Portsmouth Quotes

Riley Bay wasn’t human. But if he wasn’t human, then what was he? An alien, sent to Earth to learn about humanity in preparation for an invasion? Riley was certainly weird enough to be an alien, but I didn’t see why the mother ship would send him to Portsmouth, Rhode Island, in the guise of a high schooler.

Joe Spork opens the door. The man departs. Joe turns to Polly to say something about how they’re obviously not going to Portsmouth, and finds an oyster knife balanced on his cheek, just under his eye. “Can we be very clear,” Polly Cradle murmurs, “that I am not your booby sidekick or your Bond girl? That I am an independent supervillain in my own right?” Joe swallows. “Yes, we can,” he says carefully. “There will therefore be no more ‘Say hello, Polly’?” “There will not.

The names of the compact's signers, including Anne Hutchinson's husband, Will, are listed below the text. Here lies the deepest reason why the Woman's Healing Garden strikes me as so forlorn - that Hutchinson is remembered here by pink echinacea in bloom instead of on the Portsmouth Compact plaque, where she belongs. All of the signers were there because of her, because she stood up to Massachusetts and they stood with her. But all the signers were men. Anne Hutchinson wasn't allowed to sign the founding document of the colony she founded.

Twenty-two-year-old Ona Judge, who was Martha Washington’s personal servant, escaped from the President and First Lady of the United States in Philadelphia in 1796 after learning she was to be given away as a wedding gift. She married a free black man in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and managed to avoid falling prey to the attempts at recapture that George Washington attempted against her until he died in 1799.

Though Charles II both craved and enjoyed female companionship till the end of his life, there is no question that by the cold, rainy autumn of 1682 his physical appetites had diminshed considerably. The Duchess of Portsmouth was, after all, more than twenty years his junior; and there comes a time in nearly every such relationship when the male partner is simply unable to fully accommodate the female partner. Or as Samuel Pepys tartly noted in his diary, "the king yawns much in council, it is thought he spends himself overmuch in the arms of Madame Louise, who far from being wearied, seems fresher than ever after sporting with the king.

Portsmouth,

He settles on the Green Animals Topiary Garden in Portsmouth.

You know, Alexia started, “I will be deeply disappointed if the apocalypse starts in Portsmouth.

Fanny Price leaves the poverty of her Portsmouth home to be brought up among the family of her

One of them was Kathy Newman, who in 1996 was a high school cheerleader and the daughter of a contractor. Kathy had just graduated from Portsmouth High School when she broke ribs in a car accident. The emergency room in town was wary of prescribing more than ibuprofen for pain. You should go see David Procter, her friends said: He’ll give you something that works.

Having prospered as a merchant, Jesse was now worth $100,000—equivalent to nearly $3 million today—and employed about fifty people. When he reached sixty in 1854, he had begun to withdraw from active management of his business interests. His holdings included several tanneries near Portsmouth, Ohio, and leather goods stores in Wisconsin, Iowa, and Galena, Illinois.

No immediate reply was received from Churchill, who was on his way to Portsmouth, so Lascelles called Churchill’s train and elicited a ‘rather ungracious’ acceptance that he would not go.

Ox Cart Man In October of the year, he counts potatoes dug from the brown field, counting the seed, counting the cellar's portion out, and bags the rest on the cart's floor. He packs wool sheared in April, honey in combs, linen, leather tanned from deerhide, and vinegar in a barrel hoped by hand at the forge's fire. He walks by his ox's head, ten days to Portsmouth Market, and sells potatoes, and the bag that carried potatoes, flaxseed, birch brooms, maple sugar, goose feathers, yarn. When the cart is empty he sells the cart. When the cart is sold he sells the ox, harness and yoke, and walks home, his pockets heavy with the year's coin for salt and taxes, and at home by fire's light in November cold stitches new harness for next year's ox in the barn, and carves the yoke, and saws planks building the cart again.

Walmart, for a long time, did not require a receipt for returned goods. Anything stolen could be returned for a gift card for the full value of the merchandise. Dealers bought those cards for half their value in pills. A five-hundred-dollar Walmart card was worth three OxyContin 80s—for which the dealer had paid a few dollars with the Medicaid card scam. A vast trade in Walmart cards kept Portsmouth’s army of pill dealers in household necessities.

As for any society in Portsmouth, that could at all make amends for deficiencies at home, there were none within the circle of her father's and mother's acquaintance to afford her the smallest satisfaction: she saw nobody in whose favour she could wish to overcome her own shyness and reserve. The men appeared to her all coarse, the women all pert, everybody underbred; and she gave as little contentment as she received from introductions either to old or new acquaintance. The young ladies who approached her at first with some respect, in consideration of her coming from a baronet's family, were soon offended by what they termed "airs"; for, as she neither played on the pianoforte nor wore fine pelisses, they could, on farther observation, admit no right of superiority.

When my father died and was buried in a chapel overlooking Portsmouth—the same chapel in which General Eisenhower had prayed for success the night before D-Day in 1944—I gave the address from the pulpit and selected as my text a verse from the epistle of Saul of Tarsus, later to be claimed as “Saint Paul,” to the Philippians (chapter 4, verse 8): Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report: if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. I chose this because of its haunting and elusive character, which will be with me at the last hour, and for its essentially secular injunction, and because it shone out from the wasteland of rant and complaint and nonsense and bullying which surrounds it.

