Thus the conditions of life in colonial Narragansett were widely different from those of other New England colonies. The establishment of and adherence to the Church of England, and the universal prevalence of African slavery, evolved a social life resembling that of the Virginian plantation rather than of the Puritan farm. It was a community of many superstitions, to which the folk-customs of the feast-days of the English Church, the evil communications of witch-seeking Puritan neighbors, the voodooism of the negro slaves, the pow wows of the native red men, all added a share and infinite variety. It was a plantation of wealth, of vast flocks and herds, of productive soil, of great crops, of generous living; all these are vanished from the life there to-day, but still the fields are smiling and the lakes and the bay are blue and beautiful as of yore; and a second prosperity is dawning in the old Kings Province in the universal establishment therein of happy summer-homes.

In memory of many perfect days spent on Narragansett roads and lanes, of days in Narragansett woods or on the shore, these pages have been written.

Alice Morse Earle.

Wickford, Rhode Island,
Midsummer Eve, 1897.

CONTENTS

PAGE
A Narragansett Elopement[1]
Narragansett Weavers[23]
Where Three Towns Meet[51]
Tuggie Bannocks’s Moonack[63]
A Black Politician[77]
The Witch Sheep[103]
The Crusoes of the Noon-House[121]
The Doctor’s Pie-Plates[139]
My Delft Apothecary Jars[151]
The Dancing Turkey[169]
Cuddymonk’s Ghost[181]

A NARRAGANSETT ELOPEMENT

Four miles north of Narragansett Pier lies the old South Ferry, from whence for over a century ran ferry-boats to a landing on Conanicut Island. About a mile farther north there stands on Boston Neck an ancient willow-shaded, gambrel-roofed, weather-beaten house which in the latter part of the eighteenth century was the scene of a sadly romantic event. It was built by Rowland Robinson in the first half of the century—in 1746—and was originally one hundred and ten feet long, as the stone foundations still show. The kitchen and negro quarters have been demolished, and the present structure has a front of sixty feet. The rooms within are models of the simple style of architecture of that day. The staircase is specially beautiful with its gracefully turned balusters and curious drop ornaments, and its deep-worn steps of bass-wood. The walls of all the rooms are wainscoted in a substantial manner, and the fireplaces are ornamented with blue and white Dutch tiles. The heavy timbers and rafters—all cut on the place—have not sagged an inch with the weight of years. Over the fireplace in the dining-room is a panel bearing a smoke-darkened painting which represents a deer-hunt that occurred on the Robinson place while the house was being built. The riders in this picture appear to be standing in their stirrups instead of sitting on their saddles. The great attic in which the slaves are said to have slept contains now a picturesque litter of old sea-chests, spinning-wheels, clock-reels, wool-cards, flax-brakes, yarn-winders, saddles, and pillions; and in the beams of the roof are great iron hooks to which—it is whispered—the slaves of olden times were tied when they received their floggings. They are with much more probability the loom-hooks which were used by weavers when weaving cloth on an old hand-loom. The handsome great west room is known as the Lafayette Chamber, it having been occupied for some weeks by the Marquis de Lafayette during the Revolutionary War; and on panes of glass, still whole after a century’s use, are the names of French officers, scratched on with the writers’ diamond rings.

The house abounds in cupboards—tall, narrow cupboards high up over the chimney, low, broad cupboards under the window-seats, medicine cupboards and pot cupboards, triangular corner cupboards, and, in the parlor, one beautifully proportioned apse-shaped china-cupboard which is ornamented with carved “sunbursts” and scalloped and serrated shelves, and is closed with glass doors to show the treasures and beauties within. But in “Unfortunate Hannah’s” chamber is the most famous cupboard of all, for in that narrow and shallow retreat a beautiful daughter of Rowland Robinson hid her lover when she heard the approaching footsteps of her irascible father on the staircase leading to her room.

Rowland Robinson was a typical Narragansett planter—wealthy, proud, and imperious. Tall and portly, ruddy of face, he showed in his dress and carriage his great wealth and high position. A coat of fine dark cloth or velvet with silver buttons was worn over a long yellow waistcoat with great pockets and flaps; violet or brown velvet knee-breeches with handsome top-boots, or silk stockings with buckled shoes; lace-frilled shirts; a great beaver cocked hat looped up with cords over his powdered hair—this attire gave him a comely and elegant presence. His character may be given in a few words by quoting the wife of Hon. William Hunter, minister to Brazil. She wrote in her diary sixty years ago her personal recollection of him. “He was of violent passions, which was characteristic of the Robinsons, but of benevolent, noble nature.” Many stories are told of his impetuous generosity and kindly impulsiveness, none being more characteristic than his action when his first cargo of slaves came from the Guinea coast. Slave-dealing was such a universal practice at that date among wealthy residents of Narragansett and Newport that it was a commonplace business enterprise for Rowland Robinson, when he was building his new house, to send a ship to Africa for a cargo of negroes, intending to keep the most promising ones for his own household and farm servants, and to sell the remainder. But when the ship landed at South Ferry, and the forlorn, wretched, feeble men and women disembarked, he burst into tears and vowed that not one should be sold. He kept them all in his own household, where they were always kindly treated. He never again sent a vessel to Africa to engage in the slave-trade, though one negro of royal birth—Queen Abigail—was so happy in her Narragansett home, that with Rowland Robinson’s consent and his liberal assistance she returned to her home in Africa, found her son—the negro prince—and brought him to America, where he became Mr. Robinson’s faithful body-servant.