Complete Prose Works
The youth, for a minute or two, puff'd the smoke from his mouth very
leisurely in silence. His manner had an air of vacant self-sufficiency,
rather strange in one of so few years.
"I wish to see Mr. Hall," he said at length--"Here's a silver six-pence,
for any one who will carry a message to him."
"The folks are all away. It's but a short walk, and your limbs are
young," replied the female, who was not altogether pleased with the easy
way of making himself at home which mark'd her shabby-looking customer.
That individual, however, seem'd to give small attention to the hint,
but lean'd and puff'd his cigar-smoke as leisurely as before.
"Unless," continued the woman, catching a second glance at the sixpence;
"unless old Joe is at the stable, as he's very likely to be. I'll go
and find out for you." And she push'd open a door at her back, stepp'd
through an adjoining room into a yard, whence her voice was the next
moment heard calling the person she had mention'd, in accents by no
means remarkable for their melody or softness.
Her search was successful. She soon return'd with him who was to act as
messenger--a little, wither'd, ragged old man--a hanger-on there,
whose unshaven face told plainly enough the story of his intemperate
habits--those deeply seated habits, now too late to be uprooted, that
would ere long lay him in a drunkard's grave. The youth inform'd him
what the required service was, and promised him the reward as soon as he
should return,
"Tell Richard Hall that I am going to his father's house this afternoon.
If he asks who it is that wishes him here, say the person sent no name,"
continued the stranger, sitting up from his indolent posture, as the
feet of old Joe were about leaving the door-stone, and his blear'd eyes
turned to eaten the last sentence of the mandate.
"And yet, perhaps you may as well," added he, communing a moment with
himself: "you may tell him his brother Frank, Wild Frank, it is, who
wishes him to come."
The old man departed on his errand, and he who call'd himself Wild
Frank, toss'd his nearly smoked cigar out of the window, and folded his
arms in thought.
No better place than this, probably, will occur to give a brief account
of some former events in the life of the young stranger, resting and
waiting at the village inn. Fifteen miles east of that inn lived a
farmer named Hall, a man of good repute, well-off in the world, and head
of a large family. He was fond of gain--required all his boys to labor
in proportion to their age; and his right hand man, if he might not
be called favorite, was his eldest son Richard. This eldest son, an
industrious, sober-faced young fellow, was invested by his father with
the powers of second in command; and as strict and swift obedience was
a prime tenet in the farmer's domestic government, the children all
tacitly submitted to their brother's sway--all but one, and that was
Frank. The farmer's wife was a quiet woman, in rather tender health; and
though for all her offspring she had a mother's love, Frank's kiss
ever seem'd sweetest to her lips. She favor'd him more than the
rest--perhaps, as in a hundred similar instances, for his being so often
at fault, and so often blamed. In truth, however, he seldom receiv'd
more blame than he deserv'd, for he was a capricious, high-temper'd lad,
and up to all kinds of mischief. From these traits he was known in the
neighborhood by the name of Wild Frank.
Among the farmer's stock there was a fine young blood mare--a beautiful
creature, large and graceful, with eyes like dark-hued jewels, and her
color that of the deep night. It being the custom of the farmer to let
his boys have something about the farm that they could call their
own, and take care of as such, Black Nell, as the mare was called, had
somehow or other fallen to Frank's share. He was very proud of her, and
thought as much of her comfort as his own. The elder brother, however,
saw fit to claim for himself, and several times to exercise, a privilege
of managing and using Black Nell, notwithstanding what Frank consider'd
his prerogative. On one of these occasions a hot dispute arose, and,
after much angry blood, it was referr'd to the farmer for settlement. He
decided in favor of Richard, and added a harsh lecture to his other son.
The farmer was really unjust; and Wild Frank's face paled with rage and
mortification. That furious temper which he had never been taught
to curb, now swell'd like an overflowing torrent. With difficulty
restraining the exhibition of his passions, as soon as he got by himself
he swore that not another sun should roll by and find him under that
roof. Late at night he silently arose, and turning his back on what he
thought an inhospitable home, in mood in which the child should never
leave the parental roof, bent his steps toward the city.
It may well be imagined that alarm and grief pervaded the whole of the
family, on discovering Frank's departure. And as week after week melted
away and brought no tidings of him, his poor mother's heart grew wearier
and wearier. She spoke not much, but was evidently sick in spirit.
Nearly two years had claps'd when about a week before the incidents
at the commencement of this story, the farmer's family were joyfully
surprised by receiving a letter from the long absent son. He had been
to sea, and was then in New York, at which port his vessel had just
arrived. He wrote in a gay strain; appear'd to have lost the angry
feeling which caused his flight from home; and said he heard in the city
that Richard had married, and settled several miles distant, where he
wished him all good luck and happiness. Wild Frank wound up his letter
by promising, as soon as he could get through the imperative business of
his ship, to pay a visit to his parents and native place. On Tuesday of
the succeeding week, he said he would be with them.