Al analizar las dos casas, tal como se le aparecían antes de terminar la primera semana, Fanny estuvo tentada de aplicarles la célebre sentencia del doctor Johnson sobre el matrimonio y el celibato, diciendo que, aunque Mansfield Park pudiera entrañar alguna pena, Portsmouth no podía entrañar ningún placer.

The two Mast Houses just within the Victory Gate of Portsmouth Dockyard are raised above the water on piloti. They are structures of remarkable grace, clinker-built, painted the palest green. They are vast, as they needed to be. Their survival is an industrial site devoted for a century to the servicing of mastless vessels is a matter for celebration. The use of which the more southerly is put is a matter for obloquy: the Mary Rose Shop is a repository of tawdry, insipid tat. It's the sort of stuff to make me wince- a dismal, timid inventory of mediocrity. Bad taste is forgivable. It's no taste which is so disheartening.

In 1939 came the Squalus disaster, when a submarine went down near Portsmouth, N.H., and failed to resurface. Radio broke the news and was instrumental in coordinating the rescue efforts. A breaking story could now be on the air less than 30 seconds after the wire-machine bells went off. The era of press domination slipped into history.

the Wager, a British man-of-war. When the news reached England, it was greeted with disbelief. In September 1740, during an imperial conflict with Spain, the Wager, carrying some 250 officers and crew, had embarked from Portsmouth in a squadron on a secret mission: to capture a treasure-filled Spanish galleon known as “the prize of all the

The fool spoke precisely as he wrote, in convoluted paragraphs that any worthwhile editor would want to set on fire.

There had been days and nights when the memory of their kiss had burned and burned on his lips; the day before even, on the drive to Portsmouth, the thought of her had run through him like fire; but now that she was beside him, and they were drifting fourth into this unknown world, they seemed to have reached the kind of deeper nearness that a touch may sunder

In the mid-1980s, the medical world wrestled with how to use the new opiates that pharmaceutical companies were developing to treat pain. David Procter was an early and aggressive adopter. He prescribed opiates for neck, leg, and lower back pain, arthritis, and lower lumbar spine pain. He combined them with benzodiazepines—anxiety relievers, of which Valium and Xanax, Procter’s favorite, are the best known. In Portsmouth, people had anxiety and they had pain. Appalachia had a long history of using benzodiazepines—dating to the release of Valium in the early 1960s. Little old ladies used it. In this part of the country, anything that relieved pain was welcome. But opiates and benzos together also led quickly to addiction.

If you drive to the end of Little Harbor Road, in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, it will take you to the ocean, but you won’t find the sandy lane to Camp Wyndham. I made the place up. Many other features of the area, however, are much as I presented them: South Street Cemetery, South Mill Pond, the Piscataqua Bridge. Here and there I have changed features to suit the needs of the story.

There are moments when everything shifts, when the world becomes eerily like the kaleidoscope toy given to children, where with the turn of a cheap plastic knob everything changes, becomes different. Fiona looked at the man in front of her and the calm of downtown Portsmouth disappeared; the colors changed; the air smelled different. Everything flew upward, scattered, and landed again.

YOU CAN KIND of see them if you get on your tippy toes and look over the fence,” A.J. says. “There, in the distance!” They had left Alice at seven that morning, taken the ferry to Hyannis, then driven two hours to Portsmouth only to discover that the Green Animals Topiary Garden is closed from November through May. A.J. finds that he cannot make eye contact with either his daughter or Lambiase. It is twenty-nine degrees, but shame is keeping him warm. Maya stands on her toes and when that doesn’t work, she tries hopping. “I can’t see anything,” she says. “Here, I’ll get you higher,” Lambiase says, lifting Maya onto his shoulders. “Maybe I can see a little bit,” Maya says doubtfully. “No, I definitely cannot see anything. They’re all covered.” Her lower lip begins to quiver. She looks at A.J. with pained eyes. He doesn’t think he can take any more of this. Suddenly, she smiles brightly at A.J. “But you know what, Daddy? I can imagine what the elephant looks like under the blanket. And the tiger! And the unicorn!” She nods at her father as if to say, Clearly this imaginative exercise must have been your point in taking me here in the middle of winter. “That’s

YOU CAN KIND of see them if you get on your tippy toes and look over the fence,” A.J. says. “There, in the distance!” They had left Alice at seven that morning, taken the ferry to Hyannis, then driven two hours to Portsmouth only to discover that the Green Animals Topiary Garden is closed from November through May. A.J. finds that he cannot make eye contact with either his daughter or Lambiase. It is twenty-nine degrees, but shame is keeping him warm.

Devon turned his attention to his brother. “West, I want to speak to you. Come with me to the library, will you?” West drained the rest of his tea, stood, and bowed to the Ravenel sisters. “Thank you for a delightful afternoon, my dears.” He paused before departing. “Pandora, sweetheart, you’re attempting to cram Portsmouth into Wales, which I assure you will please neither party.” “I told you,” Cassandra said to Pandora, and the twins began to squabble while Devon and West left the room.

