Migration, Trade, and Slavery in an Expanding World

Migration, Trade, and Slavery in an Expanding World

European Expansion and Indigenous Response Edited by

Glenn J. Ames, The University of Toledo Editorial Board

Frank Dutra, University of California, Santa Barbara Pedro Machado, Santa Clara University Malyn Newitt, King’s College, London Michael Pearson, University of New South Wales José Damião Rodrigues, University of the Azores George Bryan Souza, University of Texas

VOLUME 2

Migration, Trade, and Slavery in an Expanding World Essays in Honor of Pieter Emmer

Edited by

Wim Klooster

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2009

Cover illustration: Black slaves on a sugar plantation in Hispaniola. Th. De Bry, America das fünffte Buch. Frankfurt 1595, pl. 2. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Migration, trade, and slavery in an expanding world : essays in honor of Pieter Emmer / edited by Wim Klooster. p. cm. — (European expansion and indigenous response, ISSN 1873-8974 ; v. 2) Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-90-04-17620-1 (hbk. : alk. paper) 1. Europe—Territorial expansion. 2. Europe—History—1492– 3. Europeans—Migrations—History. 4. Europe—Emigration and immigration—History. 5. Slave trade—Europe—History. 6. Slave trade—America—History. 7. Slavery—America—History. 8. Slavery—America—Historiography. I. Klooster, Wim. II. Emmer, P. C. III. Title. IV. Series. D210.M54 2009 325’.340903—dc22 2009007299

ISSN 1873-8974 ISBN 978 90 04 17620 1 Copyright 2009 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS General Editor’s Preface .................................................................... Notes on Contributors ......................................................................

vii ix

Introduction ........................................................................................ Wim Klooster

1

EUROPEAN MIGRATION EAST AND WEST Chapter One War, Colonization, and Migration over Five Centuries ......................................................................................... Stanley Engerman

9

Chapter Two Maritime Powers, Colonial Powers: the Role of Migration (c. 1492–1792) ............................................................. Olivier Pétré-Grenouilleau

45

Chapter Three Dutch Labor Migration to West Africa (c. 1590–1674) ................................................................................ Filipa Ribeiro da Silva

73

Chapter Four Soldiers and Merchants: Aspects of Migration from Europe to Asia in the Dutch East India Company in the Eighteenth Century ....................................................................... Femme S. Gaastra

99

THE ATLANTIC SLAVE TRADE Chapter Five New Christians, Jews, and Amsterdam at the Crossroads of Expansion Systems ............................................... Jessica Vance Roitman Chapter Six Social Outcomes of Trade Relations: Encounters between Africans and Europeans in the Hubs of the Slave Trade on the Guinea Coast ........................................................... Natalie Everts

119

141

vi

contents REPRESENTATIONS OF SLAVERY

Chapter Seven Slavery in the De Bry Collection: The Formation of a Worldwide Comparative Perspective ............... Ernst van den Boogaart Chapter Eight The Representation of Slaves and Slavery in the Writing of the Natural History of the West Indies during the Early Modern Centuries: French and English Contributions Compared ....................................................................................... Nicholas Canny

165

197

SLAVERY’S DEMISE AND LEGACY Chapter Nine David Eltis

Abolition and Identity in the Very Long Run ....

227

Chapter Ten Divergent Paths: The Anglo-American Abolitions of the Atlantic Slave Trade ............................................................ Seymour Drescher

259

Chapter Eleven The Transformation and Downfall of Plantation Culture in Suriname ................................................... Ellen Klinkers

289

Chapter Twelve History Brought Home: Postcolonial Migrations and the Dutch Rediscovery of Slavery .................... Gert Oostindie

305

Index ....................................................................................................

329

GENERAL EDITOR’S PREFACE As Adam Smith wrote in his seminal Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations (1776), “The discovery of America, and that of a passage to the East Indies by the Cape of Good Hope, are the two greatest and most important events recorded in the history of mankind.” It is hardly surprising, therefore, that this process of European expansion and global colonization from ca. 1450 to 1900 has attracted extensive historical research and debate over the years. Since the Enlightenment, philosophers, economists, and historians have all sought to analyze and understand the vast range of human experiences embodied in this creation of a world market economy and global society. Much of the scholarly work completed from ca. 1880 to 1940 fell within the limits of what M.N. Pearson has aptly described as the “seeds of empire” school of imperial historiography. Eurocentric, Whiggish, even jingoistic, this work was largely compiled by English, Dutch, French, and Portuguese civil servants active in the administration of the twilight empires of those European powers. It was engendered by a need to glorify past colonial adventures as a means of legitimizing modern European imperialism and, as such, was less than objective. In the decolonization period from ca. 1945 to 1975, the field was tainted by this legacy. In the 1970s, the focus shifted to the long-ignored experiences of the indigenous peoples, sometimes characterized as “the Other”, in this process and their relationship with the Europeans, who were largely re-cast as aggressors and not “heroes.” Recently, more balanced studies have appeared, embracing both the European and indigenous perspective. This recent historiography has laudably succeeded in providing an analysis of the symbiotic economic, social, religious, and cultural interaction between Europe and the wider world which accelerated following the voyages of Columbus and Vasco da Gama. European Expansion and Indigenous Response is a series dedicated to contributing to this more balanced historiography. Its volumes will present a broad intellectual perspective, examining whenever possible European and non-European perspectives. These volumes will also utilize a multi-disciplinary approach with diverse forms of analysis from all relevant scholarly disciplines. Its monographs, edited volumes and edited translations will provide new ideas and new perspectives on a topic that has fascinated scholars for the last half millennium. Glenn J. Ames

NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS Ernst van den Boogaart is a historian living in Amsterdam, whose research focuses on Dutch expansion in the Atlantic and Asia in the early-modern period. For the Menil Foundation he has worked on the image of the black in European travel literature and for the Roxburghe Club, a British bibliophile association, on the plates in the Itinerario of Jan Huygen van Linschoten. His publications include Civil and Corrupt Asia: Image and Text in the Itinerario and the Icones of Jan Huygen van Linschoten (2003). Nicholas Canny, President of the Royal Irish Academy, is also Director of the Moore Institute for Research in the Humanities at National University of Ireland, Galway. He has held post-doctoral appointments at Harvard and Yale universities, at the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, and at the Netherlands Institute for Advanced Studies. Canny edited the first volume of The Oxford History of the British Empire and has been awarded the Irish Historical Research prize of the National University of Ireland on two occasions (1976 and 2003) for books on the history of early modern Ireland. Seymour Drescher is Distinguished University Professor of History at the University of Pittsburgh, where he has taught since 1962. Among his works are Abolition: A History of Slavery and Antislavery (forthcoming), The Mighty Experiment (2002), awarded the Frederick Douglass Prize by the Gilder Lehrman Center, From Slavery to Freedom (1999), Capitalism and Antislavery (1986); and Econocide: British Slavery in the Era of Abolition (1977). His co-edited books include Slavery: An Oxford Reader (2001) and A Historical Guide to World Slavery (1998). David Eltis is Robert W. Woodruff Professor of History at Emory University and has held visiting appointments at Harvard and Yale Universities. He is author most recently of The Rise of African Slavery in the Americas (2000), and co-compiler of www.slavevoyages.org. He is also co-editor with David Richardson of Extending the Frontiers: Essays on the New Transatlantic Slave Trade Database (2008), co-editor of Slavery in the Development of the Americas (2004), with Frank Lewis

x

notes on contributors

and Kenneth Sokoloff, editor of Coerced and Free Migrations: Global Perspectives (2002) and co-editor of the forthcoming Cambridge World History of Slavery. Stanley L. Engerman is John H. Munro Professor of Economics and Professor of History at the University of Rochester, Rochester, N.Y. He is the co-author (with Robert W. Fogel) of Time on the Cross: The Economics of American Negro Slavery (1974) and (with Lance E. Davis) of Naval Blockades in Peace and War: An Economic History since 1750 (2006), and, most recently, the author of Slavery, Emancipation, and Freedom: Comparative Perspectives (2007). Natalie Everts is co-editor of the Shung Ye project ‘Formosan Encounter,’ a publication of Dutch East India Company sources on Taiwan’s Aboriginal Societies (1623–1668) at the Leiden Research Institute for History. She is preparing her doctoral thesis on mixed marriages and Euro-Africans in eighteenth-century Elmina (Ghana) and has published various articles on this theme. Femme S. Gaastra is Professor of Maritime History at Leiden University. His research interest is in the history of the Dutch East India Company and in European-Asian trade and shipping in the Early Modern period as well as in Dutch shipping in the 19th century. He is the author of The Dutch East India Company: Expansion and Decline (2003). Ellen Klinkers received her Ph.D. in History from Leiden University in 1997. Her dissertation was published under the title Op hoop van vrijheid: Van slavensamenleving naar Creoolse gemeenschap in Suriname, 1830–1880. Klinkers currently works as a researcher on the history of the colonial police in Suriname at the KITLV in Leiden. She previously worked as a researcher at the Institute of Netherlands History in The Hague at the research program ‘Dutch Development Cooperation 1945–1977.’ Wim Klooster is Associate Professor of History at Clark University. He is the author of four monographs, including Revolutions in the Atlantic World: A Comparative History (2009) and Illicit Riches: Dutch Trade in the Caribbean, 1648–1795 (1998), and co-editor of two volumes, including The Atlantic World: Essays on Slavery, Migration, and Imagination (2005). He is also co-editor of Brill’s Atlantic World series.

notes on contributors

xi

Gert Oostindie is Director of the KITLV/Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies and Professor of Caribbean History at Leiden University. His most recent books in English include Dutch Colonialism, Migration and Cultural Heritage (ed., 2008), Paradise Overseas: The Dutch Caribbean: Colonialism and its Trans– atlantic Legacies (2005), Decolonising the Caribbean: Dutch Policies in a Comparative Perspective (2003, with Inge Klinkers) and Facing Up to the Past: Perspectives on the Commemoration of Slavery from Africa, the Americas and Europe (ed., 2001). Olivier Pétré-Grenouilleau, Professor of History at Sciences Po Paris, has written many books and articles about French maritime capitalism, slave trade and slavery, including Les traites négrières, essai d’histoire globale (2004) and From Slave Trade to Empire: Europe and the Colonisation of Black Africa, 1780s–1880 (ed., 2002). He is now working on the history of abolitionism and moral economy. Jessica Vance Roitman, Ph.D. student at the University of Leiden, holds the Selma Ruben Fellowship at the Herbert D. Katz Center for Advanced Jewish Studies at the University of Pennsylvania. She has co-edited A Deus ex Machina Revisited: Atlantic Colonial Trade and European Economic Development (2006) and is the author of Us and Them: Inter-cultural Trade and the Sephardim, 1595–1640 (2009). Filipa Ribeiro da Silva is a Ph.D. Candidate at the History Department of Leiden University with a dissertation entitled “The Dutch and Portuguese in West Africa (1580–1674): Empire Building and Atlantic Systems.” She has presented her research findings at several conferences and published them in various papers.

INTRODUCTION Wim Klooster The essays that make up this volume are in honor of Professor Pieter Emmer on the occasion of his retirement from the University of Leiden. The themes addressed by the contributing authors reflect the leitmotivs of his work—migration, slavery, and trade, in particular the Atlantic slave trade. As a student of these topics, Emmer has made a name for himself by tackling the big questions. He has wondered aloud, for example, about the reasons for European expansion. Was there a need for those countries that took up trade with and colonization of other continents to leave familiar shores? Both today and in the past, Emmer writes, “the largest share of the GDP in most countries is either produced or consumed at home, or else generated by trading with countries nearby . . . the Dutch could relinquish their trade with most countries in Africa and Asia if they increased their trade with neighboring Germany by only 5%.” In hindsight, expansion into the Atlantic world did not have a compelling economic rationale, except for Great Britain, “the only country to which the Atlantic made a difference in both the 18th and 19th centuries.”1 In his wide-ranging opening essay, Stanley Engerman joins the debate about European trade and colonization around the world after 1500. He argues that rivalry was a distinguishing mark of overseas expansion and should be seen as a continuation of competition within Europe. All players introduced mercantilist policies, but this was not the only factor determining economic success. Migration helped the British, “ultimately [creating] a military advantage” over the French, who lost the battle with Britain in the late 18th and early 19th century also because of their own revolution and that in Haiti. In addition, Engerman asks whether warfare and economic growth were connected. Although economic 1 I would like to thank Lincoln Paine for his editorial help and Brill’s Hylke Faber and Nienke Brienen-Moolenaar for their assistance with the publication process. Pieter C. Emmer, “The Dutch and the Atlantic Challenge, 1600–1800,” in P.C. Emmer, O. Pétré-Grenouilleau and J.V. Roitman, eds., A Deus ex Machina Revisited: Atlantic Colonial Trade and European Economic Development (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 151–177: 151, 158.

2

wim klooster

interests were a driving force behind European expansion, ideology and religion were more important in the long run. Apart from rivalry, persistence makes European expansion after 1500 stand out. Major economic benefits to the mother countries it probably did not bring. European migration may have played a key role in imperial rivalry, but we know less about it than about the African slave trade, as Olivier Pétré-Grenouilleau observes. Up until the mid-18th century, Europeans moved in remarkably small numbers—six out of seven Europeans who left their native continent between 1500 and 1850 only did so after 1750. Still, colonial mortality rates were so high that a constant influx of migrants was necessary. In the face of the inability of the metropoles to induce Europeans to move in force, non-European workers were an absolute necessity, whether natives or imported outsiders. In the end, “no colonial nation’s basic projects were frustrated because there were too few colonists.” Unlike African immigrants, European Americans tended to reproduce, at least in the long run. Pieter Emmer once pointed out that the 2 million Europeans who had settled in the New World before 1800 produced a population of 13.5 million at the start of the 19th century, while the 6.5 million Africans enslaved in 1800 merely equaled the number of slaves imported in the previous three centuries.2 In Africa and Asia, however, Europeans were often at a disadvantage. White mortality was, for instance, extremely high in the Dutch establishments in West Africa, the focus of Filipa Ribeiro da Silva’s research. The West India Company never tried to establish a settlement colony, since it needed only temporary migrants, who returned to Europe after the end of their service. But these sailors, soldiers and commercial personnel were in such demand that the Company needed an active recruitment policy, especially during the 1630s and 1640s, when the Dutch gained control of various Portuguese factories, prompting the construction of forts, entrepôts, and lodges. In all, 17,000 white men were hired to serve in West Africa in the half-century after 1624, a number so high because of the enormous mortality. In addition, significant numbers of African slaves were used in the Dutch factories—at one point slaves outnumbered free Europeans two to one. 2

P.C. Emmer, “European Expansion and Migration: The European Colonial Past and Intercontinental Migration; An Overview,” in P.C. Emmer and M. Mörner, eds., European Expansion and Migration: Essays on the Intercontinental Migration from Africa, Asia, and Europe (New York and Oxford: Berg, 1992), 1–12: 5.

introduction

3

If temporary Dutch migration to West Africa may have been larger than expected, the numbers still pale in comparison with those of men moving to the Dutch trading stations in Asia, as Femme Gaastra reminds us. He also looks at the recruitment policy, which hinged on bonds by which recruits gave their lodging house keeper (or ‘crimp’) the right to collect part of their salaries. The problem for the crimp was that it took years to cash the whole amount. The recruitment system was therefore flawed, especially as the bond problem became more acute in the 18th century, and the system even stopped functioning in the 1770s. At the root of the problem was the extremely high death rate among soldiers in Batavia, due mostly to malaria. This meant in practice that the bondholder was not likely to receive the full nominal value of the bond. With the crimps unwilling to recruit any longer, the East India Company stepped in, but faced serious odds. Between their first arrival and the mid-19th century, European expansion in the Indian Ocean and in Africa did not undergo qualitative change, barring perhaps British territorial expansion in India. All the Europeans did was add trading posts. Pieter Emmer has contended that the Atlantic world did see significant changes. The Spanish and Portuguese established the first Atlantic expansion system, in which their American colonies were characterized by the dominance of smallscale subsistence agriculture. What came about in the period between 1640 and 1680 was the second expansion system, created by the Dutch, French, and English, and marked by intensive cash crop production and a large American export sector. While the first system had a feudal foundation, the second one was organized in capitalist fashion.3 In the first system, Jessica Vance Roitman notes, family networks were important, especially those of New Christians. She studies two families with extensive networks spanning the Atlantic and even the globe. One of their specialties was the Atlantic slave trade, which was financially so interesting that it enabled them to cooperate with local elites in spite of their precarious position as conversos. Even though Amsterdam was part of the New Christians’ commercial networks and the residence of some individual New Christians, the city was not part of the New Christian

3 P.C. Emmer, “The Two Expansion Systems in the Atlantic,” Itinerario 15:1 (1991), 21–27. Pieter Emmer, “The Jewish Moment and the Two Expansion Systems in the Atlantic, 1580–1650,” in Paolo Bernardini and Norman Fiering, eds., The Jews and the Expansion of Europe to the West, 1450 to 1800 (New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2001), 501–516: 502–504.

4

wim klooster

slave trade. Nor were Jews very active in this branch, not even when the Dutch first organized their own slave trade in the mid-1630s. For the Dutch, as for the other European slaving powers, setting up the slave trade meant creating trade arrangements on the African coast, as Natalie Everts explains. The most basic relations were of a risky ad hoc type, which could mean that African sellers signaled to European ships that they had slaves available, after which business took place from an African vessel to a European ship. A more advanced type of relations involved a regularized trade, with Europeans providing goods on credit and encouraging slave purchases by locals in the hinterland. The third type of relations featured an intensive slave trade and the permission granted to Europeans to reside on the shore, albeit conditionally. Only in the fourth type of relations were Europeans allowed to settle on the coast without strings attached, which opened the door to the creation of a shared linguistic, social, and cultural climate. Ernst van den Boogaart shows that in the late 16th and early 17th centuries, slavery in Africa, Asia, and the Americas was represented to Europeans by the De Bry family, publishers of numerous volumes of illustrated travel accounts. The texts that the De Brys selected and the illustrations they added revealed the nature of slavery, the social position of slaves, as well as their religious affiliations—heathens, Christians, and Muslims all led slave lives somewhere in the world. If northern Europeans only read about slavery around the turn of the 17th century, in the decades that followed they became involved in its practice in the Americas. Nicholas Canny relates that their main focus was the Caribbean islands, in particular the Lesser Antilles and Jamaica, which they wrested from Spanish control. Although French and English authors disapproved of the cruel punishments they had witnessed, their judgment of planter behavior was positive, and their conviction of Africans was that they were happy to be slaves in the New World. The French writings that Canny studies made a point of stressing the unjust nature not of slavery but rather the transatlantic slave trade, as would abolitionists in later years. Yet it would go too far to see the French’ criticism as expressions of an incipient abolitionist movement. Not until the 1780s would abolitionism become a mass movement, in Great Britain rather than France. David Eltis argues that three longterm factors need to be considered to explain its rise: slave resistance, changing European criteria for enslavement, and growing sensitivity toward cruelty. Awareness among Britons of the Atlantic slave trade began to change as early as the 1720s, when newspapers first included

introduction

5

reports about slave revolts in the Middle Passage. In the following decades, the depiction of slave rebels became progressively sympathetic, as their increased rebelliousness coincided with the remarkable growth of the newspaper press. Seymour Drescher tracks the boom and bust of abolitionist movements in Great Britain and North America. The North Americans distinguished themselves by taking the “first serious initiative against the slave trade,” but failed to take landmark decisions as their revolution unfolded. The unity of the new confederation was too important to discuss slavery on a federal level. National unity was never in jeopardy in Britain, but there the economic importance attributed to the slave system hampered abolitionism. It could not, however, thwart the movement to abolish the slave trade, which gained force after 1787, a movement with a moral frame of reference that sharply contrasted with public opinion in the United States. As the most powerful nation of its day, Britain exerted its influence on other countries to end the slave trade. The Dutch did so by royal decree in 1814, but did not take the step to abolish slavery until half a century later. Most of the slaves emancipated in 1863 lived in Suriname, where, Pieter Emmer has written, the transition to freedom did not lead to the social and economic upheaval that had been expected.4 Ellen Klinkers challenges this view, arguing that there were more changes than those that have been studied. These changes cannot be found in the realm of economics, but in the everyday social interactions between former slaves, former slaveholders, and the colonial authorities. Although some forms of slavery continue to exist in the 21st century, New World slavery and the transatlantic slave trade ended for good in the 19th. And yet, they still influence today’s world. In his essay, Drescher notes that there is currently much more public awareness in Britain of the abolition of the slave trade than a century ago. Responsible are, he suggests, three factors: decolonization, globalization, and migration. Gert Oostindie, similarly, explains for the Netherlands how the country’s recent rediscovery of its past slave trading and slavery was a consequence of postwar migration, in this case from the Dutch Caribbean.

4 Pieter C. Emmer, “Between Slavery and Freedom: The Period of Apprenticeship in Suriname (Dutch Guiana), 1863–1873,” Slavery and Abolition 14:1 (1993): 87–113: 99. This article also appears in Michael Twaddle, ed., The Wages of Slavery: From Chattel Slavery to Wage Labour in Africa, the Caribbean and England (London: Frank Cass, 1993).

6

wim klooster

Oostindie notes that while the Dutch Atlantic world is routinely associated with slavery and slave trade, such an association is not made for Dutch Asia, even though the Dutch engaged in both practices in the Indian Ocean on a scale comparable to the Dutch Atlantic. Crucial is the impact of the Caribbean lobby, which has successfully ‘unsilenced’ the Dutch Atlantic slave past, but ignores the scholarly consensus that New World slavery, for all its vices, did not dehumanize its victims.

EUROPEAN MIGRATION EAST AND WEST

CHAPTER ONE

WAR, COLONIZATION, AND MIGRATION OVER FIVE CENTURIES Stanley Engerman I. European Economic Development The examination of European economic development in the age of mercantilism generally includes two different geographic comparisons. One concerns the rise of Europe vis-à-vis the rest of the world, particularly Asia, after the start of the sixteenth century.1 While the subsequent outcome of a European lead now seems clear-cut and expected, in the fifteenth century this might not have been the obvious forecast. Prior to about 1490, Europe was not expanding externally except for the beginnings of Portuguese movement onto the coast of Africa and the offshore islands, which was more for trading than for settlement purposes. Spain had been conquered by Muslims in the eighth century, and while the Christian territory expanded over time, Spain only became entirely free of any Muslim control at the end of the fifteenth century.2 The Ottoman Empire was large and still expanding, to include parts of the Middle East and North Africa, and would soon move to the outskirts of Vienna

1 The recent examination of this question begins with the path-breaking work of Eric Jones, who emphasizes the importance of the ‘decentralized’ nation-states as opposed to larger-scale military despotisms in Asia. Eric L., Jones, The European Miracle: Environments, Economies and Geopolitics in the History of Europe and Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003; first published in 1981). Bernholz and Vaubel point to what they call an earlier version of this argument, the Hume-Kant hypothesis about the impact of diversity. The former argued that it was because “competition among neighboring and independent states favors innovation in the arts and sciences primarily because it provides diversity and facilitates comparisons,” and the latter that it was “because it restrains the rulers and promotes civil liberties.” Peter Bernholz and Roland Vaubel, eds., Political Competition, Innovation, and Growth in the History of European Civilizations (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2004), 1–2. 2 Bernard F. Reilly, The Medieval Spains (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 53, 190–209. Reilly estimates that in the eighth century Muslims represented about one percent of the total population of Iberia, reaching about ten percent two generations later. Ibid., 57, 59.

10

stanley engerman

before being repulsed.3 (And several centuries later, the Barbary “pirates” of North Africa enslaved about one million Europeans, mainly from Spain and Italy. Some of these were ransomed by Europeans to raise funds for the pirates.)4 The Chinese and Indian empires, although still far removed from Europe, were expanding, and seemed possibly ahead of Europe in terms of present wealth and economic potential.5 And, in the Americas, the Aztec and Inca empires were expanding, based on military power, with the enslavement of wartime captives.6 All of the relative balances of power were soon to be changed, beginning with the voyages of Columbus and of Vasco da Gama. Much of Asia and Africa still remained free of direct European political control. Relative income and political power positions did, however, change, and Europe was to become the world’s economic leader and, somewhat later, to have the world’s politically dominant powers, including political control over many colonies throughout the world. And, although Europe became dominant, in the long-run through the end of the twentieth century, the other nations of the world generally experienced increases in absolute levels of income and life expectancy, although they fell dramatically behind Europe in relative terms. The second frequent comparison concerns the nature of the changes in economic and political power within Europe, particularly Western Europe.7 The basic economic and political power in Europe before the 3 Donald Quataert, The Ottoman Empire, 1700–1922 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000); Halil Inalcik, ed., Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 1300–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). The first Ottoman attack on Vienna occurred in 1529. 4 See Robert C. Davis, Christian Slaves, Muslim Masters: White Slavery in the Mediterranean, the Barbary Coast, and Italy, 1500–1800 (Houndsmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003); Ellen G. Friedman, Spanish Captives in North Africa in the Early Modern Age (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1983). 5 Jones, European Miracle. China and India had become large empires with central control and concentrated economic, social, and political power. Europe was a series of mostly small nations and smaller city-states that did not all fully coalesce until the nineteenth century. See the essays and comments on China and India in Bernholz and Vaubel, Political Competition, particularly the comments of Mark Elvin (31–35, 75–80). 6 On the Aztecs, see Inga Clendinnen, Aztecs: An Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991) and on the Incas, Juan A. Villamarin and Judith E. Villamarin, Indian Labor in Mainland Colonial Spanish America (Newark: University of Delaware Latin American Studies Program, 1975), 628–653, and Steve J. Stern, Peru’s Indian People and the Challenge of Spanish Conquest: Huamanga to 1644 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1982). 7 For a fine survey of the early modern European economy, see Jan de Vries, The Economy of Europe in an Age of Crisis, 1600–1750 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 5, 21–29, 249–254.

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

11

seventeenth century was in southern Europe—earlier with the empires of Greece and Rome, and later in the Italian city-states, Portugal, and Spain. Spain was a major military power on the continent and was, with Portugal, the world’s leader in colonization and settlement in Asia and the Americas. By the eighteenth century there had been a shift northward to the countries of the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and France, in terms of military power, output per capita, population, foreign trade, and the numbers and wealth of colonies. Although Spain was now militarily relatively weaker and economically poorer, it still had a large colonial empire, and its colonial mining provided a large share of the world’s specie. Spain and Portugal had had a one-century lead in colonization in Asia and the Americas, compared to northern Europe, and with this advantage were able to select the preferred areas of settlement and trade. Ultimately, however, this did not lead to a long-term advantage in metropolitan wealth, nor, despite several centuries of growth in trade and population, even a prolonged lead in the economic ranking of its colonies.8 The countries of northern and southern Europe both had actively pursued what they perceived as policies to achieve economic development, but, as it turned out, those in southern Europe had done so with somewhat less success over the long run. In the American colonies the shift from high incomes in southern regions to higher incomes in temperate zones came about with changes in the relative importance of different crops and with different means of producing them.9 In the American tropics, sugar, grown on large plantations, became the major crop, continuing a westward march of plantation sugar production that began in the Mediterranean with Crete and continued on the islands off the west coast of Africa. In the temperate zones of the Americas, the leading crops were grains, grown generally on smaller, family-sized units. The role of particular commodities in the northward shift of economic power in Europe is less obvious, since their differences in

8 For a survey of the patterns of colonization in the Americas, see Stanley L. Engerman and Kenneth L. Sokoloff, “Factor Endowments, Institutions, and Differential Paths of Growth Among New World Economies: A View From Economic Historians of the United States,” in Stephen Haber, ed., How Latin America Fell Behind: Essays on the Economic Histories of Brazil and Mexico, 1800–1914 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), 260–304. 9 Engerman and Sokoloff, “Factor Endowments,” and Daron Acemoglu, Simon Johnson, and James A. Robinson, “The Colonial Origins of Comparative Development: An Empirical Investigation,” American Economic Review 91 (December 2001): 1369–1401.

12

stanley engerman

industrial structure were smaller, as were differences in the political and social attitudes towards the lower classes and laborers. The period of modern economic growth in Western Europe was one of intense rivalry, militarily and economically. For historical and other reasons the European political sphere was quite different than that in Asia. Recent discussions of the European advantages for economic growth have returned to arguments made by Hume and Kant in the eighteenth century. The basic issue concerned whether growth would be more probable in large-scale empires or in circumstances with a number of competing smaller states, in which the competition for resources and manpower led to motives and policies, political and economic, that permitted growth to occur. This is, of course, an argument similar to one that most economists discuss with the claim that competition leads to better solution for consumers than does monopoly, although there are some, such as Joseph Schumpeter, who have argued to the contrary. The proposition is not straightforward, since there should presumably be an optimum number of states, not too many too small and not too many too large, given the potential for military disagreements among nations. While Europe is the successful example of a non-empire, at least initially, leading to growth, during the period of development there was a considerable reduction in the number of independent political units in Europe, from about 500 in 1500 to twenty-five in 1900.10 Further, at this time there was not just economic rivalry over trade, but military conflict and warfare between these nations. Commerce was seen as a form of warfare, but actual warfare also characterized much of this period, leading to extensive destruction of land, property, and people. The conditions of bilateral warfare, with one winner and the other losing, differ from commercial rivalry, where it is possible that all sides benefit. Nevertheless, while Britain gained from this competition in military conflict and trade, it did confront some costs. Its rivals also bore certain of these costs, but without necessarily achieving the same set of benefits. Perhaps it is not surprising that it was after the achievement of relative peace between the nations on the continent after the start of the nineteenth century that the Europe-wide diffusion

10 Charles Tilly, “Reflections on the History of European State-Making,” in idem, ed., Formation of National States in Western Europe (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975), 3–83.

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

13

of growth accelerated. With the Pax Britannica and a sharp decline in warfare between the other European states, more nations benefited from economic development and generally narrowed the gap relative to England. International rivalries persisted regarding trade and migration, but they did not then have the physical and human costs seen in earlier centuries. In the post-1500 period, rivalry among European nations was extremely intense, militarily and economically, on the continent, both with military battles and trade disputes, and also the competition for settlement of new areas of control of native residents, in the Americas, Africa, and Asia. The period was marked by numerous wars, on the continent and in the colonies, and periods of peace were generally quite limited in duration. There were about one dozen European nations involved in the process of colonization. While some of these were too small to have any real impact, there were still five or six nations who established some major colonial relationships. On the continent all competed in attempts to attract labor, particularly skilled labor, and national boundaries were not always recognized in their effects on labor and capital movements. All nations pursued economic policies to advance their interests, and all but the Dutch had introduced what have been widely called mercantilist policies, with restrictive regulations regarding trade, shipping, and labor and capital movements. The Dutch, having become the world’s major shipping nation, the colonizer of an important area of the East Indies, and the most capital-rich of European nations, had become an economic power primarily on the basis of its role in shipping and the carrying trade, without major military conquests on the continent.11 Thus they were interested in pursuing a somewhat different set of policies than were other nations. These other nations, including the British, used what came to be called mercantilist policies, peaceful measures of economic policy, to complement policies of warfare to enhance their power vis-à-vis rivals. As far back as the early fourteenth century, England and France had introduced anti-export policies, advocated to

11 Jan de Vries and Ad van der Woude, The First Modern Economy: Success, Failure, and Perseverance of the Dutch Economy, 1500–1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 296–300, 350–408. They state that it was only in the sixteenth century that the Dutch overcame “the inferior position they held vis-à-vis their French and Spanish counterparts.”

14

stanley engerman

meet both military and economic ends.12 Mercantilism could, no doubt, have been pursued without military actions, as has been done at times in subsequent years, but in this period most countries seemed to use both means, peaceful and warlike, to achieve desired ends. Nevertheless, the outcome of this adoption of similar policies led to rather different outcomes among countries, since some nations succeeded while others did not, suggesting that clearly other factors influenced the differential economic experience than just the types of mercantilist policies pursued by each nation.13 It is clear, however, that after the Napoleonic Wars, if not before, England had become the world’s leading economy as well as having the most successful military, particularly its navy.14 It was not only the strongest military power in Europe, but was also the most important colonial power in India and the Americas, and its settlers owned numerous slaves in the New World. Often treated today as the inevitable outcome of events, this had not always been obvious to those at the time. Earlier Spain had a lead based, in part, on its major advantages in timing and location of colonization, and even after 300 years Spain still maintained one of the world’s richest and most productive set of colonies, including Cuba, the world’s leading producer of cane sugar in the middle of the nineteenth century.15 With its military losses on

12 Eli F. Heckscher, Mercantilism, 2 vols. (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1955; first published in English, 1935), 2: 98. 13 Thus Heckscher points out that “economic conditions are determined by a host of other phenomena in addition to and even before economic policy… The description of the economic policy pursued in a particular period should never be regarded as a sufficient explanation of the economic circumstances of the time; nor should economic policy be viewed simply as the outcome and result of the actual economic situation.” Heckscher, Mercantilism, I: 20. 14 Patrick O’Brien, “Fiscal Exceptionalism: Great Britain and its European Rivals from Civil War to Triumph at Trafalgar and Waterloo,” in Donald Winch and Patrick K. O’Brien, eds., The Political Economy of British Historical Experience, 1688–1914 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 245–265. N.A.M. Rodger, The Command of the Ocean: A Naval History of Britain, 1649–1815 (New York: W.W. Norton, 2004). 15 J.H. Elliott, Empires of the Atlantic World: Britain and Spain in America, 1492–1830 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006); Stanley J. Stein and Barbara H. Stein, Silver, Trade, and War: Spain and America in the Making of Early Modern Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000); and John R. Fisher, The Economic Aspects of Spanish Imperialism in America, 1492–1810 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1997). On nineteenth century Cuba, see Manuel Moreno Fraginals, The Sugarmill: The Socioeconomic Complex of Sugar in Cuba, 1760–1860 (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1976). On Portuguese colonization, see A.J.R. Russell-Wood, The Portuguese Empire, 1415–1808: A World on the Move (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998). On bullion production in the Americas, see Artur Attman, American Bullion in

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

15

the European continent, Spanish power began to fade. It next appeared that the Netherlands would become the leader, based on its controls of shipping and investible funds. To offset this, the British expanded the Navigation Acts, restricting the shipment of British goods to higher cost British vessels. These Acts were successful in giving Britain shipping and naval dominance, but as Adam Smith pointed out, this imposed costs on the British, costs that, according to Smith, they were willing to pay as defense was more important to them than opulence.16 A final major rival for dominance was France, with its large continental army and an exceedingly rich colony in the Americas, St. Domingue, possibly the world’s richest area until the Haitian Revolution. That revolution, with its heavy military and financial costs to the metropolis, in addition to the costs imposed by the French Revolution, set France back economically for several decades. In the 1760s and 1770s, several astute contemporary observers including Adam Smith, Malachy Postlethwayt, and Arthur Young pointed to the economic advantages of France and the French colonies in this rivalry and did expect France to do rather well, both in the colonies and in the metropolis.17 Adam Smith pointed

the European World Trade, 1600–1800 (Göteborg: Kungl. Vetenskaps-och Vitterhets Samhället, 1986). 16 Thus, to Smith, these were “perhaps the wisest of all the commercial regulations,” even though it reduced British trade. Heckscher uses this to argue that “on this point, mercantilism was not fundamentally different from the policy which was later to supersede it” and “no one could have made it clearer that economic activity ought to be subordinated to the state’s striving for external power.” Heckscher believed that the goal of mercantilism was to “have had all economic activity subservient to the state’s interest in power.” Heckscher, Mercantilism, II: 15–16. 17 Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976 (first published 1776), II: 586–588; Malachy Postlethwayt, Britain’s Commercial Interest Explained and Improved, 2 vols. (London: D. Browne, 1757), 1: 421–548, 2: 112–172, 200–229; idem, Great Britain’s True System (London: A. Millars, 1757) 160–162, 256–271; and comments in Stanley L. Engerman, “France, Britain, and the Economic Growth of Colonial North America,” in John J. McCusker and Kenneth Morgan, eds., The Early Modern Atlantic Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 227–249. In 1772, Arthur Young described the French colonies as having “a clear superiority over Great Britain,” aided by the fact that unlike the British colonies, the French needn’t worry about that theirs would overthrow their allegiance: Political Essays Concerning the Present State of the British Empire (London: W. Strahan, 1772), 440–442. See also Adam Anderson, A Historical and Chronological Deduction of the Origins of Commerce, 4 vols. (London: J. White, 1801), 3: 264–265). Tombs and Tombs provide several commentators who believed France to be in better economic conditions than England in the 1650s, 1720s, and 1760s: Robert Tombs and Isabelle Tombs, That Sweet Enemy: The French and the British from the Sun King to the Present (London: William Heinemann, 2006), 8, 10, 33. France had the larger army, navy, and population in the late seventeenth century and after, and in 1716 it was described as

16

stanley engerman

to the French advantage in its colonies in producing sugar, based in part on the better labor-management practices of the planters and the better treatment and incentives provided slaves, while others claimed that, without the protection of British colonial sugar, the French would become the major seller in the large British market. This development is another cause of higher costs of sugar consumption paid by British sugar consumers to encourage their colonial development, but it also inflicted burdens on the French. Both before and after the onset of British dominance, out-migration from the British Isles greatly exceeded that from France, leading to a difference in numbers in the colonies that was ultimately to create a military advantage to the British. Whatever may have been the French long-run prospects, the joint impact of the French Revolution and the Haitian Revolution, and the weakness of its public policies, was to delay France’s growth process sufficiently for England to get the world lead, a lead it held for about one century, until surpassed by some of its former Northern American colonies, now the United States, a shift in economic power that, however, did not involve the direct outcome of military actions. II. Warfare The modern period leading to European economic growth was characterized by large-scale, frequent, and devastating warfare among the European nations.18 Much of this warfare occurred in continental Europe, although one of the leading belligerents, Great Britain, fought few battles on its home soil, fighting on the European and other continents as well as at sea with its large navy. Some battles among European nations occurred in colonial areas of Asia and America, either

seeming more stable and powerful than was England. See, on this comparison, François Crouzet, Britain Ascendant: Comparative Studies in Franco-British Economic History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), and Patrick K. O’Brien, “The Impact of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars, 1793–1815, on the Long-Run Growth of the British Economy,” Review 12 (Summer 1989): 335–395. 18 Quantitative and related data in this section are drawn primarily from Quincy Wright, A Study of War, 2nd edition, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965), Michael Clodfelter, Warfare and Armed Conflicts: A Statistical Reference to Casualty and Other Figures, 1500–2000, 2nd edition (Jefferson: McFarland, 2001), and Jack S. Levy, War in the Great Power System, 1495–1975 (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1983).

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

17

as battles for colonial territory, or at times, as part of a wider military conflict. Warfare among Europeans was also aimed at capturing colonies elsewhere, and there were also defensive battles fought to prevent the Islamic Ottoman Empire from moving further into European lands. Earlier the Europeans had fought off the Huns and the Mongols, among others, in their desires to obtain European territory. These wars meant costs with the loss of human and physical resources, limiting the surplus in these nations, a surplus that could have been used to bolster economic change. Wars have not been a unique characteristic of European societies. The Ottoman Empire was frequently at war with several different parts of the world, including Europe, the smaller societies of Africa and the Americas had numerous conflicts (often leading to the enslavement of wartime captives), and China, India, and other Asian nations also experienced extensive warfare. Greece and Rome had expanded by conquest. Perhaps the most destructive of all warfare came with the Mongol expansion of the thirteenth century led by Genghis Khan, an expansion that may have killed over one percent of the world’s population at the time.19 The purposes of warfare included territorial expansion, often as part of an attempt at colonization for power or for wealth or for both power and wealth for the home country vis-à-vis other continental countries; the search for political or economic power, for military and trading purposes, versus other nations; the search for income-generating activities to raise the resources in the nation and to promote economic growth; the drive to get territory as a way to protect trading routes on other colonies (as in the later British use of the Suez Canal to protect the routes to India) or for defensive purposes to avoid losses, politically or economic, to other nations. The major benefit some attribute to wars, but presumably as a byproduct, not as a specific cause of war, is the building-up of the state or nation, and the consolidation of power made necessary by the needs of the warfare.20

19 Jones, European Miracle. For a detailed discussion of Genghis Khan with, however, no overall estimate of numbers killed, see Erik Hildinger, Warriors of the Steppe: A Military History of Central Asia, 500 B.C. to 1700 A.D. (Rockville Centre: Sarpedon, 1997), 170. One successor, Tamerlane, about 175 years later, is said to have “conquered more territory than [Genghis Khan], although it was only in sheer cruelty and bloodymindedness that he exceeded the Mongol Khan.” Ibid. 20 On the role of state-building, see Heckscher, Mercantilism, I: 19–30, John Brewer, The Sinews of Power: War, Money and the English State, 1688–1783 (New York: Alfred

18

stanley engerman

These wars often entailed coalitions of nations, which could shift over time, but seldom did these European nations lose their individual identity or seriously sacrifice their individual interests. Few wars among European nations led to major transfers of territory within Europe, but there were frequent changes in the nature of control in colonized areas of the Caribbean and of mainland North America. The Spanish and Portuguese American colonies did not generally shift ownership, and changes in control occurred with the success of independence movements there in the early nineteenth century, not due to losses to other European nations. Most western European nations were at war with each other at least 50 percent of the time between 1500 and 1815, the date of the onset of the Pax Britannica.21 The number of military and war-related deaths (via disease, famine) probably exceeded 10 million persons, or about 3 percent of the continent’s 1700 population, with most deaths concentrated in the relatively most productive age groups.22 Military and defense expenditures absorbed much of the governmental budget (up to about two-thirds in the case of Spain, Prussia, and England), leading to a ‘crowding out’ of public and private consumption and investment expenditures.23 While wars, particularly those successfully fought, may have contributed to state-building and the security of public debt issues, these achievements were not costless nor were all participants in warfare beneficiaries of such favorable outcomes. The most successful among the belligerents were the British, who experienced a highly favorable set of war outcomes. Much of their

A. Knopf, 1989). For an earlier argument for the contribution of war to economic growth, see Sombart’s claim of the impact of “standardized mass provision for war.” Werner S. Sombart, Der moderne Kapitalismus, 3 vols. (Leipzig: Duncker and Humblot, 1927). For critiques of this argument, see Max Weber, General Economic History (New York: Collier Books, 1961; first published in 1927), 228–230, who argues that “the decisive impetus for capitalism could come from . . . a mass market demand” with a “democratization of demand,” and John U. Nef, War and Human Progress: An Essay on the Rise of Industrial Civilization (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1950), 65–66, 207. 21 Wright, Study of War, 652–653. 22 Estimated from Wright, Study of War and Levy, War in the Great Power System. 23 For Prussia, see André Corvisier, Armies and Societies in Europe, 1494–1789 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979), 111–112; For Britain, see H.V. Bowen, War and British Society, 1688–1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 19) who estimates “military expenditure represented somewhere between 9 and 14 percent of national income” in war periods between 1688 and 1783. See Brewer, Sinews of Power, 30–41).

