Invitations for a great ball had been sent out all over Narragansett, and to many in Boston, Providence, and Newport. It was to be given by Mrs. Updike, Hannah’s aunt. She lived eight miles north of Rowland Robinson’s home, in the old historic house which is still standing and is now known as Cocumcussuc. A portion of it was the first house or fort built by the English in Narragansett in the year 1636. Though Hannah’s father was unwilling to allow his daughter out of his sight, he at last consented that both Hannah and Mary should go to their aunt’s ball. They set out on horseback, accompanied by faithful Prince, the son of Queen Abigail, and were met, as had been arranged, in the thick woods on the top of Ridge Hill, by Mr. Simons with a closed carriage. Into this conveyance Hannah entered with her lover, in spite of her sister’s tears and Prince’s frantic appeals, and rode off to Providence, where the eloping couple were married.
When the news of Hannah’s disobedience came to the knowledge of Rowland Robinson, his rage and disgust knew no bounds. He forbade his family ever to communicate with Hannah again; and knowing well that she must have been assisted in carrying out her plans to elope, he offered a large reward to anyone who would make known to him the names of the persons who had aided her escape.
It would seem that the fair bride should be called Fortunate Hannah, since she managed to evade her father’s vigilance and wed her ardent French lover, but alas! Peter Simons, like many another hero of an elopement, did not prove worthy of the great sacrifice. Disappointed through the implacable anger of Rowland Robinson in the hope of obtaining any of his wealth, the unprincipled husband soon neglected his lovely wife and at last deserted her for days and weeks. Broken-hearted, alone, and poor, the unfortunate girl began to fail rapidly in health, and spent many weary, lonely days in her wretched home in Providence, having for her only companion her dog Marcus, that had been secretly sent to her by her mother from her Narragansett home.
In the meantime her sister, Mary Robinson, had died of consumption; and her mother, worn out by grief, had completely failed in health. Her father, though outwardly stern and unforgiving, was evidently exceedingly unhappy at the alarming news of his daughter’s state of health; and at last, of his own accord, sent to live with her and care for her the negro maid who had attended her in her happy girlhood. He also conveyed to her the message that she might come home and would be warmly welcomed, provided she would reveal to him the names of those who assisted in her elopement. Her compliance with this condition was, he said, absolutely imperative.
On receiving this message Hannah wrote in answer, with trembling hand, a most affectionate letter, stating firmly that the sentiments of honor which he himself had both taught and transmitted to her forbade her betraying the confidence of those who had aided her and offended him. Mr. Robinson eagerly opened the letter, but his face changed when he read her decision, and he tossed the sheet to her mother with the contemptuous remark, “Then let the foolish thing die where she is!”
As weeks passed the accounts of Hannah’s health grew more alarming still, and it was evident that a fierce struggle between love and pride was taking place in the unhappy father’s breast; one day he rose suddenly from the dinner-table, jumped upon his horse, and saying to his wife that he should be away from home for a day or two, started on the thirty-five-mile ride to Providence. He remained overnight at the Updike farm and reached his daughter’s house in Providence at noon. Without dismounting he rapped on the door with his riding-whip. Full of joy at the sight of her old master and at the thought of the happy reconciliation, the negro maid hastened to the door with the entreaty that the welcome visitor would come at once to the poor invalid’s chamber. “Ask your mistress,” said Rowland Robinson, “whether she is now ready to comply with her father’s request to know the names of her fellow-conspirators, and say that if she is, he will come in, but on no other conditions.” Poor Hannah, torn with a thousand emotions, still clung to her decision not to betray her friends, and her father, without another word, rode away to the Updike farm. For several weeks the stubborn and unhappy father, unable to live without news of his sick daughter, rode at intervals of two or three days from Narragansett to Providence, knocked at Hannah’s door, asked for her health, and left without another word.
At last, her friends who had helped in her elopement, hearing of her father’s firm decision, which barred all reconciliation, insisted upon her revealing to him their names and the true story; and when Rowland Robinson next rode up to his daughter’s door he received the welcome message that she would see him and tell him all. When he entered that barren chamber all thought of discovering her closely guarded secret fled at once from his thoughts as he gazed at the wasted form of the once beautiful girl. He knelt by her bedside and wept aloud in anguish and remorse. As soon as he recovered his composure he at once rode to his home, from whence he despatched to Providence in a fast-sailing sloop four of his strongest and trustiest negro men, and a hand-litter for the sick, which was, at that time of rough roads and few carriages, an indispensable article in every well-appointed Narragansett household. Dusty, travel-stained, and tired, without waiting for a night’s rest he at once jumped upon a fresh horse and, attended by Prince, who was mounted and led a horse for Hannah’s maid, poor Rowland Robinson started for the last time to ride to his sick daughter’s door.
Upon a lovely morning in June, the four strong negroes, bearing the litter upon which lay the sick girl, with her father and faithful Prince riding on either side, slowly wended their way to poor Hannah’s early home. Those who know the beauty of sunny Narragansett in early June, when the roads are everywhere overhung with the graceful, sweet-scented blossoms of slender locust-trees, when the roadsides are one luxuriant, blooming garden of lovely wild flowers, and the fields are sweet with rich clover, can feel the strong and painful contrast which the sad figure of the dying girl must have formed to the glowing life around.
When the spot was reached on Ridge Hill where Hannah had seen for the last time her sister Mary, Prince saw that she covered her face with her hands and cried. One other pathetic incident is told by “Shepherd Tom” of the homeward journey. Though on every side lay a glory of spring flowers, poor Hannah, with thoughts that no one can fathom, asked her father to pick for her and lay on her breast a withered sprig of the pale blossom called life-everlasting, which had bloomed and died the year before.
At last the painful journey was ended; of the sad meeting between mother and daughter, and of the sorrowful faces of the faithful servants, it is needless to write in detail.