Earle Harwood has been to Deane lately, as I think Mary wrote us word, and his family then told him that they would receive his wife, if she continued to behave well for another year. He was very grateful, as well he might; their behavior throughout the whole affair has been particularly kind. Earle and his wife live in the most private manner imaginable at Portsmouth, without keeping a servant of any kind. What a prodigious innate love of virtue she must have, to marry under such circumstances!

In September 1740, during an imperial conflict with Spain, the Wager, carrying some 250 officers and crew, had embarked from Portsmouth in a squadron on a secret mission: to capture a treasure-filled Spanish galleon known as “the prize of all the oceans.” Near Cape Horn, at the tip of South America, the squadron had been engulfed by a hurricane, and the Wager was believed to have sunk with all its souls. But 283 days after the ship had last been reported seen, these men miraculously emerged in Brazil.

Whatever was wanted was hallooed for, and the servants hallooed out their excuses from the kitchen. The doors were in constant banging, the stairs were never at rest, nothing was done without a clatter, nobody sat still, and nobody could command attention when they spoke. In a review of the two houses, as they appeared to her before the end of a week, Fanny was tempted to apply to them Dr. Johnson’s celebrated judgment as to matrimony and celibacy, and say, that though Mansfield Park might have some pains, Portsmouth could have no pleasures.

Very few eighteenth-century slaves have shared their stories about the institution and experience of slavery. The violence required to feed the system of human bondage often made enslaved men and women want to forget their pasts, not recollect them. For fugitives, like Ona Judge, secrecy was a necessity. Enslaved men and women on the run often kept their pasts hidden, even from the people they loved the most: their spouses and children. Sometimes, the nightmare of human bondage, the murder, rape, dismemberment, and constant degradation, was simply too terrible to speak of. But it was the threat of capture and re-enslavement that kept closed the mouths of those who managed to beat the odds and successfully escape. Afraid of being returned to her owners, Judge lived a shadowy life that was isolated and clandestine. For almost fifty years, the fugitive slave woman kept to herself, building a family and a new life upon the quicksand of her legal enslavement. She lived most of her time as a fugitive in Greenland, New Hampshire, a tiny community just outside the city of Portsmouth. At

Ahoy!” a seaman called out. “The English frigate Polaris, ten days out from Antigua, bound for Portsmouth.” “Ahoy, yerself!” It was O’Shea’s rough brogue. She’d never heard sweeter music. “This be the clipper Sophia, of no particular country at the moment. Seven days out from Tortola, bound for…well, bound for here. Captain requests permission to board.” Gray. It had to be Gray. The officers of the Polaris exchanged wary looks. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake.” Sophia pushed forward to the ship’s rail and cupped her hands around her mouth, calling, “Permission to board granted!” A cheer rose up from the other ship’s deck. “It’s her, all right!” a voice called. Stubb’s, Sophia thought. Oh, but she hardly cared who was on the other deck. She cared only for the strong figure swinging across the watery divide as the two ships came abreast. Turning back toward the center of the ship, she pushed her way through the sweaty throng of sailors, desperate to get to him. Her foot caught on a rope, and she tripped- But it didn’t matter. Gray was there to catch her. And he was still wearing those sea-weathered, fire-scarred boots. No doubt for sentimental reasons. “Steady there,” he murmured, catching her by the elbows. She looked up to meet his beautiful blue-green eyes. “I have you.” “Oh, Gray.” She launched herself into his arms, clinging to his neck as he laughed and spun her around. “You’re here.” “I’m here.” And he was. Every strong, solid, handsome inch of him. Sophia buried her face in his throat, breathing in his scent. Lord, how she’d missed him. She pulled away, bracing her hands on his shoulders to study his face. “I can’t believe you came after me.” “I can’t believe you actually left.” He lowered her to the deck, and her hands slid to his arms. “I thought you were bluffing with that bit. I’d have never allowed you to go.

The state of New Hampshire boasts a mere eighteen miles of Atlantic Ocean coastline. The Piscataqua River separates the state's southeastern corner from Maine and empties into the Atlantic. On the southwestern corner of this juncture of river and ocean is Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The smaller town of Kittery, Maine, is on the opposite side of the river. The port of Piscataqua is deep, and it never freezes in winter, making it an ideal location for maritime vocations such as fishing, sea trade, and shipbuilding. Four years before the founding of Jamestown, Virginia, in 1603, Martin Pring of England first discovered the natural virtues of Piscataqua harbor. While on a scouting voyage in the ship Speedwell, Pring sailed approximately ten miles up the unexplored Piscataqua, where he discovered “goodly groves and woods replenished with tall oakes, beeches, pine-trees, firre-trees, hasels, and maples.”1 Following Pring, Samuel de Champlain, Captain John Smith, and Sir Ferdinando Gorges each sailed along the Maine-New Hampshire coastline and remarked on its abundance of timber and fish. The first account of Piscataqua harbor was given by Smith, that intrepid explorer, author, and cofounder of the Jamestown settlement, who assigned the name “New-England” to the northeast coastline in 1614. In May or June of that year, he landed near the Piscataqua, which he later described as “a safe harbour, with a rocky shore.”2 In 1623, three years after the Pilgrim founding of Plymouth, an English fishing and trading company headed by David Thomson established a saltworks and fishing station in what is now Rye, New Hampshire, just west of the Piscataqua River. English fishermen soon flocked to the Maine and New Hampshire coastline, eventually venturing inland to dry their nets, salt, and fish. They were particularly drawn to the large cod population around the Piscataqua, as in winter the cod-spawning grounds shifted from the cold offshore banks to the warmer waters along the coast.