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

19

warfare in the period through the early years of the nineteenth century, throughout many parts of the world, was with France, and these wars ended with British domination in India, the Americas, and within Europe, although Britain ultimately suffered a major setback against its own colonists in mainland North America. Spain was engaged in frequent wars in this period, mainly on the continent, but became less successful over time, the burdens of this lack of success furthering the decline of the Spanish empire and of Spain itself.24 After the start of the nineteenth century however, the achievement of high economic status did not require successful military actions against rivals as it apparently was believed in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. When the U.S. surpassed Great Britain as the leading economic power by the end of the nineteenth century, it was not due to the outcome of military battles, but to economic production. And the U.S. military advantage in the twentieth century was more the result of economic power than its cause. Similarly, several of the new economic giants of the twentieth century were no military superpowers—in one case, its rapid development was attributed to its lack of military expenditures. Indeed in some cases it seems that losing a war could lead to rapid and continued growth and the achievement of a high level of income after a reasonably short period of time. It was after the successful British defeat of Napoleon in 1815 that this period of frequent warfare on the continent came to a temporary, though limited, halt, which lasted until the wars of the twentieth Century. The British success led to the Pax Britannica, but the British power did not preclude rapid economic growth in the Netherlands, Belgium, France, and Germany, and while dominant in terms of military power, Britain’s economic lead over other European nations was declining. For the British, French, and others, there was continued warfare, but mainly in Africa and Asia with native populations for political control.25 Battles were smaller, deaths were fewer, and wars fought in distant places. Disputes in India and South Africa were now more conspicuous, but relatively shorter than the wars of earlier centuries. Whereas the eighteenth century wars were fought between large powers for the most part, in the nineteenth century many wars pitted large vs. small and

24

Elliott, Empires of the Atlantic World. V.G. Kiernan, Colonial Empires and Armies, 1815–1960 (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1998 [1982]). 25

20

stanley engerman

small vs. small. Even peaceful blockades or sanctions meant to avoid war were based on disputes between large and small countries. The twentieth century, however, saw a dramatic reversal of the pattern, with two extensive World Wars, the first primarily fought on the European continent and in the Atlantic Ocean, and the second being more truly world-wide, also involving confrontations in Asia, Africa and the Pacific Ocean. Deaths due to these wars totaled over fifty million.26 The number of deaths resulting from decolonization and territorial expansion in many parts of the world, the outbreak of civil wars and related conflicts between the end of World War II and 2000, has come to exceed 40 million.27 The expectation that economic growth will lead to more world peace is problematic, but it is also not clear that it is economic growth itself that generates more conflict. While some argue for the role of capitalism in generating much warfare, in the long-term perspective the non-economic roles of ideology and religion have played a major role. III. Colonization and Economic Growth The link between colonization and European economic growth was perhaps most clearly and influentially expressed, in quite similar terms, by the Abbé Raynal and a few years later by Adam Smith. Smith claimed “the discovery of America, and that of a passage to the East Indies by the Cape of Good Hope are the two greatest and most important events recorded in the history of mankind.”28 Yet like warfare and slavery, colonization has a much longer and richer history than just modern Europe, and these had, as did the European movement to settle and control areas elsewhere in the world, some destructive impacts on the residents of these areas. Geographic expansions to rule new areas had been described as far back as in Biblical times. Expansions were a characteristic of Egypt, Assyria, Babylonia, Persia, Greece, Rome, and 26 Milton Leitenberg, Deaths in Wars and Conflicts between 1945 and 2000 (Ithaca: Cornell University Peace Studies Program, 2003). This includes estimates of 6.2 million in the Chinese Civil War and 4.5 million in the Vietnamese War. 27 Ibid. 28 Smith, Wealth of Nations, II: 626; Raynal’s wording was: “There has never been any event which has had more impact on the human race in general and for Europeans in particular, as that of the discovery of the New World and the passage to the Indies around the Cape of Good Hope.” See Dorinda Outram, The Enlightenment, 2nd edition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 57.

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

21

Byzantium, among others, in the ancient and early modern world. The Chinese undertook considerable expansion and political domination throughout Asia. Genghis Khan and the Mongols invaded Europe and North Africa in what must have been, in terms of relative deaths, the world’s bloodiest expansion movement. Russia expanded eastward into Siberia, southward into Central Asia, and controlled Finland in the nineteenth century. The Aztecs and Incas were imperial powers, as were other Native Americans, in their areas of settlement. Africa had long been characterized by warfare and expansion. Scandinavia’s Norsemen moved to acquire Greenland, Iceland, and, although this did not lead to permanent settlements, to Vinland (North America), while Sweden conquered Finland in the thirteenth century. Islamic armies conquered Spain in the eighth century and their presence persisted there until the end of the fifteenth century. The Ottoman Empire expanded within Asia, and moved into East Europe, North Africa, Egypt, and Persia, and twice reached the gates of Vienna, only to be repelled. In early modern times many of the city-states in Italy acquired colonies in the Mediterranean region, and there were numerous other examples of expansion, domination, and political control. Some colonies involved settlement by the colonizing power, while others did not, and may have been established mainly for trading purposes. Thus, historically, there have been many colonizing nations, many colonies, and the acquisition of colonies oft en meant warfare and death. Geographic expansion could mean new territorial claims and expanded boundaries, some of which lasted only short periods of time before being reversed, but others led to more or less permanent political changes, with a long-standing redefinition of the nature of sovereignty. Most earlier colonization was based on land expansion by armies, but there were some examples based on controls by sea, these, however, more frequently leading to trade relations with distant areas. Perhaps the most dramatic aspect of the post-1500 colonization was that it was much more seaborne, covered much longer distances than did earlier colonization, and distance meant dealing with quite different cultural and disease environments than did earlier movements. Based on the magnitude of the existing and surviving populations, there were two rather distinct patterns of European settlement within the Non-European world. In the Americas, because of the great NativeAmerican mortality after European arrival, there was settlement by Europeans and by the African slaves they brought over to supplement the number of Native-American survivors (see Tables 1 and 2). In Asia,

22

stanley engerman

however, even where the Europeans obtained political control, there was more limited deaths among natives at the time of settlement and there was sufficient population that could be controlled for their needs, so that neither European nor African migration into these areas was important. But what was now different about European colonization was not the fact of colonization—that had long been a widespread practice—but its success in long-term persistence and as an apparent contributor to general European growth. Also striking is the extent of competition among European settling nations, both in conflict for particular areas and in economic rivalries regarding the trade in output from colonial areas. Conflicts were often about trading patterns, not just territorial control, but even these could entail warfare and military actions. Western European colonization was not, by worldwide standards, unique in intent and behavior, and European nations were not alone in becoming imperial powers. Among European nations, there were many rivals, some basically for areas of settlement, others for political and trading control. Just about all of Europe was involved in postfifteenth century expansion, not just to the Americas, but also to Asia and to the African coast. The Norseman in the fourteenth and fifteenth century had acquired Greenland and Iceland. After that, the Spanish and the Portuguese had about a one century lead over other nations and they were then followed by the Dutch, the British, the French, the Danes, the Swedes, the Germans (Brandenburgers), the Russians, the Italians, the Scots, the Belgians, and the Latvians (Courlanders). The roles of colonies increased over time. After its independence, the U.S. acquired several colonies in the Americas and the Pacific areas. In 1900 there were also colonies of, among other nations, Turkey (the Ottoman Empire), Austria-Hungary, China, Japan, and late in the nineteenth century, Australia. The involvement of different European powers was also not restricted to the Americas, as two other continents were colonized at roughly the same time. In regard to India, for example, Portugal opened the initial trading ports between 1500 and 1515, giving it the same one-century lead it had over England in the Americas. Other nations followed the Portuguese, also with trading companies. After the English East India Company in 1600, East Indian Companies were established by the Dutch, the French, the Danish, the Scotch, and the Swedish, while there were limited attempts to establish trading relations by the Russians, Spanish, and Prussians. Countries did not have uniform outcomes with different colonies; there were quite different degrees of success in

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

23

different locations. The early Dutch movement into Asia via the Indian Ocean left them with a successful colony in the Indonesian islands, but only trading contacts, with no political power, in China and Japan, while they lost several American colonies on the mainland and in the Caribbean and did not achieve a great success in their remaining American colonies. These European nations had demonstrated varying fortunes and abilities at the time of colonization, and the means of acquiring and controlling territory sometimes differed. Some lands were acquired by peaceful acquisition, via purchase from natives or barter; some required warfare to seize the area. Seizure could be from natives or from prior European settlers. Some settlers moved into what they regarded as empty land, others went into areas with people already settled there, with varying degrees of population density. The level of population density would have an impact on future developments, both because it determined the magnitude of migration needed for the labor force and, related, the mix of the population between white Europeans, black Africans, and local Native-Americans. The local population density also affected the types of political controls that the Europeans could introduce, varying from land to be settled and controlled by Europeans to areas with only political control, in conjunction with local rulers, and with a rather limited ability to interfere with the cultural and economic life of the local population. To describe European imperialism in this period is not easy, since there were many rather diverse patterns that evolved. The movement of Europeans to Africa basically meant, because of disease and military controls by Africans, restriction to trading on the coast for slaves, gold, and other commodities, until the middle of the nineteenth century. Prior to the nineteenth century, Europeans, including the Germans, did develop coastal trading establishments on the West Coast of Africa, for trade in commodities and, most importantly, slaves brought from inland Africa for sale to Europeans.29 When medical developments permitted Europeans to move inland, this led to the Scramble within Africa. Even this, however, did not lead to wide-scale settlement of Europeans within Africa, as they generally maintained political control with a small number of settlers in coalitions with local ruling elites and/or via the exercise of military power.

29 David Eltis, The Rise of African Slavery in the Americas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000).

24

stanley engerman

The settlement of the Americas was somewhat different than was the contact with Africa, since diseases did not have as dramatic an effect on the Europeans and Africans as it did upon the Native-Americans (see Table 1). Thus the settlement and the economic patterns varied dramatically in the Americas from those which characterized Africa and Asia. Indeed, by the eighteenth century there were several different settlement patterns in the Americas, based on population mixture and type of economic output.30 In Canada and the northern United States, the population was predominantly white, with few Native-Americans and limited numbers of Africans. In the southern U.S. there were also few Native-Americans but with import of slaves from Africa, the population after 1700, became almost two-fifths African slave. The Caribbean islands (except for the Spanish possessions) had few Native-Americans, only a relatively small number of whites, and were populated for about ninety percent by black African slaves. In Central and South America, however, there was a limited number of blacks, some whites, and a predominant Native-American population. These differences reflected variations in disease environments, climate, and soil type to a much greater extent than they did the culture of the settling metropolis, and while the metropolitan characteristics may have had some influence on the outcome, the resulting developments were strongly effected by local conditions, including local political and social factors. Although the great diversity of settlement patterns and economic structures across the Americas provide a particularly well suited context for the study of the impact of inequality on institutional and economic development, the patterns in that part of the world will also have important implications for the experience of societies established as European colonies elsewhere. With the exceptions of Australia and New Zealand, European settlements in most parts of the world other than the Americas were not based upon large numbers of European settlers who became the key productive laborers, but upon small numbers who remained on the perimeter of the country and exercised control through military power or political arrangements with the local rulers (see Tables 2 and 3). For example, the Portuguese, Dutch, British, and French sailed around the Cape of Good Hope at roughly the same time as they went to the Americas, to acquire territories and control of large native populations in Asia. The numbers of European settlers were few

30

Engerman and Sokoloff, “Factor Endowments.”

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

25

and they were generally involved in either political administration or in operating very large agricultural units. These settler populations were rarely directly employed in producing commodities for sale in European markets, and their primary concern was more with military and political control than with the direct production of economic surpluses. As for Africa, the early European settlements on the coast, mainly trading forts, could not exercise control over the native population because of the disease factors as well as African military power. Even when Europeans were able to move inland during the nineteenth century, after the introduction of quinine, European domination was achieved with relatively few settlers, but through arrangements with local powers or, as with the Belgians and the Germans, with the exercise of extreme military prowess.31 The last of the European colonies to be settled were the Pacific Ocean islands, including Fiji, while the United States colonized Hawaii. There too, and particularly where sugar could be grown, Europeans accounted for only small proportions of the population. In virtually all of these colonies, suffrage of the natives was restricted and expenditures on education and other public services tended to be miniscule, reflecting (and contributing to) the magnitude of the inequality that existed between those of European descent and others. Almost everywhere Europeans settled during their grand epoch of expansion across the globe, they did so with far higher levels of wealth, human capital (including literacy and familiarity with technology and markets), and political influence or power than most of the residents native to the area enjoyed. Thus, where the Europeans encountered large native populations who survived contact with western diseases (as in Mexico, Peru, Indonesia, or India), their advantages in human capital, military power, and other assets generally meant that Europeans did extremely well relative to the bulk of the natives, and that there was great inequality. Where they moved into fairly empty or depopulated territories, however (as in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, or the United States), relative equality tended to prevail.32 The more heavily populated colonies, or those in tropical areas that could quickly increase 31 The main exception to this generalization is South Africa, but even here those of European descent accounted for about 20 percent of the population. 32 In those cases where the endowments were well suited to large-scale labor-intensive production of staples, slaves or contract labor were often brought in to provide a labor force. The importation of slaves to the Caribbean basin to grow sugar is the outstanding example of this, but the extensive use of contract labor from South Asia to augment the labor force, especially where land was relatively abundant after the emancipation of

26

stanley engerman

population by drawing on imported slave labor, often had quite different comparative advantages than Europe (due to different climates, valuable natural resources, and large native populations). As free populations were primarily motivated by the prospects of economic returns, these areas generally attracted the greater number of Europeans until the eighteenth century, when the greater opportunities associated with commercial grain agriculture and industrialization shifted attention to mainland North America.33 Overall, the phenomenon of European colonization generating many societies with extremely high degrees of inequality, and rather few with low inequality, seems unlikely to have been confined to the Americas. Within the Americas, extreme inequality in wealth and human capital came to characterize much of the Spanish colonies as well. The inequality arose here from the endowment of large populations of Native Americans surviving the initial impact with the diseases the Europeans brought with them, and from the Spanish practices (which were influenced by pre-existing Native-American organizations in Mexico and Peru) of awarding claims on land, native labor, and rich mineral resources to members of the elite (whose number were limited by restrictive immigration policies). A few areas that had relatively small native populations, such as Argentina, Uruguay, and Costa Rica, were less affected, however. In contrast, the societies of the northern part of North America developed with relative equality and population homogeneity, as there were relatively few Native Americans on the east coast where the colonies were established, and the climates and soils favored a regime of mixed farming centered on grains and livestock which exhibited quite limited economies of scale in production. While most attention regarding European development and expansion focuses on the period through the early nineteenth century, in terms of numbers of natives in colonies and square miles of colonies held, there was also an extended colonization by most European countries that occurred at the end of the nineteenth century after the onset of European economic growth, thus seeming more of a consequence than a cause of the European development. In most cases there was limited white settlement, the previously resident natives (as in Africa)

slaves, provides another. See Stanley L. Engerman, Slavery, Emancipation, and Freedom: Comparative Perspectives (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2007). 33 Engerman and Sokoloff, “Factor Endowments.”

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

27

continuing to represent the substantial proportion of the population, with white rule often dependent upon coalitions with groups within the native population. Australia and New Zealand were settled by the British at the end of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Differing arrangements were made regarding the treatment of the local groups of Aborigines in Australia and the Maoris in New Zealand, but both became predominately white colonies. Also, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century colonization among the Pacific Islands expanded, by the British, Australian, French, German, and American governments, while, at the same time, some important movements were made on the basis of private companies, again with limited European settlement. The history of European colonization often meant warfare and conflict, both between colonies and those already resident, but also between different European powers. Such conflicts with natives characterized the early movements to the Americas, as well as later movements into Africa. As noted, some of these intra-European nation conflicts were about colonial territory itself, others were extensions of warfare on the European continent, as part of a policy aimed at an overall weakening of enemies. Colonization was not a unified European movement to conquer and subjugate the world, but rather represented a continuation of European rivalries for control and dominance against each other, as well as other parts of the world. It was, thus, an aspect of continued mercantilist competition. Britain was able to obtain dominance as a colonizing power as the result of a mixture of economic and military actions. In the seventeenth century it was able to limit Dutch economic power, despite the earlier Dutch advantages in shipping and the carrying trade. This was accomplished in part as a result of a series of Anglo-Dutch Wars, including the conquest of New Amsterdam, and partly due to the success of the Navigation Acts in controlling shipment of goods to and from Britain and the British colonies. As mentioned, the higher costs of shipping in British vessels and the destruction of this colonial component of Dutch trading were accepted by Adam Smith, defense being more important than opulence—although the precise magnitude of the trade-off was not specified. The British competition with the French over control over mainland North America and the Caribbean was based primarily on military confrontation, which continued the battles taking place in Europe. Nevertheless, the predicted (expected future) outcome, on purely

28

stanley engerman

economic grounds, in the middle of the eighteenth century was not as obvious as it was to become. It was military advantage, particularly naval superiority, that led to the British colonial advantage over the French. In military conflicts—North America, the Caribbean, and India—the British were successful. The British conquest of Québec (and their choice of Canada over Guadeloupe as settlement for war) and the acquisition of the Ceded islands in the Caribbean from the French as a postwar settlement meant a considerably reduced amount of New World landholding by the French. Similarly, with the sale of the Louisiana Purchase to the U.S., and the later British keeping of the Indian Ocean island of Mauritius, the French colonial empire was gradually reduced and its lands added to that of the British. Yet the major economic loss in French colonization was not the result of conflict with Britain, but rather due to the outcome of the slave revolt in St. Domingue. Prior to this uprising, Haiti was about the richest area in the world, based on slave-labor production of sugar and coffee.34 Afterwards it was to become a relatively poor nation, provided France with few commodities for export and was the source of only limited imports. The British Empire at the time expanded not only with acquisitions from France, but also from the Dutch (British Guiana, South Africa), the Portuguese (Ceylon), and the Spanish (Trinidad and Tobago), areas they were to maintain for considerably more than one century until each became independent. In chapter one of his Imperialism, John Hobson reproduced an interesting table first presented by Henry C. Morris in his The History of Colonization, constructed from data presented in the Statesman’s Yearbook of 1900.35 That Yearbook presents 1899 data on area, population, and related matters for each independent country and its colonies, protectorates, and dependencies. Among the estimates Morris computed are the actual number of separate colonies that existed at that time, and the numbers belonging to each colonizing nation. The total number of colonies listed was 136, with Britain having 50 and France 33 (61 percent for the two together of the overall figure). In 1890, the 34 See David Eltis, “The Slave Economies of the Caribbean: Structure, Performance, Evolution and Significance”, in Franklin W. Knight, ed., General History of the Caribbean, Vol. III: Slave Societies of the Caribbean (London: UNESCO Publishing, 1997), 105–137; James G. Leyburn, The Haitian People (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1941). 35 John A. Hobson, Imperialism: A Study, 3rd ed. (London: Allen and Unwin, 1938).

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

29

domains of these two main colonial powers accounted for nearly 85 percent of the more than 18 million square miles and over 85 percent of the more than 400 million people living under colonial dominion (Tables 4, 5, and 6). Britain alone had 37 percent of the colonies, controlling more than half of the land area and over 70 percent of the population. Hobson pointed out that thirty-eight of the British colonies were annexed after 1870. By his reckoning, one-third of the land area of the British Empire, with one-quarter of its population, was acquired between 1870 and 1900. By 1900, the land area of the Empire had nearly quintupled since 1860, and the population more than doubled. France, whose extensive colonial holdings had been markedly depleted though military defeats in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, expanded its domain even more rapidly during the this period as the Europeans nations made major moves into Africa and Southeast Asia; the land area and population encompassed by its colonies rose between 1860 and 1900 by 15.5 and 16.7 times respectively. Britain and France were by no means the only European countries engaged in colonial enterprise. Indeed, the scale of the colonization efforts carried out by the Europeans countries is striking not only for the numbers of individual colonies and the vast land areas and populations involved, but also for the wide range of colonizers. The European colonizers included Austria, Belgium, Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Portugal, Russia, Spain, Turkey, as well as Britain (see Table 6 for an incomplete accounting), and of these only Belgium held no more than one colony.36 Only four had mother countries larger in area than their colonies, and four had populations less than the population of the colonies.37 Most of them had colonial domains that extended across two or more continents. The United States would join this group in 1898, with the possessions it gained during the SpanishAmerican War, and with the incorporation of Hawaii.38 Especially when one considers that many of the colonies the Europeans had established, and long maintained, in the Americas were independent by the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries one cannot fail to be impressed 36 Ruanda-Urundi (which had earlier been part of German East Africa) was a Belgian suzerainty from 1916–1924, a Belgian protectorate under the League of Nations from 1924, and a United Nations trust territory wielded by Belgium from 1946–1962. 37 Austria-Hungary, Russia, Turkey, and the United States for the former, and Britain, France, the Netherlands, and Portugal for the latter. 38 China also merits inclusion in a list of colonizers of that era, and Morris includes her in his compilation.

30

stanley engerman

with how much of the globe—both in land area and population—had direct experience of being a colony.39 The losses to colonial empires took place in several different ways. Some losses reflected the resolution of conflicts, some the sale of territory, and others were due to voluntary ceding with peaceful withdrawal or granting of freedom as part of a decolonization movement, either due to some shift in power in the colony or in the metropolis, or else in the aftermath of a revolutionary movement. Recipients of the benefits of independence might be the original local residents or later colonial settlers. The first extensive and perhaps most influential loss of colonial territories was that of the thirteen British colonies in North America. The revolutionaries against Britain were generally settlers who came from Britain or their descendents. It was in many ways a most conservative revolution, with limited change in regard to slavery and other property ownership. There were substantial military casualties for all belligerents, a total of about 40,000. Although leading to changing trade relations, since the new nation as an independent country was no longer covered under the British Navigation Acts, the U.S. introduced its own variant of trading regulations which followed the British pattern. Nevertheless, trade with the British remained high, and the British did not suffer prolonged declines in imports and exports.40 The United States was to remain as the largest recipient of British migration, capital flows, and trade in goods and services. The next colonial revolution was to have a rather different impact on both the former colony and on the metropolis. St. Domingue, with its ninety percent black slave population, revolted against French rule, and after military actions involving French, Spanish, and British armies, succeeded in achieving independence. Independence meant a complete change in the politics and economy of the island. Whites were prohibited from owning land, and few settled or remained in the nation. The nation saw, over the next two centuries, numerous uprisings and shifts in political power, and the economy shifted to smallscale self-sufficient agriculture, without the production of those export

39 This assessment is reinforced by the observation that much of Europe was at some point colonized by societies from Asia or the southern Mediterranean. 40 This was the prediction of the expected outcome by Lord Sheffield: John Holyrod Sheffield, Observations on the Commerce of the American States (London: J. Debrett, 1784).

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

31

crops (sugar and coffee) that had characterized the previous regime. The drop in exports and imports meant that France had lost a major trading partner, influencing its overseas trade, quite unlike the case of Britain after the American Revolution, and while the U.S. continued its pattern of economic growth, Haiti became mired in poverty over the next two centuries.41 The third major colonial power in the Americas, Spain, suffered adversely from a string of revolutions in its various Central and South American colonies in the early years of the nineteenth century.42 Over a period of fifteen years all of the formerly Spanish colonies in South and Central America achieved independence and established separate, but in many ways politically similar, governments. The revolutions were led by settlers, mostly from Spain and their descendants. Th e Native-Americans, who were generally the largest share of population and the labor force remained in subordinate positions, politically and militarily, and did not seem to have benefited greatly by the change in the ruling elite. The relatively few slaves were soon legally freed, but under “free womb” laws for the most part, so the actual attainment of freedom took several decades.43 Political changes were limited, but despite the political severing of the connection with Spain, it did not mean that the former colonies did not maintain close social and cultural contacts with Spain. The pattern of trade shifted, however, with more of the Spanish-American trade and capital flows now coming from and going to Great Britain. These three colonial revolutions were successful in achieving their goals, but they were costly in terms of human life and resources. Distances across the Atlantic made it somewhat difficult for the metropolis to maintain defense, and the colonial losses may now seem to us to

41 Laurent Dubois, Avengers of the New World: The Story of the Haitian Revolution (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2004) and A Colony of Citizens: Revolution and Slave Emancipation in the French Caribbean, 1787–1804 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2004). 42 See the detailed study by John Lynch, The Spanish American Revolutions, 1808–1826 (New York: W.W. Norton, 1986). See also Jaime E. Rodríguez O., The Independence of Spanish America (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). For a broad set of readings on empires over time, in the European and non-European worlds, see S.N. Eisenstadt, The Decline of Empires (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall, 1967). See also D.K. Fieldhouse, The Colonial Empires: A Comparative Survey from the Eighteenth Century (New York: Dell, 1966). 43 Leslie B. Rout, Jr., The African Experience in Spanish America: 1502 to the Present Day (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976).

32

stanley engerman

have been inevitable. Nevertheless, the military resources used in the efforts to maintain the colonial empires added to the measured overall burden of colonial development. The final major movement to New World independence in the first part of the nineteenth century was the loss to Portugal of Brazil, which achieved independence in 1822. This transition involved only minimal military action in the Americas, and it was mainly a transfer of the ruling elite from Portugal to Brazil. In this case cultural and trading patterns did not change dramatically and, since it was basically a shift in ruling elites, there was little impact upon the slaves and Native Americans. In the years between the late nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century there were some changes in the ownership of colonies, both because of business-like transactions and warfare between metropolitan powers. The Russians sold their colony in Alaska to the Americans in 1867, for $7.2 million, ending their stay on the North American continent. They did, however, maintain control over Finland, acquired in 1809. The Swedes, who had been given St. Bartholomew by the French in 1784, resold the island to the French in 1877, after the emancipation of the slaves, for 320,000 francs. The Danes, who had acquired the Virgin Islands by settlement in the eighteenth century, sold them to the United States in 1917 for $25 million. Denmark later granted independence to Iceland in 1944, but it still maintains its colony in Greenland. Spain had sold Florida to the United States in 1819, but at the end of the century the outcome of the Spanish-American War meant the loss of Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines to the United States, while independent Cuba moved into the American sphere of influence, at least until 1959.44 By negotiation after Panama received independence from Colombia, the U.S. acquired a narrow strip of land for the Panama Canal, requiring, among other things, a payment of $10 million at the time of purchase and then annual payments of $250,000 after nine years. In 1898, Hawaii was acquired as a U.S. territory, due to its internal disturbances, and maintained its territorial status until it became a state in 1958 (as did Alaska).

44 There was a price of $20 million paid for the Philippines. A curious situation occurred in the 1930’s when there was a drive for Philippine independence, as a means of reducing migration into the U.S. For St. Bartholomew and Sweden, see Charles de Lannoy, A History of Swedish Colonial Expansion (Newark: University of Delaware, 1938).

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

33

Some reallocation of colonies occurred with the outcome of World War I, with Germany suffering losses to other European powers. A major decline of colonization occurred with the nationalist decolonization movements that came after World War II, resulting in the independence of much of Africa, Asia, and the Caribbean, and the decline in the empires of all of the European nations. Some achieved independence on the basis of political freeing by the European nations, often in response to domestic movements for independence as well as local uprisings, as in the two largest new nations, India and Indonesia, as well as in the smaller areas of the Caribbean. Independence was, at times, also preceded by uprisings, revolutions, and military action. There had been discussions of shifts in colonial ownership even before the development of the post-World War II ideology of decolonization. The post-World War II movements towards independence often reflected a new ideology about relations among different peoples of the world, to a greater extent than it did any change in economic or social factors affecting the colonial relationship. One basic question is whether colonization (imperialism) paid, on economic grounds, to the metropolis, or was the drive for colonies and its outcome to be explained based on other factors. A diverse set of studies by, among others, Hobson, Lenin, and Davis and Huttenback, point to varying reasons for imperialism but are in some accord that it probably did not provide major economic benefits to the home country. Earlier, Adam Smith had suggested that the American colonies cost the British, a point made also by Burke, and later a similar argument about Spain and the Spanish colonies was made by Bentham. At issue is what might have happened in the absence of political acquisition, in terms of the role of markets, capital investment (including the question of the possible absorption of ‘excess’ capital from the European investment), and the supply of raw materials, and whether these factor flows would have been the same without controls. Non-economic gains discussed are: prestige and strategic and military benefits, based upon international rivalries. Several Asian colonies under European control, particularly India and Indonesia, had only very limited European settlement, but are believed to have yielded dividend for the metropolis from colonial ‘drains’ of funds, a surplus of imports over exports that benefited the metropolis, both of which continued into the twentieth century. Whether or not colonies paid for the metropolis is, of course, not the same question as whether they were costly to the colonies or whether, despite the loss of national independence, there were economic and

34

stanley engerman

other benefits for those in the colonies. It is also questionable whether the losses were smaller in the earlier period of colonization or if the costs to Africa, in particular in the late nineteenth century, were greater than they had been earlier. The discussion of the trend in profits over time has been related to the economics of decolonization and the question asked whether the colonies had become unprofitable on economic grounds or perhaps due to the costs of social control, and were thus turned loose by European nations based on their own material interests rather than some new ideology favoring colonial independence. Table 1. European-directed Transatlantic Migration, 1500 to 1760 by European Nation and Continent of Origin (1) (2) Africans Europeans Leaving Arriving in the Each Nation for New World by New World (Net) Region

(3) Total Flow of Migrants to New World (Col. 1+Col. 2) (000)

(4) Flow of Africans Relative to that of Europeans (Col. 1/Col. 2)

(000)

(%)

(000)

(%)

(%)

1500–1580 Spain Portugal Britain TOTAL

45 13 0 58

77.6 22.4 — 100.0

139 93 0 232

59.9 40.1 — 100.0

184 106 0 290

63.4 36.6 — 100.0

0.32 0.14 0 0.25

1580–1640 Spain Portugal France Netherlands Britain TOTAL

289 181 2 8 4 484

59.7 37.4 0.4 1.7 0.8 100.0

188 110 4 2 126 430

43.7 25.6 0.9 0.5 29.3 100.0

477 291 6 10 130 914

52.2 31.8 0.7 1.1 14.2 100.0

1.54 1.65 0.50 4.00 0.03 1.13

1640–1700 Spain Portugal France Netherlands Britain TOTAL

141 225 75 49 277 767

18.4 29.3 9.8 6.4 36.1 100.0

158 50 45 13 248 514

30.7 9.7 8.8 2.5 48.2 100.0

299 275 120 62 525 1,281

23.3 21.5 9.4 4.8 41.0 100.0

0.89 4.50 1.67 3.77 1.12 1.49

1700–1760 Spain 271 Portugal 768 France 414 Netherlands 123 Britain 1,013 TOTAL 2,589

10.5 29.7 16.0 4.8 39.1 100.0

193 270 51 5 372 891

21.7 30.3 5.7 0.6 41.8 100.0

464 1,038 465 128 1,385 3,480

13.3 29.8 13.4 3.7 39.8 100.0

1.40 2.84 8.12 24.60 2.72 2.91

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

35

Table 1 (cont.) (1) (2) Africans Europeans Leaving Arriving in the Each Nation for New World by New World (Net) Region (000) 1500–1760 Spain 746 Portugal 1,187 France 491 Netherlands 180 Britain 1,294 TOTAL 3,898

(3) Total Flow of Migrants to New World (Col. 1+Col. 2)

(%)

(000)

(%)

(000)

(%)

19.1 30.5 12.6 4.6 33.2 100.0

678 523 100 20 746 2,067

32.8 25.3 4.8 1.0 36.3 100.0

1,424 1,710 591 200 2,040 5,965

23.9 28.7 9.9 3.4 34.2 100.0

(4) Flow of Africans Relative to that of Europeans (Col. 1/Col. 2)

1.10 2.27 4.91 9.00 1.73 1.89

Notes and Sources: David Eltis, “Slavery and Freedom in the Early Modern World,” in Stanley L. Engerman, ed., Terms of Labor: Slavery, Serfdom and Free Labor (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999). These now published estimates include some minor adjustments to the original estimates prepared by Eltis that we have previously cited.

Table 2. The Distribution and Composition of Population in New World Economies Panel A Composition of Population

Year

White (%)

Black (%)

Indian (%)

Share in New World Population

Spanish America

1570 1650 1825 1935

1.3 6.3 18.0 35.5

2.5 9.3 22.5 13.3

96.3 84.4 59.5 50.4

83.5 84.3 55.2 30.3

Brazil

1570 1650 1825 1935

2.4 7.4 23.4 41.0

3.5 13.7 55.6 35.5

94.1 78.9 21.0 23.0

7.6 7.7 11.6 17.1

U.S. and Canada

1570 1650 1825 1935

0.2 12.0 79.6 89.4

0.2 2.2 16.7 8.9

99.6 85.8 3.7 1.4

8.9 8.1 33.2 52.6

36

stanley engerman

Table 2 (cont.) Panel B

1) Barbados 2) Mexico 3) Peru 4) Venezuela 5) Cuba 6) Brazil 7) Chile

Year

White (%)

Black (%)

1801 1793 1795 1800–09 1792 1798 1790

19.3 18.0 12.6 25.0 49.0 31.1 8.3

80.7 10.0 7.3 62.0 51.0 61.2 6.7

Indian (%) 72.0 80.1 13.0 7.8 85.0

Notes and Sources Panel A: The data for 1570, 1650, and 1825 are from Angel Rosenblat, La población indígena y el mestizaje en América, volume I: La población indígena, 1492–1950 (Buenos Aires: Editorial Nova, 1954), 88 (1570); 58 (1650); and 35–36 (1825); the data for 1935 are from Robert R. Kuczynski, Population Movements (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1936), 109–110. The Antilles have been included within Spanish America in all years. In 1825, the category “castas”, which included “mestizos, mulattos, etc.,” and represented 18.17% of the total population in Spanish America, was divided two-thirds Indian, one-third black, except for the Antilles where all were considered to be blacks. In 1935, there were a number counted as “others” (generally Asian), so the distributions may not total to 100 percent. Panel B: Line 1—David Watts, The West Indies: Patterns of Development, Culture. and Environmental Change Since 1492 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 311. Lines 2–5—taken from James Lockhart and Stuart B. Schwartz, Early Latin America: A History of Colonial Spanish America and Brazil (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 342. Line 6—Thomas W. Merrick and Douglas H. Graham, Population and Economic Development in Brazil: 1800 to the Present (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979), 29. Line 7—Markos J. Mamalakis, Historical Statistics of Chile: Demography and Labor Force, Volume 2 (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1980), 7–9.

Table 3. Composition of Populations in European Colonial Domains Non-Whites

Whites

Ratio of Whites to Others

15 97,356,000 155,000 242,800 120,000 99,571 639,708 98,613,094

347,691 62,162 131,800 67,868 1,410,400 3,958 71,350 2,095,229

23,179.400 0.001 0.850 0.280 11.753 0.040 0.112 0.021

BRITAIN 1850 Europe Asia Australasia Africa North America South America West Indies TOTAL

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

37

Table 3 (cont.) Non-Whites

Whites

Ratio of Whites to Others

32,883,000 492,500 20,415,000 71,600 53,862,100

1,331,400 48,500 23,500 16,400 1,419,800

0.040 0.098 0.001 0.229 0.026

12,084,436 961,000

22,405 6,454

0.002 0.007

2,380,560

69,441

0.029

FRANCE 1926 Africa (all) Americas (all) Asia Oceania TOTAL GERMANY 1913 Africa Pacific/Oceania ITALY 1931 Africa PORTUGAL 1950 Africa

11,879,140

137,542

0.012

c. 34,000,000

63,315

0.002

85,571

6,310

0.074

NETHERLANDS 1900 East Indies 1835 West Indies

Sources: For Britain, Robert Montgomery Martin, History of the Colonies of the British Empire (London: Dawsons of Pall Mall, 1967); for France, Constant Southworth, The French Colonial Venture (London: P.S. King & Son, 1931), 26; for Germany, Mary Evelyn Townsend, The Rise and Fall of Germany’s Colonial Empire, 1884–1918 (New York: Macmillan, 1930), 265–266; for Italy, Grover Clark, The Balance Sheet of Imperialism: Facts and Figures on Colonies (New York: Columbia University Press, 1936), 35; for Portugal, Robert R. Kuczynski, Population Movements (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1936), 95; and for Netherlands East Indies, Statesman’s Yearbook (1901), 879–881, and for Netherlands West Indies, Kuczynski, Population Movements, 103. Note: Given the periodic demographic and political changes, the racial compositions of the Spanish colonies, mainly in the Americas and also the Philippines, as well as in Africa, varied considerably over time. For estimates for 1570 and 1650, see Table 2. In 1890, prior to the losses in the Spanish-American War, the colonies of Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines were eighty-five percent non-white.

38

stanley engerman Table 4. Colonial Domains of Britain, c. 1899 Area in Sq. Miles (000)

Population (000)

Date of Acquisition

1,068.3 731.9

221,173 66,050

1601–1856 —

1,800.2

287,223

EUROPE Gibraltar Malta and Gozo

— 0.1

24 180

1704 1800

OTHER ASIA Aden and Perim Ceylon Hong Kong Labuan Straits Settlement

0.1 25.3 0.4 — 1.5

42 3,449 354 6 512

1839 1795 1842 1846 1819

— 10.3 276.8 0.7 35.0

0.4 250 1,788 338 902

1815 1868–1883 1806 1810 1824

INDIA British India Feudatory States Total INDIA

AFRICA Ascension Basutoland Cape Colony Mauritius Natal and Zululand St. Helena WEST AFRICA Gambia Gold Coast Lagos Sierra Leone AMERICAS Bermudas Canada Falklands/So. Georgia Isl. British Guiana British Honduras Newfoundland/ Labrador

—

5

1651

— 40.0 0.9 4.0

14 1,474 86 75

1631 1661 1787 1789

— 3,653.9 7.5

16 5,186 2

1609 1763 1833

109.0 7.6 162.2

286 35 202

1803 1670 1497

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

39

Table 4 (cont.) Area in Sq. Miles (000) WEST INDIES Bahamas Jamaica/Turks Islands Barbados Leeward Islands Windward Islands Trinidad and Tobago AUSTRALASIA Fiji New Guinea New South Wales New Zealand Queensland South Australia Tasmania Victoria Western Australia Total British Colonies without India Grand Total BRITISH COLONIES WITH INDIA

Population (000)

Date of Acquisition

4.5 4.4

53 733

1629 1655

0.1 0.7 0.8 1.9

190 128 155 274

1605 1600s 1600s 1763–1797

7.7 90.5 310.7 104.5 668.5 903.7 29.4 87.9 975.9

122 350 1,357 796 499 363 171 1,177 168

7,523.8

21,769

9,324.0

308,992

Notes and Sources: Morris, The History of Colonization, II: 88–89.

1874 1884 1788 1840 1859 1836 1803 1850 1829

40

stanley engerman Table 5. Colonial Domains of France, c. 1899 Area in Sq. Miles (000)

ASIA India Annam Cambodia Cochin-China Tonquin (with Laos) AFRICA Algeria Algerian Sahara Tunis Sahara Region Senegal Sudan Ivory Coast Dahomey Congo and Gabon French Guinea Obok and Somali Coast Réunion Comoro Isles Mayotte Nossi-Bé Sainte Marie Madagascar AMERICAS Guiana Guadeloupe and Dependencies Martinique St. Pierre and Miquelon OCEANIA New Caledonia/ Dependencies Other French Establishments Total All French Colonies

Population (000)

Date of Acquisition

0.2 88.8 40.5 23.1 210.4

279 5,000 1,500 2,400 13,500

1679 1884 1862 1861 1884–93

184.5 123.5 50.8 1,684.0 120.0 300.0 100.0 50.0 425.0 48.0 5.0

4,430 50 1,500 2,500 2,000 2,500 2,500 1,000 12,000 1,000 22

1830 — 1881 — 1637 1880 1843 1893 1884 1843 1864

1.0 0.6 0.1 0.1 0.1 227.8

173 53 11 10 8 3,500

1649 1886 1843 1841 1643 1896

46.9 0.7

23 167

1626 1634

0.4 0.1

188 6

1635 1635

7.7

53

1854

1.5

29

1841–81

3,740.8

56,402

Notes and Sources: Morris, The History of Colonization, I: 420–421.

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

41

Table 6. Colonial Domains of Selected Other European Powers, c. 1890 Area in Sq. Miles (000) DENMARK Europe Faröe Islands Greenland (coasts) Iceland West Indies St. John and St. Thomas St. Croix Total DENMARK % of All European Colonies, c. 1890 GERMANY Africa Cameroons Damaraland/ Luderitzland German East Africa Togoland Pacific Bismarck Archipelago Kaiser Wilhelm’s Land (New Guinea) Marshall Archipelago Solomon Islands Total GERMANY % of All European Colonies, c. 1890 ITALY Africa Eritrea Abyssinia Somali Coast Total ITALY % of All European Colonies, c. 1890 NETHERLANDS East Indies

0.5 46.7 39.8 — 0.1 87.1 0.6%

Population (000)

11.2 9.8 72.4 15.4 18.4 127.2 0.0%

130.0 342.0

500.0 250.0

344.8 16.0

1,755.0 500.0

18.2 70.3

188.0 109.0

— 8.5 929.8 6.0%

10.0 80.0 3,392.0 0.9%

56.1 189.0 70.0 315.1 2.0%

659.0 4,500.0 210.0 5,369.0 1.3%

42

stanley engerman

Table 6 (cont.)

