“What does it mean, my dear?” asked Margaret.
“It means,” said her husband, “that while Parliament will fix the price of wheat, to protect the interest of its members who own vast estates, it declines to protect the wage of the labourer. And the high price of wheat means a high price for bread, which has caused extreme suffering amongst the poorest classes. And of course the working man has no vote. The writer is arguing that if the ordinary working man had some power, or influence, they would not be driven to these extremities.”
“Still, it is very shocking to break machinery,” said Margaret.
Mr. Meriwether resumed:
The men of Yorkshire petitioned Parliament for relief; they were rebuffed. They joined together, as free-born Englishman, to discuss their miseries and propose measures for redress; their associations were declared illegal and criminal. They resorted then to secret societies and secret oaths; these oath-takings were declared to be a capital crime. They asked for bread, they have been met with swords; harried in their homes and places of work by the militia. The Vagrancy Act prohibits them from leaving their own parishes to seek for work or alms elsewhere. Their gatherings have been dispersed with military force and their leaders arrested.
“Oh! That is very sad, I think,” said Margaret. “But the militia officers are all gentlemen, so I cannot think they would harm anyone who was English.”
Her husband resumed: “We are accustomed to expect nothing better than indifference from Lord Sidmouth and Lord Liverpool. . Only for the rich and powerful shall there be equal laws. Those alone who are not in want of protection shall enjoy it! What care they for the fate of the four score children made fatherless by the hangings at York; their hearts do not bleed for the widows turned penniless upon the world. If only indifference were the worst of their crimes against their fellow citizens! The evidence suggests that Sidmouth’s spies were amongst the poor, spreading devilish snares to entrap them. Ho!” said Mr. Meriwether, interrupting himself. “This is a very bold accusation, indeed.”
“What does it say?” asked Margaret.
“The suggestion is,” said Maria, kindly taking up her share of explaining things to Margaret, “that the government has hired men to pretend to be ordinary weavers, who actually put the idea of wrecking the machinery into people’s heads—and then, betray them to the authorities when they do it.”
“Here is an example,” said Mr. Meriwether, “in this pamphlet: James Starkey, an inoffensive carpet weaver, was approached one day by two men, holding themselves out to be weavers, who, by dint of careful questioning and pretended sympathy, asked him how, in his opinion, the local mill might best be destroyed, to which the unsuspecting Mr. Starkey replied, perhaps in jest, ‘with a great quantity of gunpowder.’ The two men then promptly reported him and Mr. Starkey now lies in prison. His family is left in a desperate situation. No-one ever called Mr. Starkey a Luddite, still less a radical or rebel, and he would be at his loom today had he not been interfered with in this manner.
“If this is so, it is an unseemly proceeding, indeed,” remarked Maria. “Who is the author of this information?”
Mr. Meriwether turned the pamphlet over. “It says, ‘published in London by William Gibson.’“
“William Gibson!” exclaimed Maria. “I wonder, there is a William Gibson who wrote that book—there was a book, a few years ago, about stopping the African slave trade.”
“Ah yes, Amongst the Slavers,” said Mr. Meriwether. “In fact, I recall now, Margaret, I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Gibson at a dinner-party at your step-mother’s house. Do you recollect? The ladies were all speaking of Byron. Well, Amongst the Slavers is an excellent book.”
“In fact,” Maria added, “The book includes the adventures of a relative of mine. Julia’s husband, Commander Price—” She stopped awkwardly, recollecting that her sister Julia had broken her engagement to Mr. Meriwether to marry William Price. But Mr. Meriwether, like his wife, behaved with perfect charity and betrayed no consciousness of regret or resentment.
He said only, “Well, if this indeed is the same William Gibson who is the friend of Commander Price, I must unfortunately predict that Mr. Gibson shall find himself under arrest—very soon.”
Chapter 3: Portsmouth,
January 1813
“It is a mistake, sir,” said Fanny; “it must be a mistake, it cannot be true; it must mean some other person.”
She spoke from the instinctive wish of delaying shame; she spoke with a resolution which sprung from despair.
Her neighbour, who had brought over his copy of the newspaper, was too kind-hearted to insist that it was true. He left her, so that she could read for herself the dreadful intelligence that William Gibson had been arrested and charged with seditious libel.
The anticipation of such an event, and all Fanny’s forebodings on the subject, scarcely prepared her. She stood by the fire, anxiously scanning the article over and over again. It did not inform her what, exactly, Mr. Gibson had written, only that he had published a pamphlet which in the eyes of the authorities was likely to cause contempt of the government.
She became aware that her mother was addressing her. “What is it, Fanny? What is the matter?” Upon Fanny stumbling out her reply, Mrs. Price answered complacently: “Oh well, I make no doubt that Mr. Gibson is clever enough to get himself