Recently I met with the director of the London Ironstone railway," he said. For Kathleen's benefit, he explained, "It's a private company, owned by a friend. Tom Severin." 'We're in the same London club," West added. Devon viewed the map critically before drawing a parallel line. "Severin wants to reduce distance on London Ironstone's existing Portsmouth route. He's also planning to relay the entire sixty-mile line, start to finish, with heavier rails to accommodate faster trains." "Can he afford such a project?" West asked. "He's already secured one million pounds." West uttered a wordless exclamation.

chose the quiet coach when I boarded at Portsmouth and Southsea. True to form, most people were chatting inanely on their mobile phones or leaking hissing drumbeats from their headphones, so I kept going, looking for an area without cackling post-hen-parties, toddlers or badly tuned radios. There is nothing worse than being forced to listen to other people’s choice of music, except perhaps other people’s children’s choice of music. As I entered the next carriage, my foot caught in a loose strap and I found myself spread-eagled over a table occupied by four men in rugby shirts,

Jefferson and I bring up the rear, leading the wagon, which is loaded with our bags, and Peony and Sorry, who seem relieved to be let out of the stable. It’s our first private moment together since the walk back to Portsmouth Square the other day. “I think Becky’s forgotten about the wedding dress,” I tell him. Softly, so there’s no chance of Becky overhearing. “Not a chance,” he says. “How can you be sure?” “Well, this is Becky we’re talking about.” “Good point.” “Also, she asked Henry if he’d be willing to help me find a proper suit.” “Really?” “I tried to dissuade him, but without luck. He knows just the place. And he’s certain he knows just the color for me.” “What color is that?” “I’m pretty sure he said plum.” “Plum?” “Plum. Which, until that moment, I could have sworn was a fruit.” I want to ask if any other colors were mentioned, but it’s a very short parade route and we have arrived at our destination, which is the Charlotte.

On July 10, as the Austrian Foreign Ministry was drafting its ultimatum to Serbia, thousands of British naval reservists began arriving at manning depots, where they were issued uniforms and boarded their assigned ships. By July 16, the Second and Third Fleets had sailed from their home ports to join the First Fleet for the royal review at Spithead, between Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight. On July 17, King George arrived and the First Lord, bursting with pride, presented the monarch with a fleet that Churchill declared to be “incomparably the greatest assemblage of naval power ever witnessed in the history of the world.” On

AT EVERY POINT on their journey, the new King and Queen were greeted with thunderous cheers. As their ship sailed from Portsmouth, it was flanked by 15 vessels of the Royal Navy’s Home Fleet—mighty ships with names to match: Indefatigable, Invincible, Indomitable, Superb.

The Russo-Japanese treaty of peace, signed at Portsmouth in August, 1905, registers the concession of all the vital points in the demands of the conquering nation.

Also in Edenton was a young seaman named John Paul Jones. In spite of his youth, he was a capable captain, and it is thought that he commanded many of Hewes’ vessels on trips to Ocracoke and Portsmouth Island, as well as to the West Indies. There was much coming and going between Edenton and North Carolina’s Outer Banks even in those days. When war finally came, young John Paul Jones applied for a commission in the fighting ships of the colonists. There were two problems with his application. In the first place, it was thought that he did not have the experience or the skill for such an important position. In the second, the colonists had no navy, as such, with which to fight the British fleet—at that time the strongest in the world. Observing these problems, Jones’ friend and erstwhile employer came to the aid of both his protégé and his country. Incredible as it may seem, Joseph Hewes made a gift of all his ships to his country and thus helped to form the nucleus of the Yankee fleet. It is said that this magnanimous gesture, coupled with urgings from Hewes, persuaded the Continental Congress to name young John Paul Jones as a first lieutenant of the Continental Navy. History has proved the wisdom of this decision. The young lieutenant became what one historian has called “the greatest fighting naval commander America ever had.” His spirited “Sir, I’ve not yet begun to fight” is one of the proudest traditions of the United States Navy.

Be this as it may, I make a rule of entering a monkey as speedily as possible after hoisting my pendant; and if a reform takes place in the table of ratings, I would recommend a corner for the "ship's monkey," which should be borne on the books for "full allowance of victuals," excepting only the grog; for I have observed that a small quantity of tipple very soon upsets him; and although there are few things in nature more ridiculous than a monkey half-seas over, yet the reasons against permitting such pranks are obvious and numerous. When Lord Melville, then First Lord of the Admiralty, to my great surprise and delight, put into my hands a commission for a ship going to the South American station, a quarter of the world I had long desired to visit, my first thought was, "Where now shall I manage to find a merry rascal of a monkey?" Of course, I did not give audible expression to this thought in the First Lord's room; but, on coming down-stairs, I had a talk about it in the hall with my friend, the late Mr. Nutland, the porter, who laughed, and said,— "Why, sir, you may buy a wilderness of monkeys at Exeter 'Change." "True! true!" and off I hurried in a Hackney coach. Mr. Cross, not only agreed to spare me one of his choicest and funniest animals, but readily offered his help to convey him to the ship. "Lord, sir!" said he, "there is not an animal in the whole world so wild or fierce that we can't carry about as innocent as a lamb; only trust to me, sir, and your monkey shall be delivered on board your ship in Portsmouth Harbour as safely as if he were your best chronometer going down by mail in charge of the master.

