We will start on a journey towards the rising sun, searching for the
elusive region known as "Down East." Most people recognize this as the
country beyond New York, but when they inquire for it among the
Connecticut Yankees they are always pointed onward. Likewise in
Boston, the true "Down East" is said to be farther along the coast.
Pass the granite headland of Cape Ann, and it is still beyond. Samuel
Adams Drake tells of asking the momentous question of a Maine
fisherman getting up his sail on the Penobscot: "Whither bound?"
Promptly came the reply: "Sir, to you--Down East." Thus the mythical
land is ever elusive, and finally gets away off among the "Blue Noses"
of the Canadian maritime provinces. We cross the Merrimack from
Newburyport in searching for it, and enter the New Hampshire coast
border town of Seabrook, where the people are known as the
"Algerines," and where salt-marshes, winding streams, forests and
rocks vary the view with long, sandy beaches out on the ocean front,
having hotels and cottages scattered along them. Here are noted
resorts--Salisbury Beach, Hampton Beach and Rye Beach--all crowded
with summer visitors. For over two centuries on a certain day in
August, the New Hampshire people have visited Salisbury Beach by
thousands, to keep up an ancient custom. Here Whittier pitched his
_Tent on the Beach_ he has so graphically described. It was at Hampton
village in 1737, that occurred the parley which resulted in giving the
infant colony of New Hampshire its narrow border of seacoast.
Massachusetts had settled this region, and that powerful province was
bound to possess it, though the King had made an adverse grant. Into
Hampton rode in great state the Governor of Massachusetts at the head
of his Legislature, and escorted by five troops of horse, formally
demanding possession of the maritime townships. He met the Governor of
New Hampshire in the George Tavern, and the demand was refused. The
latter sent a plaintive appeal to the King, declaring that "the vast,
opulent and overgrown province of Massachusetts was devouring the
poor, little, loyal, distressed province of New Hampshire." The royal
heart was touched and the King commanded Massachusetts to surrender
her claim to two tiers of townships, twenty-eight in number, thus
giving New Hampshire her present scant eighteen miles of coast-line.
Rye Beach is the most popular of these seashore resorts, and not far
beyond is Piscataqua River, the New Hampshire eastern boundary.
Here is the quaint and quiet old town of Portsmouth, three miles from
the sea, and having about ten thousand people. Opposite, on
Continental Island, adjoining the Maine shore, is the Kittery Navy
Yard, where the warship "Kearsarge" was built. Commerce has about
surrendered to the superior attractions of a summer resort at
Portsmouth, and the comfortable old dwellings in their extensive
gardens show the wealth accumulated by bygone generations. To this
place originally came the "founder of New Hampshire," Captain Mason,
who had been the Governor of the Southsea Castle in Portsmouth harbor,
England, and at his suggestion, the settlement, originally called
Strawberry Bank, from the abundance of wild strawberries, was named
Portsmouth. The Piscataqua is formed above by the union of the Salmon
Falls and Cocheco Rivers, both admirable water-powers, serving large
factories, and the whole region adjacent to Portsmouth harbor is
bordered by islands and interlaced with waterways, some of them yet
displaying the remains of the colonial defensive forts. At Kittery
Point, near the Navy Yard, was born and is buried the greatest man of
colonial fame in that region, Sir William Pepperell, the famous leader
of the Puritan expedition that captured Louisbourg from the French in
1745. The noted "Mrs. Partington," B. P. Shillaber, was born in
Portsmouth in 1814.
Adjoining the harbor, and with a broad beach facing the sea, is
Newcastle Island, incorporated for the annual fee of three
peppercorns, by King William III. and Queen Mary in the seventeenth
century. Here lived in semi-regal state the Wentworths, who were the
colonial governors, their memory now preserved by the vast modern
Wentworth Hotel, whose colossal proportions are visible far over land
and sea. The old Wentworth House at Little Harbor, wherein was held
the provincial court, still remains--an irregular, quaint but
picturesque building--its most noted occupant having been the courtly
and gouty old Governor Benning Wentworth, who named Bennington in
Vermont, and whose wedding on his sixtieth birthday has given
Longfellow one of his most striking themes, the "Poet's Tale" at _The
Wayside Inn_. The poet tells of the appearance one day in Queen
Street, Portsmouth, of Martha Hilton,
"A little girl,
Barefooted, ragged, with neglected hair,
Eyes full of laughter, neck and shoulders bare,
A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon,
Sure to be rounded into beauty soon,
A creature men would worship and adore,
Though now, in mean habiliments, she bore
A pail of water, dripping, through the street,
And bathing, as she went, her naked feet."
The buxom landlady at the inn, "Mistress Stavers in her furbelows,"
felt called upon to give her sharp reproof:
"'O Martha Hilton! Fie! how dare you go
About the town half-dressed, and looking so!'
At which the gypsy laughed, and straight replied:
'No matter how I look; I yet shall ride
In my own chariot, ma'am.'"
The old Governor was a widower and childless, and in course of time
Martha came to be employed at Wentworth House as maid-of-all-work, not
wholly unobserved by him, as the sequel proved. He arranged a feast
for his sixtieth birthday, and all the great people of the colony were
at his table.
"When they had drunk the King, with many a cheer,
The Governor whispered in a servant's ear,
Who disappeared, and presently there stood
Within the room, in perfect womanhood,
A maiden, modest and yet self possessed,
Youthful and beautiful, and simply dressed.
Can this be Martha Hilton? It must be!
Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she!
Dowered with the beauty of her twenty years,
How lady-like, how queen-like she appears;
The pale, thin crescent of the days gone by
Is Dian now in all her majesty!
Yet scarce a guest perceived that she was there
Until the Governor, rising from his chair,
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!'
"The listening guests were greatly mystified,
None more so than the rector, who replied:
'Marry you? Yes, that were a pleasant task,
Your Excellency; but to whom? I ask.'
The Governor answered: 'To this lady here;'
And beckoned Martha Hilton to draw near.
She came, and stood, all blushes, at his side.
The rector paused. The impatient Governor cried:
'This is the lady; do you hesitate?
Then I command you as chief magistrate.'
The rector read the service loud and clear:
'Dearly beloved, we are gathered here,'
And so on to the end. At his command,
On the fourth finger of her fair left hand
The Governor placed the ring; and that was all:
Martha was Lady Wentworth of the Hall!"