[Illustration: Boar's Head House]
From the eastern end of Long Island, toward the west and south, extends
a dreary monotony of sandbeach along the whole Atlantic coast, to the
extreme southern cape of Florida, thence along the shores of the Gulf of
Mexico to the Rio Grande, broken only by occasional inlets. The
picturesque coast scenery is mostly north and east of Cape Cod.
Following along the seaboard from Cape Ann, one comes, a few miles north
of the mouth of the Merrimack River, in view of a bold promontory
extending into the waters of the Atlantic, and aptly named, in years
agone, Boar's Head.
The traveler in search of a delightful seaside resort for the summer
need go no further. For here, amidst the most charming of marine
scenery, that veteran landlord and genial host, Stebbins H. Dumas, has
erected, for the benefit of the public, a hotel, spacious, well
appointed, and ably conducted; inviting and especially homelike; every
room commanding a view of the ocean.
Boar's Head is a promontory; its level summit of about a dozen acres,
sixty feet above the highest tide, clothed in the greenest verdure. It
is in the form of a triangle, the cliffs on two sides of which are
lashed by the waves of the restless ocean; while toward the main, the
land falls away gently to the level of the marshes. The hotel is situate
on the crest of this incline. From the veranda, which commands the
landward view, the prospect is wide and pleasing. To the north trends
Hampton Beach in a long sweep to Little Boar's Head and the shores of
Rye and Newcastle; inland are broad stretches of salt marsh, its surface
interwoven with the silver ribbon of the creek and stream; beyond are
glimpses of restful rustic scenes, improved by near approach; spires
pointing heavenward from all the peaceful villages, and, further away,
Agamenticus and the granite hills of New England; to the south, the
beach runs on toward Salisbury and Newburyport. But the great view from
Boar's Head is from the ocean apex of the promontory. Here, beneath the
grateful shade of an awning, with the waves breaking rythmically at the
foot of the cliff far beneath, one can sit and ponder on the immensity
of the ocean and dream of the lands beyond the horizon. From here the
whole seaboard, from Thatcher's Island to York and Wells, is in view;
the Isles of Shoals loom up on the horizon, while the offing is dotted
with coasters and yachts of every rig and construction. Calm, indeed,
must it be when no wind is felt on Boar's Head; and during those
exceptional days of the summer, when the land-breeze prevails, the broad
verandas around three sides of the hotel afford the most grateful shade.
The broad acres between the house and the bluff is a lawn for the use of
the guests, where croquet and tennis may be highly enjoyed in the
invigorating ocean air.
During the evening, when the atmosphere is clear, there are visible from
the Head thirteen lighthouses. When the shades of night and the dew have
driven the guests to seek shelter within doors, the great parlor affords
to the young people ample room for the cotillion or German, while the
reception-room, office, and reading-room lure the seniors to whist or
magazines. Of a Sunday, the dining-room answers for a chapel; and in
years past, the voice of many an eloquent preacher has echoed through
the room, and reached, through the open windows, hardy but devout
fishermen on the outside.
These same fishermen bring great codfish from the outlying shoals,
delicious clams from the flats, canvas-back duck, and teal, and
yellow-leg plovers from the marshes, to tempt the delicate appetite of
the valetudinarian.
Boar's Head is on the seacoast of the old town of Hampton, in the State
of New Hampshire. Taking a team from Mr. Dumas' well-stocked stable, one
will find the most delightful drives, extending in all directions
through the ancient borough. The roads follow curves, like the drives in
Central Park, and two centuries and a half of wear have rendered them as
solid and firm as if macadamized. Three short miles from the hotel is
the station of Hampton, on the Eastern Railroad, by which many trains
pass daily.