God help him if anyone saw him engaging in such outrageous behavior. But hell, if this little performance didn’t convince Her Majesty of the lengths he would go to get her to the altar, then he feared nothing would! He was tired of waiting. And he was beginning to find he wasn’t such a patient man after all, not where she was concerned. Her crew had remained in Portsmouth with Kestrel, but for the sake of appearances, Orla had checked into a room with Maeve, and he had taken a neighboring one. It was not an arrangement he intended to keep. Oh, hell no. He had no intention of sleeping alone. Just as he had no intention of allowing her to dally anymore with regard to this whole marriage business. She’d damn well give him an answer tonight—or, he’d carry her off to Triton and have his own flag-captain marry them, and amen to that!

they offered more in entertainment than true instruction. The self-taught alchemists who ran them varied in skill level, from the completely inept to the terminally clueless. I hadn’t decided where Boris fell on the scale, but then, I wasn’t here for instruction. I needed a lab and for the moment, I had one. It was the best I could hope for in Portsmouth, Ohio. The crucible began to dance, clattering against the support ring. Perhaps I shouldn’t have taped down the cover. I reached for my tongs, but before my fingers closed over the grip, the crucible shot straight up in the air. I gave up all pretense of professional indifference and ducked under the bench. The heavy porcelain dish smashed

Nah. I was just remembering the first time I saw you,” he replied. “Oh?” Baltsaros’s gaze softened in amusement. “At the brothel?” “No, before. When I watched the ship come in. You know, I could swear that you looked straight up at me that day,” said Jon. After his capture, knowing that he’d been the sole purpose for the pirate ship’s stop in Portsmouth, he’d often wondered whether the captain had actually seen and recognized him that day. “Did you know it was me?” Baltsaros’s smooth brow crinkled. “How would I know it was you? I didn’t have a description of your appearance, only of your talents of observation.” He finished wrapping up his binoculars and placed them in the leather sack he had been filling. “Oh,” Jon said. He pulled the neck of the dark-grey coat closed and shivered a little. Despite the dazzling sunshine and green hills, it felt barely above freezing. He frowned. “What is it?” asked Baltsaros. “It’s just… I don’t know how it is you knew of me.” Jon glanced over at the captain. “It’s not as if I was written about outside of Portsmouth… Was I?

A principios de 1926, el grupo Elim inauguró una campaña de avivamiento en el Ayuntamiento de Portsmouth, Inglaterra. En unos pocos días, la sala ya no era lo suficientemente grande como para contener a la multitud. George envió una carta a E. J. Phillips, secretario general de la Alianza Elim, y con entusiasmo le informó: “Estoy pasando el mejor momento de mi vida. Las almas se convierten y siguen continuamente a Cristo, la mayoría de las sanidades son sorprendentes y maravillosas, y ayer mismo, cientos de personas tuvieron que ser rechazadas a la entrada del Ayuntamiento una hora antes de la hora de inicio”42.

The first really organized investigation of the seas didn’t come until 1872, when a joint expedition between the British Museum, the Royal Society, and the British government set forth from Portsmouth on a former warship called HMS Challenger. For three and a half years they sailed the world, sampling waters, netting fish, and hauling a dredge through sediments. It was evidently dreary work. Out of a complement of 240 scientists and crew, one in four jumped ship and eight more died or went mad- "driven to distraction by the mind-numbing routine o f years of dredging" in the words of the historian Samantha Weinberg. But they sailed across almost 70,000 nautical miles of sea, collected over 4,700 new species of marine organisms, gathered enough information to create a fifty-volume report (which took nineteen years to put together), and gave the world the name of a new scientific discipline: oceanography. They also discovered, by means of depth measurements, that there appeared to be submerged mountains in the mid-Atlantic, prompting some excited observers to speculate that they had found the lost continent of Atlantis.

The place is an austere, wartime England. In the north Hampshire village of Steventon, Jane Austen was born in December 1775, and just 12 miles away in the cathedral city of Winchester, she died in July 1817. Such a short distance separates her birth and death, yet during her lifetime of forty-one years she travelled more than most women of this era, westwards as far as Dawlish in Devon, eastwards to Ramsgate in Kent, southwards to Portsmouth and probably as far north as Hamstall Ridware in Staffordshire. 1 England was the only country she knew, and for most of her adult life, that country was at war.

Alvarenga began to look forward to his strolls to the store—it not only calmed Córdoba but also allowed him to imagine life on land. Dr. John Leach, senior research fellow in survival psychology at the Extreme Environments Laboratory at the University of Portsmouth, England, suggests that by nurturing his sick mate, Alvarenga was building a foundation to maintain his own mental health. “If you’ve got a task to do, then you’re concentrating on that task, which provides a degree of meaning in your life. That’s one of the reasons that people like doctors and nurses have quite a high survival rate in concentration camps during wars,” says Leach. “If you’re a doctor or nurse in camp, you’ve got an automatic task, you’ve got a job that gives meaning to your existence, which is looking after others.

