadelphia is self-contained, and of substantial elegance.
Imagine this pageant of beautiful women and cultivated men passing and
repassing, mingling and separating, smiling, saluting, admiring, and
admired; the steady beat of hoofs on the hard gravel and continuous roll
of wheels proceeding without intermission, until the whole becomes
bewildering, confused, and indistinct, as if the whirl of wheels were
indeed "in your brain."
[Illustration: COAST SCENE, NEWPORT.]
[Illustration: THE DRIVE.]
When "The Drive" is spoken of, that through Bellevue and Ocean
avenues--with, on Fort days (Wednesdays and Fridays), the _detour_ to
the fortress and so back to town--is meant. Another charming drive is by
the Bath road, then skirting the beaches, to continue on through
Middletown, where the hills are still blistered with the remains of
Revolutionary intrenchments. Paradise and Purgatory are both reached by
this road, and are within easy distance of any part of Newport.
On two occasions when I crossed the beaches the sea was running too
heavily to make bathing practicable. The surf, too, was much discolored
with sea-wrack and the nameless rubbish it is always turning over and
over. Groups of bathing-houses were dispersed along the upper margin of
the strand. They are not much larger than, and bear a strong
resemblance to, sentry-boxes. When feasible, bathing is regulated by
signals, flags of different colors being used to designate the hours
assigned to males or females. The floor of the beach is hard and gently
shelving. There being little tide, a plunge into the sea may be enjoyed
without danger from quicksands or under-tow.
[Illustration: PURGATORY BLUFF.]
On the eastern side of Easton's Point, which divides what would
otherwise be a continuous beach into two, is Purgatory Bluff, a mass of
conglomerate split asunder by some unknown process of nature. The two
faces of the fissure appear to correspond to each other, but no other
force than that which smote may restore them. A place used to be shown
on the irregular surface of the rocks above where the Evil Spirit of the
red men once dragged a squaw, and, in spite of her frantic struggles,
which might be traced, dispatched her, and flung the body into the
chasm. Another and more recent legend is, that here a lover was dared by
his mistress to leap across the chasm, some fourteen feet, her glove to
be the guerdon of his success. The feat was performed, but the lover
flung the glove into the face of his silly mistress. What seems curious
in these fractures of pudding-stone, the pebbles break in the same
direction as the mass of rock.[283]
[Illustration: WHITEHALL.]
Hanging Rock, a favorite haunt of good Dean Berkeley, is a cavity or
shelf where it would be practicable to sit, and, while looking off to
sea, indulge in dreamy musings. Half a mile farther on is the house
he built, and afterward, on his departure from the country, gave to
Yale. It bears the pretending name of Whitehall, for, though
comfortable-looking, it is little palatial.
The dean, it is said, told the painter, Smibert, who ventured to betray
some distrust of his patron's sanguine belief in the future importance
of Newport, "Truly, you have very little foresight, for in fifty years'
time every foot of land in this place will be as valuable as in
Cheapside." If he indeed made the remark attributed to him, he was only
a century or so out of his reckoning.
The name and fame of George, Bishop of Cloyne, the friend of Swift and
of Steele, the professor of an ideal philosophy, and the projector of a
Utopian scheme for evangelizing and educating the Indians, is dear to
the people of Newport. He came to America in 1728 with the avowed
purpose of establishing a college, "to be erected on the Summer
Islands," the "still vext Bermoothes" of Shakspeare.
Berkeley is perhaps more familiar to American readers by four lines--of
which the first is as often misquoted as any literary fragment I can
call to mind--than by his philosophical treatises:
"Westward the course of empire takes its way;
The four first acts already past,
A fifth shall close the drama with the day:
Time's noblest offspring is the last."
The residence of the dean at Newport was a forced retirement, the sum of
twenty thousand pounds promised by Sir Robert Walpole in aid of his
college never having been paid. In this college, "he most exorbitantly
proposed," as Swift humorously remarked, "a whole hundred pounds a year
for himself, forty pounds for a fellow, and ten for a student." Seven
years were passed in literary pursuits; "The Minute Philosopher," of
which no one who comes to Newport may go ignorant away, being the
offspring of his meditations. Along with the dean came John Smibert, of
whose canvases a few remain scattered over New England, and whose chief
excellence lay in infusing the love of his art into such men as Copley,
Trumbull, and Allston.[284] Pope assigns to Berkeley "every virtue under
heaven." There is no question but that he was as amiable and learned as
he was thoroughly speculative and unpractical.
The return to town by Honyman's Hill, named from the first pastor of
Trinity, is thoroughly enjoyable and interesting. The historical student
may here see how near the Americans were advanced toward the capture of
Newport. An old windmill or two or a farm-house are picturesque objects
by the way.
[Illustration: WASHINGTON PARK, NEWPORT.]
"I saw," says Miss Martineau, "the house which Berkeley built in Rhode
Island--built in the particular spot where it is, that he might have to
pass, in his rides, over the hill which lies between it and Newport, and
feast himself with the tranquil beauty of the sea, the bay, and the
downs as they appear from the ridge of the eminence. I saw the pile of
rocks, with its ledges and recesses, where he is said to have meditated
and composed his 'Minute Philosopher.' It was at first melancholy to
visit these his retreats, and think how empty the land still is of the
philosophy he loved."
FOOTNOTES:
[275] Many of these so-called cottages cost from $50,000 to $200,000.
For the season, $2000 is considered a moderate rental, and $5000 is
frequently paid.
[276] "R. Goodloe Harper's Speeches, p. 275."
[277] By smashing their frigates, _L'Insurgente_, _La Vengeance_,
_Berceau_, and making it generally unpleasant for them.
[278] Duke de Feltre, French minister of war.
[279] He afterward returned to France, and was made minister of war.
[280] Fort Morgan was constructed by him with twelve posterns, a
statement significant to military engineers. General Totten closed six
of them, and the Confederates, when besieged, all but two.
[281] Canonicut is about seven miles long, its longest axis lying almost
north and south. It includes a single township, incorporated 1678, by
the name of Jamestown. The island was purchased from the Indians in
1657. Prudence Island, six miles long, is also attached to Jamestown.
[282] At this time four British frigates and several smaller craft were
destroyed. The French forced the passage on the west of Canonicut, and
raised the blockade of Providence.
[283] The chasm is one hundred and sixty feet in length, with an average
depth of about sixty feet.
[284] Smibert planned the original Faneuil Hall, Boston. Trumbull
painted in the studio left vacant by Smibert.
[Illustration: D'ESTAING]