The Old Coast Road | Page 8

Agnes Rothery
or stair. They alone of Boston's

residents enjoy to the full that of which too many Bostonians ignore the
existence. Will you read the inscriptions first and recall the events
which have raised this special hill to an historic eminence equal to its
topographical one? Or will you look out first, on all sides and see the
harbor, the city and country as it is to-day? Both surveys will be brief;
perhaps we will begin with the latter.
Before us, to the wide east, lies Boston Harbor, decked with islands so
various, so fascinating in contour and legend, that more than one
volume has been written about them and not yet an adequate one. From
the point of view of history these islands are pulsating with life. From
Castle Island (on the left) which was selected as far back as 1634 to be
a bulwark of the port, and which, with its Fort Independence, was
where many of our Civil War soldiers received their training, to the
outline of Squantum (on the right), where in October, 1917, there lay a
marsh, and where, ten months later, the destroyer Delphy was launched
from a shipyard that was a miracle of modern engineering--every mile
of visible land is instinct with war-time associations.
But history is more than battles and forts and the paraphernalia of war;
history is economic development as well. And from this same balcony
we can pick out Thompson's, Rainsford, and Deer Island, set aside for
huge corrective institutions--a graphic example of a nation's progress in
its treatment of the wayward and the weak.
But if history is more than wars, it is also more than institutions. If it is
the record of man's daily life, the pleasures he works for, then again we
are standing in an unparalleled spot to look down upon its present-day
manifestations. From City Point with its Aquarium, from the Marine
Park with its long pleasure pier, to Nantasket with its flawless beach,
this is the summer playground of unnumbered hosts. Boaters, bathers,
picnickers--all find their way here, where not only the cool breezes
sweep their city-heated cheeks, but the forever bewitching passage of
vessels in and out, furnishes endless entertainment. They know well,
these laughing pleasure-seekers, crowding the piers and boats and
wharves and beaches, where to come for refreshment, and now and
then, in the history of the harbor, a solitary individual has taken

advantage of the romantic charm which is the unique heritage of every
island, and has built his home and lived, at least some portion of his
days, upon one.
Apple Island, that most perfectly shaped little fleck of land of ten acres,
was the home of a Mr. March, an Englishman who settled there with
his family, and lived there happily until his death, being buried at last
upon its western slope. The fine old elms which adorned it are gone
now, as have the fine old associations. No one followed Mr. March's
example, and Apple Island is now merely another excursion point.
On Calf Island, another ten-acre fragment, one of America's popular
actresses, Julia Arthur, has her home. Thus, here and there, one
stumbles upon individuals or small communities who have chosen to
live out in the harbor. But one cannot help wondering how such beauty
spots have escaped being more loved and lived upon by men and
women who recognize the romantic lure which only an island can
possess.
Of course the advantage of these positions has been utilized, if not for
dwellings. Government buildings, warehouses, and the great sewage
plant all find convenient foothold here. The excursionists have ferreted
out whatever beaches and groves there may be. One need not regret that
the harbor is not appreciated, but only that it has not been developed
along æsthetic as well as useful lines.
We have been looking at the east, which is the harbor view. If we look
to the west we see the city of Boston: the white tower of the Custom
House; the gold dome of the State House; the sheds of the great South
Station; the blue line of the Charles River. Here is the place to come if
one would see a living map of the city and its environs. Standing here
we realize how truly Boston is a maritime city, and standing here we
also realize how it is that Dorchester Heights won its fame.
It was in the winter of 1776, when the British, under Lord Howe, were
occupying Boston, and had fortified every place which seemed
important. By some curious oversight--which seems incredible to us as
we actually stand upon the top of this conspicuous hill--they forgot this

spot.
When Washington saw what they had not seen--how this unique
position commanded both the city and the harbor--he knew that his
opportunity had come.
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