Within half an hour after the departure of old Joe, the form of that
ancient personage was seen slowly wheeling round the locust-tree at the
end of the lane, accompanied by a stout young man in primitive homespun
apparel. The meeting between Wild Frank and his brother Richard, though
hardly of that kind which generally takes place between persons so
closely related, could not exactly be call'd distant or cool either.
Richard press'd his brother to go with him to the farmhouse, and refresh
and repose himself for some hours at least, but Frank declined.
"They will all expect me home this afternoon," he said, "I wrote to them
I would be there to-day."
"But you must be very tired, Frank," rejoin'd the other; "won't you
let some of us harness up and carry you? Or if you like--" he stopp'd
a moment, and a trifling suffusion spread over his face; "if you like,
I'll put the saddle on Black Nell--she's here at my place now, and you
can ride home like a lord."
Frank's face color'd a little, too. He paused for a moment in
thought--he was really foot-sore, and exhausted with his journey that
hot day--so he accepted his brother's offer.
"You know the speed of Nell, as well as I," said Richard; "I'll warrant
when I bring her here you'll say she's in good order as ever." So
telling him to amuse himself for a few minutes as well as he could,
Richard left the tavern.
Could it be that Black Nell knew her early master? She neigh'd and
rubb'd her nose on his shoulder; and as he put his foot in the stirrup
and rose on her back, it was evident that they were both highly pleased
with their meeting. Bidding his brother farewell, and not forgetting old
Joe, the young man set forth on his journey to his father's house. As he
left the village behind, and came upon the long monotonous road before
him, he thought on the circumstances of his leaving home--and he
thought, too, on his course of life, how it was being frittered away
and lost. Very gentle influences, doubtless, came over Wild Frank's
mind then, and he yearn'd to show his parents that he was sorry for the
trouble he had cost them. He blamed himself for his former follies, and
even felt remorse that he had not acted more kindly to Richard, and gone
to his house. Oh, it had been a sad mistake of the farmer that he did
not teach his children to love one another. It was a foolish thing
that he prided himself on governing his little flock well, when sweet
affection, gentle forbearance, and brotherly faith, were almost unknown
among them.
The day was now advanced, though the heat pour'd down with a strength
little less oppressive than at noon. Frank had accomplish'd the greater
part of his journey; he was within two miles of his home. The road here
led over a high, tiresome hill, and he determined to stop on the top of
it and rest himself, as well as give the animal he rode a few minutes'
breath. How well he knew the place! And that mighty oak, standing just
outside the fence on the very summit of the hill, often had he reposed
under its shade. It would be pleasant for a few minutes to stretch his
limbs there again as of old, he thought to himself; and he dismounted
from the saddle and led Black Nell under the tree. Mindful of the
comfort of his favorite, he took from his little bundle, which he had
strapped behind him on the mare's back, a piece of strong cord, four or
five yards in length, which he tied to the bridle, and wound and tied
the other end, for security, over his own wrist; then throwing himself
at full length upon the ground, Black Nell was at liberty to graze
around him, without danger of straying away.
It was a calm scene, and a pleasant. There was no rude sound--hardly
even a chirping insect--to break the sleepy silence of the place. The
atmosphere had a dim, hazy cast, and was impregnated with overpowering
heat. The young man lay there minute after minute, as time glided away
unnoticed; for he was very tired, and his repose was sweet to him.
Occasionally he raised himself and cast a listless look at the distant
landscape, veil'd as it was by the slight mist. At length his repose was
without such interruptions. His eyes closed, and though at first they
open'd languidly again at intervals, after a while they shut altogether.
Could it be that he slept? It was so indeed. Yielding to the drowsy
influences about him, and to his prolong'd weariness of travel, he had
fallen into a deep, sound slumber. Thus he lay; and Black Nell, the
original cause of his departure from his home--by a singular chance, the
companion of his return--quietly cropp'd the grass at his side.
An hour nearly pass'd away, and yet the young man slept on. The light
and heat were not glaring now; a change had come over earth and heaven.
There were signs of one of those thunderstorms that in our climate
spring up and pass over so quickly and so terribly. Masses of vapor
loom' d up in the horizon, and a dark shadow settled on the woods and
fields. The leaves of the great oak rustled together over the youth's
head. Clouds flitted swiftly in the sky, like bodies of armed men coming
up to battle at the call of their leader's trumpet. A thick rain-drop
fell now and then, while occasionally hoarse mutterings of thunder
sounded in the distance; yet the slumberer was not arous'd. It was
strange that Wild Frank did not awake. Perhaps his ocean life had taught
him to rest undisturbed amid the jarring of elements. Though the storm
was now coming on in its fury, he slept like a babe in its cradle.
Black Nell had ceased grazing, and stood by her sleeping master with
ears erect, and her long mane and tail waving in the wind. It seem'd
quite dark, so heavy were the clouds. The blast blew sweepingly, the
lightning flash'd, and the rain fell in torrents. Crash after crash of
thunder seem'd to shake the solid earth. And Black Nell, she stood now,
an image of beautiful terror, with her fore feet thrust out, her neck