FRANK'S RETURN HOME.
"For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is
found."
AS they gradually approached their native land, Frank asked, "Do you
think father and mother will be at the wharf to meet me?"
The Captain was silent. He was not at all certain that they had
received the letters sent by a vessel five days out from Calcutta.
He knew the moment they reached the shore, in case his friends were
not there to receive him, the ardent boy would wish to fly to their
embrace. He determined, if this were so, to accompany the lad
at once, as it would involve but a few hours absence from his ship,
which he could consign to the care of his mate.
It happened as he had feared. Amidst the crowd assembled at the
wharf, Frank searched in vain for one familiar face. Sympathizing in
his disappointment, Captain Monroe at once ordered a carriage
to convey him to Mr. Greyson's residence, which, as I have stated,
was only a few miles from the city. On the way, he endeavored
to impress upon the mind of the excited youth that his parents
might not have heard of his rescue; and therefore that extreme
caution was necessary in imparting such joyful tidings.
Frank could not realize the danger, but acquiesced in the suggestion
of his friend.
It was just at dusk when the carriage drove slowly into the yard. His
heart bounded with joy. He could scarcely contain himself. He must
scream or do something to relieve his over-burdened feelings.
Meantime Captain Monroe had alighted, rung the bell, and was
presently admitted within the door.
Frank cautiously put aside the curtain and peeped out, saying to
himself, "They wouldn't shut the door so quickly if they knew
who was here!"
The family had just assembled for tea, and Captain Monroe, knowing
that Frank could not be trusted to remain long in the carriage,
proceeded, in rather a blunt manner, to inquire for his friend
Captain Taylor.
"He has gone to sea again," replied Mrs. Greyson, in a sad tone.
The gentleman noticed at a glance that the lady was dressed in deep
mourning; and he inquired, rather abruptly, "Have you heard nothing
from your son who sailed with him?"
Every particle of color vanished from the lady's face, and
Mr. Greyson, who approached quickly to her side, answered,
"Alas! Nothing."
"Can you bear good news, my friends?" Before either of them could
reply, the door softly opened, and Frank, who thought he had been
left alone for an hour, burst into the room and rushed into his
mother's arms.
It was as the gentleman had feared. Such an excess of joy overpowered
her senses; and she would have fallen to the floor but for the aid
of her husband and son. It was not long, however, that she lay
unconscious. She opened her eyes to the happy conviction that
"He whom we mourned as dead is alive again; he that was lost is found."
No such emotions of pleasure existed in the breast of Alfred at the
idea of returning to his native land and visiting his mother, whom he
had left in her hour of bitterest woe. His vices had effectually
weaned him from kindred and home. When he went on shore, he bent
his steps to that house which Solomon has described as the house
of death.
Two days later Captain Monroe met him staggering along the streets
in company with two drunken fellows, with a pipe in his mouth, and a
terrible oath upon his lip.
The good man remonstrated kindly with him upon his wicked course,
which he assured him would lead to swift destruction.
Alfred hung down his head, but made no reply.
"Are you going to sea again?" asked the gentleman.
"Not if I know it."
"What then shall you do?"
"Oh, I can find employment enough on shore."
"Would you like to go into the country and work on a farm?"
"No; work don't suit my constitution," replied the boy, with an ugly
leer at his companions.
"I would be your friend, young man," continued the captain, "but you
will not allow me. But let me warn you that idleness leads to vice,
and that if you do not seek honest employment you will sink deeper
and deeper in sin."
He turned away sick at heart, saying to himself, "I will not tell
Frank that I saw him, he would grieve so over the poor God-forsaken
fellow."
But this precaution proved useless. A few weeks after this,
Mr. Greyson and his son were walking on the wharves, when they saw
just before them a police officer arrest a company of drunken men
for fighting in the streets. Frank gazed at them with great
compassion, when suddenly he recognized Alfred. With a start
of surprise he left his father, ran and seized the hand of the poor
degraded fellow.
"O, Amos!" he cried, the only name by which he had known him; "don't
go with those wicked men; come with me, father will find you
something to do."
"He has been arrested for engaging in a drunken brawl," said the
police officer, "and must come with me to prison."
"To prison! O Amos!" exclaimed Frank with horror.
"You see you can do nothing for him now," suggested Mr. Greyson, "and
you are detaining the officer from his duty."
Frank then ascertained to what place he would be conveyed, and having
obtained a promise from his father to accompany him there, turned
sorrowfully away.
The next day they visited the prison, and found Alfred sullen, and
not disposed to converse. Mr. Greyson endeavored to draw from him
an account of his former life. He appealed to him by his love for his
mother to turn from his evil ways, and become an industrious, useful
man.