Borneo Celebes Java (with Madura) Moluccas Sumatra New Guinea Other Islands West Indies All Islands1 Suriname Total NETHERLANDS % of All European Colonies, c. 1890 PORTUGAL Africa Portuguese Guinea Angola Madeira Cape Verde Islands Mozambique Principe/St. Thomas’ Island Asia Goa, Daman, etc. Macao Timor, etc. Total PORTUGAL % of All European Colonies, c. 1890 SPAIN Africa Canaries Gulf of Guinea N.W Saharan Seaboard and Spanish Morocco Asia Philippine Islands Other Islands2 1 2

Area in Sq. Miles (000)

Population (000)

203.7 72.0 50.8 42.4 170.7 150.8 29.0

1,073.5 2,000.0 21,974.2 353.0 2,750.0 200.0 235.0

0.4 46.1 765.9 4.9%

45.1 74.1 28,704.9 7.2%

11.6 603.0 0.3 1.5 293.0 0.4

150.0 3,600.0 132.0 111.0 1,500.0 21.0

1.6 — 6.3 917.7 5.9%

481.5 66.0 300.0 6,361.5 1.6%

2.8 0.9 243.0

288.0 50.0 106.0

114.3 2.0

5,561.2 119.7

Includes Bonaire, Curaçao, Aruba, Saba, St.Eustatius, and St. Martin. Includes Caroline, Pelew, Marianne, and Sulu Islands.

war, colonization, and migration over five centuries

43

Table 6 (cont.) Area in Sq. Miles (000) West Indies Cuba (and Pinos) Puerto Rico Total SPAIN % of All European Colonies, c. 1890

43.2 3.6 409.8 2.6%

Population (000) 1,521.7 784.7 8,431.3 2.1%

Notes and Sources: H. de R. Gibbins, History of Commerce in Europe (New York: Macmillan, 1891), Appendix B. Not all European countries with colonies are included here. An outstanding example is Belgium, and its Belgian Congo colony in particular. After 1883, the Congo was owned, essentially by King Leopold II, and it was not until 1908 that there was a legal connection with Belgium (the Congo, now Zaire, gained its independence in 1960). In 1900, its population was 8 million, of which 1,630 residents were of European descent. Its land area covered 900,000 square miles. See Adam Hochschild, King Leopold’s Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terrorism and Heroism in Colonial Africa (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1998). The table does not specify the colonies of Russia (including Finland), of Turkey (including Egypt, the Egyptian Sudan, Bulgaria, Crete, and Samos), and of Austria-Hungary (Cabelon on the Coromandel Coast and Banquibazar in Bengal, both through the Ostend Company), nor is it inclusive of quite all of the colonies of the European countries explicitly included (such as Ireland for Britain, or Libya for Italy). In 1899, the Congo and these latter colonies together had at least a land area of 3,279,494 square miles and a population of 59,221,660. If we include the Spanish colonies that were taken over by the United States in 1898, we estimate (somewhat conservatively in our view) that 18,008,094 square miles of land were encompassed in European colonies c. 1890, and that roughly 432,306,000 people resided in these areas. We use these latter figures as the basis for the calculations of the proportions of the total land area and population in European colonies reported here.

CHAPTER TWO

MARITIME POWERS, COLONIAL POWERS: THE ROLE OF MIGRATION (C. 1492–1792)1 Olivier Pétré-Grenouilleau Many things have been written about the encounter between the Europeans and the Amerindians, the collapse of pre-Columbian societies and the establishment of European colonial empires in the Americas. Despite much sophisticated research, some images and clichés are nevertheless still prevalent, like the idea of a continent conquered by a handful of people. Yet one knows that the conquistadors were rapidly reinforced by important contingents of indigenous people and that the numbers question was crucial from the very beginning of European settlement. Mutatis mutandis, the situation was comparable in many other areas, as in Canada where the English ousted the French partly because of their larger presence. That said, the numbers question is also something quite relative. European forces did not only depend on migration from the old continent. Native people and slaves deported from Africa also played a very important role during the conquest and, moreover, the phase of the exploitation of American resources. Hence the necessity to have maritime power at one’s disposal, that is to say ships, sailors, technical and military capabilities. A kind of triangular explanation is thus necessary for the understanding of the conquest and exploitation of the Americas by the Europeans, linking colonial power, human and maritime resources. These three elements, whose combinations evolved through time and space, can only be defined by looking at concrete cases. The cases dealt with here will concern the period between Christopher Columbus’s discovery of America (1492) and the beginning of the ‘French Wars’ (1792).

1

Translated by David Macey. An earlier version of this essay appeared in: Christian Buchet, Jean Meyer, and Jean-Pierre Poussou, eds., La puissance maritime: actes du colloque international tenu à l’Institut Catholique de Paris, 13–15 décembre 2001 (Paris: Presses de l’Université Paris-Sorbonne, 2004).

46

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

Different Responses to the Same Challenge (Sending Men) The first question to arise is that of the number of Europeans who emigrated to overseas territories in general and to the Americas in particular before 1800. The question is simple but essential, and it is difficult to give a clear or precise answer. While research on the quantitative analysis of the Atlantic slave trade has made considerable progress since Philip Curtin’s census of 1969 (recently enriched by a remarkable data base on CD-ROM) and while the Atlantic slave trade is now one of the most studied migratory movements in history, the same cannot be said of European overseas migrations before 1800.2 The many studies of the question that are available deal mainly with questions pertaining to living conditions before departure and on arrival. There are far fewer statistical studies of the migratory phenomenon in the strict sense of that term.3 While a great deal of information is available on certain aspects of this question (French migration to Canada), we know less about others (indentured servants [engagés]), and in some cases (freebooters, for example), the information is no more than fragmentary. When they do exist, the statistical studies are not necessarily all based on the same criteria. Some take into account all departures, while others look at ‘net’ departures without always specifying how the latter are calculated. Mulattoes are sometimes counted as white, and sometimes counted separately.4 Less information is available on some geographical

2 D. Eltis, S. Behrendt, D. Richardson and H. Klein, The Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade: A Database on CD-ROM (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). See my review in Outre-Mers, Revue d’Histoire 1 (2001): 311–316. 3 The study of European migrations seems to have inverted the methods used by studies of the Atlantic slave trade. The latter began by looking at the question of the “numbers game” and gradually produced first-rate statistical data that now have the indirect effect of allowing us to arrive at a better understanding of the trade’s regional and African dimensions. We already know a lot about European demography, and that knowledge has helped to encourage research into the question of the factors that led Europeans to migrate, and the problems of gender and status (contract laborers). Other lines of research have analysed expatriates as members of colonial societies. European migratory movements in the strict sense have not been studied to the same extent. 4 This explains, for example, the considerable discrepancy between the estimates of the white population in the Caribbean given by Pieter Emmer: in P.C. Emmer and Magnus Mörner, European Expansion and Migration: Essays on the Intercontinental Migration from Africa, Asia and Europe (New York and Oxford: Berg, 1992) and David Watts (The West Indies: Patterns of Development, culture and Environmental Change since 1492 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987).

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

47

spaces and some periods of time. More should be done to harmonize and synthesize the data, and further research is, in a word, necessary. Hence the major discrepancies between the figures advanced by different researchers, and hence the contradictory general conclusions they put forward. To cite only one example, it will be recalled that, according to Jean Meyer, “the growth of the New World’s new humanity came about . . . through natural growth rather than migration,” while Bouda Etemad claims that “the replenishment of the [white and African] populations” could be guaranteed only by a continuous inflow of new immigrants.5 It can obviously be said that everything depends on the period or the place, and therefore the nature of the links between migrations and colonial demographic systems.6 But that does not detract from the need for a synthetic and accurate survey of European migrations to America before 1800. What we can offer for the moment, thanks to Etemad’s very meticulous work, is an overall estimate of the population of European origin present in colonial America in 1760, or at the time when it acquired its essential characteristics.7 At first sight, the size of this population appears somewhat pathetic given the immensity of the territories it occupied, or that came under European influence. The population was in fact no more than about 4,900,000, mainly divided between Hispanic America (3,000,000), the Thirteen Colonies (1,268,000) and Brazil (390,000). Elsewhere, the European presence was even sparser: 26,000 in Africa (of which 15,000 in the Cape) and 18,000 in Asia (of which 7,500 in the Dutch East Indies).8 Between 60 and 65 million Europeans did indeed sustain intercontinental migrations between 1500 and 1850,

5 Jean Meyer, L’Europe et la conquête du monde (Paris: Armand Colin, 1996 [1975]), 148; Bouda Etemad, La Possession du monde. Poids et mesures de la colonisation (Bruxelles: Complexe, 2000), 25. 6 Meyer defines three main systems. The first corresponds to the period of the hecatombs that were usually suffered by the first colonists. The second is characterized by quite steady natural population growth, thanks to the relatively relaxed morals and constraints, as compared with those in European societies, and the third comes closer to European models as constraints inspired by social controls begin to reappear. 7 It should be noted that the more general and cautious expression ‘community of European origin’ is preferable to ‘white population’ (which is hard to quantify because of interbreeding). 8 Etemad, La Possession du monde, 38. Elsewhere, we find, in descending order, Canada (85,000), the West Indies (41,000), St. Domingue (20,000), Newfoundland (13,000), Guadeloupe (11,700), Martinique (11,600), the Dutch West Indies (3,000), Belize (British Honduras) and Saint-Pierre et Miquelon (1,000 each) and French Guyana (600).

48

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

but 85% of them left their regions of origin after the mid-eighteenth century.9 The period that concerns us (c. 1492–1792) is therefore one of comparatively small migratory flows, as can be seen from the data below on migrants who left on a permanent basis. Table 1. Number of European Migrants by Country of Departure, 1500–176010 Country

Before 1580

1580–1640

1640–1700

1700–1760

England

139,000 (59.9%) 93,000 (40.1%) 0 (0%)

France

0 (0%)

Netherlands

0 (0%)

188,000 (43.72%) 110,000 (25.58%) 126,000 (29.3%) 4,000 (0.93%) 2,000

158,000 (30.73%) 50,000 (9.72%) 248,000 (48.42%) 45,000 (8.75%) 13,000 (2.52%)

193,000 (21,66%) 270,000 (30.3%) 372,000 (41.75%) 51,000 (5.72%) 5,000 (0.56%)

Spain Portugal

Figures in brackets indicate each nation’s share (as percentage of total) by period.

Table 2. Numbers Transported to the Americas, 1500–176011 Country

Nationals leaving for Americas

African slaves carried on country’s ships

Total (col. 2 + 3)

England Spain Portugal France Netherlands Total

746,000 (36.0%) 678,000 (32.8%) 523,000 (25.3%) 100,000 (4.8%) 20,000 (1.0%) 2,067,000

1,662,000 (37.9%) 120,000 (2.7%) 1,681,000 (38.6%) 506,000 (11.6%) 401,000 (9.2%) 4,380,000

2,408,000 (37.4%) 798,000 (12.3%) 2,214,000 (34.3%) 606,000 (9.4%) 421,000 (6.6%) 6,447,000

Figures in brackets indicate each nation’s share (percentage) by period.

9

On these questions, see Emmer and Mörner, European Expansion and Migra-

tion. 10 The percentages were calculated on the basis of the data supplied by David Eltis, The Rise of African Slavery in the Americas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 9. The figures for England include German migrants and Africans carried on English ships based in America. 11 The comments on note 11 also apply here. The rise of the slave trade after 1760 suggests that the percentages for each of the five European nations have to be adjusted. That would not alter the overall order of magnitude.

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

49

Although limited, these migratory flows are not negligible. Given the mortality rate in the colonies, new waves of migrants were indeed needed to maintain the level of the European presence. “Of the 550,000 Europeans who emigrated to the Caribbean between 1500 and 1800, only between 150,000 and 200,000 were still alive at the end of the eighteenth century” [i.e. migrants and their descendants], writes Etemad.12 During the initial period of the conquest, Europe made a vital human contribution. At a time when very few Europeans lived in the tropics, a localized numerical advantage could prove to be decisive. This was the case in Saint-Domingue; the Western part of the island of Hispaniola, which was initially acquired by the French thanks to buccaneers based a few cables’ length away on Tortuga. With a few exceptions (a few blacks taking part in the conquest of Spanish America), the very first shock troops consisted essentially of Europeans.13 The available data are as extensive as they are scattered, and should be consolidated. The conquistadores, contract laborers and colonists have found their historians, who are keen on quantitative analysis. The buccaneers have yet to find theirs.14 To sum up: the European contribution was limited but still appreciable, and decisive in the early stages of the conquest. When the time came to defend and exploit the colonies, the ambitions of the great powers of the day came up against a major obstacle: migratory movements were relatively independent of the political authorities. No matter whether they were designed to restrict the number of departures for the colonies or, on the contrary, to increase them, the limitations of official policies were revealed in all countries. Advocates of mercantilism wanted to prevent the old continent from being drained of men. Their fears that huge numbers of nationals would leave for the colonies were, however, greatly exaggerated, which explains why they never went beyond the stage of an ideological reluctance to see them

12

He adds: “This figure does not take into account the number who returned to Europe; their number is not known.” Etemad, La Possession du monde, 36. Besides, “The white populations living in the Portuguese colonial domain at this time numbered no more than 400,000, including 390,000 in Brazil, even though 1.5 million Portuguese emigrated to the empire between 1500 and 1760.” 13 The conquest of America was therefore completely different from that of Asia and Africa, which were ‘conquered by themselves’ or in other words with the help of locally recruited troops. Etemad, La Possession du monde, Chapter 3. 14 It will be recalled that in 1628 Piet Heyn attacked Spanish galleons off Cuba with a force of 2,300 sailors and 1,000 soldiers, and that Morgan attacked Panama with 37 ships and 2,300 men in 1670, and that these were not isolated incidents: Paul Butel, Les Caraïbes au temps des flibustiers (Paris: Aubier 1982), 65, 125.

50

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

leave and why there were no real policies designed to prevent them from doing so. Conversely, over the three centuries that we are concerned with, there were many attempts, sometimes official and on the part of the state, to encourage or force nationals to leave for the Americas (recruitment agencies and the transportation of convicts and other undesirables). These had no great effect as the vast majority of Europeans who went to settle in the Americas did so of their own free will. And besides, changes in the labor market in the various European states certainly played a more important role than any official policies.15 Unable to count on ever greater contingents and having no direct way of influencing the human potential at its disposal, Europe did all it could to ‘colonize with economy,’ as Etemad puts it so nicely. This truly “extraordinary” capability was, he adds, born “of necessity.”16 It was a necessity because the attractions of the New World were not great enough and because many of the Europeans who settled in the tropics died before the effects of early advances in “emigrant medicine” (whose origins go back to the fifteenth century) were felt from 1830–1850 onwards. Although disease was not an insurmountable obstacle to European domination in the tropics, “the high mortality rates recorded during the early phases of colonial expansion” were indeed enough to discourage reliance on a white labor force and, a fortiori, the establishment of European settler colonies. The “exploitation” of colonial territories therefore depended on a small number of factors, including the Europeans’ ability to use a black labor force imported from Africa. But once again, the maritime and colonial powers did not hold all the cards. Work carried out in the past few decades in fact shows that Africans themselves played a far from negligible role in the development of the slave trade. African elites controlled the outwards flows, and the slaves themselves, whether they rebelled or not, had an effect on the cost of the trade and ultimately on the ability to finance further expeditions. European states therefore had only a limited direct influence of migratory flows to the Americas, no matter whether they came from Africa or their own continent.17 15 On the links between fluctuations on migratory flows and evolution of average wages in England and the United Provinces in the eighteenth century, see Eltis, The Rise of African Slavery in the Americas. 16 Etemad, La Possession du monde, 39. 17 It is true that primes allowed ship-owners to give an impulse to the slave trade, as they did in France after 1784. But these primes were intended to compensate for some limitations of the old mercantilism imposed by the state, and the rise of French slave

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

51

We can now draw some provisional conclusions. Migrant European populations were usually small. State policies had little effect on migratory movements. Adventurers who were largely beyond the control of the metropolis played a far from negligible role in the early stages. Europeans were intrinsically and helplessly vulnerable to tropical diseases. It was necessary to have recourse to a non-European labor force (either indigenous or imported). All these constraints acted as variables that had an effect on the conquest and exploitation of colonies, and the European states could do very little to control them. Faced with the same challenge, each state therefore tried to respond in its own way. There was therefore not one system, but several systems that tried to exploit as best they could the human resources available to each colonial and maritime power. Depending on the circumstance, the prevailing modes of thought, the economic imperatives and goals assigned to the colonies, each power developed its own system. We will now try to identify the elements and dynamics of the different systems. The Iberians: Empires and Men, but no Real Maritime Power The two Iberian neighbors, Spain and Portugal, were the first European nations to embark upon a transoceanic adventure, and the one thing they had in common was that they were the only nations to succeed in establishing actual colonial empires. In 1760, Spain’s colonial domain extended for 12,298,000 square kilometers (58% of the total surface area of the European colonies), while Portugal’s covered 8,500,000 square km (35.1%). England (3,153,000 square km, 13%), the Netherlands (196,000 square km, 0.8%) and France (65,000 square km, 0.3%) were a long way behind.18 Their second characteristic was that, given the huge size of their empires, it became more and more difficult for them to fulfil their seaborne role. The defeat of the Invincible Armada in 1588 had already sounded the death knell for Spain’s hopes in that domain, and Portugal had never really entertained any such hopes. Because they needed other nations to supply their empires with manufactured goods, sometimes

trade expeditions until 1792 was the result of several factors among which state policy was not the most important. On these issues, see our Les négoces maritimes français XVIIe–XXe siècles (Paris: Belin, 1997), 136–138. 18 Ibid., 188.

52

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

relying upon foreign capital (Dutch and Flemish capital in the case of Portuguese Brazil), and had to subcontract slaving operations (in the case of Spain but not Portugal; see Table 2), Spain and Portugal emphasized the small number of trading activities that they regarded as essential: shipments of precious metals from the Americas in the case of Spain, and “India to India” trade (the Portuguese trade in Southwest Asia) or the exploitation of Brazil in the case of Portugal. Guaranteeing their safety did not require a large navy. Defending and exploiting the huge territories in their possession did, on the other hand, require large human contingents. It is therefore not surprising to find that both nations played a major role in migratory movements from Europe to America. Between 1500 and 1620, 100% of permanent European migrants came from the Iberian Peninsula. That percentage fell between 1640 and 1700 (though it was still over 40%), when the countries of North Western Europe joined in the game, but then rose again (to almost 52%) between 1700 and 1760. All things considered, Spain (with 678,000 permanent migrants) and Portugal (523,000) came second and third, just after England (746,000), between 1500 and 1760. The number of men they expatriated no doubt gave the two nations an advantage. Although they were initially few in number (but their numbers were purely relative, as the Iberians were overrepresented, as compared with other European nations), these men made it possible to conquer vast territories. Conversely, the small scale of Spanish settler colonies in the Lesser Antilles was one of the factors that allowed the French and English to establish a presence there. Thanks to the Spanish administrative apparatus, it is fairly easy to count the number of Spain’s first emigrants. According to Nicolás Sánchez-Albornoz, 243,000 people, or 2,583 people per year, left Spain for the Americas in the sixteenth century; the average rose to 3,900 during the first half of the seventeenth (195,000 departures). The southwestern quarter of the country seems to have been by far the most affected. One third of all migrants came from Andalusia. Extremadura and New Castile supplied 28% of the total, and Old Castile, Léon and the inland North brought up the rear with one quarter of all departures. The second phase of emigration (1650–1800) is more difficult to quantify, as the sources are less reliable. But the state appears to have become more active, especially in the second half of the eighteenth century: 60,000 soldiers were shipped to the Americas between 1739 and 1798. Peasants who had been promised land and the wherewithal to begin its cultivation were shipped out with their families. Thousands of Canary

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

53

Islanders also went to strengthen Spanish possessions bordering on those of their rivals: Cuba, St. Domingue, Texas, Florida, Louisiana, Venezuela and Uruguay. This initiative on the part of the state has to be related to the mercantilist policy of exploiting and defending the Empire (many regions were under-populated and were, potentially, easy prey for European rivals), and to a desire to relieve the demographic pressure on Galicia and the Canary Islands. “There are only a few examples,” writes SánchezAlbornoz, “of such an ambitious scheme, whose full range remains to be studied.”19 The other change was that the eastern seaboard of the peninsula began to supply more migrants at the end of the century, and that foreigners (French and Irish Catholics) were more easily admitted. Between the sixteenth century and the eighteenth, we find that the migratory pattern gradually changed from a current centred on emigration from the South-West quarter of the country to the American highlands, to one centred on the North, the East and the islands (the Balearics and the Canaries) to the coastal regions of Spanish America. The former included a certain number of conquerors, and the latter a greater proportion of soldiers, merchants and colonists. What conclusions are we to draw from this? Firstly that there was, on the whole, a good match between the policy of ‘exploiting’ and defending the American empire and the trend for mainly spontaneous emigration on the part of Spanish nationals. Spain does not, in other words, appear to have experienced any shortage of manpower in America, at least until the second half of the eighteenth century. One can only conclude that the explanation for the increased state intervention during that period lies in the disruption of this balance or at least a certain loss of elasticity. This would also explain the privileges granted to foreigners. The reasons for this probable loss of elasticity have yet to be fully explained. The factors that allowed it to be maintained until the first half of the eighteenth century are better understood. Emphasis was for a long time placed on the importance of the minor nobility or allied social groups, which supposedly provided the essential room for manoeuvre, especially during the earliest stages of the

19

This paragraph is based mainly on N. Sánchez-Albornoz, “The First Transatlantic Transfer: Spanish Migration to the New World, 1493–1810,” in Nicholas Canny, ed., Europeans on the Move: Studies on European Migration, 1500–1800 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), 26–36. The quotation is on p. 34.

54

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

conquest. But, as many studies have shown,20 it was mainly the reconquista of Spain that supplied ‘the keys to the Conquest of America.’21 All groups in society played a part in both reconquista and conquest. Only a minority of the conquistadores were true hidalgos (untitled nobles), and the majority (at least 80%) were commoners. Most conquistadores, like those in the first phase of emigration defined by Sánchez-Albornoz, came from the Meseta and the South. The emigrants also included “rich or poor peasants” and commoners. The one thing they had in common was that they enjoyed a new leeway thanks to the relaxation of peasant obligations and the nobility’s hold over the towns (as a result of the crown’s growing ascendancy). Given the favourable circumstances, the ambition and taste for adventure stimulated by the reconquista acted as a sort of catalyst. The American ‘dream’ did the rest. One other factor also came into play, especially when the conquistadores were replaced by colonists, merchants, artisans, soldiers and administrators. As Emmer indicates, the Spanish faced greater competition in the job market in Europe than in America. This was even more so in the case of Portugal: “It seems likely that for the Spanish and above all the Portuguese the barrier against settling in the New World was indeed lower than against migrating to other parts of Europe. The most ready outlet for the Portuguese, at least for the male part of the population, was becoming a sailor and . . . the Portuguese fleet employed in European waters was not large. Alternatively, the Portuguese could have migrated to France or Italy, but at the time those countries themselves were sending migrants to other parts of Europe.” By leaving their country to settle in their respective empires, Portuguese and Spanish migrants were able to enjoy more or less ‘reserved’ occupations and to avoid “confrontation with their more efficient competitors in Europe.”22 The Spanish state reinforced this trend by trying to restrict opportunities for emigration to its nationals (while at the same time encouraging

20 For a good summary and reassessment, see J.-P. Blancpain, “Identité et mentalité des conquistadores,” L’Information historique 47 (1985): 139–151. 21 Ibid., 140. 22 “Yet, in view of the large number of Portuguese emigrants to Brazil, it seems strange that between 1500 and 1800 so few Portuguese migrated to other parts of Europe, with the exception of the Portuguese Jews.” P.C. Emmer, “The Dutch in the Atlantic Challenge, 1600–1800,” in P.C. Emmer, O. Pétré-Grenouilleau, and J.V. Roitman, eds., A Deus ex Machina Revisited: Atlantic Colonial Trade and European Economic Development (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 154–155.

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

55

the recruitment into its armies of foreigners from the poor Catholic regions of Europe). There are also other reasons why Spain therefore did not experience any real shortage of manpower in America. Some have to do with the mode of colonization: in America, most Spaniards settled in towns that had been deliberately built in the most densely-populated regions,23 where Europeans faced fewer health risks. Hence the Spanish population’s ability to sustain itself through natural growth; the phenomenon was encouraged by intermarriage with native women.24 The spread of Spanish political and cultural influence was thus encouraged ‘at lower human cost.’ The economic role of the African work force, on the other hand, does not appear to have been decisive.25 The most recent studies estimate that a total of 802,800 black captives were shipped to the whole of Spanish America between 1451 and 1790; that figure represents only 12% of the 6,658,400 slaves imported into all colonial possessions in that period. In those areas where most Indians had survived, in Mexico and Peru, black captives reinforced the artisanal and domestic labor sector in the towns. Africans played a more important role in the lower-lying and coastal areas, where the Amerindians had been truly decimated. And yet typical slave plantations were slow to develop, and really took shape from the second half of the eighteenth century onwards (sugar, indigo, cocoa, rice and cotton in Guatemala, Colombia, Venezuela and Ecuador). They quickly fell into decline. By the end of the century both the slave plantations and the mining sector had been hit by the depression. The wars of independence then completed the ruin of the plantation areas, while the spread of liberal ideology undermined the basis of the slave system. Although it was still legal, slavery had actually

23 “Three-quarters of the Europeans in the Spanish Empire lived in big towns that had been rebuilt on the ruins of the dead Empires founded by the conquistadores.” Meyer, L’Europe et la conquête du monde, 143. 24 “The Iberian is neither racist nor even xenophobic in America,” notes Meyer. By about 1650, and with a total population numbering perhaps seven million, Spanish America already had ‘almost one million people of mixed blood, including mestizos (white-Indian), mulattoes, etc . . . this says a lot about the intensity of inter-racial relationships and the role of Indian and Black women.” Ibid., 139. 25 A particularly clear and helpful overview on these questions and on the situation in the islands will be found in Herbert S. Klein, The Middle Passage: Comparative Studies in the Atlantic Slave Trade (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978).

56

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

become obsolete by the 1820s, and the colored population consisted mainly of free men.26 All this explains why the New World attracted so many Spaniards so early on, whereas it was only in the second half of the eighteenth century that other European nationals began to see the Americas as providing a better ‘niche’ than more traditional emigrant destinations in Europe or Asia. Portuguese emigration reproduced and sometimes accentuated certain features of Spanish emigration (large number of migrants in proportion to the overall population, the willingness to mix with local populations). But it also differed from it in several respects: the relationship between emigration and the arrival of slaves in the national territory was quite unusual,27 there was more migration to Asia and Africa than to America (especially in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries); and in the New World, migrants settled in unhealthier zones, and there was therefore a need for constant migratory flows to sustain Lusophone societies.28 The United Provinces: A Maritime and Colonial Power That Had no Sea Power, No Real Colonies and That Contributed Few Migrants There are at least two reasons for dwelling on the case of the United Provinces. The first is the much-debated nature of their ‘maritime power.’ The second is the very limited human contribution the country was prepared to make to the colonial world. If we rely upon the comments of the French, the Spanish and the many contemporaries

26 Figures based on the data in Herbert S. Klein, The Atlantic Slave Trade (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 210–211. Klein’s data derive from the CD-ROM mentioned earlier. 27 V. Magalhães-Godinho notes that “the number of slaves shipped to the metropolis was equivalent to one third, probably half, of the number of Portuguese emigrants during the whole ancient regime period; in the sixteenth century, the number of slaves almost compensated for the number of emigrants.” Conversely, the abolition of the slave trade and of slavery in Brazil left vacancies that were filled by emigrants from Europe, and especially from Portugal, from the 1880s onwards: “L’Emigration portugaise du XVe siècle à nos jours: Histoire d’une constante structurale,” in: Conjoncture économique, structures sociales: hommage à Ernest Labrousse (Paris, La Haye: Mouton, 1974), 253– 268. For a lucid explanation of why so many Portuguese emigrated, see pp. 262–267. 28 On emigration from Portugal, see A.J.R. Russell-Wood, A World on the Move: The Portuguese in Africa, Asia and America, 1415–1881 (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1993).

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

57

who voiced their opinion at the cusp of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the United Provinces must definitely be counted as a first rate maritime power. Spain and Portugal learned that to their cost when they saw some of their African and American possessions being taken away from them, or when they saw so many of their ships being either captured or sunk. For their part, French traders regularly complained about the superiority of the Dutch ability to ship cargo cheaply. According to Colbert, the Dutch were both dangerous competitors and a model to be followed. Even the English saw the threat, and two nations that appeared to have many things in common (religion, hostility to Spain) found themselves involved in three major armed conflicts. The Dutch were regarded as ‘sea-going waggoners’ and seen as a threat. Stirring up the resentment of rival maritime powers, they succeeded in becoming a dominant presence in Africa, America and Asia for a few decades. At that time, it seemed that nothing could stop them. This historical vision has had a great influence on academic discourse. That influence still persists, at least in France. In many studies, Dutch superiority is described as an established fact, and it is more or less explicitly assumed that it lasted for much of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The very notion of Dutch maritime power is, if not challenged, considerably relativized in the work of Emmer. The reason why the Dutch played an important role in the emergence of the second colonial system (after that of the Iberians) at the end of the seventeenth century is, he argues, not to be found in the traditional arguments. It has often been noted that they played an essential role in the sugar revolution in the Caribbean and may even have started it by supplying the emergent English and French plantation colonies with huge numbers of African captives, vast amounts of credit, imported products and outlets. Yet there are no grounds for arguing that the Dutch advanced them credit. The scale on which capital was accumulated locally must not be forgotten (thanks to agro-pastoral activity, but also the capabilities of the wealthy families who had recently settled in the colonies, and above all privateering and piracy). And we now know that it was only after occupying the sugar-producing territories of North-Eastern Brazil that the Dutch played a major role in the slave trade. It was, therefore, only in the 1640s that Dutch slavers played a really important role, or ten years before the transition to the indentured labor system took place, and a good twenty years before the ‘sugar revolution’ took off. The number of captives present in the Caribbean prior to that ‘revolution’ has been underestimated, as has been the ability of the English and

58

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

French to supply their islands with both captives and other products. “As far as the transportation of import and export goods is concerned,” notes Emmer, “it seems strange that Dutch traders could suddenly be replaced as soon as the Navigation Acts of 1651 disallowed the use of foreign ships by the colonists of the British islands.” “A similar process occurred in the French Antilles, where French ships also replaced the Dutch, albeit a decade later than in the British Caribbean.” Therefore, “the West Indies as a sugar producing area was . . . mainly a creation of British and French efforts.”29 All things considered, the role played by the Dutch in the formation of the Atlantic economy consisted primarily in establishing links between the productive techniques already used in the first Atlantic system (and especially in Brazil) and the more capitalist spirit of the second (especially in the Caribbean). There is, notes Emmer, one other factor that usually receives less emphasis: by stimulating trade competition, the Dutch caused the price of both transport and the products that were exchanged to fall; this was an important phenomenon because the rise of the second Atlantic system “was largely due to [an] initial phase of free competition in the non-Spanish Caribbean between 1624 and 1665.”30 The introduction of mercantilist policies subsequently put an end to that free competition. The Dutch continued, however, to play a role in the process of the internationalization of the Atlantic economy in the eighteenth century through smuggling,31 handling goods in transit and thanks to their financial and commercial interests in the colonial possessions of other European nations.32 It is no accident that they played this role. The loss of Brazil forced them to develop their own trade networks in the Atlantic. But the time they had wasted in Brazil and their inability to establish settler colo-

29 Pieter Emmer, The Dutch in the Atlantic Economy, 1580–1880: Trade, Slavery and Emancipation (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), 59, 99, 61. 30 Ibid., 22. 31 See Wim Klooster, Illicit Riches: Dutch Trade in the Caribbean, 1648–1795 (Leiden: KITLV Press, 1998). 32 “Economic growth peaked between 1580 and 1620. After 1670 a period of stagnation set in lasting for about two centuries.” Investments in Dutch America had long been inadequate, but suddenly became much greater at the end of the eighteenth century. Spectacular bankruptcies resulted. “To a disproportionate extent the cultivation of cotton in Suriname was in the hands of the British planters and cotton boomed during the British occupation of the colony (1798–1816),” P.C. Emmer, “The Dutch in the Atlantic Challenge,” in Emmer, Pétré-Grenouilleau, and Roitman, A Deus ex Machina Revisited, 158, 162.

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

59

nies and therefore to profit from the Atlantic economy by becoming part of the colonial system of production, made them turn to more ‘market-oriented’ speculation. The inherent costs made it difficult to finance the powerful navy that was indispensable if Holland was to retain or extend its possessions in the Americas at a time when, even in the United Provinces themselves, the Dutch ‘miracle’ was a thing of the past.33 The Dutch were reluctant to finance such a navy. “In short,” writes Emmer, “the Dutch had no other choice, after 1675, but to profit from a neutral position vis-à-vis the imperial rivalries in the Atlantic.” While Emmer sees one extra factor that allows this development to be explained in the inability of the Dutch to follow the example of England and France “by granting protection to products shipped from the American colonies,”34 perhaps it should be seen, rather, as an effect of the system itself. Once they had opted for “market-oriented” speculation, it is understandable that the Dutch should have shown scarcely any interest in gambling on introducing systems to protect their West Indian colonies, which were few in number and marginal (in terms of their share in production). The image of a conquering maritime power has thus been replaced by that of a nation which was certainly dynamic but which was forced to adopt a very specific position for structural and historical reasons. This was not really the position of an outsider, as the United Provinces were not competing on equal terms with France, England, Spain and Portugal, and were not in a position to win, but in the more unusual position of a power that was able to resist the temptation to establish a colonial ‘empire’ at all cost in order to concentrate on certain trades that were more profitable and represented more of a growth market. Similar comments could be applied to ‘second order’ maritime powers such as Denmark. Here we have a country with practically no colonies but a far from negligible colonial trade, if not in international terms (though, being neutral, the Danes did play a real role in times of war), at least in terms of Denmark itself,35 which goes to show that the

33 “The Dutch played an important role in keeping the second Atlantic system as international and as market-oriented as possible.” Emmer, The Dutch in the Atlantic Economy, 31. 34 Ibid., 93, 109. 35 Denmark possessed the small territory of Tranquebar on India’s Coromandel coast, another on the coast of what is now Ghana (around the fortress of Christiansborg), and the islands of St. Thomas, St. Croix, and St John in the Caribbean. On this theme, see D. Andersen, “The Internationalization of Trade: Denmark-Norway, Europe and

60

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

expression “maritime power” cannot be defined exclusively in terms of the possession of rich colonies. Be that as it may, the absence of colonies worthy of the name meant that there was little need for Dutch nationals to leave for the colonial world. A far from negligible proportion of the planters in Suriname came from other European countries (a similar phenomenon was observable in the Danish colonies)36 and when the population of the Dutch colony in the African Cape did increase quite quickly in the eighteenth century, it did so against the wishes of the shareholders.37 In all only 20,000 people from the United Provinces (see tables) emigrated to the American colonial world between 1500 and 1760 (more than half—13,000—did so between 1640 and 1700, or at the time when Holland was most active); this ridiculously low figure explains why the Dutch contribution to white settler colonialism was, during this period, limited to 0.96%. Can we therefore conclude that the human factor played a very minor role in the construction of Dutch maritime power? No. Because, on the one hand, its role cannot be determined in purely quantitative terms and because these migrations do not include buccaneers or soldiers and sailors who were shipped out, and who do not come into the migrant category. Another reason is that the United Provinces, on the other hand, although unable and (or) unwilling to send their own men to distant lands on a permanent basis (most Dutchmen, notes Emmer, regarded an overseas stay as a temporary exile), excelled at exploiting foreign populations at a distance, on either a temporary or a permanent basis. Large numbers of young bachelors were recruited in Northern Europe (Scandinavia, Germany and northern France) to serve overseas as sailor or soldiers for the United Provinces. The East India Company alone was able to sent over one million men to Asia

the Caribbean 1660–1917,” in Emmer, Pétré-Grenouilleau, and Roitman, A Deux ex Machina Revisited, 291–315. 36 “Finally it is one of the curious aspects of the Danish Caribbean colonies that the planter class was a heterogeneous group with Danes being the minority . . . the vast majority of planters did not settle down in Denmark or invest their accumulated funds in Danish industry of agriculture.” Ibid., 300–301. 37 “Had the Company had its way, the Cape would have remained a small-scale rest and replenishment station with a few hundred settlers, and not a growing colony with about 10,000 inhabitants around 1800 when the British took over.” Emmer, “The Dutch in the Atlantic Challenge, 1600–1800,” 153. Demographic growth led to tensions with the native Khoi and San populations, and hence increased the colony’s military spending.

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

61

between 1600 and 1850; only one third of them came back alive.38 Others were simply recruited on the spot. France: A Maritime and Colonial Power, but a Small Contribution to Migration The low mobility of the French is habitually contrasted with the high mobility of the English. In seventeenth-century England, local mobility (within a radius of 20 km) was high. London attracted a lot of people from all over the country, and the country led the migratory movement to the Americas after 1640 (Table 2). In France, in contrast, there was little local mobility and the urban centres’ hinterland did not extend much beyond a radius of 30 to 40 km; the larger flows were temporary migrations from mountainous regions. All things considered, France, with about 100,000 permanent emigrants between 1500 and 1760, ranked last but one in terms of nationals leaving for the Americas. When France did establish a large colonial empire at the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth, few nationals were tempted by the colonial adventure. In the long term, only two developments appeared to disturb this image of French immobility: abroad, Algeria (after 1830) gave France a semblance of a settler colony; at home, Paris (in the nineteenth century) became what Louis Chevalier described as France’s ‘Far West.’ Hence the many negative value judgements of the weak propensity of the French to move or emigrate, and of the “impenitent anti-colonial mood of a nation” which “was afraid of venturing on to the water and accepted emigration, both continental . . . and maritime only in homeopathic doses.”39 The areas that fed the migratory current to the Americas had a strongly regional nature. In the seventeenth century, the Channel coasts and especially Normandy were a long way ahead, and in the following century most of the flows came from the Atlantic seaboard, where Nantes and Bordeaux acted as magnets. The predominance of

38 “Their system of recruiting poor, young, unmarried men . . . was unrivalled. That explains why the Dutch merchants were so keen on exploiting the lethal trade niche with the tropical zones in Asia: they had enough men. To invest these men in the Atlantic as settlers like the British must have been less profitable.” Ibid. See also Jan Lucassen, “The Netherlands, the Dutch and Long Distance Migration in the Late Sixteenth to Early Nineteenth Centuries,” in Canny, Europeans on the Move, 153–191. 39 Meyer, L’Europe et la conquête du monde, 142.

62

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

the maritime regions therefore seems obvious. If, however, we pursue the analysis on a different scale, we find that the islands off the Atlantic coast and the populations living on the banks of the great rivers, and especially around the Garonne, also responded to America’s call.40 It is also to be noted that there is a very close correlation between a given region’s contribution to migratory flows to America41 and the role it played in the French colonial trade. Normandy was dominant until the middle of the seventeenth century. At a time when the Norman ports were more involved in longdistance trade than most of France, Normandy sent many adventurers to America and made a major contribution to the white settlement of the French West Indies (between 15,000 and 16,000 people by about 1650, according to the estimates of the Jesuit father Pelleprat). The largest contingents left from Le Havre, Honfleur and Dieppe before Saint-Malo and Nantes (from 1638 onwards) became involved, followed by La Rochelle (from 1641 onwards). By the end of the seventeenth century, Guyenne and Gascony supplied some 30% of all emigrants to St. Domingue, while Brittany and the Loire region were supplying 15%, as did Poitou and Charente; by now Normandy was supplying no more than 10%.42 The growing influence of Nantes corresponds to its emergence as a port of national importance. In 1664, it was the eighth largest port in France for vessels of over one hundred tons; forty years later, it was the country’s premier port of registry (with 151 ships and one quarter of the French vessels over fifty tons). The role it played in shipping out indentured servants is therefore not surprising. The great importance of Aquitaine in the eighteenth century (supplying about

40 C. Huetz de Lemps notes that the Garonne valley supplied 40% of Bazadais’s emigrants in the eighteenth century: Huetz de Lemps, “Les Engagés du Bazadais au XVIIIe siècle, 1698–1771,” Cahiers du Bazadais, 10 (May 1966). Mention should also be made of the influence of the Dordogne and the Charente. “The influence of the waterways leading to the big ports obviously stands out,” writes J. de Cauna. “It was through the riverboat trade that these workers and peasants first heard of the islands, and their voyage began on the inland waterways.” In La Rochelle “the attractions of the sea gradually faded further inland. Many of the emigrants who left via La Rochelle in the eighteenth century came from the Ile de Ré, the Ile d’Oléron, and small ports in the region that were going downhill.” Cauna, L’Eldorado des Aquitains. Gascons, Basques et Béarnais aux Iles d’Amérique XVIIe–XVIIIe siècles (Biarritz: Atlantica, 1998), 126. 41 The regional contribution is of course calculated with reference to the migrants’ region of origin and not their port of embarkation. 42 These figures for emigration from France, like those below, are taken from Cauna, L’Eldorado des Aquitains, Part I, Chaps. IV and V.

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

63

four in ten of all French migrants)43 has to be related to Bordeaux’ supremacy in direct trade with the colonies and in re-exporting colonial foodstuffs. It is as though French emigration, which was already restricted to those zones that were in most direct contact with the ocean, needed to be stimulated by more active policies and/or commercial success. Once that activity and that success were eroded, America lost much of its appeal. The fact that the inland populations were less responsive and became even less so where the colonial trade was at a standstill showed how unnatural it was for the French to migrate overseas. The image of French reluctance to become involved in the colonial adventure is backed up by the available statistical data, and leads us to ask whether France was, before 1800, handicapped as a maritime and colonial power by the small numbers who emigrated to America. The first answer to this question is that France could probably have sent more men than it did. With 45,000 definitive departures between 1640 and 1700, France was nevertheless in second position, almost on an equal footing with Portugal. It was, it is true, a long way behind England, with its 248,000 emigrants to America. But it has to be recalled that many of the Caribbean buccaneers were French at the time, and that a considerable effort was made for a few years: there were 7,000 French in the West Indies in 1642, and 16,000 in 1655 (whereas there were only 5,000 white Englishmen in Jamaica in 1689, and 20,000 in Barbados).

