The officers used their utmost vigilance, and the Secretary of State offered a large reward to any one who could render information of the fate of the missing officer. Ben was despatched to Portsmouth to make inquiry whether his master had been seen in that neighbourhood, or on board the ship; but no clue was obtained.
Days—weeks—months passed away, and Mrs. Heartwell experienced an unmitigated state of anxiety and suspense. Yet though doubts prevailed that she should never behold him again, she determined never to clothe herself in the semblance of mourning till she had proof that he was dead.
Young Frank partook of the feelings of his mother; but the elasticity of boyhood does not long retain the acuteness of sorrow; the delightful changes which Nature is constantly presenting to the ardency of youth and
"All is beautiful, for all is new,"
superseded the grief which preys upon more advanced age, when the heart knoweth its own bitterness; and whilst the mother was pining and weeping over her heavy affliction, Frank forgot in the joys of amusement that there was anything like unhappiness in the world. He was a bold, free-hearted, jovial lad, who loved to frolic over the gardens and grounds round the British Museum. Nor was Ben inactive in either promoting the mirthful indulgences of the lad, although there might be a little mischief in progress, or seeing that fair-play was exercised when pugnacity or wrong led to pugilistic encounters. It is true that the fond parent in her solicitude would expostulate, and on some occasions reprove; but the ready acknowledgment of error which Frank always made when in the wrong, and the argument of Ben, "Bless you, my lady, you can't never go for to rig out an ould figure-head upon young shoulders—besides, what's the odds, so as you're happy?" soon produced reconciliation and pardon.
It has been said "Sweet are the uses of adversity;" but it is hard to contemplate the approach of poverty with its train of evils that no mortal influence can subdue; and such was the case with Mrs. Heartwell. Daily she saw her resources decreasing—the pay of the lieutenant was stopped; she could not claim her widow's pension, for she had no proof of her husband's death; there were no relations to whom she could apply in her distress for assistance or counsel. Mr. Brady had sent in a heavy bill for law business, and pressed for payment; difficulties in short accumulated on all sides. One, and only one, of her former associates continued to visit her; and this was an elderly man of unattractive manners, who claimed a distant relationship. He seldom spoke but when addressed; and his remarks were generally of a caustic and misanthropic cast, rendering him an object not only of dislike to many, but of fear to some. He was poor, but how he lived no one knew; and yet on more than one occasion he had spoken of important affairs even in the state, that displayed a tolerably accurate knowledge of persons and things far above his station in society: in short, he was a mystery that set conjecture at defiance.
Such was Mr. Unity Peach; in age between fifty and sixty; a large round face, with a great bushy wig upon his head, and one eye covered over with a black patch, the other grey and cold without expression; he was stout made, short, and with limbs like a giant, though he complained of feebleness and debility. He seldom uttered one word of cheering kindness, yet when asked for his advice he would give it; and it was seldom known to fail in its beneficial results. To Frank and the seaman he was an object of aversion that they did not care at all times to conceal; yet, with a perverseness that seemed congenial to his character, if there was any individual to whom the old man could be attached, it was Ben Brailsford.
"You are hurrying on to ruin," said Mr. Unity Peach one day, in reply to a question from Mrs. Heartwell; "large house—lazy sailor—mischievous boy."
"But I would willingly quit the house, sir," returned the lady, "and strive by some means or other to provide for myself and child."