[Illustration]
For the historical student the region affords much of interest. Here, in
the village of Hampton, in the year 1638, in the month of October,
settled the Reverend Stephen Batchelder [Bachiler] and his followers,
intent to serve God in their own way and establish homes in the
wilderness. The river and adjoining country was then known as
Winnicunnett. The settlers, for the most part, came from Norfolk,
England, and so desirable did they find their adopted home that many
descendants of the original grantees occupy to-day the land opened and
cleared by their ancestors. In this town, in 1657, settled Ebenezer
Webster, the direct progenitor of the Great Expounder, and here the
family remained for several generations.
Within the limits of the old township, which was bounded on the south by
the present Massachusetts line, on the north by Portsmouth and Exeter,
and extended ten miles inland, were included the territory of some half
dozen of the adjoining townships of to-day. Here lived Meshach Weare,
who guided the New Hampshire ship of state through the troublous times
of the Revolution. Over yonder, near the site of the first log
meeting-house, is pointed out the gambrel-roofed house of General
Jonathan Moulton, the great land-owner. He it was, in the good old
colony days, who drove a very large and fat ox from his township of
Moultonborough, and delivered it to the jovial Governor Wentworth as a
present to his excellency, and said there was nothing to pay. When the
governor insisted on making some return, General Moulton informed him
that there was an ungranted gore of land adjoining his earlier grant
which he would accept. In this manner he came into possession of the
town of New Hampton--a very ample return for the ox; at least, so
asserts tradition.
Colonel Christopher Toppan, in those early days, was largely engaged in
ship-building. For many years the people of Hampton were employed in
domestic and foreign commerce, and it was not until the advent of the
railroad that Hampton surrendered its dreams of commercial
aggrandizement.
One road leads up the coast to Rye and Portsmouth; another, through a
most charming country, to Exeter; another, to Salisbury and Newburyport,
and many others inland in every direction.
Boar's Head is the best base from which to operate to rediscover the
whole adjoining territory.
The first house on the Head was built, in 1808, by Daniel Lamprey, whose
son, Jeremiah Lamprey, began to entertain guests about 1820. The first
public house in the vicinity, a part of the present Boar's Head House,
was built, in 1826, by David Nudd and associates. From them it came, in
1865, into the possession of Stebbins Hitchcock Dumas, who, nineteen
years before, had commenced hotel life at the Phenix, in Concord. Under
Mr. Dumas' management the house has grown steadily in size as well as in
popularity, until to-day it ranks as one of the great seaside
caravansaries of the Atlantic coast.
When a fisherman in his wanderings through the forest discovers a pond
or stream well stocked with sparkling trout, he keeps his information to
himself, and frequently revisits his treasure. So is it apt to be with
the tourist and pleasure-seeker. Here, season after season, have
appeared the same men and the same families--noticeably those who
appreciate a table supplied with every delicacy of the season, served up
in the most tempting manner.
Has the guest a desire to compete with the fishermen, he is furnished
every convenience, and by a basket of fish "expressed" to some distant
friend can demonstrate his piscatorial powers. On the favoring beach,
hard by the hotel, are bathhouses where one can prepare to sport in the
refreshing billows. The halls and rooms of the hotel were built before
those days when those who resort to the seabeach were expected to be
accommodated within the area of their Saratoga trunks. Spacious,
comfortably furnished, each opening on a view of the ocean, the rooms of
the hotel are very attractive and pleasing.
The hotel is opened for the reception of the public early in June, and
remains open into October, before the last guest departs.
The gentle poet, John Greenleaf Whittier, thus writes of Hampton
Beach:--
"I sit alone: in foam and spray
Wave after wave
Breaks on the rocks.--which, stern and gray,
Shoulder the broken tide away,--
Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave.
"What heed I of the dusty land
And noisy town?
I see the mighty deep expand
From its white line of glimmering sand
To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down.
"In listless quietude of mind
I yield to all
The change of cloud and wave and wind;
And passive, on the flood reclined,
I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall.
* * * * *
"So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell!
I bear with me
No token stone nor glittering shell;
But long and oft shall memory tell
Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the sea."