43 On the basis of the lists of the families of former colonists from Saint-Domingue receiving assistance, drawn up in 1821 (1,168 families), Cauna estimates that 238 names, or 21% of the total, correspond to families from the Gironde département. He arrives at a total of 477 names for Aquitaine (42% of the French total); it should, however, be recalled that the Etat de l’indemnité des anciens colons de Saint-Domingue refers to between 30 and 40,000 former landowners. The 30,086 passengers who embarked from Bordeaux between 1713 and 1787 must also be taken into account. Most of them (65%) were from what is now the Aquitaine region. Similar remarks might be applied to the engagés: between 1634 and 1715, some 2,500 (of a total of over 6,100) left the CentreWest regions via the port of La Rochelle, whereas Aquitaine, defined in the broadest sense, sent only 380. In the eighteenth century, the picture was completely inverted. Of the 6,500 engagés whose origins are known and who left between 1698 and 1771, almost three-quarters came from Aquitaine. According to Poussou, we have a total of between 12 and 13,000 engagés for Bordeaux, as against 1,200 for La Rochelle. Cauna reaches the following conclusion: “two main regions stand out . . . Aquitaine, around Bordeaux, with about 40%, and the Loire around Nantes with 20%’ followed by half a dozen secondary regions.” Cauna, L’Eldorado des Aquitains, 107.

64

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

By rejecting the idea of the colony as religious refuge and therefore by officially shutting the door on the Protestant presence,44 France also denied itself the major resources of a Huguenot refuge (200,000 people in the seventeenth century as a whole); most of those human resources (140,000 to 160,000 between 1685 and 1689) were mobilized when the sugar economy began to take off. On the whole, the French preference for migrations that allowed them to return home is obvious; the tens of thousands of Auvergnats and Pyreneans who went to Spain in the seventeenth century, a very high figure for the time, and who interrupted their exile every three of four years by going home for at least a few months are a good example. If France had relied on the Huguenot refuge and buccaneering, it could have done more to consolidate its position in the West Indies at the decisive moment when the plantation economy was beginning to emerge. We cannot therefore criticise the French for their reluctance to live abroad for long periods during this initial phase. It is more reasonable to criticize their vision of colonization, which takes us back to political factors and to the indecision that prevailed for so long. Until at least the end of the seventeenth century, France was reluctant to choose between the option of seizing Spanish gold through piracy and that of exploiting its own agricultural possessions in the West Indies. It was between 1700 and 1760 that French colonial trade experienced spectacular growth, that the Atlantic economy took off, that the number of European emigrants to the Americas exploded—232,000 before 1500, 430,000 between 1580 and 1640, 891,000, i.e. 43% of the total between 1700 and 1760—, and that things became more worrying: France was the most populous country in Europe after Russia, but the rise in the number of French emigrants to America was very modest—their numbers rose from 45,000 to 51,000. But, once again, ‘mentality’ does not explain everything. The loss of migratory dynamism in fact almost coincides with the cessation of truly adventurous migration. The buccaneers had gone, and the day of the engagés was over. As Jean Meyer notes, large-scale plantations, which were being experimented with practically at the same time as France

44

It is true that some Protestants did leave for the American islands, and played an important role in the early history of Saint-Domingue: see Charles Frostin, Les révoltes blanches à Saint-Domingue (Rennes: PUR, 2008; original edition 1975). Had the state adopted a different official attitude, they might have left in great numbers.

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

65

took official possession of its islands,45 was “scarcely compatible with intensive white settlement.” On the one hand, due to the climate of the West Indies and especially because “space was restricted, and land would quickly increase in value, the petit colon would quickly prove unable to compete.”46 Structural reasons probably do a lot to explain why so few Frenchmen emigrated to the West Indies. It must also be recalled that, in the metropolis, Colbert’s industrialism meant that the defence of workers’ wages took precedence over the defence of agricultural prices, and that local controls on the poor population were much less advanced than in England. Two factors affecting emigration may therefore have had less impact in France than in England: the ratio between wages and agricultural prices, and the desire to escape a labor market that had become too restrictive. Other causes likely to have limited the scale of French emigration have also been suggested, such as “the poor reputation of the colonies, the lack of an adequate recruiting structure, and the competing demands of an ever expanding army.”47 To sum up: the French had little interest in long-distance emigration on a more or less permanent basis, and that lack of interest was exacerbated by certain official and social attitudes, while a far from negligible reservoir of potential migrants was not fully exploited for reasons that were at once political and economic. Does this necessarily mean that France was short of men in the colonies? Would it have been a greater maritime and colonial power if it had been able to count on greater numbers of emigrants? One suspects not. The mode of exploitation chosen in the West Indies, and especially Saint-Domingue, namely the plantation economy, required large numbers of slaves. But on the whole, the local economy never really suffered any labor shortage. There were many complaints, but most of them had to with the price of captives, which was sometimes higher when they were transported on French ships, and the irregular supply of slaves. Two things emerge: the number of imported captives continued to rise,48 and the plantations constantly expanded and

45 It was only when the eastern part of the island of Hispaniola received its first French Governor and with the treaty of Ryswick (1697) that French possession was officially recognized. 46 Meyer, L’Europe et la conquête du monde, 141–142. 47 Nicholas Canny, “In Search of a Better Home? European Overseas Migration, 1500–1800,” in: Canny, Europeans on the Move, 275. 48 Significantly, the French West Indies received many more slaves between 1626 and 1790 (1,504,400) than the British West Indies (1,325,400 over the same period). Even

66

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

diversified. It will also be noted that the chosen mode of development was scarcely designed to attract large numbers of white migrants. Had there been more of them, they might have helped to correct the serious white/slave imbalance and thereby reduce the threat of a slave revolt. But one wonders if a great number of whites, some of whom would, of necessity, have had few resources because of the local mode of exploitation, really would have been a major stabilizing factor.49 What is more, it must not be forgotten that the percentage of slaves proportional to the whole population in the British West Indies was not very different than that in the French West Indies. The differences concerned, rather, the mulattoes and free blacks—and there were almost as many free blacks as there were whites in Saint-Domingue)—50 who, as we know, played a major role when the Saint-Domingue revolt broke out in August 1791. Political and cultural factors pertaining to the balance between the various populations and a failure to take adequate account of mixed-race populations, and not just the number of slaves, seem to have had a determinant effect on the rebellion. No matter whether we look at the economic performance of the French West Indies or their political stability, it therefore cannot be said that France felt the effects of a labor shortage. The only problem was that eight out of ten French emigrants went to Saint-Domingue in the eighteenth century. France’s other West Indian possessions were therefore not favored, and the same is true of the number of captives introduced. The explanation for the difference between Saint-Domingue

so, the French islands were slower to take off (155,800 captives imported between 1626 and 1676, as against 263,700 imported into the British West Indies) and the downturn began earlier (194,300 captives in the British islands between 1791 and 1800, as against 82,600) because of the black rebellion, the Revolution and the war at sea. Calculated on the basis of the statistical data supplied by Klein, The Atlantic Slave Trade, 210–211. 49 It is clear from a reading of Charles Frostin’s Révoltes blanches that the answer has to be negative. 50 In 1788, the French West Indies (Santo Domingo, Martinique, Guadeloupe, St Lucia and Tobago) were inhabited by 54,370 whites (7.98% of the total population), 31,522 mulattoes and free blacks (4.62%) and 594,957 slaves (87.38%). The population of the British West Indies (Jamaica, Barbados, St Vincent, Dominica, St Christopher, Antigua, Montserrat and the Virgin Islands) comprised 59,943 whites (11.3%), 14,198 free blacks and mulattoes (2.68%) and 454,161 slaves (85.96%). The percentages are calculated on the basis of the figures supplied by Pierre Pluchon, Histoire de la colonisation française (Paris: Fayard, 1991). It is true that if we compare Jamaica (10.29% white, 3.9% free black and mulatto, 89.57% slaves) with Saint-Domingue (6%, 4.79% and 89.1% respectively), the differences are more pronounced in the case of the white populations.

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

67

and ‘the rest’ is, however, that the former offered greater economic incentives. The difference is therefore as much a reflection of a preexisting hierarchy as the cause of unbalanced growth. If we look at Canada, we reach similar conclusions. The climatic conditions (which were the same for the English) had less influence than the “modes of development” (fur-trapping, trade, agriculture restricted to the banks of the St. Lawrence, fishing), the feudal nature of the system that was established, and the lack of interest from French ports (with the exception of Rouen and then La Rochelle in the eighteenth century). Large numbers of migrants were not required and there was no encouragement to migrate.51 As Canny quite rightly remarks: “The apparently anomalous low participation by the French in long-distance overseas migration is explained more by the lack of opportunities for white workers in the French possessions abroad than by any reluctance of the French to translate themselves to foreign destinations.”52 To conclude, we can say that there was a fairly good fit between the French colonial system and French emigration: the development of the former related essentially to political and economic factors, and its performance was not at all affected by a shortage of men. England: All the Aces: Maritime, Commercial, and Colonial Power, Large Number of Migrants British emigration to America presents what is now a very familiar picture (which is why we can afford to be brief ), and it appears be the exact opposite of the French model: there were no restrictions on the emigration of minorities, notably religious (on the contrary, they were more or less encouraged to emigrate), and there was a greater propensity for mobility even within the national space. There were therefore many more migrants. As Canny notes: “The promotion of English settlement in North America served principally to broaden

51 By 1663, 39% of the 3,000 French inhabitants of Canada had been born there and “the balance between the sexes was being realized.” Meyer, L’Europe et la conquête du monde, 151. 52 “Moreover, conditions in France were not so bad that people would go in large numbers to places where they might be even worse, while service in the French military forces provided ample opportunity for any young Frenchmen who were driven by the spirit of adventure.” Canny, “In Search of a Better Home,” 276.

68

olivier pétré-grenouilleau

the range of destinations open to those who were already [emphasis added] extremely mobile in search of employment.”53 These major differences, which are usually the only ones to be emphasized, must, however, be qualified. The North American continent and the West Indies, which were the two major destinations for British migrants in the seventeenth century, in fact attracted only a small number of English migrants. Given the health risks and the high mortality rate for whites there, most English migrants went to Ireland (180,000) rather than the Chesapeake (116,000). As Cullen notes, in about 1650–1660, it was the Irish who formed “the main single stream of white immigrants into the British West Indies,” while most emigrants to Chesapeake were Scots. These features became more pronounced in the seventeenth century. In the eighteenth century, most of the Englishmen who emigrated to the Americas were planters, foremen and specialist craftsmen. They were concentrated in the continent’s oldest establishments, took the most highly skilled jobs, which guaranteed them higher wages than those they could have expected to receive if they had stayed at home. As Bernard Bailyn has demonstrated, the bulk of the emigrants tended to be Scottish and Irish (who were in some cases the descendents of migrants from Scotland). There were fewer English migrants than we sometimes imagine, which does something to relativize the argument that English migrants vastly outnumbered those from other countries, and especially France. As Canny notes, this also means that we can compare the English model with the Dutch (though the Spanish model was not too different either): in both cases, the most dangerous destinations and occupations were left54 to foreigners. Ultimately, a number of factors worked in England’s favor: its ability to export men from the territories under its control, ease of communications, and therefore the ability to disseminate news from America, and supremacy in the shipping trade. What was true of the white emigrants55 was also true of the black captives. As for the other

53 Ibid., 264. The following paragraph is based mainly on Canny’s concluding chapter. 54 Ibid., 274. It was therefore only in the period 1620–1650 that the English experience differed from the Dutch. England found it easier to send its men to the Americas in the middle of the recession. As Canny notes, the greatly improved economic conditions of the next century encouraged the English to think twice before venturing abroad. 55 “The transport factor was so important that it appears from the experience of the early modern centuries that persistent long-distance migration occurred only where it was profitable for merchants to promote it.” Ibid., 278. On the links between

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

69

factors that explain why the English slave trade was more profitable than that of other nations, we know that we have to count the cost of trade goods, which may have been lower in England, and above all the efficiency of the English banking system, which meant that profits could be repatriated more quickly. Its efficiency was further improved when the Colonial Debt Act of 1732 urged English colonists to manage their debts more efficiently. It also has to be said that English crews were cheaper and that English slave ships were faster.56 One essential point must, finally, be stressed. Although they were less willing than the Iberians to intermarry with local populations, the British did succeed in establishing a real settler society in the Thirteen Colonies: 450,000 inhabitants in 1715, 1.5 million in 1750, and some 4 million in 1790. This was due to a combination of factors: a natural environment that was less hostile than elsewhere, an expanding local economy that could attract more migrants, especially in the second half of the eighteenth century, and an increase in the local population due to natural growth and a better balance between the sexes.57 Scarcely two decades after it had lost its Thirteen Colonies, England was able to re-establish its trade position with the area, thanks to a common language, shared interests, and a trade policy that was as pragmatic as it was aggressive.58 The same cannot be said of France, which never succeeded in recovering its role in the trade with Haiti (the former Saint-Domingue) after 1815.

transportation system and development, see our “Long-Distance Trade and Economic Development in Europe and Black Africa (Mid-Fifteenth Century to Nineteenth Century): Some Pointers for Further Comparative Studies,” African Economic History 29 (2001), 163–196. 56 The ratio of captives to crew, and of numbers of captives to ships, was much higher on English ships than on French slave ships. On these questions, see The TransAtlantic Slave Trade: A Database on CD-ROM and Eltis, The Rise of African Slavery, especially 119. 57 See David Galenson, White Servitude in Colonial America: An Economic Analysis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981) for an analysis of 20,657 emigrants. Galenson shows that in the eighteenth century, 23.3 of migrant contract workers were women. 58 See Kenneth P. Morgan, “Business Networks in the British Export Trade to North America, 1750–1800,” in John J. McCusker and Kenneth P. Morgan, eds., The Early Modern Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 36–62. I deal with this issue in my “Pour une histoire du négoce international français au XIXe siècle: problèmes, sources et perspectives,” Revue d’Histoire du XIXe siècle 23 (2001), 23–46.

70

olivier pétré-grenouilleau * * *

What conclusions are to be drawn from the above remarks? If we wish to answer our original question, namely that of the match between means and ends, three points emerge. The first lies in a seeming paradox: on the whole, the overall challenge was the same. Given the vast scale of the New World and the few expatriate Europeans in the tropics, the challenge was quantitative. And yet no colonial nation’s basic projects were frustrated because there were too few colonists, be it the United Provinces, with their 20,000 migrants, France, with 100,000 definitive departures between 1500 and 1760, or England, which was in the lead with 746,000 emigrants. The number of migrants from the metropolis was, a priori, therefore of little importance in itself. Second, two very simple reasons explain the paradox. The first is that, in all cases, Europeans strove to colonize at low cost by turning either to the local populations into which they married, to African populations deported by the slave trade,59 or (in the case of the Dutch) to a labor force supplied by other European countries. The second reason is that the scale of the migratory phenomena has to be related to the colonial exploitation project and the geopolitical balance of power in the tropical world. The way the task was divided between the European powers explains why the defense of vested interests sometimes required them to maintain powerful navies. There was, on the other hand, no need for “settler” colonies. There were many conflicts, but Spain and Portugal’s ownership of possessions in continental America was not really challenged in the eighteenth century, while the Dutch recovered from the loss of their ‘trade empire’ quite quickly, and the English and the French refrained from interfering in what they saw as each other’s truly strategic zones, at least until the American War of Independence. What is more, in economic terms, it was only the plantation economy that required a large outside labor force (as mining in Mexico and Peru rested on native labor), and that was quickly supplied by the slave trade. This brings me to the third point of this conclusion: if we wish to arrive at a better understanding of how Europe took possession of the New World, the migratory variable must be seen as part of both

59 In the eighteenth century, 85% of the migrants who crossed the Atlantic were African slaves.

the role of migration (c. 1492–1792)

71

national (European) and regional (American) colonial systems. Many aspects remain unclear. We need a better statistical understanding of the elements at work in these different European colonial systems: the number of migrants (I have stressed that we still have no truly synthetic studies such as Curtin’s Census), and a precise study of how colonial policies were defined and developed. We need to take cultural phenomena more into account and get beyond somewhat limited clichés about the supposed ‘characteristics’ of different nations and take more interest in the nature of the identities created within colonial spaces. One last problem should, finally, be drawn to the attention of researchers: that of the demographic effects of migrations to the New World on Europe itself. In most cases, the departure of Europeans did not place an excessive burden on the countries they left behind.60 But most migrants were young men61 who were dynamic and, in many cases, skilled.

60 If we take the case of Portugal, which has been analysed by Magelhães-Godinho, emigration drained the population of some 3.5 per one thousand people in the sixteenth century. That ratio remained stable until about 1640, and then fell to 1.5 per 1000 before rising steeply to a peak of 4.5 per 1000. It never rose above that level. “That drain was easily bearable, but no other European country achieved those percentages,” notes Meyer. He then adds: we can say that the Portuguese population could have risen from one to 4 million (and not just from 1 million to 2,500,000) if “there had been no emigration.” “Over the same period of time,” the population of England “rose from four to nine million; had there been no emigrants, it would have risen to over eleven million. The history of both countries would therefore have been considerably different, as would that of Spain.” Meyer, L’Europe et la conquête du monde, 158. While not necessarily subscribing to these comments, as no one really knows what would have happened without these migrations—under a demographic ancien regime in which rising mortality rate regularly cancelled out rises in the birth rate—or whether such an increase, would or would not, given the prevailing conditions, have been productive, we can only follow Eltis in noting that England saw the number of its inhabitants fall, in absolute terms, between 1651 and 1680. 61 This comment probably applies to Europe rather than Africa, where women (who were less affected than men by the slave trade) played an important role in agriculture, and therefore production. What is more, the departure of men has less impact on the reproductive capacity of populations in which polygamy is practised than in populations where it does not exist. “The steady outflow of young men (few of whom ever returned) from a narrow population base” (in the cases of Spain, Portugal and England) “must have deprived many young women in Europe of the opportunity to marry, and must have had grave economic consequences for particular areas within Europe, if not for Europe in general” Canny, “In Search of a Better Home?” 283.

CHAPTER THREE

DUTCH LABOR MIGRATION TO WEST AFRICA (C. 1590–1674)1 Filipa Ribeiro da Silva Introduction Migration and labor migration are much discussed themes in the current historical literature.2 The most recent studies on the Dutch case focus mainly on the migratory movements of workers from the peripheral areas of Europe to the Netherlands, and more specifically on migration after the Second World War, the role of migrants in the economy and their integration in Dutch society.3 Studies on early modern Dutch labor migration have focused on the functioning of the Dutch labor market, labor recruitment for the Republic and its colonies, and the areas of origin of the workforce.4 Asia

1 Work in progress for a Ph.D. Dissertation entitled “The Dutch and the Portuguese in West Africa: Empire Building and Atlantic System: 1580–1674,” supervised by Pieter C. Emmer at Leiden University. I would like to acknowledge the Portuguese Foundation for Science and Technology (FCT) for sponsoring the research on the basis of which the present article was made possible. 2 Klaus J. Bade, Pieter C. Emmer, Leo Lucassen, and Jochem Oltmer, eds., Enzyklopädie Migration in Europa: Vom 17. Jahrhundert bis zur Gegenwart (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh Verlag, 2007). 3 Marlou Schrover, “Differences that make all the difference: Gender, migration, and vulnerability. Migration to the Netherlands, 1645–2005,” Project financed by the Dutch Science Council NWO with a Vici-grant and based at Leiden University. http://www .narcis.info/research/RecordID/OND1317360/Language/en:jsessionid=a995igg96e42. 4 Jan de Vries and Ad van der Woude, The first modern economy: Success, failure, and perseverance of the Dutch economy, 1500–1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 72–78 and 632–653; Jonathan Israel, The Dutch Republic: Its Rise, Greatness, and Fall, 1477–1806 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), 327, 356–357 and 334–340; Jaap R. Bruijn, The Dutch Navy of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press, 1993); Jan de Vries, “The labour market,” in Karel Davids and Leo Noordegraaf, eds., The Dutch Economy in the Golden Age: Nine Studies (Amsterdam: Nederlandsch Economisch-Historisch Archief, 1993), 55–78; Jan Luiten van Zanden, The rise and fall of Holland’s economy: merchant capitalism and the labour market (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1993); P.C. van Royen, “Recruitment Patterns of the Dutch Merchant Marine in the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries,” in Lewis R. Fischer, Harald Hamre, Poul Holm et al., eds., The North Sea: Twelve essays on social history of maritime labour (Stavanger: Stavanger Maritime Museum, 1992),

74

filipa ribeiro da silva

has been the preferred region for the analysis of intercontinental migration.5 Labor migration in the Atlantic world has received some attention during the last decades, most publications dealing with free and coerced migration of Africans and Europeans to the Americas during the early modern period, with special emphasis on the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.6 Another area of prominent research has been the migration of indentured Asian labor to the Americas after the abolition

22–24; A. Knotter and J.L. van Zanden, “Immigratie en arbeidsmarkt in Amsterdam in de 17e eeuw,” Tijdschrift voor Sociale Geschiedenis 13 (1987): 403–431; Jan Lucassen, “The Netherlands, the Dutch, and long-distance migration in the late sixteenth to early nineteenth century,” in Nicholas Canny, ed., Europeans on the Move: Studies on European migration, 1500–1800 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), 153–191; idem, Dutch long distance migration: A concise history, 1600–1900 (Amsterdam: International Institute of Social Sciences, Netherlands, 1991). 5 E. van den Boogaart, “The servant migration to New Netherland, 1624–1664,” in E. van den Boogaart and P.C. Emmer, eds., Colonialism and migration; Indentured labor before and after slavery (Dordrecht: Nijhoff, 1986), 55–82; Id., “De Nederlandse expansie in het Atlantisch gebied, 1590–1674,” in D.P. Blok et al., eds., Algemene Geschiedenis der Nederlanden (Haarlem: Fibula-Van Dishoeck, 1980), 7:220–254; Bruijn, Dutch Navy. 6 Wim Klooster and Alfred Padula, eds., The Atlantic World: Essays on Slavery, Migration and Imagination (Upper Saddle River, N.J.: Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2005); Patrick Manning, Migration in World History (New York, N.Y.: Routledge, 2005); Herbert Klein, “The Atlantic slave trade to 1650” in Stuart Schwartz, ed., Tropical Babylons: Sugar and the Making of the Atlantic World, 1450–1680 (Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina Press, 2004), 201–236; David Eltis, ed., Coerced and Free Migration: Global Perspectives (Stanford, Cal.: Stanford University Press, 2002); Alison Games, Migration and the Origins of the English Atlantic World (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1999); Patrick Manning, ed., Slave trades, 1500–1800: globalization of forced labour (Aldershot: Variorum, 1996); Robert Charles Anderson, The Great Migration Begins: Immigrants to New England, 1620–1633 (Boston: New England Historic Genealogical Society, 1995), vols. 1–3; Nicholas Canny, ed., Europeans on the Move: Studies on European migration, 1500–1800 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994); Ida Altman and James Horn, eds., ‘To Make America’: European Emigration in the Early Modern Period (Berkeley, Ca.: University of California Press, 1991); David James Robinson, ed., Migration in colonial Spanish America (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); Bernard Bailyn, The Peopling of British North America: An Introduction (New York: Knopf, 1986); David Eltis, “Free and Coerced Transatlantic Migrations: Some Comparisons,” American Historical Review 88:2 (April 1983): 251–281; Paul E. Lovejoy, “The volume of the Atlantic slave trade: a synthesis,” Journal of African History 23:4 (1982): 473–501; David W. Galenson, White servitude in America: An economic analysis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981); Abbot Emerson Smith, Colonists in Bondage: White Servitude and Convict Labor in America, 1607–1776 (Baltimore, Md.: Clearfield Company, 2002); Philip D. Curtin, The Atlantic Slave Trade: A Census (Madison, Wis.: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1969).

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674)

75

of slavery.7 Little attention has been given to the European migration to West Africa and the role played by Africans, free and enslaved, in the European establishments in West Africa.8 This article aims to fill this void in the literature by examining the Dutch labor migration to West Africa and Dutch practices of local recruitment of Africans. We will be looking at the different groups of migrants, their number and activities. Our main goals are: i) to assess how the economic strategies of the ‘Dutch’ mercantile elite for the Atlantic influenced the Dutch labor migration to the African continent; ii) to analyze the impact of the Dutch Republic’s labor market on the migration to West Africa; and iii) to characterize the ‘micro-societies’ developed in the Dutch establishments in West Africa. The article will be divided in five sections. Section I is dedicated to the free European migrants. The use of forced African workers will be study in section II. The third section will examine the locally recruited personnel. Here, we will consider both the hiring of free Africans and mixed people of Dutch and African descent. In section IV, we will discuss how the organization of the labor market in the Republic influenced the recruitment of workers for the overseas areas and the way the Dutch perceived the use of free and unfree labor in their overseas possessions. The final section will examine how the different economic goals of the ‘Dutch’ mercantile elite for the West Coast of Africa influenced their policies in these areas, the development of specific economic activities and the mechanisms of labor recruitment. The period under analysis starts in the 1590s with the first Dutch voyages to West Africa and ends in 1674, the year of the bankruptcy of the first Dutch West India Company (hereafter WIC). 7 E. van den Boogaart and P.C. Emmer, eds., Colonialism and migration: Indentured labour before and after slavery (Dordrecht: Nijhoff, 1986). 8 Philip D. Curtin, Disease and Imperialism before the Nineteenth Century (Minneapolis: The Associates of the James Ford Bell Library, University of Minnesota, 1990); idem, “The end of the ‘white man’s grave’? Nineteenth-century mortality in West Africa,” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 21:1 (Summer, 1990): 63–88; Id., Death by migration: Europe’s encounter with the tropical world in the nineteenth century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989); K.G. Davies, “The Living and the Dead: White Mortality in West Africa, 1684–1732” in Race and Slavery in the Western Hemisphere: Quantitative studies, eds. Stanley L. Engerman and Eugene D. Genovese (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1974), 83–98; Harvey M. Feinberg, “New data on European mortality in West Africa: The Dutch on the Gold Coast, 1719–1760,” The Journal of African History 15:3 (1974): 375–371; Philip D. Curtin, “‘The white man’s grave’: Image and reality, 1780–1850,” The Journal of British Studies 1:1 (November, 1961): 94–110.

76

filipa ribeiro da silva Free European Migrants

Dutch labor migration to West Africa began in the 1590s, when the Republic initiated its commercial activities in the Southern Atlantic. The group of merchants in charge of this expansion was composed by Dutchmen and a significant number of Sephardic Jews from Portugal and businessmen of Flemish origin, who migrated to the Netherlands due to the economic decline of Antwerp and religious persecution in the Iberian Peninsula. These merchants were based at several Dutch cities, including Amsterdam, Middelburg and Rotterdam, and were usually joint partners in commercial firms or small trading companies that could last one single voyage or several years. In order to conduct trade in West Africa, and more precisely in Senegambia, Cape Verde, the Gulf of Guinea and West-Central Africa, ‘Dutch’ merchants hired crews to travel on board the ships sailing on the long-distance routes connecting the Republic to West Africa, as well as commercial agents to stay temporarily on the coast in small cottages or lodges, and negotiate on their behalf or on behalf of their firms. Thus, the Dutch establishments in West Africa received only temporary labor migrants: seamen, commercial personnel and soldiers. Commercial personnel were comprised of three or four commercial agents and helpers: a senior merchant (opperkoopman), one or two junior merchants (onderkoopman), and a book-keeper (boekhouder). They were joined on board of the ships sailing to Africa by soldiers, who were especially important before 1612, since the Dutch Republic relied exclusively on their strength for protection on land and at sea.9 Based on an average of 20 voyages per year and an average crew of 30 men, we have calculated that approximately 15,000 men were recruited between 1599 and 1623.10 Soldiers made up 60% of the crews and seamen 30% of the crews, while the commercial staff accounted for 10% (see Table 1).

9 For example, the ship De Son, freighted by Gerret Veen, carried on board ten iron pieces and six stone pieces for a voyage to Loango and Kongo in 1611–1612. Pieter van den Broecke’s journal of voyages to Cape Verde, Guinea and Angola (1605–1612), trans. and ed. J.D. La Fleur (London: Hakluyt Society, 2000), 83–103. For more examples see: GAA, NA 151/027v: 1618–04–04; 215/107: 1620–02–18; 2757A/165: 1661–04–09; 2875/674 & 678: 1622–10–08; 3221/13: 1674–01–03. 10 This average was calculated using the figures given by Unger for the decade of 1599–1608. W.S. Unger, “Nieuwe gegevens betreffende het begin der vaart op Guinea,” Economisch-historisch Jaarboek 21 (1940): 194–217.

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674)

77

Table 1. Estimated personnel recruited by private commercial companies (1599–1623) a) Periods 1599–1608 1609–1618 1619–1621/3 Total

b) Nr. of voyages

c) Average nr. of crew members

d) Estimate nr. of men recruited

200 200 100 500

30 30 30 –

6000 6000 3000 15000

Sources and Observations: a) Though the WIC was chartered by the States General in 1621, the private companies were granted between one and two years to recover some of the investments made in the West African Coast in the previous years and to remove their personnel from the area. In 1624 the States General also transferred to the WIC the administration of Fort Nassau. J.K.J. de Jonge, De Oorsprong van Nederland’s Bezittingen op de Kust van Guinea in herinnering gebracht uit de oorspronglijke stukken naar aanleiding van een voorgenomen afstand dier bezittingen aan Groot-Brittannië (’s-Gravenhage: Martinus Nijhoff, 1871), 16. b) The number of voyages for the period of 1599–1608 is based in the data given by Unger (see note 11), while the number of voyages for the following periods was estimated by us based on an average of 20 voyages per years. The average was calculated using the figures given by Unger for the first decade. c) The average number of crew members was determined based on data gathered from the notarial contracts from the GAA and on information given in several journals of voyages from the period between the 1580s and 1623, such as that of Pieter van den Broecke. d) We estimated the number of men recruited by the private companies to serve on board the ships operating in the trading circuits between the Republic and West Africa by multiplying the number of voyages per the average number of crew members. Formula: d) = b) × c).

Portuguese attacks against Dutch ships forced the businessmen in the Republic to look for military protection from the States General and the local African rulers, especially the ruler of Asebu. An agreement with the Asebu authorities enabled the construction of the first permanent Dutch settlement in the Gold Coast, Fort Nassau at Mouri, which was built in 1612. The main function of the fort was to defend the commercial interests of the ‘Dutch’ merchants in the Gold Coast and the Gulf of Guinea, and to protect the merchant fleets from the Republic conducting trade in these areas. The States General was responsible for the building and maintenance of the fort.11 After the construction of Fort Nassau, the Admiralty of Amsterdam, on behalf of the States

11

De Jonge, Oorsprong, 16, 41.

78

filipa ribeiro da silva

General, started to recruit temporary workers to serve at the fort. According to De Jonge, this fortress had a permanent staff of 50 to 60 men, comprising military and civilian personnel. The fort’s administration was in the hands of a general and a council (raad), together with a fiscal (an official acting as criminal investigator, prosecutor, and judge all at once) and a government secretary, who would ensure the daily administration and the exercise of justice in the fort and on board the fleets.12 The fort also housed soldiers, sailors, a barber-surgeon, and a comforter of the sick (sieckentrooster). All this personnel was selected, examined and recruited by the Admiralty of Amsterdam and hired for a three year term.13 Every year, a warship transported new personnel along with provisions and ammunitions. Between 1612 and 1623, the Admiralty recruited an estimated number of 1,220 men, most of them military personnel.14 To sum up, from the 1590s until 1623, approximately 16,200 Europeans worked as temporary migrants on board the ‘Dutch’ merchant ships or served at the commercial lodges in West Africa and Fort Nassau (see Table 2). The establishment of the WIC in 1621–1624 did not change the recruitment patterns of labor migrants to the Dutch ships and establishments in West Africa, since the Company also relied on the employment of temporary labor migrants The labor recruitment process of the WIC is not well known. However, the structural similarities between this company and the Dutch East India Company (hereafter VOC) may allow us to make some extrapolations based on the scarce information available.15 Like the VOC, the WIC was in great need of employees both in Europe and overseas. Its objectives were different from the other company, as were its needs, in part due to the demands imposed by the specific areas ruled. Like the VOC, the WIC had one office per

12

Ibid. GAA, NA, 836/17 & reg./122: 1632–10–08; 1130/300: 1659–09–25; 2791/549: 1669–10–11; 2791/709: 1669–10–24. 14 Based on the number of men needed at the fort given by De Jonge and the information given by Samuel Brun regarding the number of soldiers shipped, the number of men alive on arrival and the number of men that died within three weeks, we estimated: a) the annual mortality rate for this period; b) the number of personnel recruited by the Admiralty for the period of 1612–1624. For Brun, a Swiss barber-surgeon, serving at fort Nassau between 1617 and 1620, see: “Samuel Brun’s voyages of 1611–20” in Adam Jones, ed., German Sources for West African History, 1599–1669 (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1983), 44–96. 15 Jan Lucassen, “A Multinational and Its Labor Force: The Dutch East India Company, 1595–1795,” International Labor and Working-Class History 66 (Fall 2004): 11–39. 13

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674)

79

Table 2. Estimated personnel recruited to serve at Fort Nassau (Mori) (1612–1623) a) Periods

1612–1614 1615–1617 1618–1620 1621–1623 Total

b) Personnel needed

50 50 50 50 200

c) d) Personnel Estimate: sent Personnel annually dead p/year based on a annual mortality rate of 680/1000 125 125 125 125 500

85 85 85 85 340

e) f) Estimate: Estimate: Personnel Personnel dead each recruited per three years each three based on years a annual mortality rate of 680/1000 255 255 255 255 1020

305 305 305 305 1220

Sources and Observations: a) The data are presented in periods of three years, because personnel were usually recruited for terms of three years. The periods only end in 1623 because although the WIC was chartered by the States General in 1621, the States General did not transfer to the WIC the administration of Fort Nassau to the WIC until 1624. De Jonge, Oorsprong, 16. b) The number of personnel needed is based on the information given by De Jonge, Oorsprong, 41. c) The number of personnel sent annually to Fort Nassau is based on the information given by Brun: “Samuel Brun’s voyages,” 79. d) The estimated annual personnel mortality was calculated using an annual mortality rate of 680 per 1000 and based on Samuel Brun, who wrote: “In the fort we found only forty men full of worms (. . .). Of our people, within three weeks about twenty men died and about thirty fell sick”: “Samuel Brun’s voyages,” 80. Using Brun’s fi gures, we estimated that 40% of the soldiers were incapable to serve their posts after the first three weeks on the coast: 16% of them died while the other 24% fell sick. After one year the death rate would be of 68% or 680 per 1,000 men (formula: d) = c) – 40). Such high values contrast with Feinberg’s calculations for the first half of the eighteenth century. In his study on Dutch mortality on the Gold Coast, he stated that the annual average of deaths among Europeans was 48 between 1719 and 1760, and the average annual mortality rate 18.5%. The author also calculated the net inflow of employees: 46 persons per year, a very low level of personnel replacement. Harvey M. Feinberg, Africans and Europeans in West Africa: Elminans and Dutchmen on the Gold Coast during the Eighteenth century (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1989); idem, “New data on European mortality in West Africa: The Dutch on the Gold Coast, 1719–1760,” The Journal of African History, 15:3 (1974): 366. e) Considering that personnel was supposed to serve for three years and taking into account the high mortality rate mentioned above, we estimated the number of men dead per each term and in need of replacement by multiplying the number of deaths per year by three (formula: e) = d) × 3). f) We estimated the number of men recruited by the Admiralty of Amsterdam to serve at Fort Nassau by adding the number of personnel needed to the estimated number of personnel that died every three years (formula: f) = a) + e)).

80

filipa ribeiro da silva

each Company ‘Chamber’ (department),16 with the two main offices located in Amsterdam and Middelburg, representing the Chambers of Amsterdam and Zeeland, respectively. Individual volunteers could enlist at these offices. However, due to the high demand for a labor force, the Chambers could not rely on voluntary enlistment alone and had to actively recruit men, signing them on for a term of three or four years. Before the 1630s, the WIC’s labor needs in West Africa were very limited since the Company only held Fort Nassau in the Gold Coast, Gorée in Senegambia, and a few trading lodges along the coast. The estimated garrison needed was 88 men.17 Due to the high mortality rate among the Europeans, every term of three years the Company needed to recruit an estimated number of 268 employees to fill 88 posts, a ratio of 3 men for 1 post for every three year term (see Table 3).18 During the 1630s and 1640s, Dutch expansion in the Gulf of Guinea and West-Central Africa led to the construction of several forts, entrepôts and lodges, and increased the labor demand of the WIC.19 The Company needed to recruit an estimated 300 to 400 employees every three years in the 1630s for the garrisons in the forts and the small coastal fleet kept in the Gulf of Guinea. After the conquest of Angola and São Tomé in the early 1640s, this number increased to circa 4,000 men. This growing demand for manpower was halted after the loss of Angola and São Tomé in the late 1640s. The WIC recruited

16

The WIC had five Chambers: Amsterdam, Zeeland, South-Holland, North-Holland and Groningen/Friesland. See Henk den Heijer, De geschiedenis van de WIC (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 2002), 28–34; P.C. Emmer, “The Dutch India Company, 1621–1791: Dutch or Atlantic?” in Leonard Blussé and Femme Gaastra, eds., Companies and trade (The Hague: Leiden University Press, 1981), 74. 17 Estimated value based on data listed in “Samuel Brun’s voyages,” 44–96; De Jonge, Oorsprong, 41. 18 Monsterrollen were muster-rolls of Company personnel serving at the different establishments. Unfortunately, there are not many lists of employees of the first WIC. Based on the monsterrollen available for the Second WIC, Feinberg has calculated an average of 239 men employed annually by the Company in the Gold Coast during the period of 1719 and 1760, and emphasized that this annual average tended to decrease throughout the eighteenth century until 1760 (date of the last available monsterrollen). Both civilian and military employees were recruited in the Republic and were obviously Europeans. Harvey M. Feinberg, “New data on European mortality in West Africa: The Dutch on the Gold Coast, 1719–1760,” The Journal of African History, 15: 3 (1974): 357–371. 19 In the decade of 1630, the Company took over the forts of Arguin (1634–1678) and Elmina (1637–1872). In the following decade, the WIC came to control Shama (1640–1872), Axim (1642–1872), São Tomé (1642–1648), and Angola (1642–1648).

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674)

81

approximately 800 men every three years in the 1650s and 950 men from the 1660s through 1674, after the construction of a few more forts and lodges on the Gold Coast.20 Thus, based on an annual mortality rate of 680/1000 between 1624 and 1673, the Company hired an estimated number of 17,000 men to serve in West Africa. The European migrants recruited by the Company were divided into military and civilian personnel. The military staff included officers and soldiers, recruited as individual mercenaries or as part of entire regiments to serve on land and at sea. The civilian staff was made up of administrative, commercial, judicial and medical personnel, as well as artisans and sailors. According the 1645 Monsterolle for the Gold Coast, the military staff accounted for 62% of the personnel and the civilian staff for only 38%.21 Among the civilians, seamen and craftsmen made up 32% and 30%, respectively, while the administrative, commercial and judicial staff accounted for only 20%, and the medical assistants and the religious staff for a mere 3.6% each. These figures tell us much about the WIC priorities regarding naval power, settlement and trade. Commerce was clearly not the highest priority. In fact, during the rule of the first WIC, most Company servants recruited to serve in West Africa were soldiers. The need for military personnel was especially high during the military offensives in the 1630s and 1640s (see Table 4). According to De Laet, the WIC hired 67,000 men, including sailors and soldiers for the war and mercantile fleets in the Northern and Southern Atlantic in the period 1623–1636.22 During the same period the Company hired an estimated number of 1,313 men to serve in West Africa. Based on the figures given by De Laet and our own calculations,

20 Between the 1640s and 1660s, the Company built other forts on the Gold Coast: Fort Batensteyn (1640–1872) at Boutry, Fort Crèvecoeur (1650–1867) at Accra and Fort Amsterdam (1665–1687) at Kormantin. Moreover, the WIC established several entrepôts and lodges along the coasts of the Gulf of Guinea. In 1645, the Company had a lodge at ‘Comany’ (present-day Komenda) and another one at ‘Cabo Cors’ (presentday Cape Coast). These would be followed by other posts on the Slave Coast, such as Ouidah (circa 1670–1724): “Monsterolle der persoone soolangse de gout Cust opt Casteel del Myna, het fort Nassouw, Axem, Cra, Cama, Comany en Cabo Cors, als op de schepen en de jachten in dienst der Geoctrojeerde Westindische Compagnie worden bevonden,” in K. Ratelband, ed., Vijf dagregisters van het kasteel São Jorge da Mina (Elmina) aan de Goudkust (1645–1647) (’s-Gravenhage: Nijhoff, 1953), 355–360. 21 Feinberg has reached similar figures for the WIC military staff serving in West Africa in the eighteenth century: between 50 to 60%: Feinberg, Africans and Europeans, 34. 22 Joannes de Laet, Iaerlyck verhael van de Verrichtinghen der Geoctroyeerde WestIndische Compagnie in dertien boeken (’s-Gravenhage: Nijhoff, 1931), I:280–281.

