Free Devil to Pay by Parkinson C. Northcote Page B

my nephew would most probably have missed seeing you. What a pity that would have been!” The kindly old man led the way into the dining room and placed his guests on either side of him near the end of the table. Young Fowler was awkward and silent at first and Delancey, conversing with his host, was able to study the youngster’s appearance. He was nearly two years older than he had been when he joined the
Artemis
as a volunteer in 1793. How old had he been then? Fifteen, perhaps. He would be seventeen now, perhaps nearly eighteen, unemployed most likely since the
Artemis
was stranded. His family had no interest so far as Delancey could remember and he rather supposed that the boy’s parents were dead, which would account for his uncle acting as guardian. Fowler was a young man now, less of a schoolboy and quite presentable.
    â€œOne does not like to speak ill of the dead,” Mr Grindall was saying, “but I have always thought that Captain Fletcher’s going down with his ship was a providential circumstance. Henry here has told me, Mr Delancey, of some of the things that poor madman said and did. It must have been a terrible situation for you and for the other officers. As I understand the matter, the
Artemis
was in the worst possible state of indiscipline, disorder and fear, a ship heading for disaster up to the point when she was actually lost. Strange are the ways of providence, Mr Delancey. But for the previous running aground both you and Henry might have been drowned. I am convinced that you were both saved by divine intervention, the result of prayer.”
    Fowler was busy with his knife and fork but Delancey replied without batting an eyelid: “You are very right, sir, and several of my old shipmates would agree with you.” The youngster looked up from his plate and caught Delancey’s eye. A glance passed between them but the older man’s face was expressionless. There was a moment of silence and then Mr Grindall called for a toast to the King. After that act of loyalty, a toast followed to the navy and, proposed by Delancey, to the wine trade. Young Fowler’s toast was to a long war and quick promotion but about that his uncle thought differently.
    â€œI drink to that for your sake, Henry. It is what every sea officer must want—you not least, Mr Delancey. But we in the wine trade have our own interests at stake. Remain at war with France and you cut off our nearest and best source of supply. French wine and brandy are all but unobtainable and even German wines will soon be costly in freight and insurance. Port wine we may still have and Madeira may be plentiful but our trade must otherwise dwindle. We had laid in stocks, to be sure, but look at the duties we had to pay!”
    â€œDuties which some people choose to avoid,” said Delancey.
    â€œJust so,” replied Mr Grindall, “but I am not one of them. I am known as an old-established wine shipper and an honest merchant. I may not have a large connection but my friends include the mayor of Southampton, the collector of customs, the sheriff and his deputy and a dozen justices of the peace. Others can engage in the free trade, as it is called, but I cannot. And this brings me to the question on which I wanted to ask your advice. I can offer my nephew here a berth in the Southampton revenue cutter but would he be wise to accept?”
    â€œTell me first what interest you have,” asked Delancey. “Do you have a relative who is an admiral or captain? Have you a vote as a Southampton burgess? What can you do to gain Mr Fowler his commission?”
    â€œThe truth is, Mr Delancey, that I can do nothing for Henry, as he has come to know by experience. When war began I had interest enough to place him on the quarterdeck. More than that I cannot do.”
    â€œIn those circumstances Mr Fowler is better afloat than ashore. He can gain more experience and—who knows?—he may make some