But there was no answering sign. No tear dimmed his bloodshot eyes
at the recollection of her who had given him birth. There seemed
to be nothing to appeal to. The moral principle had all gone;
and Frank, who had sat silently gazing at his companion, arose when
his father ceased speaking, and turned away, hopeless of softening
so hard a heart.
Nearly a year later, Mrs. Haven and her daughter were one evening
seated in their pleasant parlor. The lady was sewing, while Ella read
aloud, when they were suddenly startled by seeing a man's face
pressed close up to the window.
The child screamed, but Mrs. Haven, with quiet presence of mind,
bid her run and lock the doors, and call Hannah, a stout maid
servant, from the kitchen.
It had always been Hannah's boast that she feared nothing; and now
she delighted in this opportunity to show her courage.
Feeling protected by her presence, Mrs. Haven threw up the window,
and asked the man what he wanted.
He made no reply, but stood with his insolent eyes fixed upon
her face.
At first she only noticed a frightfully bloated countenance,
long tangled hair hanging from underneath an old soiled cap, and
rude, insolent eyes staring at her and Ella in a dreadfully familiar
and disgusting manner. But suddenly she grew pale and staggered
back-against Hannah, with a shriek of agony crying out, "O, my God!
can this be my son?"
At these words, Ella, who had regarded the man with horror, burst
into a loud cry.
"Open the door, Hannah," sobbed Mrs. Haven, making a dreadful effort
to recover herself. "It is my son! my only son!"
But Hannah, who had always supposed Ella to be the only child,
absolutely refused. "It's imposing upon, ma'am, he is. Sure and the
likes of ye could never have so awful a cratur to call ye kin,
let alone saying he's your son." Mrs. Haven arose from the couch
upon which she had helplessly sunk, and walking feebly to the door,
drew the bolt, and admitted her wayward boy. Ella covered her face
with her hands and sobbed aloud.
"Pretty welcome for a fellow who has been gone two years,
I'm thinking," muttered Alfred. "Ella, do hold your tongue; what are
you making such a great baby of yourself for?"
Hannah stood with an air of defiance, ready to spring at the uncouth,
shabbily-dressed fellow the moment her mistress would consent. But
finding that there was no appearance of relenting, and that she
seemed reluctlantly indeed, to admit the relation, she exclaimed,
"And sure, ma'am, I'd better be turning him out entirely, though it's
many a day since I've done so dirty job. But I'm thinking it'll be
a disgrace to ye all, let alone me, who allus was called a dacent
girl, to have the wicked cratur in it."
Ella started up and ran from the room, and Mrs. Haven motioned Hannah
to follow her.
Meanwhile the most dreadful struggle was taking place in her own
mind. Her heart had yearned over her son; and since she had learned
to pray, his name and Ella's had always been associated in her daily
supplications. But with her whole soul she shrank from companionship
with such a sin-polluted wretch as this one seemed to be. It was not
that he was poorly clad; it was the unmistakable marks of dissipation
and vice that made him so revolting. She looked at him again;
she scanned him closely to see if there was one trait that was not
wholly depraved. But, alas! she grew more sick at heart every moment.
At length, feeling that she must say something, she inquired, "How
long have you been ashore, my son?"
"Just landed," he replied, glancing up from under his eyebrows. "Got
anything to eat in the house?" then adding, with an oath which made
her shudder, "haven't tasted a mouthful since morning."
The lady told him to follow her into the next room, where she set
before him food sufficient to make a hearty meal.
He ate voraciously; and then, when he thought he was not perceived,
slipped the silver fork which lay by his plate into his pocket.
His mother, who had been closely watching him, saw the action and
sighed heavily. But it led her to be more cautious in future.
"Got any loose change?" he inquired, starting from his seat; "s'pose
I'd better be going?"
"We are poor, you know, Alfred," was her reply, "and it is only
by close economy that we are enabled to live."
"Ella's rich enough."
"She does not come into possession of her property until she is
of age; but if you are really suffering, lay down the fork you have
taken from the table and I will give you what it is worth. You could
not sell it without risk to yourself, for it is marked."
Alfred poured out a volley of oaths, until his mother pressed her
hand upon his eyes, exclaiming, "How can I endure this!"
The fork was thrown angrily upon the table; then, holding out
his hand for the money, lie strode rudely from the house, slamming
the door after him.