88 108 108 128 228 1357 1357 267 267 267 267 267 313 313 313 5648

60 73 73 87 155 923 923 182 182 182 182 182 213 213 213 3843

180 220 220 261 465 2768 2768 545 545 545 545 545 639 639 639 11524

268 328 328 389 693 4125 4125 812 812 812 812 812 952 952 952 17172

18 22 22 26 46 271 271 53 53 53 53 53 63 63 63 1130

53 65 65 77 137 814 814 160 160 160 160 160 188 188 188 3389

141 173 173 205 365 2171 2171 427 427 427 427 427 501 501 501 9037

h) g) f) e) d) c) b) Labor migrants: Personnel Labor migrants: Annual personnel Personnel Personnel used: Annual personnel mortality per 3 estimate based mortality per mortality per 3 estimate based mortality per estimate on an annual years: estimate year: estimate on an annual years: estimate year: estimate mortality rate of based on an based on an mortality rate of based on an based on an 200/1000 annual mortality annual mortality 680/1000 annual mortality annual mortality rate of 200/1000 rate of 200/1000 rate of 680/1000 rate of 680/1000

Sources and Observations: a) The information is organized in periods of three years, since Company servants usually signed contracts for terms of three years. b) In order to estimate the personnel used by the Company over time we took into account the following factors: 1) The number of forts held by the WIC in each period of three years. The date of takeover is considered to incorporate the forts and posts under the jurisdiction of the Company. The number of forts would have a direct implication on the number of employees needed, since the number increased over time. For instance, between 1624 and 1627 the WIC only possessed Fort Nassau, while in the period 1641–1643 it held Nassau, Gorée, Arguin, Elmina, Shama, Boutry, Axim, Angola, and São Tomé. To be added to the

1624–1627 1628–1630 1631–1633 1634–1637 1638–1640 1641–1643 1644–1647 1648–1650 1651–1653 1654–1657 1658–1660 1661–1663 1664–1667 1668–1670 1671–1673 Total

a) Three years’ terms

Table 3. Estimated number of European labor migrants to the Dutch WIC settlements in West Africa (1624–1673)

82 filipa ribeiro da silva

men in the forts are the maritime personnel serving in the coastal fleet patrolling the Gold Coast; 2) the number of employees serving at each fort, post or colony during the time each place was under the administration of the Company; 3) the number of Company servants at Fort Nassau, Elmina, Shama, Boutry, Axim, Accra, Cormantine, and the maritime personnel on the Gold Coast was estimated on the basis of the data available in the Monsterrolle of 1645. “Monsterolle der persoone soolangse de gout Cust opt Casteel del Myna, het fort Nassouw, Axem, Cra, Cama, Company en Cabo Cors, als op de schepen en de jachten in dienst der Geoctrojeerde Westindische Compagnie worden bevonden,” in Ratelband, Vijf dagregisters, 355–360; 4) the number of WIC employees at São Tomé (162–1648) is based on data extracted from the correspondence exchanged between Jan Claesz. Cock, Johan Maurits van Nassau-Siegen, and the Supreme Council in Brazil from December 1641 through May 1642: Louis Jadin, ed., L’ancien Congo et Angola: 1639–1655 d’après les archives romaines, portugaises, néerlandaises et espagnoles (Bruxelles: Institut historique belge de Rome, 1975), I:145–153, etc.; Klaas Ratelband, Nederlanders in West-Afrika (1600–1650): Angola, Kongo en São Tomé (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 2000), 178–183; 5) the number of Company servants and “citizens” at Angola is based on the data collected from the capitulation report dating from 1649: NA, OWIC 65:1649–08: “Relaes van tgene sich in het Coninckrijck van Angola heeft toegedragen” (Augustus, 1649); 6) the estimated number of employees at Gorée and Arguin is based on the number of Company servants at other forts in the Gold Coast. Assuming that Gorée and Arguin would have a smaller garrison than Forts Nassau and Axim, with 38 and 29 servants, respectively, we have calculated a permanent staff of 20 men each at these forts. Around 1670, Gorée had a garrison of 100 men and Arguin just 25 men. Gemeentearchief Rotterdam (GAR), Handel nr. 83. c) and f) Over time historians have presented different annual mortality rates for Europeans in West Africa. Apparently, such figures seem to change according to regions and chronologies, and also differ between different nations. In his study on European mortality in West Africa during the nineteenth century, Curtin gives very different mortality rates for the military serving in the several British Commands in West Africa, with figures that range from 430/1000 to 668/1000, while Feinberg presented an average annual mortality rate of circa 200/1000 in WIC forts in the eighteenth century. In the early seventeenth century, mortality rates among Europeans in West Africa were probably higher. For Curtin’s and Feinberg’s calculations see for instance: Curtin, “The White Man’s grave,” idem, “Epidemiology and the slave trade”, Political Science Quarterly 83:2 (June 1968): 220; idem, The Image of Africa (Madison, Wis: University of Wisconsin Press, 1964), 483–7; and Feinberg, “New data.” The absence of monsterrollen and lists of deceased personnel until the early eighteenth century prevent us from calculating accurate mortality rates of Europeans serving the Company in West Africa and the need to replace civilians and soldiers in the seventeenth century. We have assumed the same mortality rates in later periods as those given by Samuel Brun in the first half of the seventeenth century; see: “Samuel Brun’s voyages,” 79. Regarding the discrepancies on the annual mortality rate of the Europeans in West Africa, we decided to calculate the number of WIC servants that died during their service based on two different mortality rates. The first was calculated based on the figures given by De Jonge for the permanent garrison needed to maintain Fort Nassau—fifty men—and on the information given by Brun between 1617 and 1620. The warship Gelderland, which transported him to the Gold Coast, carried on board 125 soldiers, 40 of whom arrived alive at the fort, most of them sick. If we assume that the Admiralty of Amsterdam and the States General sent an annual total of 125, 40 of whom were still alive after one year, the annual mortality rate was 680/1000 (formula: c) = (b) × 680): 1000). The second mortality rate was based on the average annual mortality rate calculated by Feinberg (formula: f ) = b) × 200: 1000). d) and g) In order to arrive at the number of men in need of replacement due to premature death during their three-year term, we multiplied the number of annual deaths by three (formulas: d) = c) × 3; and g) = f ) × 3). e) and h) In order to calculate the number of labor migrants (Company servants), both military and civilian, needed for the maintenance of the Company settlements in West Africa overtime we added the number of employees used to the number of workers dead on service per each term of three years according to a specific annual mortality rate (formulas: e) = b) + d) and h) = b) + g)).

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674) 83

Sub-total

Land Personnel

WIC Personnel

Elmina Comany / Komenda Cabo Cors / Cape Coast Fort Nassau / Nassau Fort Axem / Axim Fort Chama / Shama Craa / Accra

32.3

12.7

10.9 1.8

3.6 61.4

71

28

24

4

8 135

a) Settlements/ Military Military Staff Ships Staff (%)

2 17

2

2

4

1

5 1

3

1

1

1

2

1

1

11

1

2

8

c) d) e) f) g) Adminis- Religious Medical Craftsmen Seamen Staff trative/ Staff Commercial staff

b) Civilian Staff

Table 4. Company Personnel on the Gold Coast (1645)

2

2

Boys

0.9 0.9 15.9

2 35

2.3

4.5

0.5

6.4 0.5

2

5

10

1

14 1

Civilian Civilian Staff Staff (%) Sub-total

10 170

6

29

38

1

85 1

Total

84 filipa ribeiro da silva

Yacht De Fortuyn Yacht Den Dolphijn Yacht De Visscher Yacht Riael

1 136

1

0.5 61.8

0.5

a) Settlements/ Military Military Staff Ships Staff (%)

3 20 23.8

1

1

1

3 3.6

1 3 3.6

1 8 5 27 27 32.1

3 14 25 29.8

9

5

3

2

6

c) d) e) f) g) Adminis- Religious Medical Craftsmen Seamen Staff trative/ Staff Commercial staff

b) Civilian Staff

4 6 7.1

1

1

2

Boys

8 49 84 100

14

13

14

3.6 22.3 38.2

6.4

5.9

6.4

Civilian Civilian Staff Staff (%) Sub-total

8 50 220

14

14

14

Total

Source: “Monsterolle der persoone soolangse de gout Cust opt Casteel del Myna, het fort Nassouw, Axem, Cra, Cama, Company en Cabo Cors, als op de schepen en de jachten in dienst der Geoctrojeerde Westindische Compagnie worden bevonden,” in Ratelband, Vijf dagregisters, 355–360. Observations: Each category can be broken down as follows: a) military staff: military officers: director, lieutenant, constable, sergeant , captain of arms, corporal, as well as the soldiers, the naval cadets, the drummers and the lancers; b) civilian staff: the administrative/commercial staff, the religious staff, the medical staff, the craftsmen, the seamen and the boys/helpers; c) administrative/commercial staff: fiscal, chief-factor, junior-factor, assistant; d) religious staff: the comforter of the sick (siekentrooster); e) medical staff: surgeon; f ) craftsmen: equipagemeester, smiths, key-maker, carpenters, bricklayers, barrel-makers, woodcutter (bosschieter), cooper, sail-makers, rope-maker (schieman/schiemans maet); g) seamen: skipper, pilot, shipmaster, sailors, cook, bottler (bottelier).

Sub-total Total Civilian Staff (%)

Sea Personnel

WIC Personnel

Table 4 (cont.)

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674) 85

86

filipa ribeiro da silva Table 5. WIC Personnel in Brazil and West Africa (1642/1645)

Years

a)

b) Brazil

1642/1645

4000

c) d) Gold Coast São Tomé 220

300

e) Angola

f) West Africa

650

1170

Sources and Observations: a) The data for Brazil, São Tomé, and Angola correspond to the year 1642, while the information for the Gold Coast dates from 1645. b) The number of Company servants in Brazil in 1642 is based on information given by Van den Boogaart, “De Nederlandse expansie.” c) The number of Company servants at the Gold Coast in 1645 is based on the data available in the Monsterolle of 1645 (see above). d) The number of WIC employees at São Tomé in 1642 is based on data extracted from the correspondence exchanged between Jan Claesz. Cock and Johan Maurits van Nassau-Siegen and the Supreme Council in Brazil between December 1641 and May 1642. See: NA, OWIC 56 and 57, letters of Jan Claesz. Coeck to Johan Maurits and the Supreme Council in Brazil. e) The number of Company servants and “citizens” at Angola in 1642 is derived from data on Admiral Jol’s fleet: Klaas Ratelband, Os Holandeses no Brasil e na Costa Africana: Angola, Kongo e São Tomé (1600–1650) (Lisboa: Vega, 2003), 333. f ) Formula: f ) = b) + c) + d) + e).

only 20 out of every 1,000 men employed by the WIC served in West Africa. In the years 1642–1645, the number of servants in Brazil was four times higher than the total Company staff in West Africa, which indicates that the Company’s main focus was Brazil, at least until 1654 (see Table 5). Forced African Migrants: Slaves In addition to the European labor migrants, the Dutch also used slaves in their West African establishments. For lack of primary sources on this matter, it is difficult to establish when the Dutch started to use slave labor in West Africa. Studies of the Dutch slave trade are usually silent on the ownership of slaves by the Companies chartered by the States General—the WIC and the VOC—or by the Company employees. These works claim that the Dutch only started using African slaves in the mid-1630s, following their capture of a number of Brazilian captaincies.23 However, the takeover of the Portuguese possessions on the Gold

23 Johannes Menne Postma, The Dutch in the Atlantic Slave Trade, 1600–1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); E. van den Boogaart and P.C. Emmer, “The Dutch Participation in the Atlantic Slave Trade, 1596–1650,” in Henry A. Gemery and

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674)

87

Coast in the late 1620s and the need for repairs in most of those forts after the sieges must have raised the Company’s demand for manpower. Given the reduced number of Europeans on the coast, it is likely that part of the reconstruction work was not done by European Company personnel, but by slaves, who were used especially for unskilled tasks. Similar practices were adopted by other European sea powers both in West Africa and other parts of the Atlantic world to built and maintain towns and fortresses. In 1645, the WIC had a total of 409 slaves in its service on the Gold Coast. Considering the number of European servants—220 men—there were roughly two (1.9) slaves for each European free laborer (see Table 6). Company slaves thus accounted for 65% of the employees and Europeans for only 35%. Based on this ratio, we estimate that between the late 1620s and the late 1630s the WIC made use of 219 to 290 slaves in the West African establishments. Between 1641 and 1648, due to the takeover of Angola and São Tomé, this figure increased to an estimated number of 2,000 to 2,500 slaves, while after 1648, the number of slaves used by the Company decreased to 400 to 450 (see Table 7). These figures do not match the total number of slaves purchased by the WIC for its service in West Africa. Slave mortality forced the Company to acquire a higher number of slaves. The accurate annual mortality rate of slaves on the West Coast of Africa is difficult to determine. But given the higher resistance of Africans to the tropical disease environment, we may assume that the annual mortality rate of the slaves was half of the European annual death rate [(680/1000)/2 = 340/1000]. The Company would thus have annually bought between 60 and 125 slaves, except for the 1640s, when the annual need for unfree laborers would have increased to 600 to 750 slaves. Every three years the WIC imported an estimated number of 180 to 370, and in the 1640s 1,800 to 2,250 slaves (see Table 7). During the same period the Company would have employed an estimated number of 1,357 Europeans. Therefore, the unfree laborers accounted for 65% of the Company employees, while the European servants made up only 35%, as we have stated above. Hence, the WIC owned and employed a considerable number of slaves, whose number increased rapidly overtime.24 Jan S. Hogendorn, eds., The Uncommon Market: Essays in the Economic History of the Atlantic Slave Trade (New York, N.Y.: Academic Press, 1979), 353–375. 24 Feinberg informs us that in the eighteenth century, the WIC had circa 800 at its service on the Gold Coast. Given the annual average of 238 Company servants of

88

filipa ribeiro da silva Table 6. Slaves in WIC service on the Gold Coast (1645)

Land

Settlements/ Slaves

Men

Boys

Elmina Comany / Komenda Cabo Cors / Cape Coast Fort Nassau / Nassau Fort Axem / Axim Fort Chama / Shama Craa / Accra

68 1

30 –

52 –

23 –

– –

11 –

184 1

1

–

–

–

–

–

1

59

20

44

22

-

11

156

16

–

5

–

2

–

23

8

2

5

–

–

–

15

9 162

4 56

8 114

– 45

– 2

– 22

21 401

–

–

–

–

–

–

3

–

–

–

–

–

–

3

–

–

–

–

–

–

2

– – 162

– – 56

– – 114

– – 45

– – 2

– – 22

– 8 409

Sub-total Sea

Sub-total Total

Yacht De Fortuyn Yacht Den Dolphijn Yacht De Visscher Yacht Riael

Women Girls Children Infants/ Total Babies

Source: “Inventaris van alle de goederen langs de geheele Guineese Custe, competeerende de Ed. Heeren, bewinthebberen der Geoctrooyeerde Westindische Compagnie, over gegeven door de Heer Jacob Ruichaver aen de Heer Generael Jacob van der Wel. Ady pmo. December ano 1645: El Mina,” in Ratelband, Vijf Dagregisters, 370, 373–375, 377–378, 380.

In a recent study of the VOC’s slave trade in Asia during the seventeenth century, Marcus Vink concludes that the Company in Asia employed a small number of slaves, which he attributes to the commercial interests of the VOC.25 By contrast, we would argue that factors such as the shortage of manpower, the nature of colonial activities, and the Companies’ views of slaves and their working skills must be taken into account in future research.

European origin serving the WIC on the coast, one may state that the Company had three slaves for each Company servant. Slaves represented 77% of the total population under Company administration, the Europeans accounting for the remaining 23%: Feinberg, Africans and Europeans, 65. 25 Marcus Vink, “ ‘The World’s Oldest Trade’: Dutch Slavery and Slave Trade in the Indian Ocean in the Seventeenth Century,” Journal of World History 14:2 (2003): 131–77.

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674)

89

In general, the WIC only used slaves for domestic work inside the forts, in the Company gardens or to fetch water, wood, and other foodstuffs in the vicinity of the forts and lodges. These so-called castle slaves (kasteel slaven)26 were mainly used for unskilled and domestic work. Hence, slaves had a minor role in the Dutch establishments in West Africa. They were rarely trained to be craftsmen, seamen or soldiers, or used as interpreters or guides to help the Company penetrate the hinterland. Locally Recruited Personnel Regardless of the large number of slaves employed by the Dutch in their West African establishments, not all labor needs were met. Both free African and mixed-descent workers were hired locally to perform specific tasks. A. Free Africans The recruitment of free Africans by the Dutch in the areas under their control in West Africa grew out of the first commercial contacts. Between 1612 and 1623, both the personnel of Fort Nassau and private traders doing business on the coast hired these men to work as carriers, loading and unloading ships. 27 At the same time, due to the difficulties to penetrate in the interior, the Dutch, like other Europeans, used the free Africans of the Gold Coast, especially the Akan and the Ga people, as middlemen to conduct trade between the hinterland markets and the forts, entrepôts, and lodges on the coast.28 26 These ‘castle slaves’ were also used by the other commercial companies established on the Gold Coast. Examples of the use of ‘castle slaves’ by the Danish West African Company are found in Müller’s description of the Fetu Country: “Wilhelm Johann Müller’s description of the Fetu Country,” in Jones, German Sources, 141, 210. 27 “Samuel Brun’s voyages,” 44–96. 28 Since the fifteenth century, the role of commercial brokers was played by the wealthiest and most influential members of the African communities around the forts of the Gold Coast. In Elmina, for instance, these activities were performed by the wealthiest inhabitants of the Aldeia das duas partes [present-day Elmina], whom the Portuguese called knights of the village—cavaleiros da aldeia. Another important person in the village’s society and in this mediation between the land and the coastal commerce was the sheriff of the village—xarife da aldeia. He had to lead the traders arrived in the village to the Portuguese fortress and put them in contact with the Portuguese royal officers, probably by serving as an interpreter. He was therefore responsible for the flow of merchants conducting trade in gold and their access to the fortress. J.B.

90

filipa ribeiro da silva

Free Africans were also used as guides and interpreters for ‘diplomatic visits’ to the local rulers.29 Local recruitment of free Africans continued after the establishment of the WIC in 1621–1623, as the Company hired civilian and military staff either on a permanent or temporary basis. Many of the free Africans were temporarily hired by the Company, both for civilian and military assignments30—the WIC relied heavily on the military aid of the Elmina regiments.31 Some free Africans were employed to perform tasks on shore, such as loading and unloading canoes and ships and repairing WIC buildings and ships. Overtime, an increasing number of Africans was taken into service to work as carpenters, bricklayers, smiths, and in other artisanal activities.32 Free Africans were also recruited by the Company to perform commercial activities. In order to guarantee the supply of African goods to the forts, entrepôts and lodges, both for commercial and logistical purposes, the WIC entered into contracts with powerful African traders operating as middlemen between the supply markets in the hinterland and the establishments of the Company in the coastal areas. The commercial know-how of the African brokers was essential for the survival of the Company’s civilian and military staff and for the supply of African goods to the consumption markets in the Americas and Europe. Free Africans were also hired for coastal shipping. Their knowledge of the coastal shores, the estuaries of the rivers and the wind patterns of the Gulf of Guinea, as well as their sailing expertise on the small canoes required for coastal

Ballong-Wen-Mewuda, “A fortaleza de São Jorge da Mina. Testemunho da presença portuguesa na costa do Golfo da Guiné do século XVII,” Oceanos 28 (1996): 27–39; id., “A instalação de fortalezas na costa africana. Os casos de Arguim e da Mina. Comércio e contactos culturais,” in: Portugal no Mundo, ed. L. de Albuquerque (Lisboa: Alfa, 1989), II:137–149; M.E.M. Santos, Contactos e caminhos comerciais na Costa da Mina durante as duas primeiras décadas do século XVI (Lisboa, s.d.). 29 Feinberg, Africans and Europeans, 47–76. 30 This practice was also adopted by other European sea powers settled in the Gold Coast. The Danish West African Company had African officials and soldiers at its service. See, for instance: “Wilhelm Johann Müller’s description of the Fetu Country, 1662–9,” in Jones, German Sources, 141, 161, 164, 168, 172, 175, 190, etc.; and “Zur Eich’s description of the Fetu Country, 1659–69” in ibid., 262. 31 The Asafu companies of Elmina gave military support to the WIC, like they had done to the Portuguese until 1637. However, it is not clear whether this military help was granted by the regiments due to political-diplomatic agreements with the local rulers or to contracts signed between the Company and the military regiments, for which the African soldiers would receive a certain payment. 32 Ibid., 65–71.

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674)

91

navigation were essential for the Company. They guaranteed the flow of information, servants, merchandises and provisions between the several settlements.33 Free Africans played a key role in the connection of the Dutch with the supplying markets of African goods located in the hinterlands and in the coastal transport in canoes between the several Company establishments. They were essential for the development of the local economy of the settlements and the success of the WIC in the Atlantic. In brief, free Africans were recruited to perform mainly commercial and shipping functions which required specific knowledge and, therefore, could not be performed successfully by Europeans. Most free Africans were hired as seamen, brokers and soldiers. The main reasons for their recruitment was their expertise in coastal navigation, their know-how of the hinterland trade and their military skill to fight either against other Africans or other Europeans, as well as their lower mortality rate.34 Their number is unknown for the seventeenth century, but information for the first decades of the eighteenth century suggests that it was similar to that of the Europeans.35 B. Mixed-descent workers and European settlers The Dutch also hired mixed-descent workers in their West African settlements. The recruitment of mixed-descent people started only in the late seventeenth century. Usually, mulattoes of Dutch and African descent were employed as low ranking Company servants or as

33 For the early eighteenth century Feinberg gives data regarding the costs of a trip from Elmina to other Dutch forts, factories and lodges paid to the Elminan canoe men. Harvey M. Feinberg, Africans and Europeans, 68; and J. Nan, “Rimadoors: een Afrikaans aandeel in de handel tussen Nederland en de Goudkust, 1602–1872” (MA thesis, Leiden University, January 1981). 34 Free Africans only performed such activities on the Gold Coast. We could not find data regarding free Africans serving as seamen or soldiers on board Dutch ships operating in the trans-continental circuits. 35 In 1715, WIC personnel locally born and recruited on the Gold Coast accounted only for 3.9% and 2.7% of the land and sea personnel of the Company. Overtime the number of Africans incorporated in the military staff of the Company increased, especially during the second half of the eighteenth century. Feinberg informs us that until 1750 the annual number of Africans employed by the WIC at its forts in the Gold Coast was around ten, but this number rose to 75 by the end of the 1760s and 143 by 1773. Yves Delepeleire, “Nederlands Elmina: een socio-economische analyse van de Tweede Westindische Compagnie in West-Afrika in 1715” (Licentiate thesis, University of Ghent, 2003–2004), http://www.ethesis.net/wic/wic_deel_3.html; Feinberg, Africans and Europeans, 69; idem, “New data on European mortality in West Africa,” 363.

– – – 243 433 2578 2578 507 507 507 507 507 595 595 595 10152 – – – 29 52 309 309 61 61 61 61 61 71 71 71 1217 – – – 88 156 928 928 183 183 183 183 183 214 214 214 3657 – – – 73 130 773 773 152 152 152 152 152 178 178 178 3043

– – – 219 390 2320 2320 457 457 457 457 457 535 535 535 9139

f) e) d) c) b) Slaves used (1.9 Slaves dead on duty Slaves dead on duty Slaves dead on duty Slaves dead on duty slaves p/European; per year: estimate each three years: per year: estimate each three years: except Angola and based on an annual estimate based on an based on an annual estimate based on an São mortality rate of annual mortality rate mortality rate of annual mortality rate Tomé—1.5) 120/1000 of 120/1000 300/1000 of 300/1000

Sources and Observations: a) The data are presented in periods of three years (see above). b) Based on the number of WIC servants on the Gold Coast given by the Monsterolle of 1645 (220 men) and the total number of slaves owned by the Company in the same year listed in the Inventaris van alle de goederen langs de geheele Guineese Custe, we calculate that there

1624–1627 1628–1630 1631–1633 1634–1637 1638–1640 1641–1643 1644–1647 1648–1650 1651–1653 1654–1657 1658–1660 1661–1663 1664–1667 1668–1670 1671–1673 Total

a) Periods

Table 7. Estimated number of forced African migrants employed by the WIC in West Africa (1624–1673)

92 filipa ribeiro da silva

were 1.9 slaves for every European. Using this figure and the estimated number of WIC personnel used on the West Coast of Africa, we estimated the number of slave laborers used by the Company overtime (formula: personnel used—estimate × 1.9). The number of slaves owned by the Company in São Tomé and Angola was calculated based on a lower proportion of African slaves per European migrants (1.5 per 1), taking into account the commercial crises affecting Luanda and São Tomé after the Portuguese inhabitants abandoned the city and the latent war against the Portuguese governments taking refuge in the interior. In addition, we used the information supplied by the directors of the Company of these two colonies to Count Johan Maurits and the Supreme Council in Brazil concerning the lack of foodstuffs to feed the troops and the slaves. See for instance: NA, OWIC 56 and 57: letters of Jan Claesz. Coeck to Johan Maurits and the Supreme Council in Brazil between December 1641 and May 1642 (formula: personnel used—estimate × 1.5). c) The death rate of the ‘castle slaves’ on the West Coast of Africa was probably lower than in the Middle Passage or on American plantations. The transport time between the place of capture and the place where slaves were put to work was shorter and the process of “acclimatization” easier, given the similarities in climate within the Gulf of Guinea and even within Angola. Moreover, the work performed by these slaves was not as harsh or intensive as in the Americas. For lack of data on annual mortality rate for slaves on the West Coast of Africa, we decided to make estimates based on two different mortality rates: 120/1000 vs. 300/1000. The first rate is based on the average annual mortality rate calculated by Robert Stein for the slaves transported by French ships in the eighteenth century (12% = 120/1000). Robert Stein, “Mortality in the eighteenth-century French slave trade,” The Journal of African History 21 (1980): 35–41 (formula: c) = (b) × 120): 1000). But, considering the author’s problematic calculations (as pointed out by some historians), we decide to use a second death rate, based on the assumption that slave mortality would be at least one-half of European mortality in West Africa during the first half of the seventeenth century (680/1000—for further information on the calculations see the Observations regarding Table 3: Estimated WIC personnel used and recruited for West Africa, i.e. 300/1000 (formula: c) = (b) × 300): 1000). d) In order to establish how many slaves needed to be replaced due to premature death we multiplied the number of deaths per year by three (formula: d) = c) × 3).

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674) 93

94

filipa ribeiro da silva

commercial agents of influential African middlemen or European merchants doing business in the area. Their role should not be exaggerated. Even in the first decades of the eighteenth century, their number was extremely small compared to the European civilian and military staff of the WIC working in the forts, entrepôts, and lodges of West Africa.36 The employment of mulattoes by the Company, therefore, had a reduced impact on the local economy of the settlements. European Labor Markets and West Africa By the last quarter of the sixteenth century, the Dutch Republic received innumerous migrants from the western German states, the Polish cities, Scandinavia and Switzerland. Most of these migrants were employed in the seafaring, shipbuilding and the commercial sectors. After the mid-seventeenth century, the recruitment of seamen in the coastal provinces was insufficient and in the second quarter of the seventeenth century, Dutch crews began to recruit a vast number of immigrant sailors from Scandinavia. The same proportion was probably found among the crews of ships freighted by the private companies operating in West Africa between the 1590s and 1623 and recruited by the Admiralty of Amsterdam to serve at Fort Nassau between 1612 and 1623. For instance, Johann von Lübelfing, a lance corporal of German birth, was hired by the States General to serve on the fleet fitted out for the capture of São Tomé in 1599–1600.37 Another example is Samuel Brun, the barber-surgeon from Basel, who was recruited by the Admiralty of Amsterdam to serve at Fort Nassau for a three-year term (1617–1620).38 Another good example was the surgeon Andreas Josua Ulsheimer, born in Swabia, Southeast Germany, and employed by the Compagnie van Guinea to travel on board a ship bound for West Africa in 1603–1604.39 Jan Lucassen has argued that “in the case of the West India Company (WIC) and related companies sailing to Africa and America [it] may [be] expect[ed that] between 30 per cent and 40 per cent of crews [was]

36

See previous footnote. “Johann von Lübelfing’s voyage of 1599–1600” in Jones, German Sources, 9–17. 38 “Samuel Brun’s voyages,” 44–96. 39 “Andreas Josua Ulsheimer’s voyage of 1603–4,” in Jones, German Sources, 18–43. 37

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674)

95

foreign.”40 A similar proportion was likely found among the WIC land and sea personnel serving in West Africa. Unfortunately, the Monsterolle of 1645 for the Gold Coast gives little information regarding the origin of the Company servants.41 But based on some journals of voyages and extant notarial contracts, we estimate that about 40% of the WIC employees in West Africa were foreigners.42 Hence, the abundance of labor migrants in the Dutch Republic gave the Dutch private merchants, the Admiralties and the WIC the chance to hire the required number of laborers needed for the military and civilian staff of their fleets and establishments in West Africa and other parts of the Atlantic world. On the other hand, the distinct characteristics of the Dutch labor market influenced how these Europeans perceived the use of free and forced labor in their overseas settlements. According to WIC servants, the slaves lacked knowledge in navigation, because they were from the interior of the African continent. Therefore, they were not suitable for maritime activities.43 Although this lack of skills could probably have been overcome through training, slaves were rarely trained to be craftsmen, seamen, soldiers, interpreters, and guides to help Company employees. In the primary sources of the WIC settlements on the Gold Coast we did not find any explanation for the non-use of slaves in these activities. However, the correspondence between the Board of Directors of the Company in Amsterdam and the governor of New Netherland (present-day North America) helps us to understand this phenomenon. In fact, in 1657, the Board advised the director-general of the colony—Peter Stuyvesant—to train the slaves in craftworks. He refused this idea arguing that slaves were not fit for skilled jobs.44 The high officers of the WIC on the Gold Coast probably shared Stuyvesant’s 40

Lucassen, “The Netherlands,” in Canny, Europeans on the move, 168. From the 220 WIC servants listed in the Monsterolle of 1645, the place of residence or origin was given for only 22 men. Only two were foreigners: a German and a Fleming. 42 This statement may be confirmed for the early eighteenth century. Based on the Monsterrolle of 1715 for the Gold Coast, Delepeleire has demonstrated that 39% of the WIC-servants were foreigners, mainly from Germany, Scandinavia, and the Southern Netherlands. For example, Michael Hemmersam was a goldsmith from Nuremberg serving the WIC on the Gold Coast between 1639 and 1645: Delepeleire, “Nederlands Elmina”; “Michael Hemmersam’s description of the Gold Coast, 1639–45” in Jones, German Sources, 97–127. 43 Feinberg, Africans and Europeans, 68. 44 Most of the slaves shipped to New Nederland were Company property and used for a variety of tasks, such as “building forts, clearing land, cutting wood, burning lime and working on its farms”: Van den Boogaart, “Servant migration,” 68. 41

96

filipa ribeiro da silva

view of slave work and therefore did not use or train the Company slaves to perform qualified functions. For this reason, the characteristics of the Republic’s labor market, based on free, high skilled and well paid employment, seem to have influenced the Dutch perception of the potential use of slaves as skilled or unskilled workers. Coming from a labor market based on free skilled labor, Company servants rather hired free Africans to perform certain activities than training the slaves. Thus, the characteristics of the Dutch home labor market influenced the labor migration, the recruitment overseas, and the perception of the colonial labor market. Settlement Policies and West Africa The patterns of labor migration to the Dutch establishments in West Africa were also influenced by the policies of settlement and economic development implemented by the ‘Dutch’ mercantile elite. The Dutch private commercial companies operating in West Africa between the 1590s and 1623 only had commercial interests and never planned to erect a permanent settlement of commercial agents or colonists in West Africa. The establishment of the first Dutch settlement—Fort Nassau—was sponsored by the States General only to provide military aid to the commercial agents of these trading companies against the attacks of the Portuguese on the Gold Coast. After 1623, the WIC followed an identical policy, combining a military presence with the pursuit of commercial interests, but adopted a more aggressive attitude towards the Portuguese garrisons in the Gulf of Guinea. This policy led to the successful takeover of several Portuguese forts on the Gold Coast during the 1630s and 1640s. Despite the increased number of settlements, the WIC never sponsored the migration of settlers from the Republic to the Gold Coast. The only exception was Angola under the Company’s administration between 1641 and 1648, where the WIC allowed the establishment of free merchants.45 The depopulation of Luanda due to the abandonment of the city by the Portuguese inhabitants after the Dutch takeover in 1641 and the consequent commercial ‘crisis’ may have induced the Company to allow ex-servants and businessmen to settle in an attempt to revitalize the 45 NA, OWIC 65:1649–08: “Relaes van tgene sich in het Coninckrijck van Angola heeft toegedragen”; Ratelband, Os Holandeses no Brasil e na costa Africana, 333.

dutch labor migration to west africa (c. 1590–1674)

97

city and boost trade. Still, during the first years of the WIC rule over Angola, the Company was not able to profit much from commerce. This evidence clearly shows that the WIC never had any intention of establishing a settlement colony in the Gulf of Guinea or West-Central Africa with sponsored migration of European colonists and indentured workers. Conducting trade in African goods and guaranteeing the military protection of this commerce were the main goals of the WIC on the West African Coast. Limiting the migration of people from the Republic in West Africa made it easier for the Company to keep its commercial monopoly. This policy contrasted clearly with the strategy followed by the WIC in the settlements in North America, Brazil, Guiana, and the Caribbean Islands,46 where the WIC tried to build white settlements by attracting individual colonists and migrant families.47 Conclusion Settlement policy and economic strategy regarding the West African establishments determined the patterns of both labor migration from Europe and local recruitment. Both Europeans and Africans had an important impact on the building and functioning of the Dutch Atlantic system, although European immigrants defined the structure of the Dutch ‘micro-societies’ in the West African establishments. The abundance of workers in the Netherlands enabled Dutch businessmen and the Republic’s authorities to meet the labor needs of their overseas establishments. At the same time, a labor market based on free, high skilled and well-paid employment also framed the Dutch view that slaves should ideally be used only as unskilled workers.

46

Jonathan I. Israel, European Jewry in the Age of Mercantilism, 1550–1750 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989); Lucassen, “The Netherlands,” in Canny, Europeans on the Move; Van den Boogaart, “De Nederlandse expansie.” 47 E. van den Boogaart, “Servant migration.”

CHAPTER FOUR

SOLDIERS AND MERCHANTS: ASPECTS OF MIGRATION FROM EUROPE TO ASIA IN THE DUTCH EAST INDIA COMPANY IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY Femme S. Gaastra Thousands of men sailed on board the ships of the Dutch East India Company (VOC) from the Dutch Republic to Asia. The return fleets sailing back to Europe carried thousands as well. Yet there was a remarkable difference between the number of those departing for Asia and those returning home. Their numbers are well-known: between 1602 and 1700, 317,800 men left the Republic and 114,400 returned, and between 1700–1795, no less than 655,200 persons sailed out and 252,500 repatriated. The character of this migration to Asia differed from the migration in the Atlantic. On board of the East Indiamen were mainly young men, sailors, soldiers, craftsmen and some higher officials. The great majority of them will have had the intention to return home after one, or perhaps two terms of service—one term being mostly five years. The just-mentioned figures make it clear that many of them never saw their home country again. Much has been written already on this migration. The ever-growing need for personnel by the Company, the origin of those on board, the effects of the migration on the population in the Republic, and the differences between the categories of servants have all been analyzed. Yet, these analyses have been based on sample surveys and could not take into account the careers of individual Company servants. It was, for instance, impossible to find out if sailors or soldiers made more than one voyage to the East, or to investigate the differences in the fate of common soldiers and the higher ships officers. At this moment a project is going on that will make it possible to analyze this migration much more in detail: the construction of a database of the personnel of the VOC in the eighteenth century on the basis of the ship’s ledgers. The personnel administration of the VOC was based on the so-called scheepssoldijboeken, ship’s ledgers, containing a salary account of every man that sailed to Asia in the service of the Company. In these books, the name of the soldier or

100

femme s. gaastra

sailor, his rank and his place of origin is noted as well as his career in Asia. His account is credited with his yearly earnings and is debited with the amount that is paid from his salary to his representatives at home and other rightful claimants, or what is paid to him overseas. The account is closed when the sailor or soldier leaves the Company’s service, for instance after returning to patria, or when he dies. If there is a positive balance, he will receive the remainder—in which case the account is signed by him. In case he has died, the remainder is paid to his heirs. The VOC archives contain a nearly complete set of ships ledgers for the eighteenth century (2,797 volumes). Thus, details are available for all the 655,000 men who were enlisted in the Company’s service between 1700 and 1795. The database is under construction but can already be used. At this moment, the data for the chambers (departments) of Zeeland, Delft, Rotterdam, Hoorn and Enkhuizen are available—although they will be corrected and augmented with some details. These five chambers were responsible for half the yearly equipage (the manning of ships to Asia) by the VOC, the other half was done by the chamber of Amsterdam.1 A good example of the possibilities for new research is given in a recent article, that analyses the origin of the Flemish sailors and soldiers in the crews of the VOC ships from the chamber Zeeland in great detail.2 Making occasional use of the database, I will discuss two aspects of the “VOC migration” in this article: the recruitment of soldiers and junior merchants by the directors of the VOC. These groups represent the extremes in the hierarchy of the VOC, the soldiers being the lowest, the junior merchants the highest rank of those who entered the service of the Company. Within the context of this article the conclusions can at best be provisional, but I hope that to demonstrate the value of the database and to show the possibilities for further research.

1 The website is http://vocopvarenden.nationaalarchief.nl. At this moment (June 2008) the data of the chambers Delft, Rotterdam, Hoorn, Enkhuizen and Zeeland are included, constituting half of the total number of ship’s ledgers. See also: Ton van Velzen, “Uitgevaren voor de Kamers: 700.000 mensen overzee,” in Jan Parmentier, ed., Uitgevaren voor de Kamer Zeeland (Zutphen: De Walburg Pers, 2006), 31–46. 2 Veerle Delahaye, Frederik Demeulenaere, Eva Kusters, Arne van Eesen, Joke Verfaillie, and Tom Vlaeminck, “De Vlaeminck en De Zeeuw; 30.000 mensen overzee,” in: Jan Parmentier, ed., Uitgevaren voor de Kamer Zeeland, 31–46.

soldiers and merchants

101

The Recruitment of Soldiers by the VOC in the 18th Century Around one third of the workforce hired by company in Europe for its Asian factories were soldiers. Thus, some 220,000 soldiers sailed to Asia on one of the Dutch East Indiamen after 1700. The large majority of them came from abroad and can be termed “transmigrants” rather than migrants.3 There were several reasons for the difficulties the directors of the Company had to attract enough soldiers for the army in Asia. An important obstacle for young men to seek employment as a soldier in the VOC was the system of the so-called transportbrieven, the bonds by which the young recruit issued the right to collect an amount of his salary to his crimp or lodging house keeper—in Dutch: the volkhouder. This nominal value of such a bond was usually 150 guilders, and this money was seen as a reimbursement for the costs for housing, food and drink for the recruit while he waiting for his new job, and for a simple soldiers’ kit as well. The Company paid this money to the holders of these bonds. The real costs for the lodging house keeper were much lower than 150 guilders, yet it became hard for him to make profits. The VOC paid these sums but only after ascertaining that the money was indeed earned by the soldier. It took eight to nine months before the ships had arrived in Batavia and then it took at least an equal time span before the message of a safe arrival of the soldier had reached the Netherlands. The holder of the bond, therefore, had to wait for two years before he could cash a part of the nominal value of the bond. It took much longer before the whole sum could be cashed. A soldier was earning 9 guilders per month, so it took him 18 months before he had earned enough to pay off his debt—and before he really could start to earn money for himself. Bondholders sometimes had to wait for four or five years before the Company had verified that the soldier had earned enough to pay off his debt. If the system was detrimental to the new soldier, it was difficult for him to avoid it, especially if he came from abroad. He needed housing and food as long as he was jobless and the volkhouder could provide him with these services. The second obstacle was the high death rate in Batavia after 1733. Starting that year, malaria was so rampant that it earned Batavia the

3 Jan Lucassen, Dutch long distance migration: A concise history, 1600–1900 (Amsterdam: International Institute of Social Sciences, Netherlands, 1991), 11.

102

femme s. gaastra

nickname of the graveyard of the East. As word spread that Batavia was an unhealthy and dangerous place to stay, the Company’s service lost its attraction, especially for soldiers, who were more vulnerable to the disease than other groups.4 The high death rate affected the military power of the VOC and in order to improve the depressed state of the defense in Batavia, several plans and proposals were drawn up. One of these plans was that of the newly appointed Governor-general Gustaaf van Imhoff in 1742. His proposal for new set of regulations for the army in Asia, the Projectreglement op de troupes in Indië, was meant to improve the quality of the Company’s army, an army that, according to Van Imhoff, seemed to be composed of beggars rather than soldiers. Van Imhoff estimated that the Company’s army counted 10,000 men, costing the VOC about 130,000 guilders per year. New regulations and a more economical management of the armed forces would not only improve the quality, but would, at the same time, lower the costs for de VOC, while enlarging the size of the army. According to Van Imhoff ’s project, the militia in Asia should be augmented to 13,802 men. The plan was accepted by the Company board (the Gentlemen Seventeen) and by the States General.5 It was a beautiful plan on paper, but it could not be realized. Van Imhoff thought that the Company could send 3,000 soldiers per year to Asia. That was not an unreasonable figure: the VOC succeeded in recruiting 2,800 soldiers per year during the period 1745–1765. But these yearly enforcements of the Company’s army in Asia did not result in a military force of the designed size, because so many soldiers fell victim to the malaria soon after their arrival in Batavia. State Support? In January 1762, two directors of the VOC chamber of Amsterdam, Gerard Hasselaar and Egbert de Vrij Temminck, held a long conversation with the army commander in the Dutch Republic, the Duke of Brunswick (who was also the tutor of the later Stadholder William V).6 4 P.H. van der Brug, Malaria en malaise: De VOC in Batavia in de achttiende eeuw (Amsterdam: de Bataafsche Leeuw, 1994). 5 J.E. Heeres, “De Consideratiën van Van Imhoff,” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde van Nederlandsch-Indië 66 (1912): 604–615. 6 See: Femme S. Gaastra, “Sware continuerende laste en groten ommeslag. Kosten van de oorlogsvoering van de Verenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie,” in: Gerrit Knaap

soldiers and merchants

103

Hasselaar explained that the VOC had to face a growing influence of the British in India, and that the Company hoped to stop this influence by opposing the nawab (governor) whom the EIC had installed in Bengal. To be successful, the Company needed the support of the States General, who should provide a fleet and 2,000 or 3,000 soldiers, supplemented with artillery and engineering officers. The Company could, if necessary, provide the ships itself, although it would be a good thing if the States General could display their flag in Asian waters: Il seroit bon que le pavillon de l’Etat se produisit une fois aux Indes.7 Brunswick was surprised by this request and replied guardedly, pointing at the complexity of such an expedition. Should such an army operate under the flag of the States General or were these soldiers brought under Company command? Moreover, the army of the States General was already weakened and a further reduction in size undesirable. Hasselaar answered that he was well aware of these problems, but that in this case a change in the stance of the city of Amsterdam in the States of Holland might be helpful. Amsterdam might be willing to support the Duke in an ongoing political debate about army recruitment and would use its position in the States of Holland to vote for augmentation. It was a remarkable turn in the conversation. Hasselaar and Temminck spoke with Brunswick in their capacity as directors the VOC, but at the same time they felt themselves authorized to speak as burgomasters of Amsterdam, proposing a concession of the city in this debate to gain the Duke’s support for the VOC.8 The conversation could not be kept secret. Hard pressed by the Company, Brunswick turned to Willem Bentinck, the most influential politician in the Republic.9 Bentinck immediately saw the danger that this plan could be seen as a provocation of the English East India Company. When he succeeded in forming a coalition in the provincial States of Holland against Amsterdam, military support was no longer an option. Bentinck cooperated with the English ambassador Joseph

and Ger Teitler, eds., De Verenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie tussen oorlog en vrede (Leiden: KITLV Uitgeverij, 2002), 94–95. 7 The Duke of Brunswick to Willem Bentinck, 6 Januari 1762, in: Th. Bussemaker, ed., Archives ou Correspondence inédite de la Maison d’Orange-Nassau 1759–1766. (fourth series, IV, Leiden: Luchtmans, 1914), 378–382. 8 Ibid. 9 F.J.L. Krämer, ed., Gedenkschriften van Gijsbert Jan van Hardenbroek (1747–1787), Werken Historisch Genootschap, derde serie, 14 (’s-Gravenhage: Müller, 1901) I: 202.