Sadly, Thomas Croxton did not get the monument he deserved. The following words are what he requested to be inscribed onto his monument; I hope that placing the wording into this page helps preserve his memory: Departed the life, in his happy flight, THOMAS CROXTON Founder of the Town of Croxton, and the Statue of his Majesty George the Third Æ67, A.D. 1815

Upon receiving word of the arms embargo, the Boston Committee of Correspondence sent the news by Paul Revere to their friends in New Hampshire, warning them that two British ships would be proceeding to Fort William and Mary at Portsmouth to secure the Crown's materiel. On December 14, some 400 armed men approached the fort by boat and overran it.

Your coat, sir,” Samuel said, presenting the garment with a flourish. Kit frowned. “That is not my coat.” “Ah, but you are mistaken, sir. I was recently informed that this is, indeed, your coat. At least until something properly tailored can be procured.” Kit had always thought that counting to ten before speaking was the pathetic crutch of a man in insufficient control of his own emotions. He knew better now. After a long pause, he finally managed, “Samuel. Before this coat became mine, according to your mysterious informant, to whom did it belong?” Samuel’s eyes lit, and he straightened, clearly in his element. “If this coat belongs to you, sir, then it was always meant to be yours, and therefore cannot be considered to have ever been the property of another in any true sense—” “Whose. Coat. Was. It,” Kit gritted out through clenched teeth. “Answer the question directly, and without anything remotely similar to philosophizing, or I will not wear it. Instead, I will strangle you with it.” “A coat seems ill-suited to such a task,” Samuel said, his brows furrowing.

The girls used to play together in Portsmouth Square, surrounded by Chinese grannies sipping their milk tea and playing board games. They'd snack on soft buns filled with sweet coconut, and when it rained, they'd dunk into the curio shops or the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory, their senses dazzled by the delicious, sugary aroma.

After the fractious second trial of the Watch in the summer of 1764, the Board of Longitude allowed months to pass without saying a word. The commissioners were waiting for the mathematicians to compare their computations of H-4’s performance with the astronomers’ observations of the longitude of Portsmouth and Barbados, all of which had to be factored into the judging. When they heard the final report, the commissioners conceded that they were “unanimously of opinion that the said timekeeper has kept its time with sufficient correctness.” They could hardly say otherwise: The Watch proved to tell the longitude within ten miles—three times more accurately than the terms of the Longitude Act demanded! But this stupendous success gained Harrison only a small victory. The Watch and its maker still had lots of explaining to do.

HMS Victory returned eventually to Portsmouth and is still there, still commissioned in the Royal Navy.

He had been accompanied by his father and the family solicitor who, between them, had made the boy sound so mild mannered that it made Clark Kent sound like Rambo.

Purser has shown his face, sir. He has examined his domain and declared it secure and will bring his slops aboard this day. His name is Roberts and he informs me he is an attorney-at-law by trade, but making only a poor living in the legal business, took to the sea some ten years ago and is most satisfied with his new way of life. He told me that Portsmouth must have fifty attorneys, at a minimum, plying their trade and seeking clients and only a very few of them prospering, which surprised me greatly, sir. One does not conceive of a poor lawyer of whatever sort.

Bob Pennington – who still didn’t rate Edwards as a centre-forward – believed that Busby’s decade-long desires may well be proven correct. “Of course you can’t win the European Cup, the FA Cup, and the League championship in one season,” he wrote. “Of course it is impossible. But you still left Portsmouth believing that Matt Busby’s dream of this triple triumph can be achieved.

Horton could tell instantly there was no one in the house, dead or alive. Death left a place much colder than this, you could smell it, taste it, and sense it. It crept up your flesh, quickened your breath, and sent your pulse racing to cope with the first shock of meeting it. But this house was empty, just a shell.

Hutchinson’s chief antagonist, John Winthrop, called her an “American Jezebel”—a false prophet. When Winthrop replaced Henry Vane as governor in 1637, Hutchinson was put on trial for her heretical beliefs, convicted, and banished from the colony. The Hutchinson family and about sixty followers trooped down to Rhode Island—really, where else could they go?—and established the town of Portsmouth.

To Portsmouth the Russians sent Sergey Witte, generally regarded as their ablest political leader and a staunch opponent of the war, who had been the tsar’s minister of finance. It was a curious choice, in that Witte was detested by both the tsar and the tsaritsa, but it proved to be a brilliant one for Russia. Another Russian of German origin, he was considered by the imperial court to be vulgar, cynical, arrogant, boastful, and totally lacking in the modern-day quality of charisma. But on arrival in the United States he set out shamelessly to woo American public opinion, ostentatiously flattering Roosevelt.

I remember driving back from Portsmouth so tired that a voice in my head said I’ll just close my eyes until I get to the bridge ahead. The next thing I knew was the wheels rumbling over the cat’s eyes. I had tried to take a nap while driving. I’m not sure what Darwin would make of that.

