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    Worldly Ways and Byways

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    Chap­ter 37 – The New­port of the Past draws a vivid con­trast between the New­port of today and the deep, sto­ried past that lies just beneath its pol­ished sur­face. While sum­mer guests indulge in regat­tas, char­i­ty balls, and gar­den par­ties, few pause to con­sid­er that this sea­side play­ground was once the stage for cen­turies of explo­ration, trade, rev­o­lu­tion, and rein­ven­tion. In fact, long before the city’s colo­nial charm became a mag­net for wealth and leisure, leg­ends sug­gest that adven­tur­ous Norse sailors may have land­ed here, carv­ing their own place into the cliffs of what we now call Rhode Island. This idea, while not offi­cial­ly con­firmed by his­to­ri­ans, was pop­u­lar­ized in part by Longfel­low and the poet­ic imag­i­na­tion of 19th-cen­tu­ry writ­ers, cast­ing New­port as a mys­te­ri­ous land­mark with pre-Columbian roots.

    The cen­ter­piece of that legend—the so-called “Old Mill”—continues to intrigue his­to­ri­ans and roman­tics alike. This ancient stone struc­ture, with its weath­ered columns and enig­mat­ic shape, stands as a rel­ic to some­thing old­er than the Eng­lish colo­nial hous­es that line the near­by streets. Some believe it was sim­ply a colo­nial wind­mill, while oth­ers are con­vinced it’s a rem­nant of Norse crafts­man­ship. Regard­less of its ori­gin, the mill stirs the imag­i­na­tion, invit­ing passers­by to con­sid­er a New­port that exist­ed before the Rev­o­lu­tion, before the bustling ports, even before the first Euro­pean land deeds. In many ways, it serves as a metaphor for the city itself—layered with time, shaped by chang­ing tides, and still hold­ing secrets beneath its sur­face.

    As the nar­ra­tive shifts from spec­u­la­tion to doc­u­ment­ed his­to­ry, Newport’s trans­for­ma­tion under British influ­ence begins to take shape. Once a sig­nif­i­cant hub of com­merce and cul­ture, it evolved into a vibrant colo­nial town with a grow­ing pop­u­la­tion and glob­al con­nec­tions. The city’s nar­row lanes and red brick build­ings bore wit­ness to crit­i­cal events lead­ing up to the Amer­i­can Rev­o­lu­tion. Notably, Gen­er­al Prescott’s res­i­dence became a sym­bol of the British occu­pa­tion, while notable French fig­ures like Rocham­beau and Cheva­lier de Ter­nay added inter­na­tion­al impor­tance to the city’s lega­cy. Their graves and pre­served homes are still vis­it­ed today, offer­ing tan­gi­ble links to an era when New­port was not just a resort town, but a polit­i­cal and mil­i­tary strong­hold.

    Through the 18th cen­tu­ry, Newport’s port bus­tled with ships that fueled its eco­nom­ic rise—though not with­out moral com­pli­ca­tion. The city was a major play­er in the transat­lantic tri­an­gle trade, deal­ing in goods, rum, and trag­i­cal­ly, enslaved peo­ple. This dark chap­ter marked an era of pros­per­i­ty built on human suf­fer­ing. Even­tu­al­ly, shifts in com­merce and mar­itime com­pe­ti­tion led New­port into a qui­et decline, its once-busy wharves falling silent. For a time, it appeared the city might fade into obscu­ri­ty, a rel­ic of a bygone era, des­tined to be for­got­ten beneath lay­ers of dust and dis­re­pair.

    But as the 19th cen­tu­ry dawned, New­port found new life—this time, not as a mer­chant cap­i­tal but as a fash­ion­able retreat for wealthy fam­i­lies, many from the Amer­i­can South. Drawn by its sea breezes and pic­turesque land­scapes, these fam­i­lies ush­ered in a new era of devel­op­ment. Grand hotels sprang up along the water­front, offer­ing elab­o­rate meals and danc­ing salons that sig­naled the city’s chang­ing iden­ti­ty. Social rit­u­als, from ele­gant mati­nees to struc­tured din­ners, became key fix­tures of Newport’s elite cal­en­dar. Cloth­ing, man­ners, and com­pan­ion­ships were curat­ed as care­ful­ly as the sea­side gar­dens, shap­ing a new kind of Newport—one defined by opu­lence, per­for­mance, and exclu­siv­i­ty.

    With this cul­tur­al shift came archi­tec­tur­al ambi­tion. Belle­vue Avenue became the spine of Newport’s trans­for­ma­tion, lined with grand res­i­dences that defied their nick­name of “cot­tages.” Designed by some of the country’s most cel­e­brat­ed archi­tects, these homes rep­re­sent­ed not only finan­cial clout but also the aspi­ra­tions of a ris­ing Amer­i­can aris­toc­ra­cy. Lawns were sculpt­ed with math­e­mat­i­cal pre­ci­sion, path­ways curved just so, and every import­ed chan­de­lier or Ital­ian mar­ble tile sig­naled a fam­i­ly’s place in the social hier­ar­chy. Yet along­side this beau­ty came an inevitable friction—especially where pub­lic access met pri­vate enti­tle­ment.

    Nowhere was this more vis­i­ble than in the famed Cliff Walk, a trail that mean­dered between ocean views and the back­yards of New­port’s most promi­nent homes. For decades, legal bat­tles sim­mered between prop­er­ty own­ers and the city over who tru­ly owned this strip of land. Some saw it as a pub­lic trea­sure, oth­ers as a pri­vate buffer between them­selves and the mass­es. This clash between pri­vate wealth and pub­lic right-of-way mir­rored larg­er Amer­i­can debates about own­er­ship, access, and class divisions—debates that con­tin­ue to shape cities even today.

    What makes Chap­ter 37 espe­cial­ly com­pelling is its reflec­tion not just on archi­tec­ture or his­tor­i­cal mile­stones, but on the evolv­ing Amer­i­can psy­che. New­port, in this telling, becomes more than a sum­mer escape; it is a liv­ing archive of ambi­tion, mem­o­ry, and trans­for­ma­tion. From mil­i­tary out­post to mar­itime trade hub, from decay­ing town to pol­ished resort, New­port encap­su­lates the Amer­i­can capac­i­ty to rein­vent and reimag­ine place. Yet in doing so, it also reveals the costs of progress—the loss of his­tor­i­cal con­scious­ness, the soft era­sure of incon­ve­nient pasts, and the deep­en­ing gaps between priv­i­lege and access.

    As read­ers step away from this chap­ter, they are invit­ed to walk the streets of New­port with fresh eyes. To look beyond the man­i­cured lawns and vel­vet ropes and imag­ine the echo of can­non fire, the whis­per of Norse sails, the rus­tle of taffe­ta ball­go­wns, and the qui­et endurance of a city shaped by so many hands. In many ways, Chap­ter 37 – The New­port of the Past is a call to remember—not just what has changed, but what remains hid­den beneath the sur­face, wait­ing to be noticed again.

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