When Ella ran back into the room, she found her mother weeping
convulsively in a fit of hysterics; and it was a long time before the
united efforts of Hannah and herself could restore her to any degree
of composure. At last the poor mother retired to rest, but no sleep
visited her eyelids. She reviewed the past; and oh, how bitterly
she reproached herself that she had not earlier taught her boy
his duty to his Maker. She looked into the future, and could readily
foresee that, having once obtained the means of gratifying his wicked
passions, he would not be slow to return. Should she thus encourage
him in sin? Should she permit his presence to bring a blight upon the
youth of her lovely daughter? Ah, no! It could not be her duty! If he
were repentant, how gladly would she take him to her arms and
endeavor to lead him back to virtue. Then she was aware, judging from
this one short interview, that he was wholly devoid of honesty, and
that if she admitted him to the house nothing would be safe from his
grasp. Before she arose the next morning she resolved that if he
visited the house again she would let the cottage, and remove to some
other place until he had lost sight of them.
Ella arose from her bed pale and nervous. She took her accustomed
seat at the table, but she could not eat; and at length, with a gush
of tears, sobbed out, "O, mamma, isn't it dreadful!"
Just at this moment a shadow crossed the window, and the poor girl,
with a look of horror, sank back in her chair, trembling like a leaf,
while even her mother shook visibly. But it was only the postman
with letters.
"This will never do," said the lady, glancing at her daughter's
cheeks, which alternately flushed and turned pale. "We will leave
the cottage and hide ourselves from him. I hope we may never see him
again, unless God in his infinite mercy converts his soul."
Through the day they watched with trembling anxiety; but he whom they
much dreaded to see did not return. They would have been relieved
could they have known that he had passed the time in close
confinement, his board and expenses being paid by the State.
At the close of the third day, however, Hannah, who had been sent by
her mistress on an errand, was returning home, when she was suddenly
caught by a man who had come softly up behind her, and before
she could release herself he had beat her unmercifully upon the head.
Her screams at length brought a gentleman from his house who caught
the drunken brute, and detained him until assistance could be
procured to take him to a station-house. The next morning Hannah
was summoned to appear in court, and state his offense. She was
delighted to go, for though she said not a word of her suspicions,
yet she was sure she had recognized the voice of the loathsome fellow
who had tried to impose himself upon her mistress as a son.
Having narrated the circumstances to the judge in her own quaint
manner, which had caused a smile to run all round the court-room,
his honor was beginning to state the sum which the criminal
was fined, when she suddenly interrupted him. "Sure, yer honor,
it's not money I want from the rascal."
"And how should you like him to be punished," asked the gentleman,
much amused at her earnestness.
"Och, yer honor, if ye'd have the goodness to bid some one to howld
the man, and let me whip him forenenst the court, I'd pay him his
dues, I'm thinking. I would have done it at wonct hadn't he come upon
me so unknowst and treacherous like."
A burst of laughter followed this unusual plea.
The prisoner was fined the cost of court, and was bound over to keep
the peace for six months. Failing to produce the sum, he was put
in prison for a certain term, his honor gravely remarking that it
was, indeed, sad to witness the moral degradation of one so young,
and that, as his countenance had become quite too familiar in court,
he was recommended to commence at once a thorough reformation.
Hannah returned to the cottage undecided whether to inform
her mistress that, in the prisoner she had recognized the villain
who had given Miss Ella such a fright. She gave an animated account
of the trial, and the mode of punishment recommended by herself,
at which the lady laughed heartily; but when the honest girl, growing
warm by the interest she excited proceeded to say, "and who, ma'am,
do you think the villian was, but the likes of him who intruded
hisself by appearing befere yees like a ghost at the window, and not
ringing the door-bell, like a dacent man." The lady clasped
her hands, and suddenly left the room.
Presently. Hannah, with a flash of joy illuminating her whole face,
followed. She knocked softly at the mistress's room. There was
no reply. She gently opened the door, and found the distressed mother
upon her knees.
At so unusual an interruption, the lady turned her woe-stricken face
toward the door.
"I've good news for ye, ma'am," exclaimed Hannah; "and so I made
bowld to intrude. The prisoner's name is Amos Harding, and not Haven,
at all. So don't be bothering your dear heart about the vile
scoundrel."
It was indeed a relief to know that the name of Haven would not
be associated with such villainy; but still the widowed mother's
heart was heavy. Before the close of the day, she found
a sympathizing friend and adviser in Mr. Cowles, who readily
accompanied her to the prisoner, to make one more appeal to him
to abandon his evil ways.
This effort, like the preceding ones of Mr. Greyson and Captain
Monroe, proved wholly unavailing. Indeed, he seemed determined
to render himself as loathsome to his mother as possible. She plead
with him by the memory of his father, by the compassionate love
of the Saviour, who (vile as he was) would pardon and sanctify him.
But he laughed her to scorn. As soon as she found that her prayers
and entreaties were useless, she arose at once to leave him, when he
poured out such a strain of profanity and lewdness that she was ready
to sink to the floor.
Before the close of another week, the pleasant cottage, which had
sheltered her in her widowhood, was let for a year; and she,
with Ella and the faithful Hannah, had gone to live in the country.