The USS Saint Louis and the USS Harvard arrived in Portsmouth, New Hampshire on July 10, 1898, carrying a total of 1,562 Spanish prisoners. Approximately 1,700 Spanish prisoners of war were eventually divided between POW camps in Annapolis, Maryland, and the Navy Yard near Portsmouth, New Hampshire, which is actually in Kittery, Maine. To guard them U.S. Marines were brought in from the Boston Navy Yard. The internment camp was known as Camp Long, which was named for Secretary of the Navy John Long. From July 11, 1898, to September 12, 1898, the stockade held 1,612 Spanish prisoners, including Admiral Pascual Cervera. After a time these prisoners were granted parole and allowed fifteen days of liberty, permitting them open access to Seavey’s Island in Kittery, Maine, as well as the Navy Yard, and the town of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Despite the best efforts by both U.S. Navy and Spanish physicians, thirty-one prisoners died during their incarceration. On September 12, 1898, the prisoners were released and returned to Spain on the S/S City of Rome.

ship built by English settlers in the New World. In 1607, at the mouth of the Kennebec River in Maine, the Plymouth Company erected a short-lived fishing settlement. A London shipwright named Digby organized some settlers to construct a small vessel with which to return them home to England, as they were homesick and disenchanted with the New England winters. The small craft was named, characteristically, the Virginia. She was evidently a two-master and weighed about thirty tons, and she transported furs, salted cod, and tobacco for twenty years between various ports along the Maine coast, Plymouth, Jamestown, and England. She is believed to have wrecked somewhere along the coast of Ireland.6 By the middle of the seventeenth century, shipbuilding was firmly established as an independent industry in New England. Maine, with its long coastline and abundant forests, eventually overtook even Massachusetts as the shipbuilding capital of North America. Its most western town, Kittery, hovered above the Piscataqua. For many years the towns of Kittery and Portsmouth, and upriver enclaves like Exeter, Newmarket, Durham, Dover, and South Berwick, rivaled Bath and Brunswick, Maine, as shipbuilding centers, with numerous shipyards, blacksmith shops, sawmills, and wharves. Portsmouth's deep harbor, proximity to upriver lumber, scarcity of fog, and seven feet of tide made it an ideal location for building large vessels. During colonial times, the master carpenters of England were so concerned about competition they eventually petitioned Parliament to discourage shipbuilding in Portsmouth.7 One of the early Piscataqua shipwrights was Robert Cutts, who used African American slaves to build fishing smacks at Crooked Lane in Kittery in the 1650s. Another was William Pepperell, who moved from the Isle of Shoals to Kittery in 1680, where he amassed a fortune in the shipbuilding, fishing, and lumber trades. John Bray built ships in front of

Few records exist to establish a definitive date as to when the first ships were built in the Piscataqua region. Fishing vessels were probably constructed as early as 1623, when the first fishermen settled in the area. Many undoubtedly boasted a skilled shipwright who taught the fishermen how to build “great shallops”as well as lesser craft. In 1631 a man named Edward Godfrie directed the fisheries at Pannaway. His operation included six large shallops, five fishing boats, and thirteen skiffs, the shallops essentially open boats that included several pairs of oars, a mast, and lug sail, and which later sported enclosed decks.5 Records do survive of the very first ship built by English settlers in the New World. In 1607, at the mouth of the Kennebec River in Maine, the Plymouth Company erected a short-lived fishing settlement. A London shipwright named Digby organized some settlers to construct a small vessel with which to return them home to England, as they were homesick and disenchanted with the New England winters. The small craft was named, characteristically, the Virginia. She was evidently a two-master and weighed about thirty tons, and she transported furs, salted cod, and tobacco for twenty years between various ports along the Maine coast, Plymouth, Jamestown, and England. She is believed to have wrecked somewhere along the coast of Ireland.6 By the middle of the seventeenth century, shipbuilding was firmly established as an independent industry in New England. Maine, with its long coastline and abundant forests, eventually overtook even Massachusetts as the shipbuilding capital of North America. Its most western town, Kittery, hovered above the Piscataqua. For many years the towns of Kittery and Portsmouth, and upriver enclaves like Exeter, Newmarket, Durham, Dover, and South Berwick, rivaled Bath and Brunswick, Maine, as shipbuilding centers, with numerous shipyards, blacksmith shops, sawmills, and wharves. Portsmouth's deep harbor, proximity to upriver lumber, scarcity of fog, and seven feet of tide made it an ideal location for building large vessels. During colonial times, the master carpenters of England were so concerned about competition they eventually petitioned Parliament to discourage shipbuilding in Portsmouth.7 One of the early Piscataqua shipwrights was Robert Cutts, who used African American slaves to build fishing smacks at Crooked Lane in Kittery in the 1650s. Another was William Pepperell, who moved from the Isle of Shoals to Kittery in 1680, where he amassed a fortune in the shipbuilding, fishing, and lumber trades. John Bray built ships in front of the Pepperell mansion as early as 1660, and Samuel Winkley owned a yard that lasted for three generations.8 In 1690, the first warship in America was launched from a small island in the Piscataqua River, situated halfway between Kittery and Portsmouth. The island's name was Rising Castle, and it was the launching pad for a 637-ton frigate called the Falkland. The Falkland bore fifty-four guns, and she sailed until 1768 as a regular line-of-battle ship. The selection of Piscataqua as the site of English naval ship construction may have been instigated by the Earl of Bellomont, who wrote that the harbor would grow wealthy if it supplemented its export of ship masts with “the building of great ships for H.M. Navy.”9 The earl's words underscore the fact that, prior to the American Revolution, Piscataqua's largest source of maritime revenue came from the masts and spars it supplied to Her Majesty's ships. The white oak and white pine used for these building blocks grew to heights of two hundred feet and weighed upward of twenty tons. England depended on this lumber during the Dutch Wars of the