104

femme s. gaastra

Yorke, who had been alarmed by these plans but, just as Bentinck, did not want to add to the tensions between the two countries. The VOC was given some satisfaction—a committee would go to London to discuss the problems in Bengal. The directors, however, did not give in completely, and decided in 1763 to expand the number of ships sent to Asia from 26 to 32. These ships should carry as many soldiers as possible.10 The three large East Indiamen in this fleet, Giessenburg, Lekkerland en Duinenburg carried each nearly 400 men, but the smaller ships too must have been overcrowded. They carried each more than 300 men, among them 180 soldiers. It meant that some 1,300 were sent above the normal enforcement of 2,000 men.11 A large part of these reinforcements was destined to Ceylon, where the Company fought a guerilla war against the Kingdom of Kandy during these years. The directors were afraid that the EIC would take advantage of this situation and would weaken the VOC’s grip on Ceylon, while Batavia could simple not meet the need for more troops in Ceylon. But as before, malaria, not warfare, was what devastated the army. After 1770 the situation in Batavia became even worse. In the terrible year of 1775, more than 70 per cent of the Company’s soldiers died within a year after their arrival from Europe. No wonder that Governor General Reynier de Klerk once again asked for state support. He made a desperate request in 1778 for more soldiers in a letter to the Stadholder, Prince William V. The Stadholder was also opperbewindhebber (commander-in-chief ), making him the highest authority within the VOC. De Klerk explained that the garrisons in and around Batavia held 1,150 men, already far from what Van Imhoff had thought necessary. But only 278 of them were healthy enough for military service. The Company had to face reality: Batavia as well as all other Dutch factories and settlements in Asia were without any defense. Therefore, De Klerk

10 Nationaal Archief, The Hague (NA), VOC 182, res. Gentlemen XVII, April 1, 1763. P.J. Marshall, “The place of the Seven Years War (1756–63) in the changing balance between Britain and the Netherlands in Asia,” Tijdschrift voor Zeegeschiedenis 20:1 (2001), 20. 11 The other ships were the Huis ten Donk, the Gouverneur-Generaal, the Schagen, and the Stralen. See also: J.R. Bruijn, F.S. Gaastra and I. Schöffer, Dutch-Asiatic Shipping in the 17th and 18th Centuries, Vol. II, Rijks Geschiedkundige Publicatiën no. 166 (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1979), 596–597.

soldiers and merchants

105

once again asked for 2,000 soldiers and 200 artillerists from the State’s army to strengthen the troops in Batavia.12 It is not known if this letter did play a role in the directors’ decision in 1780 to build five extra ships to carry an additional number of 2,000 soldiers to Asia, but it is very likely. At the same time, the directors had to take measures in order to attract more soldiers for Company service, because the system with the bonds and the volkhouders did not function any longer. The increasing death rate after 1770 among the soldiers meant that the likelihood that the bondholder would receive the full nominal value of the bond was getting smaller and smaller. The crimp who was not in a position to wait until the VOC paid him the soldier’s debt, sold his bonds to others who specialized in this business and hoped to make some profit on these transactions. The risky nature of the bonds explains why their price was far below their nominal value. But when the death rate among the soldiers reached dramatically high levels in the 1770s, the prices for the bonds fell to such an extent—under 50 per cent of their nominal value—that even the crimps did not want to proceed with their work. They no longer received enough money to cover the expenses incurred for the recruits. The traditional system could therefore no longer guarantee the recruitment of new soldiers. The first answer to this problem was to authorize the chambers to buy the bonds themselves in order to keep their price at a level that was attractive for crimps. But the system itself came under debate. The directors were aware that the quality of the soldiers that the VOC enlisted via the crimps was abominable: They were the dregs of the human kind . . . deserters, vagrants, who have fled justice in their home country. How can the Company put any trust in such an indiscriminately collected bunch of people?13

Despite their doubts about the recruitment, the directors did not dare to sideline the crimps completely. The chamber of Zeeland proposed

12 J.K.J. de Jonge and M.L. van Deventer, eds., De opkomst van het Nederlandsch gezag over Java (’s-Gravenhage: Nijhoff, 1883), 8: 315–319 (Governor-general and Council in Batavia to Willem V, 31 Jan. 1778) and 391 (Secret letter from De Klerk to the Gentlemen XVII, 15 Oct. 1779). 13 “Dat dezelve het uitschot van het menselijk geslacht zijn . . . deserteurs, vagebonden voor justitie uit hun vaderland gevlucht. Welk een vertrouwen kan de Compagnie, wanneer zij zich in moeilijke omstandigheden bevindt . . . in zoodanig een opgeraapten hoop stellen?” NA 137, res. Gentlemen XVII, February 28, 1780.

106

femme s. gaastra

to present the crimps a douceur for every recruit, obviating the need of bonds. The directors in Zeeland recognized that the soldiers in Batavia faced an awful situation: “Which mortal is unhappier these days than an Indian soldier?”14 They proposed the use of recruitment officers, ‘captains’ who would be rewarded with 100 guilders for every soldier they brought in, from which money they would have to pay the transportation and housing of the recruit until he went on board of the East Indiaman. Above this remuneration, these officers would earn a salary of 80 guilders per month and above this salary they would receive 1,000 or 1,500 guilders at their appointment. The chambers of the VOC would provide the recruit with his outfit—but his salary account would be charged with the value of this outfit. It was hoped that these new regulations should improve the reputation of the Company’s military service among foreigners.15 But it took time for these plans to be realized. Only two recruitment officers were appointed in the autumn of 1780. And the replacement of bonds by premiums or douceurs was still under discussion. The Disastrous Voyage of 1782 The outbreak of the Fourth Anglo-Dutch War in December 1780 forced the directors to take action. It was decided to offer a premium of 60 guilders to crimps for every recruit and to appoint six recruitment officers. The measures had some success and in 1781 a fleet of eight heavily armed ships was ready to bring a considerable number of soldiers to Batavia. The date of departure was set at September 1781. The two large East Indiamen from Zeeland in this fleet, the Both and the Zeeuw, sailed in August to Texel to join the ships from Amsterdam. The fleet departed in September 1781, but returned already five days later to the roadstead of Texel. Although the outcome of the battle at the Dogger Bank in August 1781 between the Dutch and British fleet was indecisive, the sea was not safe for Dutch ships. The ships waited for ten months. Finally, on July 6, 1782, the fleet sailed again convoyed by two naval frigates.

14 “Welk sterveling is er actueel ongelukkiger dan wel een Indisch soldaat?” NA, VOC 7306, Directors of Zeeland to the Chamber of Amsterdam, May 4, 1780. 15 About these plans: W. Van de Huijsen-Steijn, “De werving van soldaten” (Master’s Thesis, Leiden University, 1992), 17–20.

soldiers and merchants

107

The voyage was perhaps the most disastrous ever undertaken by a VOC fleet. The ships entered the Table Bay at the Cape of Good Hope on the 2nd of December. The next day the governor of the Cape, Baron van Plettenberg, dispatched a small hooker, the Postiljon, with an account of the disaster for the directors. No less than 919 men had died during the voyage to the Cape, and 756 men were brought ashore to recover from their illness. Most of the men were soldiers. The final figures were even worse: the fleet had carried 2,201 men, of whom 1,202 died before or at the Cape, while 915 were too ill to proceed to Batavia and had to remain in the hospital.16 The cause of this disaster was scurvy. The duration of the voyage to the Cape, 22 weeks, was normal, but proved deadly in combination with the long period spent at the roadstead of Texel.17 The death rate on the two naval frigates, Brunswijk and Jason, who had joined the fleet in July 1782, was normal. The result was, of course, that the plans to reinforce the army by this fleet failed completely. The correspondence of the Gentlemen Seventeen very rarely reveals some personal emotion, but this time the director wrote back to their servants at the Cape: “As humans touched with the fate of fellow men, we bemoan that so many unfortunate creatures have become the victim of their service for the Company.”18 How disastrous the voyage was and how grim the mood on board must have been, can be illustrated when we follow the death rate on board of the ships more closely. I did so for the Zeeuw, under command of Willem Udemans from Zeeland. On board of this ship there were already 16 deaths before departure, while 53 men eventually did not sail out. “Absent at departure,” was noted down in the ship’s ledger. Perhaps some men had deserted, but it may well be that many of them were already too weak to start the voyage. Finally the ship sailed with 261 men on board. The number of deaths rose slowly after the departure. Only one man died in July, then 6 in August and 9 in September. But in

16 Kaapstad Argiefbewaarplek, K.A., C. 163, pp. 259–261, Resolution of the Council of the Cape of Good Hope, 3 December 1783, cited via http://www.tanap.net/content/ activities/documents/resolutions_Cape_of_Good_Hope/index.htm. 17 Arnold E. Leuftink, Harde heelmeesters. Zeelieden en hun dokters in de 18de eeuw (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 1991), 95–96. 18 “Als menschen met het noodlot onder medemenschen innig bewogen, beklagen wij zoo veele ongelukkigen als het slachtoffer geworden zijn van hun engagement in ’s maatsch. dienst.” NA, VOC 340, Gentlemen Seventeen to the Governor and Council at the Cape of Good Hoop, December 5, 1783.

108

femme s. gaastra

October, 30 men died, and after the 15th of that month there was hardly a day without a death. In November, 72 men died, and on some days four to five bodies had to be lowered overboard in a simply ceremony. When the ship reached the Cape, 121 men had died. Moreover, not all who were brought ashore recovered. On 5 December, three days after the arrival in the Table Bay, 6 men passed away. The human tragedy meant not only that the efforts made by the directors to enforce their troops in Batavia had failed completely. It was also a costly affair for the Company. In former years, the burden would have fallen on the bondholders, but now it fell on the shoulders of the VOC, who had paid the premiums to the crimps and recruitment officers and the soldiers’ outfits. Van Plettenberg estimated that the Company had lost 257 guilders for each dead soldier, the losses thus amounting to more than 300,000 guilders. Swiss and German Regiments The disaster of 1782 provided Van Plettenberg with an opportunity to get rid of another problem—the presence of a ‘Luxembourg regiment’ at the Cape.19 The Gentlemen Seventeen had taken an unorthodox step in 1781 to attract new soldiers, sending two representatives to Paris, Paulus van der Perre, a director of the chamber of Zeeland, and Frederik Boers, the advocaat20 of the Company, to discuss French support for the VOC. It was in the interest of the French that the Cape should not fall into British hands. It was suggested to the representatives of the VOC to approach French officers with the request to provide whole regiments to the Company. Van der Perre and Boers followed this advice and in April 1781 they signed a contract or “capitulation” with the Chevalier de Luxembourg, who provided the company with a regiment of 1,110 soldiers. Shortly afterwards, another contract was signed with Charles Daniel de Meuron, who offered the Company a force of 1,170 men. This regiment, “Suisse Neufchatelois” under Protestant Swiss officers, would be in the pay of the VOC for five years.21 Later a contract was signed

19 K.A., C. 163, pp. 307–319, Resolution of the Council of the Cape of Good Hope, December 24, 1782 (see note 5). 20 The VOC advocaat held a central position in the directorate. He acted as e secretary of the directors and had a strong influence on the directorate. 21 About this regiment: G. de Meuron, Le Régiment Meuron, 1781–1816 (Lausanne: Le Forum historique, 1982); A. Lindner, The Swiss Regiment Meuron at the Cape and Afterwards, 1781–1816 (Capetown: Castle Military Museum, 2000).

soldiers and merchants

109

with Baron von Waldner (Freiherr Christian Waldner von Freundstein), who provided the VOC with 600 soldiers (see Table 1). It was not easy to transport the 2,830 men that were recruited in Paris to Asia, but a small fleet of hired ships, flying the French flag, succeeded in bringing the Luxembourg regiment to the Cape in May 1782. The governor at the Cape now suddenly faced the problem of how to integrate this regiment into the existing defense force. The military commander of the Cape, Robert Gordon, was not sure if he was entitled to bring this regiment under his command. Besides, disputes with the commanders and the behavior of the soldiers caused a lot of trouble. The problems were aggravated by the fact that there were many more French soldiers at the Cape—small Cape Town got the nickname ‘little Paris’—and the VOC authorities found it difficult to keep law and order in the small colony.22 But the real headache came from the Luxembourg regiment. “I wished that I have never seen these Luxembourgers, I certainly don’t want to meet them ever again,” Van Plettenberg wrote in a letter home. The disastrous expedition of 1782 gave him a reason to send the regiment to Ceylon, to strengthen the defense of the Dutch possessions there against the threads of the EIC. After 1784 In 1784, when peace with Britain had been concluded in Paris, the directors hoped that it would be easier to enlist soldiers in the Company’s service. But the optimism proved to be misplaced. In the spring of 1786 it was decided to abandon the bond system altogether. The crimps or volkhouders were granted a premium of 55 to 60 guilders for each recruit, and if one man did present himself at the East India House, he received this douceur personally. The new soldier received an outfit at the expense of the Company. Upon safe arrival in Batavia, the VOC granted him two months payment. The consequences of the new policy are clearly reflected in the data from the ships ledgers. The Sloter Hoge sailed from Flushing to Batavia in 1780 with 95 soldiers on board, only 3 of whom had not issued a bond. In 1791 the Zeeland departed for

22

The following regiments had arrived at the Cape: the French Austrasie regiment on 24 June 1781, the French Pondicherry regiment on 2 July 1781, the Luxembourg regiment in May 1782, the regiment Meuron on 6 January 1783, and the so-called Waldner legion on 7 February 1783.

110

femme s. gaastra

Batavia with 114 soldiers, none of whom had signed a transportbrief. Yet the great majority of these soldiers, 104, came from abroad and may well have used the service of a volkhouder. These soldiers did not receive any salary during their voyage to and from Asia, but would be paid a premium of 100 guilders once they arrived safely in Europe. The latter stipulation must have been meaningless for most of those on board the Zeeland. According to the ship’s ledger, containing information up to 1799, no one repatriated. In the meantime the directors had ‘bought’ soldiers to meet the Company’s need in Asia by signing a contract with Duke Karl Eugen von Württemburg in September 1786. The Duke promised to provide two battalions of experienced soldiers: one grenadiers company, one chasseur company and eight infantry companies, for a total of 1,796 men and supplemented with an extra artillery company of 179. The directors paid 160 guilders for every man. These soldiers, who had to be at least five Dutch feet and one inch tall, were provided with a complete outfit by the Company. The Duke was also to provide a number of recruits to replace those lost after 1787, for which he should receive a sum of 65,000 guilders per year.23 All these expensive enforcements were not enough to tip the balance of power in Asia in favor of the Dutch. The malaria in Batavia wreaked havoc in the military as before. The commander of the Württemberg regiment, Theobald von Hügel, warned the Duke that all the rumors about the extremely high death rate in Batavia were not exaggerated. Even the name of the Waldner legion that had arrived there only five years before, 600 men strong, has disappeared. The Duke was perhaps less interested. His only concern was the profitability of his transaction with the VOC, “le reste peut me’etre . . . egal.”24

23 Johannes Prinz, Das würtembergischen Kapregiment 1786–1808, second enlarged edition (Stuttgart: Strecker und Schröder, 1932). This capitulation or contract is also to be found in the Nederlandsch-Indisch Plakaatboek (Batavia: Landsdrukkerij, ‘s-Gravenhage: Nijhoff, 1892), X: 960–978. The contract gives 5 ‘Hollandsche voet’ and 1 ‘duim’; if this is the Rijnlandse foot, mostly used in the Netherlands, then the soldiers had to be at least 1.60 meters tall. 24 Id., 162, 294–302.

soldiers and merchants

111

Table 1. Foreign regiments hired by VOC, 1781–1786 Year

Regiment

Number

Costs 350 livres per man (total c. ƒ 185,000) 400 livres per man (total ƒ 212,800) c. ƒ 100,000? ƒ 300,000 plus ƒ 72,000 for transport ƒ 65,000 per year

1781

Luxembourg

1,110 men

1781

De Meuron

1,120 men

1781 1786

Baron von Waldner Württemberg

600 men 1,922 men

1787–95

Württemberg

1,200 men

The Appointment to Junior Merchant The soldiers formed the lowest ranking group in the Company’s hierarchy, the merchants, senior merchants and governors making up the highest. However, there were hardly such high-ranking persons on board of the outgoing ships. Only under special circumstances was someone appointed in a merchant or senior merchant rank; in most cases such a man was a lawyer, sent out to become a member of the Court of Justice in Batavia. The database shows that the chambers outside Amsterdam appointed 25 prospective members of this council during the entire eighteenth century.25 In the course of the eighteenth century the junior merchant (onderkoopman) became normally the highest ranking person on the fleets to Asia. This rank became the starting position for a career within the Company, which in the end could bring the junior merchant the fortune he was looking for. The directors had made deals among themselves about these appointments, every director having his turn in proposing his favorite or relative for the job. It became the official rule in 1771 that on every East Indiaman of the first rate (the larger ships) one junior merchant was appointed. As the smaller chambers would then not have the opportunity to hire a junior merchant—because they built and equipped only East Indiamen of the second charter—the rule was adjusted in 1772. These chambers were allowed to appoint a junior merchant once every two years: the first year Delft and Hoorn received this privilege, the next year Rotterdam and Enkhuizen. But

25

The Chamber Zeeland: 13, Delft: 6; Rotterdam: 3; Hoorn: 0; Enkhuizen: 3.

112

femme s. gaastra Table 2. The number of junior merchants sent to Asia by the VOC chambers (Amsterdam not included)

Zeeland Delft Rotterdam Hoorn Enkhuizen Total

Total number

Originating from the own province/city

Foreigners

Repatriated

298 41 36 47 27 449

117 10 9 15 16 167

20 1 2 0 1 24

54 12 8 14 5 93

more adjustments were necessary. Stadholder William V, in his capacity as opperbewindhebber, wished to have some junior merchant places at his disposal as well. The Gentlemen Seventeen gave in and decided that Amsterdam had to hand over two places and Zeeland one, which would leave him with three junior merchant places. It was also decided that promotions to junior merchant in Asia had to be deducted from the available places in the Netherlands. These promotions needed the consent of the directors in the Netherlands, who could choose to fill their assigned places in this way. It meant in practice that ships sailed without a junior merchant on board.26 The appointment was thus the result of personal protection from one of the directors or from the Stadholder. The Resolution Books of the directors of Zeeland recorded whose turn it was for a new appointment.27 The database shows how many onderkooplieden sailed on the ships of the Zeeland and the four smaller chambers (see Table 2). Since we may assume that Amsterdam sent at least the same number, some 1,000 persons left the Netherlands in this enviable position during the eighteenth century—circa ten each year. It is remarkable, but not surprising that so many junior merchants originated from the city of the province whence they sailed. It is clear that the directors often awarded this privileged position to fellow townsmen. Among the 117 junior merchants from Zeeland, 72 came from Middelburg and 17 from Flushing. The number of foreigners was low, 26

NA, VOC 181, resolutions Gentlemen XVII, April 17 and October 9, 1772. These are the so-called “Lijsten van recommendatie van officieren voor de equipage,” containing names of other officers as well, such as the masters and steersmen of the ships. 27

soldiers and merchants

113

constituting just over 5 per cent. But many of the young men did not see their hometown again, just as was the case with the soldiers. Only 93, or circa 20 percent, returned to the Netherlands. Many of the others must have remained in Asia and some may have succeeded in their plan to earn a fortune. But their voyage was not without risk. From the 298 onderkooplieden who sailed to Asia on the ships of Zeeland, 54, thus again circa 20 per cent, died within two years after their arrival. How Much Could a Junior Merchant Earn? Although a junior merchant received a salary of 36 guilders per month, it was not the salary that made this a coveted post. Junior merchants rather hoped to make a fortune in the VOC’s service. Data about potential gains are brought together in Table 3,28 featuring the ambtgeld, a tax on unofficial income that servants were thought to enjoy; the Company asked for one-sixth of annual unofficial income. In 1798, Johannes Siberg, as director-general in the Council of the Indies the second man in the VOC hierarchy in Batavia, made an estimate of the unofficial income connected with the jobs and positions within the administration. It is clear that his estimates were very conservative, even if we should take into account the depressed state of the VOC in the final years of the eighteenth century might reduced the chances of making a fortune. The tax, characterized as a silly and naïve form of tax legislation, was no resounding success, although it alarmed those in the highest brackets.29 Ambtgeld was supposed to be introduced in all VOC factories, but this list contains only information about servants in Batavia and Java. The total amount of money that the VOC hoped to receive was 169,080 guilders per year, which implied that the servants—at least on Java—earned a combined sum of 1,014,480 guilders as unofficial income, which came up and above their salary and the official emoluments. As has been said, the official estimation was 28 The table is based on the data given in a pamphlet called De Indische Patriot and data provided by F. de Haan in his monumental study Priangan (figures taken from a memorandum written by director-general Johannes Siberg in 1798) and a table for the so-called ambtgeld in October 1793. See for the pamphlet Indisch patriot: G.J. Schutte, De Nederlandse Patriotten en de koloniën: Een onderzoek naar hun denkbeelden en optreden, 1770–1800 (Groningen: Wolters, 1974); F. de Haan, Priangan. De PreangerRegentschappen onder het Nederlandsch Bestuur tot 1811, 4 vols. (Batavia: Kolff & Co, ’s-Gravenhage: Nijhoff, 1910–1912), vol. 1. 29 J.A. Sillem, Dirk van Hogendorp (1761–1822) (Amsterdam: Van Kampen, 1890), 47.

114

femme s. gaastra

conservative, and the real income for the servants must have been higher, with the exception perhaps of the estimated income of the resident of Cheribon, which was officially put at 288,000 guilders per year. In this case, the Indisch Patriot might have been dazzled by the splendor that the repatriated residents showed in the Dutch Republic and may have therefore put the income at as high as 500,000 guilders per year. The best positions were of course reserved for a select group, and the really profitable jobs were often reached only after a long career. Some favorites, however, could be very lucky. And those returning home from Java after five or six years, having escaped the malaria, had earned more money than would have been possible in the Republic.30 Conclusion The attempts of the directors of the VOC to attract more soldiers were rational. They tried to discontinue the system of the bonds or transportbrieven that was so detrimental for the new soldiers. Moreover, financial incentives were given to crimps and recruits. The appointment of recruitment officers was a logical step. Finally, the Company hired entire foreign regiments to provide its factories in Asia with much-needed soldiers. However, even if the directors were sometimes successful in their attempts, they could not take away the main cause for the ever-growing need for soldiers: the high death rate in Batavia. As long as the city remained a graveyard for soldiers, it made no sense to increase the number of outgoing soldiers. At the end of the 18th century, it was hard to find Dutchmen prepared or willing to serve the Company as soldiers. This situation was different as regards the higher Company ranks. As hopes of striking it lucky won out over fear of an early death, junior merchant remained a coveted position. But the risks were considerable. Fortunes had to be made in hurry in Batavia, before one fell victim to malaria.

30 About this aspect of unofficial VOC income: F.S. Gaastra, “Zeeuwen in de VOC,” in Jan Parmentier, ed., Noord-Zuid in Oost-Indisch perspectief (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 2005), 99–118.

soldiers and merchants

115

Table 3. Unofficial income of several VOC-servants in Batavia and on Java in the late 18th century (in guilders) Pamphlet ‘Indisch De Haan Patriot’ (1 May Memorandum 1773) Siberg (27 Jan. 1798) Tweede adm. ijzermagazijn Eerste adm. ijzermagazijn Tweede adm. Suikerpakhuis Eerste adm Suikerpakhuis Tweede Dispensier / provisiemagazijn Eerste provisiemagazijn Tweede kledingpakhuis Eerste kledingpakhuis Groote Winkel Eerste adm. Pakhuizen bezijden de Waterpoort Tweede adm. Pakhuizen bezijden deWaterpoort Tweede adm. Graanmagazijn Eerste adm. Graanmagazijn Tweede adm. Pepermagzijn Eerste adm. pepermagzijn Stadsvendu-meester Sabandhar onchristenen Tweede adm. van Onrust Eerste adm. Onrust Resident Joanna Resident Pakkalongan Resident Rembang

Ambtgeld (placard 29 Oct. 1793)

10,000

28,800

3,360

12,000

28,800

3,360

60,000

2,880

60,000 24,000

43,200

4,800

48,000

4,800

16,800 19,200 19,200 28,800

2,880 2,400 19,200

28,800

19,200

36,000

4,800

36,000

4,800

100,000

19,200

100,000

19,200

144,000 192,000

19,200 38,400 192,000 192,000

30,000 30,000 40,000

4,800

116

femme s. gaastra

Table 3 (cont.) Pamphlet ‘Indisch De Haan Patriot’ (1 May Memorandum 1773) Siberg (27 Jan. 1798)

Ambtgeld (placard 29 Oct. 1793)

Resident Japara Resident Tegal Gezaghebber Java’s Oosthoek

60,000 100,000 100,000

Directeur-generaal Commissaris Inlander Resident Cheribon

240,000 288,000 500,000

exempted 115,200 288,000

Gouverneur-generaal

‘at least’ 500,000

exempted

THE ATLANTIC SLAVE TRADE

CHAPTER FIVE

NEW CHRISTIANS, JEWS, AND AMSTERDAM AT THE CROSSROADS OF EXPANSION SYSTEMS Jessica Vance Roitman This essay will explore the Iberian or ‘first’ expansion system as it was a shifting to the Northwestern European, or second, expansion system, roughly between 1595 and 1635. Within the context of this system, two New Christian family networks involved in the slave trade, the Dias Henriques and the Gramaxo, will be discussed. These New Christian families and their networks were representative of the way in which the Iberian expansion system worked. This essay argues that for Iberian New Christians involved in the Atlantic trade, in general, and slave trading, in particular, there were two separate routes—the Angola/Brazil route and the Cape Verde-Cartagena route—which were not particularly linked or integrated in the early-to-mid-seventeenth century. This essay also asserts that, in the Iberian expansion system, family networks, particularly New Christian family networks, were important and useful. Jews, however, were mostly unimportant. This crucial transition period between expansion systems also coincided with a gradual coalescence of religious identities. New Christians like the Gramaxo began to become integrated into the larger Iberian Catholic colonial elite. Meanwhile, some members of the Dias Henriques family later become practicing Jews, while others retained their New Christian identities—a fact that reflects the ambiguities and fluidity of religious identities in the Iberian expansion system, as well as in the Early Modern period as a whole. In neither of the Iberian networks discussed, however, was Amsterdam of any real importance for their slave trading operations. In fact, once members of the Dias Henriques family arrived in Amsterdam, they gave up slave trading altogether. Thus, this essay will, in addition, argue that the Sephardim in the Dutch Republic, at this stage, were only very peripherally and intermittently involved in the slave trade during the crucial period when there was a transition from one expansion system to another. By the time the second expansion

120

jessica vance roitman

system began to take off, after 1640, the ‘Jewish moment’ had almost passed.1 Terminology Thus far, the terms ‘Jews’ and ‘New Christians’ have been used side-byside. However, Jews and New Christians were distinct groups.2 Before proceeding further, it is important to address these thorny issues of terminology, particularly because the conflation of New Christians with Jews has been the foundation of contemporary debates about the slave trade.3 Who were these Jews and New Christians, not to mention the ‘Sephardim,’ marranos and ‘crypto-Jews,’ other terms that crop up frequently in the literature? These are all confusing terms in and of themselves and are often used interchangeably and incorrectly in historical literature. New Christians were, quite simply, all persons of Jewish descent living in Portuguese

1 Pieter C. Emmer, “The Jewish Moment and the Two Expansion Systems in the Atlantic, 1580–1650,” in Paolo Bernardini and Norman Fiering, eds., The Jews and the Expansion of Europe to the West, 1450–1800 (New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2001), 501–516, 512. Emmer gives 1650 as the rough date at which the Jewish moment was over. See also Seymour Drescher, “Jews and New Christians in the Atlantic Slave Trade,” in the same volume, 439–470. 2 There is a huge amount of literature on the topic. For an excellent discussion of the New Christians, Jews and Marranos, see, Robert Rowland, “New Christian, Marrano, Jew,” in Bernardini and Fiering, The Jews and the Expansion of Europe to the West, 125–148; See also, Yosef Kaplan, “Wayward New Christians and Stubborn New Jews: The Shaping of a Jewish Identity,” Jewish History 8: 1–2 (1994), 27–41; Yosef Kaplan, “The Travels of Portuguese Jews from Amsterdam to the ’Lands of Idolatry,’” in Y. Kaplan, ed., Jews and Conversos (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, The Magnes Press, The Hebrew University, 1985), 197 ff.; Yosef Kaplan, “Eighteenth Century Rulings by the Rabbinical Court of Amsterdam’s Community and their Socio-Historical Significance,” Studies on the History of Dutch Jewry 5 (1988), 28–30 (Hebrew), for more on the issues regarding religious identity in diaspora communities as well as in Catholic countries. See also Ellis Rivkin, “How Jewish Were the New Christians?” in Josep M. Sola-Solé, Samuel G. Armistead, and Joseph H. Silverman, eds., Hispania Judaica: Studies on the History, Language, and Literature of the Jews in the Hispanic World, 3 vols. (Barcelona: Puvill Editor, 1980–1984), I: 105–115. 3 The historians Seymour Drescher and David Brion Davis draw the important distinction between ‘Jews,’ ‘Crypto-Jews,’ and ‘New Christians’ in their refutations of works asserting that Jews were pivotal in the Atlantic slave trade. Drescher, “Jews and New Christians,”; Seymour Drescher, “The Role of Jews in the Transatlantic Slave Trade,” Immigrants and Minorities 12 (July 1993), 113–125; and David Brion Davis, “The Slave Trade and the Jews,” The New York Review of Books, 41, no. 21 (22 December 1994), 14–16. See note 7 for some of the works assigning blame for the slave trade to the Jews.

new christians, jews, and amsterdam at the crossroads 121 or Spanish territories who had either themselves converted to Catholicism, or who had an ancestor who had converted (often, but not always, forcibly). Thus, they were ‘new’ to the practice of Christianity. ‘New Christian’ became, in Iberia, a juridical term, as well as a de facto ethnic classification. However, not all, or even most, New Christians were ‘crypto-Jews.’ This term designated someone who practiced Jewish rites and rituals in secret or who otherwise professed Judaism covertly; essentially, then, an insincere Christian. ‘Judaizer’ was also used frequently, particularly in inquisitorial documentation, to denote those who sought to practice the Jewish faith in secret. Marrano was a derogatory word for those of Jewish descent. Recently, some scholars such as Nathan Wachtel have used marrano to describe a sort of mentality among those of Jewish descent. Thus, for Wachtel and others, marrano has a much wider connotation than does crypto-Jew.4 ‘Sephardim’ is a blanket term to refer to those of Jewish descent whose ancestors originated in Iberia.5 The term can be used for people of any number of religious permutations. The fact that there are so many terms used for one group of people highlights that cultural and religious identities were fluid in the early modern world, and this is particularly true within the first expansion system. For both Christians and Jews, then, demarcating cultural boundaries in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was a progressively more difficult task.6 Not everyone fell neatly into a box labelled ‘New Christian’ or ‘Jew.’ For instance, in the company of Jews, many ‘New Christians’ reconnected with their Jewishness, as was the case in Amsterdam. However, with Christians, they might assert their Christianity vigorously. Thus, it is important to be clear that assigning

4 See Nathan Wachtel, “Marrano Religiosity in Hispanic America,” in Bernardini and Fiering, The Jews and the Expansion of Europe to the West, 149–171 and his La foi du souvenir: Labyrinthes marranes (Paris: Seuil, 2001). 5 In current usage, Sephardim is a term that encompasses Jews who are not of Ashkenazi descent. This would include Jews of Middle Eastern descent. Originally, however, it was only used for Jews whose ancestors came from Spain or Portugal. There are also differences in rites and rituals between the Ashkenazi and the Sephardic strands of Judaism. 6 See, for example, the work of Yosef Yersushalmi on the centrality of circumcision in Sephardic Diaspora communities. Yosef Yerushalmi, The Re-education of Marranos in the Seventeenth Century, The Third Annual Rabbi Louis Fienberg Memorial Lecture in Judaic Studies (Cincinnati: Judaic Studies Program, University of Cincinnati, 1980). See also the excellent work of Yosef Kaplan on the difficulties many Sephardim had in adjusting to Jewish rules and regulations. See note 2 for citations of his work.

122

jessica vance roitman

a religious designation to a participant in the slave trade is tricky, at best.7 Moreover, without historically valid evidence of some sort, such a designation is likely to be inaccurate. In fact, depending on the situation, defining someone as a Jew or New Christian can also be largely irrelevant. The First Expansion System The first expansion system was an Iberian system, controlled by Spain and Portugal. It was characterized by a global network of trading positions, attempted centralized control, especially over trade, mining, the cultivation of luxury goods such as tobacco and sugar, settlements in the Americas, the development of plantations, and the slave trade, to name just a few important elements.8 Merchants, both working through 7 Jews receive a disproportionate share of consideration in studies of the Atlantic slave trade. The debate over the role of Jews in the slave trade is vociferous and often polarizing, with some scholars intent on placing the blame for the slave trade squarely on the shoulders of Jews, while other scholars have been intent on exonerating this same group. The Sons of Liberty of Metairie, La., wrote a tract in 1983 entitled Who Brought the Slaves to America?, which argued that the Jews were largely responsible for the slave trade. Along these same lines, Louis Farrakhan has argued that Jews were fundamental to the slave trade. See the Historical Research Department of the Nation of Islam The Secret Relationship Between Blacks and Jews, (Chicago: Nation of Islam, 1991). These assertions have been widely denounced and refuted by, for instance, Harold Brackman, Farrakhan’s Reign of Historical Error: The Truth behind “The Secret Relationship between Black and Jews,” (Los Angeles: Simon Wiesenthal Center, 1992); Harold Brackman, Ministry of Lies: The Truth behind the Nation of Islam’s “The Secret Relationship between Blacks and Jews,” (New York: Four Walls Eight Windows, 1994); Nat Trager, Empire of Hate: A Refutation of the Nation of Islam’s “The Secret Relationship between Blacks and Jews,” (Fort Lauderdale: Coral Reef Books, 1995); Mark Caplan, Jew-Hatred as History: An Analysis of the Nation of Islam’s “The Secret Relationship between Blacks and Jews,” (Anti-Defamation League, 1993); Winthrop D. Jordan, “Slavery and the Jews,” Atlantic Monthly, September 1995, 109–14; Edward Conlon, “The Uses of Malice,” American Spectator, April 1995, 38–42; Ralph A. Austen, “The Uncomfortable Relationship: African Enslavement in the Common History of Blacks and Jews,” Tikkun, March–April 1994, 65ff; David Brion Davis, “Jews in the Slave Trade,” Culturefront, Fall 1992, 42–45; David Brion Davis, “Jews in the Slave Trade,” in Jack Salzman and Cornel West, eds., Struggles in the Promised Land: Toward a History of Black-Jewish Relations in the United States, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 65–72; and Selwyn R. Cudjoe, “Time for Serious Scholars to Repudiate the Nation of Islam’s Diatribe against Jews,” Chronicle of Higher Education, May 11, 1994, B3. 8 Pieter Emmer subdivides the Iberian expansion system into seven circuits. See, P.C. Emmer, “The First Global War: The Dutch versus Iberia in Asia, Africa, and the New World, 1590–1609,” e-JPH 1: 1 (Summer 2003). http://www.brown.edu/Depart ments/Portuguese_Brazilian_Studies/ejph/html/issue1/pdf/emmer.pdf.

new christians, jews, and amsterdam at the crossroads 123 officially controlled channels for trade, as well as those working outside those channels, were of vital importance to the functioning of this system. These merchants employed networks composed of family, friends, and those who shared a similar background in order to trade over long distances. However, it should be noted that they also relied to a large extent on those outside their network of family and friends—a fact that is only now becoming widely acknowledged in the historiography.9 Whether working within a network of family and friends or by incorporating others into the network, migration, both forced in the case of the slave trade, and free, in the case of merchants, also became a characteristic of the first expansion system. In fact, migration was a necessity for merchants. Someone had to be on site at the various nodes of the expansion system to ensure that goods were shipped and received. This first expansion system began around 1500, which coincided with the expulsion of Jews from Spain as well as the subsequent forced conversion of Portugal’s Jews to Christianity. This led to a constant, low-level migration of Jews and those who had been newly baptized as Christians out of Iberia.10 Those who wanted to remain practicing 9 See, for instance, the works of: David Hancock, “The Emergence of an Atlantic Network Economy in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries: The Case of Madeira,” in Diogo Ramada Curto and Anthony Molho, eds., Commercial Networks in the Early Modern World, EUI Working Paper HEC No. 2002/2, 18–58; Maria Fusaro, “Commercial Networks of Cooperation in the Venetian Mediterranean: The English and the Greeks, a Case Study,” Commercial Networks in the Early Modern World, 121–147; Daviken Studnicki-Gizbert, A Nation Upon the Ocean Sea, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); Henriette de Bruyn Kops, A Spirited Exchange: The Wine and Brandy Trade between France and the Dutch Republic in its Atlantic Framework, 1600–1650 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), Chapter Five, 244–298; Francesca Trivellato, “Jews of Leghorn, Italians of Lisbon, and Hindus of Goa: Merchant Networks and Cross-Cultural Trade in the Early Modern Period,” in Commercial Networks in the Early Modern World, 59–89 and her The Familiarity of Strangers: The Sephardic Diaspora, Livorno, and Cross-Cultural Trade in the Early Modern Period (Yale University Press, forthcoming); Raymond Fagel, “Spanish Merchants in the Low Countries: Stabilitas Loci or Peregrination?,” International Trade in the Low Countries (14th–16th Centuries): Merchants, Organisation, Infrastructure (Leuven: Garant, 2000), 87–104: 103; Cátia A.P. Antunes, Atlantic entrepreneurship: cross-cultural business networks, 1580–1776, forthcoming, 2009 and her Globalisation in the early modern period: the economic relationship between Amsterdam and Lisbon, 1640–1705 (Amsterdam: Aksant, 2004); Filipa Ribeiro da Silva “Entrepreneurs, Businessmen and Agents: Private Investment and Business Networks,” in her The Dutch and the Portuguese In West Africa: Empire Building and the Atlantic System, 1580–1674 (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming 2009), and Jessica Vance Roitman, Us and Them: Inter-cultural trade and the Sephardim, 1595–1640 (Leiden: Brill, 2009). 10 For more discussion of the Jewish and New Christian diasporas coinciding with the expansion of Europe, see Drescher, “Jews and New Christians,” and Wim Klooster,

124

jessica vance roitman

Jews largely went to the Ottoman domains directly after the expulsion and forced conversion. A large number of Jews—possibly the majority—chose to remain in Iberia as ‘New Christians.’ But due to both the ‘push’ factors of ethno-religious persecution (despite the fact that the New Christians were, ostensibly, at least, Christians) and the ‘pull’ factors of economic opportunities, New Christians migrated overseas throughout the sixteenth century and seventeenth centuries. These New Christians were a sub-group of the larger Portuguese Diaspora, and, as such, could be found in all corners of the first expansion system. It is almost impossible to know how many Portuguese émigrés there were during the period when the two expansion systems intersected, but 20,000 (excluding Asia) is given as a likely estimate.11 Despite the fact that travel was not uncommon in the early modern period, especially for soldiers, sailors, diplomats, and merchants, the proclivity for movement on the part of the Portuguese was exceptional.12 The New Christians, due to political, religious, and economic factors, were, as a specific subgroup of the larger movement of Portuguese across the globe, particularly mobile. They were categorized by their Jewish descent, yet, often, accepted into the larger whole of the constructed Portuguese nation, especially vis-à-vis the Spanish after the merger of the two Crowns in 1580. While the Portuguese Diaspora was comprised of sailors, artisans, adventurers, traders, bureaucrats, churchmen, and soldiers—in short, the whole swath of early modern occupations—the subgroup of New Christians was overwhelmingly merchants.13 As such, their migrations were defined by the shipping routes that carried their economic livelihood. However, their choice of destination was also determined by the existing social networks in place, as well as the vagaries of the

“Sephardic Migration and the Growth of European Long-Distance Trade,” Studia Rosenthaliana 35: 2 (2001), 121–132. 11 Studnicki-Gizbert, A Nation Upon the Ocean Sea, 41. 12 In addition to Studnicki-Gizbert, A Nation Upon the Ocean Sea, see Maurits A. Ebben, Zilver, brood en kogels voor de koning: Kredietverlening door Portugese bankiers aan de Spaanse kroon, 1621–1665, (Leiden: Rijksuniversiteit Leiden, 1996) for a discussion of the exceptional mobility of the Portuguese, particularly when under Spanish rule. 13 This is not to say that they were exclusively merchants (a fluid term in and of itself during the early modern period). There is ample documentation that there were Sephardim in a variety of professions. However, the majority were oriented towards commerce. See, for example, Appendix 2 in Anita Novinsky, Cristãos-novos na Bahia: A Inquisição, 2. ed. (São Paulo: EDUSP & Editora Perspectiva, 2002), 176.

new christians, jews, and amsterdam at the crossroads 125 political situation. It is difficult to say if their choice to journey to a certain area was predicated upon business interests and, subsequently, family members followed or if, conversely, a family member ended up somewhere coincidentally and, afterward, built up a business. It is likely that both factors played a part and, for some families, one factor was more important than for the other family. In fact, it was nearly a universal pattern for New Christian merchants to live in four, five or more cities in their lives, while also visiting numerous locales for the furtherance of their business interests, not to mention journeys made to escape direct harassment by civil or ecclesiastical authorities, or to prevent the inquisitorial confiscation of goods.14 As was mentioned above, this essay will examine two slave trading networks involved in the Iberian expansion system as it was slowly giving way to the Northwestern European, or second, expansion system. These networks were composed of migrants and inspired further migration. Within the larger schema of the Iberian circuit were two sub-divisions: the Spanish trade with the Americas; and the Portuguese trade with Brazil. There are various reasons for this division, but the most apparent, and most likely, is geography. In general, the Cape Verde Islands and West Africa (‘Guinea’) supplied the Spanish Americas with slaves. They are on the same latitude as the Spanish-American ports, and the sea currents were relatively favorable for voyages between these two regions. In the same manner, São Tomé and Angola are closer to Brazil, and supplied the greater number of slaves to Brazil in the period studied in this paper.15 This division can be quite clearly seen in the New Christian slave trade networks. The network of Duarte Dias Henriques dealt almost exclusively with the Angola-Brazil route, while that of the Gramaxo family was largely involved in the trade in slaves from the Cape Verde Islands and Guinea to Spanish America. In neither network, however, was Amsterdam of any real importance.