The Building of Great Ships” The state of New Hampshire boasts a mere eighteen miles of Atlantic Ocean coastline. The Piscataqua River separates the state's southeastern corner from Maine and empties into the Atlantic. On the southwestern corner of this juncture of river and ocean is Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

Pandora,” Cassandra exclaimed, “I do wish you wouldn’t force a puzzle piece into a space where it obviously does not fit.” “It does fit,” her twin insisted stubbornly. “Helen,” Cassandra called out to their older sister, “is the Isle of Man located in the North Sea?” The music ceased briefly. Helen spoke from the corner, where she sat at a small cottage piano. Although the instrument was out of tune, the skill of her playing was obvious. “No, dear, in the Irish Sea.” “Fiddlesticks.” Pandora tossed the piece aside. “This is frustraging.” At Devon’s puzzled expression, Helen explained, “Pandora likes to invent words.” “I don’t like to,” Pandora said irritably. “It’s only that sometimes an ordinary word doesn’t fit how I feel.” Rising from the piano bench, Helen approached Devon. “Thank you for finding Kathleen, my lord,” she said, her gaze smiling. “She is resting upstairs. The maids are preparing a hot bath for her, and afterward Cook will send up a tray.” “She is well?” he asked, wondering exactly what Kathleen had told Helen. Helen nodded. “I think so. Although she is a bit weary.” Of course she was. Come to think of it, so was he. Devon turned his attention to his brother. “West, I want to speak to you. Come with me to the library, will you?” West drained the rest of his tea, stood, and bowed to the Ravenel sisters. “Thank you for a delightful afternoon, my dears.” He paused before departing. “Pandora, sweetheart, you’re attempting to cram Portsmouth into Wales, which I assure you will please neither party.” “I told you,” Cassandra said to Pandora, and the twins began to squabble while Devon and West left the room.

Kelley gives the planning everything he’s got, both strategically and financially. He rents a Jaguar, the height of luxury (and fast, Kelley thinks). They will drive to Boston, have dinner at Alden and Harlow in Cambridge, and stay at the Langham, Mitzi’s favorite hotel—then in the morning, after breakfast in bed, they’ll drive to Deerfield, Massachusetts, and meander through the three-hundred-year-old village. From Deerfield, they’ll head to Hanover, New Hampshire, to have lunch at Dartmouth (Mitzi’s father, Joe, played basketball for Dartmouth in 1953 and Mitzi has always felt an affinity for the place), and then they’ll drive to Stowe, Vermont, and stay at the Topnotch, a resort. From Stowe, it’s up to Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom to spend the night in St. Johnsbury. From there, they’ll go to Franconia Notch State Park, where they’ll ride the Cannon Mountain Aerial Tramway for the ultimate in foliage viewing. They’ll end with a night in charming Portsmouth, New Hampshire, a town Kelley thinks is possibly the best-kept secret in America. He has arranged for a couple’s massage in front of the fire, for them to go apple-picking, on a hayride, out to dinners at fine country inns where bottles of champagne will be chilled and waiting on the tables, and for a personal yoga instructor in Stowe and then again in Portsmouth. He has made a mix of Mitzi’s favorite songs to play on the drive, and he’s packing up pumpkin muffins and his famous snack mix (secret ingredient: Bugles!) in case they get hungry on the road.

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John Langdon lived to be seventy-eight years old (no small achievement at the time), and although he was exceptionally generous in financing the nation’s war, such contributions appear not to have threatened his prosperous way of life. George Washington was quoted as saying that Portsmouth had many fine houses, but “among them, Col. Langdon’s may be esteemed the first.” If you travel today to that picturesque seaside city, you may still visit Langdon’s stately Georgian mansion and surrounding gardens.

The fire was stopped at State Street by a brigade of firefighters with pumps, saving the Old State House for posterity. Also saved by extraordinary effort was the Old South Meetinghouse at Milk and Washington. Credit is given to a crew from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, who arrived by train with their steam engine, Kearsage No. 3, that had been loaded on a flatbed railroad car and hauled by train to Boston.

All the confusion that characterized the cargo loading now attended the convergence of 34,000 soldiers on Hampton Roads. Troop trains with blinds drawn rolled through Norfolk and Portsmouth, sometimes finding the proper pier and sometimes not. Many men were exhausted, having traveled all night or even all week.

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What the Ole Scratch can it mean, Will’m?” “I don’t know. Could it be a mermaid?” “Could it? In course it could.” “But are there mermaids, Ben?” “Maremaids! Be theer maremaids? That what you say? Who denies there ain’t? Nobody but disbelevin land-lubbers as never seed nothin’ curious, ’ceptin’ two-headed calves and four-legged chickens. In coorse there be maremaids. I’ve seed some myself; but I’ve sailed with a shipmate as has been to a part o’ the Indyan Ocean, where there be whole schools o’ ’em, wi’ long hair hangin’ about their ears an’ over their shoulders, just like reg’lar schools o’ young girls goin’ out for a walk in the outskirts o’ Portsmouth or Gravesend. Hush! theer be her voice again!