14 I am indebted to Studnicki-Gizbert’s rich and illuminating A Nation Upon the Ocean Sea, particularly Chapter 2, for my discussion of mobility in the context of the larger Portuguese Diaspora in the Atlantic. 15 See Maria Manuel Ferraz Torrão, “Rotas Comerciais, Agentes Económicos, Meios de Pagamento,” in Maria Emília Madeira Santos, ed., História Geral de Cabo Verde (Lisboa, Praia: IICT, Centro de Estudos de Hisória e Cartografi a Antiga, Instituto Nacional da Cultura de Cabo Verde, 1995), II: 17–123: 19.

126

jessica vance roitman Duarte Dias Henriques and the Connections between Angola and Brazil

Duarte Dias Henriques (1570–1631) was one of the larger slave traders in the early seventeenth century. He was the son of Henrique and Isabel Nunes, husband of Branca Manuel, and the grandson of the wellknown Portuguese Sephardic figure Duarte Dias, who was also known as Abraham Aboab.16 Duarte Dias Henriques began his career in Pernambuco, where he invested in sugar plantations and dealt in the slave trade. He owned at least one sugar plantation called ‘Nossa Senhora da Apresentacão’ and possibly owned two others—‘Camaragibe’ and ‘São Martinho.’17 Following the Portuguese and New Christian propensity for movement, his family had relatives and representatives in Olinda, Bahia, Madeira, Porto, Lisbon, Madrid, Seville, Antwerp, Venice, and Hamburg. In the final years of the 1620s, Dias Henriques was also one of the bankers to the Spanish Crown.18 This was characteristic for the Iberian expansion system. The Habsburgs were constantly broke and depended on various groups, such as the Genoese and the New Christians, to finance their military campaigns.19 The Crown also depended on other groups for the provision of many of the goods and services which kept the empire running. The Spanish Crown awarded asientos or contracts for anything from the supply of salt to the collection of taxes. Contracts were also awarded for the supply of slaves to the Americas. The slaving contract for Angola belonged to Duarte Dias Henriques between 1607 and 1615.20 The contract encompassed the areas from Loango and Angola, for which he had to pay 25.000$000 per year, in addition to 10 slaves for the King, 800$000 for the Council and 6.000$000 as a one-time payment to the Marquis of

16

J.A. Ribemboim, Senhores de Engenho: Judeus em Pernambuco Colonial, 1542–1654, 4 ed. (Recife: self-published, 1995), 110. 17 Denunciações e confissões de Pernambuco, 1593–1595: primeira visitação do Santo Oficio às partes do Brasil, ed. José Antônio Gonsalves de Mello (Recife: Fundarpe, 1984), 82, 205, 210, 233, 314, 405. 18 J.C. Boyajian, Portuguese Bankers at the Court of Spain, 1626–1640 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1983), 33–34 and appendix A-2. 19 On the New Christians as financiers of the Portuguese crown, see ibid. and Ebben, Zilver, brood en kogels voor de koning. 20 Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino [Lisbon], (henceforth AHU), Angola, Box 1/6. See also Frédéric Mauro, ed., O Império Luso-Brasileiro, 1620–1750, Volume VII (Lisboa: Editorial Estampa, 1991).

new christians, jews, and amsterdam at the crossroads 127 Laguna.21 In return, he received the exclusive rights to the slave trade in this area and the right to name six factors there.22 These factors were his relatives and other New Christian associates. Dias Henriques, like most asentistas (whether New Christians or not), reserved the bulk of the licenses he was permitted to grant to those he knew personally or who knew of via family and friends. This business relationship between Dias Henriques and the Crown was not always smooth, which was also quite common in the Iberian expansion system. There was a constant underlying tension between the needs of the Crown and the goals of the private merchants involved. Numerous complaints were made that Duarte Dias Henriques was defrauding the treasury of its share of the traffic in slaves from Angola.23 These complaints about Dias Henriques echo the familiar canards about the New Christians on the West Coast of Africa. In 1614, a Crown official wrote that the New Christians merchants “went directly to Seville, the Canary Islands and Guinea and pay no taxes or duties, especially the slave traders . . . and the diminishment of the Crown’s duties is mostly due to the New Christian contractors [asentistas].”24 This same complaint was echoed eight years later by the former Governor of Cape Verde, who wrote: It is customary that the vessels in the port of Cacheu go to the [Spanish] Indies after having registered a cargo of 100, 120, or 150 pieces [slaves], or, at the most, 200, when, in fact, they are taking 800 to 1,000 pieces in each ship.25 They do not pay Your Majesty the duties on the pieces not registered, thereby cheating Your Majesty and the Crown of Portugal and Castile 28 cruzados for each piece for Portugal and 40 cruzados for each piece for Castile.26

21

AHU, Códice 265/21. AHU, Códice 265/21. 23 AHU, Angola, Box 1/9, 12, 25, 55, 77. 24 AHU, Codice 284, 261–261v. 25 Slaves were categorized as ‘pieces of the Indies.’ A male slave who was able-bodied and in the prime of his life (usually defined as 35 years old or younger) was defined as a ‘piece of the Indies,’ and the other slaves, such as the women and children, were defined as ‘pieces of pieces of the Indies.’ A child, therefore, could count as 1/3rd or 1/2 of a ‘piece.’ 26 António Brásio, Monumenta Missionaria Africana (henceforth MMA), Vol. IV, 2nd Series (Lisboa: Ag. Geral do Ultramar, 1973), 700. All translations from the Portuguese by the author. 22

128

jessica vance roitman

While it is not clear if Duarte Dias Henriques himself was actually defrauding the Crown in this manner, and despite the complaints made about him, he was not prosecuted for these alleged crimes. The middleman between Duarte Dias Henriques and the Governor of Angola was Manuel Drago, who was the factor and procurer for Henriques in Angola, and an agent for the slave trade between Lisbon, Rio de Janeiro, Luanda, and Buenos Aires, as well as a slave trader in his own right.27 Drago was also the factor for Dias Henriques’ sugar interests in Lisbon. For example, he received 16 boxes of sugar from Dias Henriques in 1602.28 Duarte Dias Henriques also had extensive business relationships with his cousin, Miguel Dias Santiago, a prominent sugar broker in Bahia. In 1596, for example, he received two bills of exchange from his cousin for the sum of 130$000.29 Interestingly, however, there is not one entry recording the exchange of slaves for sugar, despite the wide-ranging exchange of various Asian and European commodities. Dias Henriques produced sugar on his plantations, though there is very little record of his sale of that sugar. This production of sugar on plantations was certainly a distinctive contribution of New Christians to the first expansion system. Stuart Schwartz even asserts that the growth in the plantation system could not have taken place without the New Christians.30 Schwartz further notes that sugar production was less profitable than trading in the valuable commodity.31 Despite this, owning a sugar plantation was a sign of great status in Brazil at the time, and ownership of such a plantation implied elite status.32 For unknown reasons, Miguel eventually left Brazil and settled in Antwerp. He continued the Brazil trade with Manuel Dias Henriques, the cousin of both Dias Santiago and Dias Henriques. Manuel worked with his cousin Duarte Dias Henriques to carry slaves between Angola

27

AHU, Angola Box 1/5. See also, J. Gonçalves Salvador, Os Magnatas do tráfico negreiro (São Paulo: Pioneira/Edusp, 1988), 43, 131–2, 170. 28 Biblioteca Nacional de Lisboa, (henceforth BN), “Livro de entrada e saída dos navios e urcas do porto de Pernambuco,” Pombalina Collection, códice 642, 204–235. 29 National Archives of the United Kingdom (henceforth NAUK), State Papers (henceforth SP) 9/104, 118–123. 30 Stuart B. Schwartz, Sugar Plantations in the Formation of Brazilian Society: Bahia, 1550–1835 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 204. 31 Ibid., 218–241. 32 Ernst Pijning, “New Christians as Sugar Cultivators and Traders in the Portuguese Atlantic, 1450–1800,” in Bernardini and Fiering, The Jews and the Expansion of Europe to the West, 485–500, 489.

new christians, jews, and amsterdam at the crossroads 129 and Brazil. Manuel Dias Henriques moved to Amsterdam in the 1626, perhaps more due to expediency (the Inquisition had initiated a manhunt for him), than a need to affiliate with Judaism.33 He was known by the Jewish name of Matathias Aboab, possibly in tribute to his grandfather.34 As Boyajian points out, once he was established in Amsterdam, it would have been natural for Manuel Dias Henriques to continue maximizing his contacts with his slave trading cousin, Duarte Dias Henriques, and to continue the slave trade.35 This would have seemed especially reasonable in light of the fact that their mutual cousin, Miguel Dias Santiago was still trading sugar in Antwerp. However reasonable, it did not happen. In fact, Duarte Dias Henriques himself never, as far as is known, came to either Amsterdam or Antwerp. Nor is it known how he eventually identified himself in terms of religion and culture. His two cousins, Miguel Dias Santiago and Manuel Dias Henriques eventually affiliated with Judaism. It seems likely that Duarte Dias Henriques stayed a New Christian. This was typical of New Christian family networks at the time when the expansion systems were shifting. Although identities were beginning to coalesce, as was the case for Duarte’s cousins who chose to profess Judaism publicly, there was a great deal of fluidity, and families could include members who were Catholic clergy, as well as practicing Jews and New Christians of indeterminate beliefs. Duarte Dias Henriques was also a cousin of the important Sephardic merchant based in Amsterdam, Duarte Fernandes.36 Despite this family connection between two very prominent merchants, I have only found one mention of Duarte Dias Henriques in the Amsterdam archives. This was a bill of exchange issued in 1617 from Lisbon by Duarte Dias Henriques, which eventually ended up in the hands of Miguel de Pas

33

Gemeentearchief Amsterdam, (henceforth GAA), Notarial Archives (henceforth NA), 2189a/93; NA 257/703v–704v; NA 1497/106. See also, J.C. Boyajian, “New Christians and Jews in the Sugar Trade,” in Bernardini and Fiering, The Jews and the Expansion of Europe to the West, 471–484, for a discussion of the Inquisition and Manuel Dias Henriques. 34 NAUK, SP, 9/104, 150. 35 Boyajian, “New Christians and Jews in the Sugar Trade,” 477. 36 There is a great deal of information available about Duarte Fernandes. See, for example, E.M. Koen, “Duarte Fernandes, koopman van de Portuguese Natie te Amsterdam,” Studia Rosenthaliana 2:1 (1968), 178–193; Jonathan Israel, Empires and Entrepots: The Dutch, The Spanish Monarchy, and the Jews, 1585–1713 (London: Hambledon, 1990), 267–271.

130

jessica vance roitman

in Amsterdam. Duarte Fernandes was not involved.37 Though, as Pieter Emmer writes, and as the network of the Dias Henriques shows, the New Christians, “transferred an important percentage of the trade in goods and slaves between Portugal and West Africa and Angola; and the production, transport, and sale of cash crops from Brazil,” if the network of Duarte Dias Henriques is any example, they did not transfer the slave trade itself to the Dutch Republic.38 The Gramaxo Family and the connections between the Cape Verde Islands, Guinea, and Spanish America During the period in which the Spanish and Portuguese crowns were united between 1580 and 1640, the Crown was deluged with complaints that Portuguese Sephardim were monopolizing the trade between West Africa and Mexico and Peru. Typical of these types of complaints was a letter written by Gregorio Palma Hurtado from Cartagena de Indias to the Crown in 1610. He alleged the Portuguese New Christian merchant, Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo, was shipping contraband merchandise via Brazil, as well as in the licensed Portuguese slave ships from Cape Verde and elsewhere. Gramaxo, according to Hurtado, was at the center of a commercial trading network whose agents were defrauding the Treasury of its dues.39 Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo may have been the center of this network, as Hurtado asserted, but he was certainly helped by his well-traveled family members, and this widely-dispersed network gave him a head start in the slave trading business. In fact, Iva Cabral asserts that it was Jorge Gramaxo’s brother, Luís Fernandes who was, “the most important member of the family . . . [he was a] merchant and resident of Lisbon next to the Church of S. João da Praça, who, together with his relative and business associate, Fernão Soares Ribeiro, dealt with wide-ranging

37 GAA, NA 380/729. There could be more records concerning Duarte Dias Henriques in the Amsterdam archives that have not yet come to light. However, if he had been at all actively involved with associates in Amsterdam, there would almost certainly be more evidence in the archives than has heretofore been found. 38 Emmer, “The Jewish Moment,” 506–507. 39 Charles Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire, 1415–1825 (London: Hutchison, 1975), 336.

new christians, jews, and amsterdam at the crossroads 131 endeavors ranging from the Canary Islands, Santiago, the Guinea Coast, Angola and the Spanish Americas.”40 Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo had lived in Portimão in Portugal before leaving for the Guinea Rivers region in 1588. When Gramaxo arrived in 1588 the region was an optimal place to set up business as a slave trader. Jorge already had a head start, as his brothers, the above-mentioned Luís Fernandes Gramaxo and Francisco Nunes Gramaxo, were merchants in Lisbon who also dabbled in the slave trade.41 His maternal uncle, Álvaro Gramaxo had recently moved to Maracaibo in Spanish America to dedicate himself to commercial activities, though later he was known to be living in Cadiz in Spain.42 Jorge did not stay long in Guinea, however, and soon followed his uncle to the Spanish Indies, though he left behind a cousin, confusingly, of the same name on the Cape Verde islands. This cousin served as an important link in the slave trade between Luís Fernandes Gramaxo in Lisbon, and the ‘other’ Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo in Cartagena.43 Another important link was his nephew, António Nunes Gramaxo, factor in Ribeira Grande on Cape Verde.44 Much later, in 1646, Antonio Nunes Gramaxo was living in Seville in Spain.45 Thus, it is clear that the Gramaxo family, as was common for New Christian networks in the first expansion system, were great travelers with an extensive network of correspondents placed in opportune locales along the existing and emerging trading routes of the Portuguese Diaspora.

40 Iva Cabral, “Ribeira Grande: Vida Urbana, Gente, Mercancia, Estagnacão,” in Santos, História Geral de Cabo Verde, II: 225–273, 250. Unless otherwise stated, this essay discusses the ‘first’ or elder Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo who was based in Cartagena das Indias in present-day Colombia. Translation from the Portuguese by the author. 41 Maria da Graça A. Mateus Ventura, “Los Judeoconversos Portugueses en el Perú del Siglo XVII: Redes de complicidad,” in Jaime Contreras, Bernardo J. Garcia Garcia, and Ignacio Pulido, eds., Familia, religión y negocio: el sefardismo en las relaciones entre el mundo ibérico y los Países Bajos en la Edad Moderna (Madrid: Villaverde, 2002), 391–406. 42 Instituto Arquivos Nacionais Torre do Tombo [Lisbon], (hereafter IAN/TT), Inquisição de Lisboa, (hereafter IdL), process 2399 (Thanks to Cátia A.P. Antunes and Filipa I. Ribeiro da Silva for the use of the fruits of their research in the archives of the Inquisition of Lisbon for this reference.) 43 Maria Manuel Ferraz Torrão, “Rotas Comerciais, Agentes Económicos, Meios de Pagamento,” in Santos, História Geral de Cabo Verde, II: 17–123, 83. 44 Ibid., 83 and 91. 45 AHU, Guiné, 1/45. His presence in Seville is also attested to by the primary source documentation provided in Studnicki-Gizbert, A Nation Upon the Ocean Sea, 59.

132

jessica vance roitman

Jorge Gramaxo had focused on the slave trade since his arrival in Cartagena and soon organized and monopolized the trade in the city. He was also a captain of ships who went back and forth to Ribeira Grande.46 This is confirmed by a statement of accounts, received in 1604, which lists the voyages. It was written by his brother, Luís Fernandes Gramaxo and his associates from the Algarve and Cape Verde, who carried slaves to Cartagena.47 Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo was certainly firmly established in Cartagena de Indias by 1593, when he was one of the first foreigners to pay a residence tax.48 He maintained and developed his contacts in Lisbon, Seville, and the African slave trading ports. For example, his brother, Luís Fernandes Gramaxo, received a license to sell 250 slaves from Guinea in Cartagena.49 Three years before, this same brother had arranged for 120 slaves to be taken to Cartagena through his representative in Ribeira Grande, Francisco da Cunha.50 This business was mostly conducted by bills of exchange and the extension of credit. For example, in 1609, Luís Fernandes Gramaxo and Fernão Soares Ribeiro, both in Lisbon, extended credit to Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo (2) in Cape Verde so that he could buy slaves and send them on to his cousin and Luís Fernandes’ brother, Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo (1) in the Spanish Americas. This line of credit was without limit during the time he resided in Cape Verde.51 Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo’s relationships in Lisbon were augmented by the marriages made by various members of his family there. Fernando Soares Ribeiro married Gramaxo’s niece, Leonor Gramaxo, and dealt in tobacco with Jorge. Luís Fernandes Gramaxo, his brother, sent him cargos of slaves. In 1618, Jorge Fernandes designated his nephew in Ribeira Grande, Antonio Nunes Gramaxo, his successor and progressively transferred more and more of his business to António. This very same process was followed in 1634, when António transferred much of his business to his nephew, Luís Fernandes Soares, after he moved to Cartagena. These family ties were reinforced by the marriage

46 Maria da Graça A. Mateus Ventura, “Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo, um mercador algarvio en Cartagena das Índias [1590–1626],” Atlântica: Revista atlântica de cultura iber-americana, 3 (2005/2006): 14–18, 16. 47 Cabral, “Ribeira Grande: Vida Urbana, Gente, Mercancia, Estagnacão,” 250. 48 Mateus Ventura, “Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo,” 17. 49 Torrão, “Rotas Comerciais, Agentes Económicos, Meios de Pagamento,” 79. 50 Ibid., 90. 51 Ibid., 108, n. 3.

new christians, jews, and amsterdam at the crossroads 133 of António Nunes with his niece Beatriz Soares, who was the sister of Luís Soares. Jorge was well-known in the colonial society of the day, and became well-integrated. Gramaxo facilitated this integration by discharging civil and military duties, such as the defense of the city against the English privateer, Sir Francis Drake.52 He also fostered clientage networks by the skillful endowment of charity. For instance, in 1608, he sponsored the foundation of the convent of St. Diogo dos Recolhidos Descalços where he was buried, with the habit of St. Francisco, almost 20 years later, in 1626. He also sponsored the construction of the church and convent.53 The fostering of these powerful networks was, perhaps, necessary, to offset Gramaxo’s status as an outsider—both as a Portuguese in the Spanish Indies, as well as a known descendant of Jews. Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo and his nephew António Nunes Gramaxo were the object of various judicial proceedings. Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo was accused of dealing in contraband (1611), while his nephew, António Nunes Fernandes, was charged with illegal residence (1626) in the city. However, they were never convicted, possibly due to the influence they had already accumulated with the civil authorities.54 These arrests did not seem to have any repercussions on the Gramaxos’ business dealings, nor did they seem to affect their social and political life. Perhaps to offset future accusations of ill-conduct and to assert his status as an unassailable insider, Jorge Fernandes applied for a letter of naturalization in 1613. In his application, he pointed out that he was entitled to become a naturalized resident due to his prominent service to the Crown, as well as because, “being Portuguese, particularly from the Algarve which was always part of the Crown of Castile, and in consideration of the laws of the Casa de Contratación of Seville which allows the frigates and other ships of all the citizens of this Kingdom, without any special license needed.”55

52 María Cristina Navarrete, “Judeo-conversos en la audiencia del nuevo reino de granada. siglos xvi y xvii,” Revista Histórica Crítica, http://www.lablaa.org/blaavirtual/ revistas/rhcritica/navarrete.htm#_ftn1. 53 All information about Gramaxo’s legal status and his charitable endeavors, unless otherwise noted, is provided by Mateus Ventura, “Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo,” 16. 54 Mateus Ventura, “Judeoconversos,” 396. 55 Mateus Ventura, “Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo,” 17. Translation from the Spanish by the author.

134

jessica vance roitman

In fact, it was at least partially through the intercession of powerful elites, such as the Bishops of Cartagena and Popayán (and his council), the Commissioner for the province of Santa Fé, and the testimony to the good character of Gramaxo by 40 witnesses, the majority of whom were Franciscan friars, that Jorge Fernandes received a letter of naturalization, despite the legal restrictions surrounding the naturalization of foreigners, especially the Portuguese.56 This intercession on the part of such important personages in the city and surrounding colony demonstrates that Gramaxo was already perceived to be an insider by the colonial elite, and the letter was just the icing on the cake, though it possibly offset any further accusations of illegal trade to the civil authorities. Essentially, the letter of naturalization signed by Philip III in 1613 reinforced Gramaxo’s power, recognized his services, particularly the defense of the city, as well as his contribution to the King’s coffers. This letter also granted Gramaxo the legal right to continue trading in the West Indies, as well as to acquire further honors and be bound by the same rights and privileges as any other native of the Spanish Americas, including the right to serve in whatever royal offices and public councils that were available, whether elected or nominated. Basically, then, it bought him the right to be a colonial elite and acknowledged him as an assimilated Catholic Christian. Jorge Gramaxo seems to prove that, as Seymour Drescher states, “New Christian merchants in the seventeenth-century New World could social-climb almost as well as Old Christian merchants.”57 It is clear that Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo benefited from the protection of the most elevated personages of the Crown.58 But this begs the question of why he was able to count on the cooperation of the local elite. Although there are no definitive conclusions to be had, one answer might appear to be a simple and direct one—money. The Grand Inquisitor himself, Arzas y Argos, lived in one of the rental houses of António Nunes Gramaxo. The one-time treasurer for the Crown in the city of Cartagena, Captain Luís Gomes Barreto, and the city commissioner and treasurer, Captain Andrés de Blanquesel, collaborated with Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo in the slave trade. It would be in their interests

56 57 58

Mateus Ventura, “Judeoconversos,” 396. Drescher, “Jews and New Christians,” 446. Mateus Ventura, “Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo,” 16.

new christians, jews, and amsterdam at the crossroads 135 to form a cordon of protection around someone with whom they did business and, perhaps, had formed a personal relationship. Tellingly, despite being New Christians, only one member of the Gramaxo family was accused of ‘Judaizing,’ the standard accusation made to the Inquisition for the practice of Jewish rites and rituals against many Sephardim, who were an easy target based on their descent—a rather extraordinary circumstance for so prominent and visible a family. A nephew of Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo, Luís Fernandes Soares, was accused by the Inquisition of practicing Judaism but, after a complicated trial, was let off after being “reconciled” and condemned to the loss of a fourth of his worldly goods which were forfeited to the Crown’s coffers. He was exiled from the Spanish Americas for 10 years.59 He was let off so lightly, possibly, due to the influence of his uncles, Duarte Brandão Soares and António Nunes Gramaxo, both of whom were creditors of the Crown. This happened in 1636 by the Tribunal of the Inquisition in Cartagena and was most likely an offshoot of the “Grand Conspiracy” of the Portuguese in Lima, during which time, perhaps, there was particularly intense pressure on the ecclesiastical and civil authorities for arrests and convictions for the crime of judaizing.60 Along with very real political influence and social status which could have made denunciations against the Gramaxo difficult, the explanation for the surprising scarcity of accusations against the Gramaxo family for “Judaizing” could be that the Gramaxo were not only not practicing Jews in any way, shape, or form, but also because they were not perceived to be Jews by the surrounding society, making a realistic denunciation for these alleged practices unbelievable and unlikely.

59

Mateus Ventura, “Judeoconversos,” 405, n. 12. The so-called ‘Grand Conspiracy’ is the name given to one of the major purges in Latin American history. In the summer of 1635, a young New Christian in Lima commented that he could not work on Saturday. He was asked questions about this by the Inquisition of Lima and, under torture, confessed to Jewish practices. Thus began a round up of scores of New Christians in the colony, most of whom were Portuguese, who were suspected of a ‘Jewish plot on a grand scale.’ Interpretations of this event vary. Some historians attribute economic motives to the Inquisition, since the Inquisition’s coffers were filled by the confiscated fortunes of men such as Manuel Bautista Perez, reportedly the richest man in Peru at the time. Others have asserted that the authorities were afraid of the purported links between the New Christians and Portuguese had with their relations in the ‘enemy’ lands of the Dutch Republic and England. Still others believe that the ‘Great Conspiracy’ was a result of Spanish unease with Portuguese merchants during the period when the Iberian crowns were united. 60

136

jessica vance roitman

The process of acceptance by, and integration in, the Catholic Christian elite was not unique to the Gramaxo family members in the Spanish colonies, however. The family members on the west coast of Africa were also integrated into the elite. The west coast of Africa was considered to be a ‘hotbed’ of Jewish activity. The Governor of Cape Verde declared that, “in those parts, they practice Judaism publicly which causes great damage and scandal to the Christian faith.”61 He continued by recommending that the King, “get rid of all the Jews in those parts which would be for the good of the people of the island as well as for the tax revenue of Your Majesty.”62 Yet, Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo, the confusingly named cousin of Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo in Cartagena, does not seem to have been counted among this number of publicly practicing Jews “causing scandal to the Christian faith.” Jorge Fernandes Gramaxo, on the contrary, seems to have been an accepted member of the elite of Ribeira Grande. He became an official resident of Ribeira Grande in 1612. He was also an official member of the Confraternity of Bem-Aventurado S. Jacinto.63 Being a member of a confraternity signaled not only membership in the elite, but recognition from the Crown. These sorts of organizations and institutions were key elements of Iberian society which were transferred to the colonies and reinforced collective affiliation, including social and business relationships.64 Despite all the traveling the original Jorge Gramaxo did—and he traveled through most of the Atlantic region of the first expansion system—neither he nor his prominent and important family members and associates seem to have traveled to Amsterdam. They were firmly focused on the exchange in slaves and other colonial goods between the West Coast of Africa and the Spanish Americas. The Low Countries in general, and Amsterdam, specifically, do not seem to fit into their trade network at all. Jorge Gramaxo appears only twice in the Amsterdam notarial records. The first time was in 1611, and the only other time was a year later, in 1612. Both contracts pertain to Gramaxo’s power-

61

Brásio, MMA, Vol. IV, 2nd Series, 699. Ibid., 704. 63 Maria Emília Madeira Santos and Maria João Soares, “Igreja, Missionacão e Sociedade,” in Santos, História Geral de Cabo Verde, II: 359–508, 473. 64 See A.J.R. Russell-Wood, Fidalgos and Philanthropists: The Santa Casa da Misericórdia of Bahia, 1550–1755 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968) for insight into how such institutions operated. 62

new christians, jews, and amsterdam at the crossroads 137 of-attorney for Leonor Gutieres who lived in Amsterdam.65 Gramaxo was acting on her behalf concerning business outside Amsterdam. Though one member of the family was accused of “judaizing” (itself no sure assertion that someone was actually a Jew), the rest of the family was never charged. In fact, they became Catholic colonial elite members, for all intents and purposes. The Gramaxo network seems to demonstrate what Seymour Drescher asserted, “Economically speaking, in any given area of the Iberian orbit, New and Old Christian slave traders constituted denser networks of interaction than those that remained between Jews and New Christians.”66 From looking at the two New Christian slave trading networks within the Iberian expansion system detailed above, it is clear that there was a distinct Spanish-America—Cape Verde/Guinea trade, as exemplified by the Gramaxo family which dealt largely in slaves financed by credit from Lisbon. This network was composed of prominent and highly mobile merchants who strategically placed themselves at the important nodes of the Iberian Atlantic expansion system. They also managed to strategically effect their own integration into an identity as Catholic colonial elites. What they did not do at all, at least as can be seen in the surviving documentation, was trade with Amsterdam. Guinea was, for them, far more important than Amsterdam. There was a separate Angola/Congo/São Tomé—Brazil trade, as shown by Duarte Dias Henriques and his associates. It was also family-based, and incorporated the trade in sugar. Like the Gramaxo, the members of the Dias Henriques clan were highly mobile. Also like the Gramaxo, several members made a commitment to a particular identity—in this case to the normative practice of Judaism. However, other members of the network remained New Christians. This illustrates what Daviken Studnicki-Gizbert asserts when he stated that the religious affiliation of Portuguese merchants, including the Sephardim, was heterogeneous and fluid.67 Amsterdam became a place of settlement for at least two members of the family, Miguel Dias Santiago and Manuel Dias Henriques. However, once they reached Amsterdam, they stopped trading in slaves. Thus, it seems that Amsterdam, for the great New Christian slave trading networks, was unimportant.

65 66 67

GAA, NA 62/237 and 238v. Drescher, “Jews and New Christians,” 456. Studnicki-Gizbert, A Nation Upon the Ocean Sea, 71, 73.

138

jessica vance roitman Conclusion

As Professor Pieter Emmer argues, New Christians, crypto-Jews, and Jews played a ‘distinct’ role in both the first, Iberian, and the second, Northwestern, expansion systems.68 This essay has examined this distinctive role through a case study of two New Christian slave trading networks—the Dias Henriques and Gramaxo families. This essay argues that there are very real ambiguities and difficulties, as scholars such as David Brion Davis and Seymour Drescher have already pointed out, in assigning a religious identity based on contemporary religious categories to people living in the latter part of the sixteenth to the mid-seventeenth centuries. These difficulties are especially pronounced when dealing with ‘New Christians’ such as the Dias Henriques and Gramaxo families. One of the slave trading families examined in this essay, the Gramaxo, though of Jewish descent, was, for all intents and purposes, Catholic, while the Dias Henriques family, also of Jewish descent, seems to have had some members who identified as Jews and sought to become openly practicing Jews in the Dutch Republic, while other family members seem to have remained Catholic. In modern historical discourse, the slave trade is titillating and controversial, especially with a controversial minority group such as the Jews mixed in. However, Jews were practically non-existent in the Iberian expansion system when the majority of slaves before 1640 were being transported.69 A few families of New Christians such as the Dias Henriques held the asientos for the supply of slaves to the Americas in the late sixteenth century and into the seventeenth century, but, as has been seen in this essay, not all members of the Dias Henriques family were Jews and those that became Jews stopped trading in slaves. Furthermore, these two New Christian families working within the Iberian expansion system illustrate the fact that this expansion system

68

Emmer, “The Jewish Moment,” 501. No one discounts that, after around 1640, the picture changes somewhat. The Dutch briefly became Europe’s foremost slave traders around this time. Jews from Amsterdam, as well as elsewhere, were colonizers and slave traders in Brazil, Suriname, and Curaçao. Jews from Amsterdam were also shareholders in the Dutch West India Company and bought slaves from this monopoly firm. See P.C. Emmer, “The Jewish Moment and the Two Expansion Systems in the Atlantic, 1580–1650,” Seymour Drescher, “Jews and New Christians,” and Wim Klooster, “Contraband Trade by Curaçao’s Jews with Countries of Idolatry, 1660–1800,” Studia Rosenthaliana, 31: 1–2 (1997), 58–73, especially 61–65. 69

new christians, jews, and amsterdam at the crossroads 139 was far from unified, cohesive or integrated. The Spanish-America— Cape Verde/Guinea trade, as exemplified by the Gramaxo family, dealt largely in slaves financed by credit from Lisbon. The Angola/Congo/São Tomé—Brazil trade, as shown by Duarte Dias Henriques and his family and associates, in contrast, incorporated the trade in sugar and dealt in a different export market. Moreover, these family networks would seem to show that, within the Iberian expansion system, both formalized institutions such as the asientos employed by the Dias Henriques family existed in parallel form to more private trading endeavors such as those employed by the Gramaxo family. In addition, the case study of the Gramaxo family shows how important the maintenance of clientage networks were within this expansion system was. Furthermore, both family networks are emblematic of the centrality of movement, travel, and migration within the Iberian expansion system. As was shown in the case of the Dias Henriques network, one place that was traveled to and received New Christian migrants from the Iberian expansion system was the Low Countries, specifically Antwerp and Amsterdam. However, as Seymour Drescher points out, and as the case study of the Dias Henriques family presented here shows, “Jews operating out of or migrating from the Netherlands still did not make a major contribution to the slave trade in most of the geographic segments of the system: fitting slave ships in Europe, managing slave factories, i.e. trading outposts, in Africa; or transporting slaves to the Americas.”70 As Pieter Emmer points out, “after the [New Christians] immigrants had moved from Portugal, they still profited from the Portuguese empire by developing direct trade with Africa and Brazil . . . from their new hometowns.”71 The Jews in Amsterdam certainly did take advantage of the trade with the Portuguese empire. They traded large quantities of sugar from the colonies, and transported Baltic products to Iberia. Furthermore, there were connections between the Jews in Amsterdam and Sephardim on the West Coast of Africa. The vast majority of the documented voyages between the two locales, though, concerned the trade in hides and ivory, not in slaves. Close to 70% of the contracts relating to the Portuguese Sephardim in the Amsterdam notarial archives in the period between 1595 and 1640

70 71

Drescher, “Jews and New Christians,” 448. Emmer, “The Jewish Moment,” 509.

140

jessica vance roitman

concern associations with non-Sephardic traders.72 Thus, the Sephardim worked closely with Dutch merchants on a variety of enterprises and in a number of different ways (providing credit, serving as each others factors, etc.) during the crucial transition period between the two expansion systems. However, the records of the slave trade in Amsterdam show that, during this period, it was absolutely ‘non-integrated.’ Other than a few Dutch captains who sailed at the behest of a Sephardic merchant, or insuring a small number of ships for Sephardic merchants, Dutch merchants in Amsterdam had nothing to do with the Sephardic slave trade.73 Moreover, the Dutch themselves were little involved in the slave trade, with or without the Sephardim.74 In fact, during this time, there seems to have been no real transfer of knowledge or skills relating to the slave trade between the Sephardim and the Dutch.

72

Roitman, Us and Them. See GAA, NA 253/476v; NA 127/195; NA 258/83; NA 697/3–4; NA 691/175–176; NA 254/188–188v for examples of Dutch insurers of Sephardic ships. 74 Pieter C. Emmer and Ernst van den Boogaart, “The Dutch Participation in the Atlantic Slave Trade, 1596–1650,” in: Piet Emmer, The Dutch in the Atlantic economy, 1580–1880: Trade, Slavery and Emancipation (Aldershot: Ashgate, Variorum, 1998), 33–63. 73

CHAPTER SIX

SOCIAL OUTCOMES OF TRADE RELATIONS: ENCOUNTERS BETWEEN AFRICANS AND EUROPEANS IN THE HUBS OF THE SLAVE TRADE ON THE GUINEA COAST Natalie Everts During the centuries of the trans-Atlantic slave trade, commercial centers developed all along the West African coast at sites where trade routes from the interior were connected to Atlantic trading networks. Some of them had already served as minor entrepôts on the fringes of trans-Saharan trade routes that connected Sub-Saharan Africa with the Maghreb and the Sudan, and grew in importance from the midfifteenth century onwards, as navigators from different European countries hugged the coast searching for gold, ivory, and other commodities. Other centers started to develop only in the last quarter of the seventeenth century after the slave trade had gradually become the dominant type of business on the coast. These ‘hubs’ of the slave trade, varying from simple roadsteads to considerable towns, were frequented by merchants from the interior who came to offer enslaved people for sale. Their counterparts, the European buyers of slaves, were either stationed on the coast in forts and factories as resident employees of chartered trading companies or called at a place as visiting captains of slavers. Everywhere along the Guinea coast traders, arriving from the hinterland or from overseas, relied on the services of expert local middlemen or brokers and other professionals, such as guardsmen, porters, sellers of food, water and firewood. Besides, they depended on the skills of practiced canoe men capable of crossing the ‘bar’—the dangerous chain of sandbanks situated parallel to the coast—who brought the slaves on board the ships that anchored at the roads, ferried crew and passengers up and down, and carried out the loading and unloading of all provisions, water and merchandise.1

1 The term ‘port’ is somewhat inappropriate for the African context: David Eltis, Paul E. Lovejoy and David Richardson, “Slave-Trading Ports: Towards an AtlanticWide Perspective, 1676–1832,” in Robin Law and Silke Strickrodt, eds., Ports of the

142

natalie everts

Although the search for economic gain was at the root of the alliances between Africans and Europeans in the coastal contact zone, their encounters also produced numerous social customs to facilitate mutual relations.2 Each side did not necessarily need to have a thorough understanding of the other, but a modus vivendi was established that enabled a practical cooperation to the mutual benefit of both parties.3 This chapter explores these trans-cultural trade encounters that historians have labeled “moral communities.”4 As I will argue, one can distinguish between four types of communities, every one of them engendered by the specific features of the trade that was conducted.

Slave Trade (Bights of Benin and Biafra) (Stirling: Centre of Commonwealth Studies, University of Sterling, 1999), 12–34. Piet Emmer, who suggested me to use the apt term ‘hubs,’ encouraged me to fit some ideas from my ‘micro history’ approach into the wider perspective he favors in his own work. This essay is an attempt to do so. 2 The concept of a contact zone has been introduced by Mary L. Pratt to perceive trans-cultural encounters in an objective way, concentrating on the interaction of peoples from different cultures who happen to intersect at a certain time and place. She borrowed it from the linguistic concept of ‘contact language,’ meaning “an improvised language that develops among speakers of different tongues who need to communicate with each other consistently, usually in the context of trade.” Mary L. Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London, New York: Routledge, 2008), 7–8. For other methodological perspectives on encounters see: Stuart B. Schwartz, ed., Implicit Understandings: Observing, Reporting, and Reflecting on the Encounters Between Europeans and Other Peoples in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 3 Albert van Dantzig, Forts and Castles of Ghana (Accra: Sedco Publishing Ltd., 1980), 8–9. 4 A.G. Hopkins, An Economic History of West Africa (London: Longman Group, 1977), 108–110. According to Hopkins, Christopher Fyfe applied the term “moral community” to the African-European encounter in Sierra Leone (where European ‘strangers’ placed themselves under protection of African landlords), which was held together not only by economic but also by cross-cultural connections and created “a climate of understanding and trust.” See: V.R. Dorjahn and Christopher Fyfe, “Landlord and Stranger: Change in tenancy relations in Sierra Leone,” in Journal of African History, III, 3 (1962), 391–397; Silke Strickrodt used the word to define the personal character of the African-European slave traders network in Little Popo (modern Aného in Togo): “A neglected source for the History of Little Popo: The Thomas Miles Papers ca. 1789–1796,” History in Africa 28 (2001): 293–330. Though this chapter concentrates on the community of traders and not on the situation of the enslaved people, for a just understanding of the context I refer to Walter Rodney, who reminded his readers that although African coastal rulers and traders maintained sovereignty in their personal contacts with Europeans, these peaceful, orderly commercial relations created a trade founded on kidnapping and violence. Walter Rodney, A History of the Upper Guinea Coast 1545–1800 (New York, London: Monthly Review Press, 1980), 253.

social outcomes of trade relations

143

Emergence of an Atlantic Contact Zone In the 1440s, Portuguese mariners, followed later by Castilian and French rivals, opened up the trade with West Africa. The new Atlantic route that ran parallel to the ancient trans-Saharan trade routes gave African entrepreneurs an attractive alternative to existing networks and triggered economic activity in the coastal regions. On their voyages along the vast Guinea coastline, stretching out from the Senegal River to Cameroon, which they divided quite arbitrarily into a northern and southern half, Europeans encountered a multitude of societies.5 Though they hardly understood the complex flexible interrelations between all these societies, they could tell a trader who belonged to a stratified society from one merely operating on his own account or that of his lineage. This distinction certainly applied to the people they met in Upper Guinea (the entire northern part all the way to Sierra Leone), the first region they called at on their trips down the coast. Here, the Wolof and Serer, for instance, who inhabited the region south from the Senegal River, formed rather stratified, tripartite societies, while the myriad of peoples who dwelled along the rivers, creeks and on the offshore islands south of the Gambia, were acephalous in character. While all of them are considered to belong to the same linguistic category of West Atlantic speakers, the latter, like the Diola of the Casamance River, the Biafada around the Geba estuary, and the Bullom/Sherbro of the Sierra Leone coast, lived in segmented units. The peoples of Upper Guinea were influenced culturally by Mande speaking migrants, like the Mandinka, who originated from the savannah zone, and who settled as traders or as manufacturers such as smiths, and intermarried with Western Atlantic host societies. Incoming groups of migrants also pushed other groups to the coast.6 Ignoring existing indigenous nomenclature, Europeans divided the Lower Guinea Coast into four regions, each named after the main commodity to be acquired: the thinly populated Grain or Malaguetta Coast, about present-day Liberia, where they did not conduct much

5 For reasons of conciseness I limit myself to the encounters on the Guinea Coast and do not include West Central Africa, where European influence on African societies was more profound and went beyond commercial relations. 6 George E. Brooks, Eurafricans in Western Africa: Commerce, Social Status, Gender, and Religious Observance from the Sixteenth to the Eighteenth Century (Athens, Oxford: Ohio University Press, James Curry Ltd., 2003), 17–22.

144

natalie everts

trade with the local Kruan-speaking peoples, the Ivory Coast (known also, in combination with the Grain Coast, as Windward Coast), the Gold Coast, and the Slave Coast. It was gold they were after in the first place, which, as they discovered could best be obtained at places situated between the Ankobra and Volta Rivers. Though they named this stretch of coast Mina (mine) or Gold Coast, the gold was mined at some distance in the dense forests in the hinterland and was brought to the littoral by organized groups of traders from the Akan states situated near the confluence of the Pra and Ofin Rivers, particularly Akani (Assin), carried by slaves. Since delivery was irregular and European buyers had to patiently await the arrival of each caravan, a safe storage for their precious import commodities was essential. In name of the Portuguese crown, traders had established friendly contacts with a chief of what they called ‘Elmina,’ a community of fishermen and salt makers. This tiny tributary state to the two inland polities of Commenda and Afutu was situated at a bay that offered a relatively safe anchorage for their caravels. Somewhat reluctantly the chief gave his consent for the building of a fortified depot, on condition that he would be paid an annual tribute. Soon after, the Elmina example was followed elsewhere and smaller fortresses were built in the territories of the Akan coastal petty states of Axim, and Shama to the west, and the Ga state of Accra to the east.7 No gold was to be obtained in the adjacent part of the coast, which was only to become known as the Slave Coast in the seventeenth century. Further eastward, the Portuguese opened up trade with some of the Yoruba kingdoms, yet their most important trading relation here was the powerful Edo state of Benin. In 1486, the Oba or ‘king’ permitted them to establish a factory at Benin’s coastal outlet Ughoton on the Benin River, and he established a specific organisation of court officials, the Iwebo, to conduct trade with the foreigners. They started to transport slaves to the Gold Coast, who were in demand there as laborers, especially in mining, and could be exchanged for gold. Somehow, however, the friendly relation between the trading partners cooled down in 1482 and the factory was closed some time after 1516, when the Oba put an embargo on the export of male slaves.8 7 P.E.H. Hair, The Founding of the Castelo de São Jorge da Mina: An Analysis of the Sources (Madison, Wis.: African Studies Program University of Wisconsin, 1994). 8 J.D. Fage, A History of West Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972), 60–62; Paula Ben-Amos, The Art of Benin (London: Thames and Hudson Ltd., 1980), 24–25.

social outcomes of trade relations

145

Until the beginning of the seventeenth century, Portugal was the sole European nation with permanent settlements in West Africa. Although their presence was authorized by the Portuguese crown, this did not prevent so-called interlopers, particularly Dutch, English and French, from encroaching on the supposed Portuguese monopoly by establishing commercial relations with local merchants everywhere. The Dutch, for instance, maintained steady ties with the inhabitants of Mori, situated five miles east of Elmina, who came under the ruler of the small coastal state of Asebu. Since the commercial activities of both partners were seriously threatened by reprisals taken against them by their Portuguese rivals and their Elmina allies, the ‘king’ agreed in 1611 with the Dutch merchants on the building of a fortress on his territory. The official instruction issued by the Dutch States General explains that it was done with the intention of “safeguarding [trade], moreover to protect the traffickers of this country as well as those with whom they will conduct trade.”9 In 1621, the West India Company (WIC) was established, which served the interest of Dutch merchants trading in the Atlantic world. Shortly after the Company’s conquest of Elmina castle in 1637, which was carried out with the support of its Mori allies, Portugal lost her other settlements on the Gold Coast to the Dutch. The WIC in turn became engaged in a fierce competition all along the Guinea Coast, not only with the English and French, but also with Danes, Swedes, and Brandenburgers.10 Just before 1500, when Portuguese colonists set up sugar plantations on São Tomé and the other Atlantic islands, the demand for slave labor started to increase. A little later the first slaves were shipped across the Atlantic to the Spanish Americas. The number of slaves traded rose steadily from the 1550s onwards, when sugar cultivation spread in Brazil, and continued to grow during the peak years of the transAtlantic trade, roughly from 1670 through 1820. Europeans depended entirely on their African counterparts for the delivery of slaves. Since they had to be brought from the hinterland to the coast, often over long distances, the supply of slaves remained under control of local commercial elites. If Europeans wished to purchase slaves, they had to

9 P. de Marees, Description and Historical Account of the Gold Kingdom of Guinea, 1602, tr. and ed. Albert van Dantzig & Adam Jones (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), 82–83; J.K.J. de Jonge, De Oorsprong van Neerland’s Bezittingen op de Kust van Guinea (’sGravenhage: Martinus Nijhoff, 1871), 12–17, 33–43. 10 Kwame Yeboa Daaku, Trade and Politics on the Gold Coast, 1600–1720: A Study of the African Reaction to European Trade (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970), 14–15.

146

natalie everts

meet the sellers’ demands.11 The trade was basically carried out according to the complex African system of bartering, in which brokers or middlemen played an essential part in every transaction, matching the African system of calculation with that of the Europeans. Indigenous merchants knew how to play European competitors off against each other as they had the choice to whom they would sell, usually preferring the one who could offer them the best assortment of merchandise. The trade took place largely on credit. Europeans had to provide goods in trust to coastal middlemen acting as agents for hinterland merchants, who acquired their human merchandise at inland markets, by organizing raids or otherwise, and were responsible for transportation to the coast. All this implied that buyers had to make high costs in advance, one reason why they at first tried to associate themselves in companies, whether or not with government support.12 Naturally, buyers tried to cultivate their business partners in various ways. In the eighteenth century more and more small trade firms operated on the coast with experienced employees, some of whom employed local correspondents, who were better capable to meet the specific demands of the sellers than the companies.13 Right from the beginning of the Atlantic trade, West Africans had done business with mariners, captains, high ranking officials in service of a crown or chartered companies, with interlopers and free traders. They in their turn encountered all sorts and conditions of African traders, from petty traders, local big men and coastal chiefs to royals and their court officials. Four Types of Trade Arrangements The first type of trade arrangements, that is ad hoc relations, occurred on the thinly populated Windward Coast, and at places in the estuaries of Upper Guinea. Since the flow of trade happened to be low and irregular and because of the dangerous off-land winds and current, this region was neglected by mariners in early times. In the eighteenth century

11 David Eltis, The Rise of African Slavery in the Americas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 139, 146–149. 12 Herbert S. Klein, The Atlantic Slave Trade (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 76–80, 103–111. 13 Eltis, African Slavery, 153–154.

social outcomes of trade relations

147

however, when the demand for slaves had risen considerably, slavers more often tried their luck on these shores. Here, they practised what they called the “ship trade.” Whenever African suppliers had slaves to offer, they would indicate this to passing ships by sending out smoke signals or by flying the colors of the ship’s nationality. When a crew responded to the signs with a canon shot or by dropping the anchor, the traders ferried slaves on board the slavers themselves to barter them for import goods. Although trade contacts between specific European and African traders on this part of the coast were few and far between, even here social customs had to be honored in the interaction. It was mandatory, for example, for captains to give the Africans certain fixed sets of presents, dashes in the lingua franca, without which no transaction could take place.14 A Dutch navy captain has left us a vivid description of some other practices that had developed in this type of trade, in a journal he kept in 1771 on an inspection journey to the WIC forts on the Gold Coast. When sailing off the Windward Coast several canoes, one after the other, came alongside the ship. Unaware that they were dealing with a man of war, all traders offered slaves for sale, although never more than one or two at a time, and some tusks. A few of these seagoing traders showed the captain certain “attestations of good conduct and reliability,” signed by Dutch, English, French or Brazilian slavers. Off River Sino, in modern Liberia, a distinguished broker by name of Jan Vrijman, climbed aboard from his canoe and invited the captain to accompany him to his village as his guest. He introduced himself in Dutch, of which he had quite a good command because he had spent some time in Elmina, as he explained. Upon learning that no trade was to be done, he stripped off his clothes, tied them on his back and boarded his canoe naked to peddle back to his village.15 The navy captain also noticed that some traders hesitated to come aboard and became distrustful the moment they saw the ship’s guns

14 Adam Jones and Marion Johnson, “Slaves from the Windward Coast,” Journal of African History 21 (1980): i, 17–34. Dash or Dache is probably derived from Portuguese doação: gift, see: De Marees, Description, 47. 15 National Archives (NA), The Hague, Archive Admiralty Boards, 1.01.47, 16, Journal kept by captain J.A. van der Velden on the navy ship Boreas, during a voyage to the Coast of Guinea and the colonies in the West Indies, 1770–1772, fols. 93–98. For Dutch sources on West Africa, see: Michel R. Doortmont and Jinna Smit, Sources for the Mutual History of Ghana and the Netherlands, an annotated guide to the Dutch archives relating to Ghana and West Africa in the Nationaal Archief, 1593–1960s (Leiden: Brill, 2007).

148

natalie everts

and relatively large crew. As a Dutchman, he blamed this on ‘moral offences’ committed in the past by English captains, such as “keeping traders on board under some false pretext, while eventually sailing off with them, taking them as slaves.” Such outrageous acts as a rule resulted in bloodshed, because the kidnapped men’s kinfolk used to take revenge on the crew of the first ship of the offenders’ nation to pass by their village.16 Other sources mention incidents where traders, right in the middle of a transaction, suddenly, in a strike of panic, jumped overboard, for fear of being enslaved themselves. Jean Barbot, the writer of a famous travelogue, who himself served as merchant on three French slave-trading voyages, wrote that Ivory Coast traders particularly seemed to be fearful of being kidnapped. When they came on board they used to stay near to the ship’s rail, and never dared to enter the cabin or the hold, unlike Gold Coast traders. Barbot believed they had reason to be distrustful as it was common knowledge that several slavers had kidnapped traders from the Cape Lahoe area.17 While certain basic customs developed in these situations of minimal contact, the sources show the risks this type of loose arrangements implied for the African traders themselves. For them it probably would have been much safer and more advantageous if they could have enticed the Europeans to come and trade on shore. The second type is characterized by much steadier relations and a larger volume of trade between European traders and their African counterparts, but still without the Europeans being permitted to reside on shore. A greater degree of intensity of trade relations also implied a risk to African trader communities, namely that Europeans would establish themselves firmly in such a community, enabling them to dominate the trade. In the segmented acephalous, basically matrilineal societies of the area south of the Gambia River, Luso-Africans, descendants of African women and individual Portuguese traders who came from the nearby first Portuguese settlers’ colony on the Cape Verde archipelago, had established themselves on the coast, starting in the late fifteenth

16

Ibidem. P.E.H. Hair, Adam Jones, and Robin Law, eds., Barbot on Guinea: The Writings of Jean Barbot on West Africa 1678–1712, 2 vols. (Cambridge U.K.: The Hakluyt Society, 176, 1992), 302; See also: Willem Bosman, Nauwkeurige Beschrijving van de Guinese Goud-, Tand- en Slavekust (Amsterdam: J. Verheide, 1737), 262–264. 17

social outcomes of trade relations

149

century.18 According to the principles of landlord-stranger practices they had become fully integrated into the African commercial networks of their mothers’ lineages. In fact, over the generations they had become Africans themselves and certainly for the purpose of this chapter they belonged to the African side of the trading relationship.19 European ships from various nations that found plenty of anchorages in the maze of rivers, creeks and islands, came in growing numbers to trade with these enterprising Luso-African men and women. The latter controlled the distributive trade by navigating upstream in small craft, purchasing slaves, gold and other goods from Juula and other groups of Muslim traders who maintained links with the trans-Saharan network. For a long time, Luso-Africans succeeded in preventing European newcomers from settling and contesting their middlemen position, but in the eighteenth century they increasingly failed to do so. Independent English merchants, for instance, settled along the natural harbor of the Sierra Leone estuary and on Sherbro Island. Eventually, however, they went the same way as the Portuguese before them and became integrated into local lineages. In the course of time, their Anglo-African descendants supplanted the Luso-African commercial networks.20 Some slave trading communities along the Bight of Biafra (in present day Nigeria), particularly the Ijaw of Bonny in the Niger Delta, and the Efik of Old Calabar on the Cross River estuary, proved to be highly successful in cultivating intense trade relations with European partners, while at the same time not allowing the latter to reside on shore. Europeans probably preferred to remain on board anyway, as the climate proved to be extremely unhealthy for them. Ships usually entered the rivers and anchored off the hubs at a fixed spot. Within these small decentralized coastal states, the slave trade was controlled by wealthy private merchants, who were organized in a number of powerful corporate groups or ‘houses,’ consisting of merchants and their dependants. Compared to Old Calabar, Bonny’s political structure was somewhat more centralized, with a ‘king’ as leading figure. Europeans had to observe a custom called ‘breaking trade,’ which

18 In the lingua franca these men, who cast their lot among the African societies of Upper Guinea, were named lançados, from Portuguese se-lançar: to throw oneself. Brooks, Eurafricans, 50. 19 Ibid., xxi, 21–22, 28–29, 51–52. The word Luso-African, or Euro-African, suggests they were more African in culture. 20 Ibid., 52–54, 288–316.

150

natalie everts

meant that they first had to do business with the king (as the principal trader) before they were allowed to do business with other houses. The trade was organized in an efficient way. The visiting Europeans provided the king and leading merchants with trade goods on credit, and the latter subsequently sent their own boatmen upriver in large canoes to purchase slaves from agents of Aro groups, who were operating in the hinterland countries of the Igbo and Ibibio.21 This credit-based trade required steady relations between business partners. Many of the visiting traders, most of whom were in service of Liverpool and Bristol slave trading firms, made recurrent trips to Biafra and had a chance to strengthen relations with particular African counterparts. They tried their best to personalize contacts by attending their business friends’ lengthy social gatherings or religious ceremonies. Although they did not always find this the most pleasant thing to do, as some sources bear out, they understood this to be necessary for maintaining good relations. As another way of cementing ties with their allies, shipmasters sometimes took along children of associates to have them educated in England. The chief Bonny and Old Calabar traders gained a reputation for being highly professional. All of them mastered the lingua franca, which in the eighteenth century Bight of Biafra was a creole version of the English language. A few of them were literate and thus capable of maintaining direct business contacts with British trade firms, enabling the latter to send out exactly those commodities that were most in demand in the Bight.22 The third type is characterized by the large volume of the slave trade and strong trade bonds between Europeans and Africans, with the former being tolerated on shore but only conditionally, to the detriment of African rulers. This type of contact was prevalent in the hubs 21 In Bonny, the houses were named wari. In Old Calabar, where the houses actually were wards named ufok, the powerful ekpe society functioned as umbrella organisation: Paul E. Lovejoy and David Richardson, “ ‘This Horrid Hole’: Royal Authority, Commerce and Credit at Bonny, 1690–1840,” Journal of African History 45 (2004): 363–92; A.J.H. Latham, Old Calabar 1600–1891: The impact of the international economy upon a traditional society (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), 1–51. 22 Lovejoy and Richardson, “Horrid Hole,” 372–378; Paul E. Lovejoy and David Richardson “ ‘Pawns Will Live When Slaves Is Apt To Dye’: Credit, Risk and Trust At Old Calabar In The Era Of The Slave Trade,” in Paul E. Lovejoy and Toyin Falola, eds., Pawnship, Slavery and Colonialism in Africa (Trenton, Asmara: Africa World Press Inc., 2003), 71–96.

social outcomes of trade relations

151

situated behind the lagoons along what the Europeans named the Slave Coast (modern Togo, Benin and Nigeria), which served as outlets for major hinterland states. In the seventeenth century, the ruler of the Aja kingdom Allada permitted English, Dutch and French merchants to establish trade factories at Offra, provided these were built in the local way, making use of mud and clay. He turned down a French request to build a European style fortress, because, as it was recorded from his own words, that would become impregnable to his forces just like was the case with the castle at Elmina. The king, who resided in Allada, controlled trade, and no European was entitled to trade without his permission.23 According to a source from 1688, visitors were obliged to travel from Offra to his court to present him with the customary presents and to let him have a first choice of their goods. In addition, they had to give presents to various noblemen, and to the ‘captain of the white men.’ This official, known in Ouidah, the hub situated to the west of Offra, as the Yovogan, was the key figure in the organization of the slave trade. He supervised the delivery of the king’s slaves to the foreign traders and collected the duties they were obliged to pay for every slave that was exported from the town. At first the Yovogan was an official of the king of Hueda, the small coastal kingdom to which Ouidah belonged. After the Dahomeyan conquest of Ouidah in 1727, this official functioned as representative of the king of Dahomey. A small group of so-called king’s traders also received permission to trade with foreigners. In addition, many of the town’s inhabitants earned a living by rendering services to the factories, such as food sellers, porters, and canoe men. It was the ‘captain of the white men’ who accompanied the Europeans back to Offra, and put a ‘house’ at their disposal, from where they could start buying slaves from the town’s merchants, but not before the king had announced in public “that everyone who wished to trade with the white men was free to do so now.”24 This kind of procedure was more or less standard in all the Slave Coast hubs. In the Dutch sources some letters have been preserved of desperate WIC merchants

23 Robin Law, “ ‘Here is No Resisting the Country’: The Realities of Power in AfroEuropean Relations on the West African ‘Slave Coast’,” Itinerario 18:2 (1994): 50–64: 53. 24 Olfert Dapper, Naukeurige Beschrijvinge der Afrikaensche Gewesten (Amsterdam: Jacob van Meurs 1668), 491–493. Robin Law, Ouidah: The Social History of a West African Slaving ‘Port,’ 1727–1892 (Athens, Oxford: Ohio University Press, James Curry, 2004), 41–46, 98–122, 137. Before embarkation, slaves were put in irons and held in trunks named ganho (‘iron hut’ in the local Fon language).

152

natalie everts

who were sent to Little Popo (modern Aného) to buy slaves for the Company, filled with bitter complaints to their superior, the governor at Elmina, about what they experienced as ‘tyrannical behavior’ of the ‘king.’ The local custom prescribed that they had to pay him for their personal protection with ‘exorbitant’ gifts. Those who failed to come up with the proper amount in time were stripped of everything, while the slaves they already had purchased were confiscated by the king’s servants.25 In Ouidah, although it is reckoned to have been the single most important point of embarkation of slaves on the Guinea Coast, the European presence only began in the 1670s. The French, English, Portuguese factories or lodges that stood in neighboring wards served as lodgings for merchants, depots for slaves and as storage for import trade goods. The personnel of the European trade factories were only welcomed for the purposes of trade. They were at the sufferance of the king of Dahomey and therefore subject to local jurisdiction. The king aspired to a peaceful and neutral trade climate, so it was strictly forbidden to foreign traders to raise arms against each other. When a European ignored the king’s orders, the Yovogan could have the offender deported from town.26 The fourth and final type is characterized by European settlement on the coast, a presence that in some cases was maintained long-term. Under these conditions, Europeans became very much a part of the place’s social world. In Elmina and other places along the Gold Coast, as well as in some coastal hubs in Senegambia, Europeans were allowed to settle and freely do business with the inhabitants. Settlements that housed an enclave of Europeans in Upper Guinea were few, and most local rulers only allowed a fort to be built on a small island in a river or off the coast. Because the Portuguese operated from their settlers’ colony on the Cape Verde archipelago, they were at first not interested in permanent settlements. Yet when European competitors started creeping in, they requested permission, around 1590, to the Diola overlord of the local Papel rulers to erect a fort at Cacheu at the mouth of the river of that 25 They applied in vain for a transfer to Elmina, or a Gold Coast fort, see for instance: NA, Archive Second West India Company (WIC) 1.05.01.02, 505: Resolutions of the governor and council on the Guinea Coast to the Amsterdam Chamber 1758–1764, Requests: 5 Nov. 1760; 20 March 1762, not foliated. 26 Law, Ouidah, 31–46, 107–108.

social outcomes of trade relations

153

name. Although it entirely failed to keep out rival Europeans, a small town developed around it that became a vibrant Luso-African commercial center.27 Most other fortresses functioned in the two commercial networks that connected the coast with the interior along the Senegal and the Gambia Rivers. On the Senegal, the French had received permission from the Wolof ruler in 1659 to build Saint-Louis fortress on an islet in the mouth of the Senegal. Operating with small craft on the river, Luso-Africans who were attracted to the expanding hub of SaintLouis controlled most trade conducted from there. After the English received permission from the Niumi rulers to build a fortified entrepôt at James Island near the mouth of the Gambia (1661), they established a series of factories upstream where Luso-Africans traded on their behalf. Soon afterwards, the French managed to obtain permission from the same rulers to establish themselves opposite James Island at Albreda which initiated a fierce competition among both European powers, to the benefit of the Niumi, who levied taxes on each passing ship. The maritime center of French enterprise on the Gambia was Gorée, a tiny island situated south off Cape Verde and off the Petite Côte.28 Though trade within these extended networks continued to function at times when Europeans traded places, certain rules developed in the hubs by virtue of landlord-stranger principles. According to these ancient practices of the West African long distance trade, strangers were expected to present tribute and certain annual ceremonial gifts to a ruler or influential trader who had granted them the favor to trade in his community, while he in turn assisted them in entering into trade relations with his people. Moreover, a landlord could marry off women of his kin to respected strangers, thus binding them to his lineage. These customs were simply extended to Europeans. Like the Portuguese lançados before them, the Frenchmen who resided on Saint-Louis and Gorée used to enter into marriages à la mode du pays with indigenous African and Euro-African women, called signares in Senegal. In contrast to the matrilineal peoples to the south, signares were of basically patrilineal Wolof descent. Although they maintained ties with their father’s lineage,

27

Eltis, African Slavery, 147; Brooks, Eurafricans, 68–78. Philip D. Curtin, Economic Change In Precolonial Africa, Senegambia in the Era of the Slave Trade (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1975) 105–127; Brooks, Eurafricans, 205–208. 28

154

natalie everts

their children were more or less excluded from their own society and thus became more dependent on their European fathers.29 Apparently the Gold Coast local elites did not share the Allada king’s fear that a stone built fortress would undermine their authority. By 1700, a string of fortresses had been constructed in the Akan and Ga polities along the littoral, right behind the beaches. In the hubs a class of wealthy entrepreneurs ascended who strengthened their lineages with clients and slaves, challenging the old elite. Although European settlers indeed tried to enforce some kind of trade monopoly once a fortress or lodge had been built, attempting to talk their hosts into signing “contracts” in which they pledged not to trade with other newcomers, the increasing European competition on the coast prevented them from gaining control. The people of a community in which a fortress had been built as well as their inland suppliers could simply choose to trade with visiting ships of other nationalities or with interlopers. At certain hubs, like Accra and Anomabu, local authorities welcomed Europeans from different nations to build lodges, with the effect that each of them tried not only to maintain the best of relations with his hosts, but also to attract traders from the interior.30 Initially, the inland traders belonged to petty states composed of loosely structured corporations of lineages, such as Assin, the homeland of the Akanni traders. Clan affiliations within the wider Akan world allowed travelers to move freely and settle within other polities, where they could find accommodation with people of the same clan.31 Prospering trade created conditions for expansion. By the turn of the eighteenth century, a few larger, more hierarchical, polities had emerged in the hinterland, such as Akwamu in the east and Denkyra in the west. The social changes that occurred in the Akan forest zone led to a series of wars, as the upcoming states sought to incorporate neighbors, and coincided with an expanding trade in enslaved people.32 Asante,

29 Curtin, Economic Change, 120–121, 288–291; Brooks, Eurafricans, 28–29, 206–221. 30 Daaku, Trade and Politics on the Gold Coast, 18–19, 41, 61, 145–146; Henk den Heijer, Goud, ivoor en slaven: Scheepvaart en handel van de Tweede Westindische Compagnie op Afrika, 1674–1740 (Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 1997), 220–235. 31 The matrilineal abusua (pl. mmusua) is the basic Akan kin group. Each abusua is affiliated to seven abusuakuw/mmusua kesee or large matriclans: T.C. McCaskie, State and Society in Pre-Colonial Asante (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 277–278. 32 John Thornton, Africa and Africans in the Making of the Atlantic world, 1400–1680 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 122–124; Ray Kea, Settlements,

social outcomes of trade relations

155

which was to become the dominant power, actively pursued control of the trade routes leading from its territory to the coast. The coastal Fante, who strived to keep their middlemen position, challenged the Asante. They organized themselves in a military confederation headed by one military commander or braffo and incorporated other coastal polities. Though they pretended to stay completely neutral, the two European nations with fortresses situated to the south of Asante territory, the Dutch and the English, tended to side with those that could further their own trade. The Dutch favored the Asante, with whom they had established cordial relations since 1700, right from the start of that nation’s initial phase of expansion. This was in line with the fact that the people of Elmina, the most important hub of the Dutch, who—although being Fante speakers considered themselves to be of a different identity—maintained relations with Asante as well.33 The British, whose main coastal hubs, Cape Coast and Anomabu, were situated on Fante territory, traded most actively with the different Fante groups. In case of an Asante attack those dwelling around the British forts could count on ‘assistance’ from their European allies, who used the guns of the forts.34 From the first encounter with the Europeans, the coastal people had welcomed foreign traders and turned their presence to profit. Although the European traders never formed more than a small minority of the hub’s population and lived in the fortresses, their lives became intertwined with those of their African associates. Like in every community, people were connected to each other in a variety of interpersonal relations. In the eighteenth century, when the effects of the trade in human beings had a deep effect on the social political situation in general, the continuous presence developed into a social system of customs and manners that went much further than trade agreements only. A Case in Point: Elmina in the Eighteenth Century Elmina, or Edina (the indigenous name), is a classic example of the fourth type of arrangement. The inhabitants of the Edina oman Trade, and Polities in the Seventeenth Century Gold Coast (Baltimore, London: The Johns Hopkins Press, 1982), 158–168. 33 For the complex relationship between Asante and Elmina see: Larry W. Yarak, Asante and the Dutch, 1744–1873 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), 126–132. 34 J.J. Crooks, Records relating to the Gold Coast Settlements from 1750 to 1874 (London: Frank Cass, 1973), 37.

156

natalie everts

(state), who averaged an estimated 12.000 people, belonged to several mmusua or matrilineages. Each abusua consisted of numerous related segments that can best be described as extended families. The more relatives and dependents, the stronger an abusua was considered to be. As in other southern Akan polities, the asafo—the fighting men of the town’s wards—were grouped along the patrilineal line and gained political influence during the period under review. The asafo as well as wealthy inhabitants owned villages that were part of the oman, in which dependents of slave status lived who tilled the land.35 Although from the 1730s the names of ahen (kings) appear in the Dutch sources, a body of headmen or hommes grandes—wise old men of high standing in their society—acted as the town’s principal leaders. They cooperated with the military leaders of the asafo, and certain obirempong, or big men (caboceers in the sources). A central figure in relations with the WIC was the okyeame, the oman’s spokesman who translated all discourses from Fante into coastal Portuguese, the local lingua franca. The WIC governor (or generaal as the Elmina named him), could send his principal servant with his staff to summon the ohen or grandes to the castle. At the same time they could get access to the governor and his councilors if they so wished.36 Religion functioned as a binding element between the citizens of the Edina oman, with Onyankonpon, the withdrawn supreme being or first ancestor, as the source of existence. In everyday life, people experienced the presence of the ancestor spirits as well as the many abosom or lesser gods. According to the Akan concept of death the spirit of a deceased person joined its ancestors, but continued to be associated with its living kin in all sorts of positive ways. A spirit could only reach this happy state if it was sent off in the right way, otherwise it would remain ‘lingering,’ causing mischief among the descendants. Although both the abusua and the asafo of a deceased person participated in the funeral, the fundamental rites regarding the parting of a spirit with the community of the living were performed by the latter.37 35 Harvey M. Feinberg, Africans and Europeans in West Africa: Elminans and Dutchmen on the Gold Coast during the Eighteenth Century (Philadelphia: Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, 1989), 85, 104–108. 36 Ibidem, 99–103. 37 Bosman, Nauwkeurige Beschrijving, 134–151; Kwame Gyekye, An Essay on African Philosophical Thought: The Akan Conceptual Scheme (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1995), 99–103; McCaskie, State and Society, 306–307; I. Chukwukere, “A Coffin for “The Loved One”: The Structure of Fante Death Rituals,” Current Anthropology 22:1 (1981): 61–66.

social outcomes of trade relations

157

The town’s tutelary deity Benya was believed to dwell in the small river of that name, and the castle was built on a sacred rock next to which the river discharged into the ocean. Benya was known to be an authoritative ‘oracle’ and communicated via a priest (okomfo), who used to participate in administrative affairs of the Edina oman. That was also the case with the priest of Ntonna, the other prominent deity, who originally had been introduced by Portuguese missionaries as Saint Anthony. Though the Elmina had not been very receptive to missionary influence, certain rites associated with Ntonna continued to be observed by his priest.38 The Elmina-Dutch cooperation had commenced in 1637, following the Dutch conquest of the castle from the then destitute Portuguese garrison. The inhabitants had apparently accepted the Dutch presence. The West India Company tried to monopolize the overseas trade until the 1730s. From that time, trade on the Gold Coast was officially opened up to Dutch private merchants, who had a choice to either buy slaves at Elmina, where they had to pay an additional tax for each slave to the Company, or elsewhere and not be bothered by this obligation. Th e declining WIC tried to keep up her reputation as a reliable supplier to Dutch slavers, who could save time if they called at Elmina, and could enjoy some services there, like obtaining water or provisions. The Company owned one or two small cutters that were sent to buy slaves at the Bight of Benin and elsewhere, and sent canoes, rented from Elmina owners and manned by Elmina boatmen, to collect the slaves bought at Axim, Accra or the other Gold Coast hubs with Company fortresses. Thus the castle remained headquarters of the WIC administration with a resident population of officials, merchants and military men. Closely connected to the castle were the Company slaves, men and women, who performed all possible odd jobs. They enjoyed the same status as dependents of slave status in Akan lineages and dwelled in a separate ward in town.39

38 J. Sylvanus Wartemberg, Sao Jorge d’Elmina: Premier West African Settlement, Its Tradition and Customs (Ilfracombe: Arthur Stockwell Ltd., 1950) 98, 101–107; John Kofi Fynn, Oral Traditions of Fante States no. 4: Edina (Elmina) (Legon, Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, 1974) i–xi, 1–17; J.A. de Marrée, Reizen op en Beschrijving van de Goudkust van Guinea, 2 vols. (’s-Gravenhage, Amsterdam: Gebroeders Van Cleef, 1818), II: 6, 53. 39 Johannes Menne Postma, The Dutch in the Atlantic Slave Trade, 1600–1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 205–208; Feinberg, Africans and Europeans, 82–83.

158

natalie everts

Many Elmina earned a living in trade or by rendering services to the Company. The Elmina traders ran up and down the gamut from brokers who were on the Company payroll, to petty traders (including many women who sold food at the market) who occasionally offered a slave for sale, to obirempong, who operated within their own lineage networks. As described in one source, one the duties of the Company broker was to help out inland markadoors (merchants) who in the eighteenth century mostly came from the Asante kingdom, which had become the main supplier of slaves.40 The community of traders cooperated closely with the Company. Since both the Company and the Elmina were allies of Asante, they tried to jointly mediate in the conflict over the trade routes. To that purpose a special envoy—often a young man from a prominent Elmina family, recognizable by his staff mounted with a silver knob in which the Company emblem was engraved—was regularly sent out on diplomatic missions to the court of the Asantehene as well as to the Fante leadership.41 The community of people being employed at the castle lived in a separate ward in town, close to the castle, and formed the Ancobia asafo. In case of an enemy attack the Ancobia (‘the chief’s body guard’ in Akan, suggesting perhaps how they perceived the role of the governor), were expected to defend the castle gate. By prior agreement, they performed the Akan funeral rites for deceased Company officials, from whose estates a small sum was kept apart to pay for ‘the usual funeral custom,’ consisting of some powder, necessary for the gunshots with which the departure of a ‘new’ spirit was announced to those on the other side, as well as some brandy to make libations, and as a treat to the Ancobia.42 The human merchandise, mostly prisoners of war or donco’s (from odonko, ‘foreign-born slave’), people originating from the segmentary societies situated to the north of Asante without lineage affiliations with the Akan, were locked up in cramped dungeons. The castle served as slave depot for the entire community, and the Company was expected to pay for their upkeep, while they were awaiting shipment. Since they were entitled to sell slaves who were not accepted by the Company,

40 NA, Netherlands Possessions on the Coast of Guinea (NBKG) 8, Minutes of the meetings of the governor and the Council, 15, Elmina 25 Oct. 1734. 41 See for instance: NA, WIC 966, Correspondence and journals with offices on the coast of Guinea, Kormantin correspondence, 17, 28 June 1765, not foliated. 42 Feinberg, Africans and Europeans, 106; see for instance: NA, NBKG 335, Copies of last wills, no date, fol. 94.

social outcomes of trade relations

159

Elmina traders traveled to Anomabu, the hub of the free trade, where slavers of various nationalities could always be found anchored at the roadstead.43 The Elmina moral community aimed at creating peaceful conditions that were conducive to trade. To overcome basic cultural differences and to facilitate living together, regulations were drawn up at the castle that were considered to be binding for both partners. In these documents, tested agreements and procedures had been laid down that served to solve or preclude all sorts of possible conflicts between Europeans and Africans. The documents were ratified by the WIC governor and his councilors by swearing on the Bible and by the grandes and ohen with an oath on their ancestors. They were renewed each time a new governor took up office, when there was a threat of war from hostile Europeans or Africans or when a certain problem needed to be settled. At such occasions the governor was expected to treat all of the community to fixed sets of customary gifts, like brandy, clay pipes and tobacco.44 Among the items codified in the documents were rulings concerning calisaren (from Portuguese ‘casar,’ to marry), the usual relationship between European men and Elmina women, recognized in Akan customary law. Perhaps the ultimate embodiment of intercultural intertwinement were the children born from these marriages, who, depending on various factors, like the status of their mother’s abusua or the concern shown towards them by the father, occupied a range of different positions in the indigenous as well as the European part of the settlement.45 Another important aspect of the documents was that the Elmina leadership invited governors to serve as arbitrators in case of a dispute (palabber) between two individuals, which tended to escalate to the collective of the opponents’ matrilineages or asafo. The sources show that Elmina people of all classes availed themselves of the possibility “to bring a palabber to the castle,” which shows that governors could enjoy the people’s confidence. The Elmina also found their way to the castle to have certain deeds drawn up, like letters of freedom for slaves or documents in which the definitive outcome of a palabber was

43 Bosman, Nauwkeurige Beschrijving, 57–59; NA, NBKG 292, Register of original papers, Agreement with the Elmina blacks, Elmina 2 Sept. 1739, fol. 46. 44 Feinberg, Africans and Europeans, 138, 143–145. 45 The mixed marriages and the integration of Euro-Africans in the Akan mmusua and asafo are themes of my forthcoming dissertation.

160

natalie everts

registered. The latter were considered useful within indigenous society and counted as proof that a certain dispute could not be reopened after some time. The moral community also provided rulings concerning military cooperation against common enemies. As far as the Elmina were concerned, the castle was a crucial factor in maintaining their independence against attacks of hostile neighbours. In 1740 the Elmina were able to resist an attack by a superior number of Fante, only because of the intervention of the guns of the castle. Afterwards, a Company official recorded that they knew that had they not been backed, they, their wives and children altogether would have been sold as trade slaves by their victors. The asafo, in their turn, also provided the Company military support, occasionally joining a punitive expedition against some warlord who challenged Company authority. In 1782, when the “European palabber”—the Fourth Anglo-Dutch war—was brought to the coast, the Elmina asafo played a crucial role in beating off an attack launched by a British invasion force and its Fante allies. This incident reveals that a certain degree of identification between the two parties had taken place. Although conflicts occurred between them, the Elmina were set on maintaining the status quo as can be concluded from an agreement drawn up to settle a difference. The grandes declared themselves loyal to the Company and said that they would obey the old laws just “as their ancestors had done”.46 Fundamental in the relationship, however, was that the Elmina realized that the European presence at the castle provided them with the right amount of military support necessary to preserve their state. During the eighteenth century, a period of great political instability on the Gold Coast, their society was less undermined by disruptive warfare than inland polities. Individual people, however, still ran a considerable risk of being kidnapped or sold overseas. In indigenous society, one’s last option in cases of peril was seeking refuge at a shrine of a deity, yet at the coast there was another option, as becomes clear from the following case. In June 1766, the “black woman Esson,” together with eight members of her matrilineage (among them four kids), voluntarily gave herself as dasje (present) to the Company, “to forever serve as slaves.” Esson explained to the governor that her family members used to be free citizens, but due to warfare in their hometown they had run up debts.

46

NA, NBKG 292, Register, Agreement, Elmina 2 Sept. 1739, fo. 46.

social outcomes of trade relations

161

One rich merchant, a distant relative, had offered to stand surety for them if they would work for him. As soon as it had become clear that Esson and her family would never be able to settle their debts, this man had taken one of her kin and sold him off to an English slaver. Now Esson had all the more reason to believe that she and her children would be next in line to be sold into slavery. After having consulted with the grandes to make sure the merchant did not have the rights of ownership over them, the Dutch governor agreed to adopt Esson and her family as Company slaves. This meant that they would actually get a status similar to that of the domestic slaves in an Akan abusua and that from then on they could count on not being sold overseas. The governor later explained (in a rather paternalistic fashion) that he had thought it his duty to defend lawless “subjects” against malefactors who tried to exploit somebody else’s misery. Of course, the Company knew how to take advantage of the situation, yet it did so with the consent of the people concerned, who thus escaped a more terrible fate. At an earlier occasion the same governor said that with such actions he could keep the goodwill of the people, which was necessary to guarantee the Company’s existence and its ability to conduct business in the long run.47 These examples show that Elmina of different backgrounds actively cooperated with their European partners and that a general consensus existed on what rules could best be followed. The African partners saw to it that their European guests acted according to these rules. When someone failed in their eyes, they took measures. This happened in Elmina but also elsewhere, like in February 1765 at the outer fort at Kormantin, a few miles to the east of Elmina, situated in the heart of Fante territory. The community leaders kidnapped “their” commander—the Dutch commander representing the WIC—, accusing him of favoring Asante traders and secretly conspiring with them to conquer Kormantin. His appointment as the commander of what they designated as “our fort” meant that he should abide with the rules of “their book,” or the collection of deeds and contracts drawn up by generations of Company officials in agreement with their ancestors, that was kept in the hall of “their” fortress. Tensions had risen because an Asante invasion army

47 NA, WIC 967, Correspondence and journals, Chama correspondence, 27–31 May, 5 June 1766, not foliated; WIC 505, Resolution of the governor and council on the Guinea Coast, Elmina 17 Sept. 1761, not foliated.

162

natalie everts

was on its way to the coast. Although the community leaders threatened to kill him, the commander was able to talk himself out of trouble, having mastered the essentials of the Fante language, and managed to convince them of the neutrality he aspired to in Company affairs.48 As this case bears out, the coastal Akan regarded the fortress in their community as something of their own and saw the regulations drawn up by the Company as guarding their own interest. We have seen that ideological concepts shaped the coastal community’s social order, and that the Elmina headmen interpreted the alliance with the Company as one that had been initiated by their ancestors. They thereby gave the Company’s presence a ritual touch that stood for unity, strength and continuity of the community. The Company administrators understood that in order to keep any grip on the complex assembly of lineages and power organisations they had to deal with day by day, they could better play the part of mediators that had been cast on them by their hosts. To the latter’s satisfaction, some officials even played their part with a great deal of verve, taking pride in acting as peacekeepers. In that quality they are memorized in a traditional Akan proverb: Oburoni nyansa a gyina kroyé so, meaning: “the wisdom of a white man depends on his ability to bring people together.”49

48 WIC 966, Correspondence and journals, Kormantin correspondence, 8, 12, 28 June 1765, not foliated. 49 Peggy Appiah, Kwame Anthony Appiah, Bu Me Be: Akan Proverbs (Accra: The Centre for Intellectual Renewal, 2000), 241, pr.1236. The literal translation is: “to make a settlement”.

REPRESENTATIONS OF SLAVERY

CHAPTER SEVEN

SLAVERY IN THE DE BRY COLLECTION: THE FORMATION OF A WORLDWIDE COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVE Ernst van den Boogaart Almost a century after the beginning of the great discoveries the De Brys, a Calvinist Walloon family of engravers and publishers that had emigrated to Frankfurt, made its name by publishing, in German and Latin, a collection of illustrated travel reports that gained great repute at the time and has been an object of bibliophile desire since. The De Brys put before the reader’s eye a panorama of customs and historical events in America, Africa and Asia.1 Practically all twenty-seven text volumes, divided over a West India (America) series and an East India (Africa and Asia) series, were accompanied by a separate volume of prints. It is true that about sixty percent of the prints had appeared previously, but in many cases the De Brys offered a more artful version.2 Moreover, the new prints that they added reinforced the utility of the picture programs. Provided with extensive subscriptions, mostly excerpts from the main text, the plates enhanced the graphicness of the written word and assisted the reader in memorizing and digesting the information contained in the texts.3 This contribution will analyze the treatment of slavery in the De Bry collection largely through the prism of the prints. 1 For the biography of the De Brys, the history of the publishing house and the collection of travel reports: Anna Greve, Die Konstruktion Amerikas (Köln: Böhlau Verlag, 2004), 15–79; Michiel van Groesen, The Representations of the Overseas World in the De Bry Collection of Voyages (1590–1634) (Leiden: Brill 2008), 51–137. “The De Brys” stands in this contribution for the team of publishers, translators and engravers that produced the books. Their individual contributions can seldom be traced. 2 Tables showing which plates are copies and which newly designed are in Van Groesen’s appendix three. 3 The plates and accompanying texts can be most easily consulted in Friedemann Berger, ed., De Bry. Amerika oder die Neue Welt, 2 vols. (Leipzig: Gustav Kiepenheuer Verlag, 1977–1978) and De Bry: India Orientalis, 2 vols. (Leipzig: Gustav Kiepenheuer Verlag, 1979–1981). These editions contain a useful and fairly extensive commentary on the sources of the texts and plates. A less satisfying alternative is Gereon Sievernich, ed., America. De Bry 1590–1634: Amerika oder die Neue Welt . . . in 346 Kupferstichen (Berlin: Casablanca, 1990) and idem, ed., Asia y Africa 1597–1628 (Madrid: Ediciones Siruela, 1999).

166

ernst van den boogaart

The plates showed the customs of overseas peoples and the interaction with Europeans. They dealt with what differed from Europe and with differences between foreign peoples. But they also revealed a common human pattern.4 Overseas, like at home, people lived in households that provided food, clothing, shelter and the elementary social bonds. The faraway nations traded internally and externally, just like the peoples of Europe did. Political and religious authorities promoted a peaceful internal order, made sure that their subjects could defend themselves against enemies and paid respect to supernatural beings. At the same time the plates demonstrated that the indigenous peoples of the West and East Indies carried out these common human activities in diverse ways and that some peoples disposed of considerably more practical knowledge, tools and resources than others. Some of the indigenous customs that were depicted were abominations in European eyes. However, plates depicting the deeds of European colonizers showed that they might be cleverer and more powerful than the indigenous peoples, but not necessarily more virtuous. One of the overseas customs that was at the same time familiar and strange was slavery. Around 1600 Spain, Portugal and Southern Italy each accommodated a small slave population.5 In France, England and the Netherlands slavery was forbidden by law. To Northwest Europeans, slavery was one of the dubious practices of Iberians and Italians in Southern Europe and the tyrannical Turks in North Africa and the Middle East. The picture volumes of the De Bry collection showed that slavery was not a phenomenon restricted to the shores of the Mediterranean, but occurred in many places in the West and East Indies. It could be found in both the indigenous societies and in the Spanish and Portuguese colonies. Theodor de Bry first highlighted overseas slavery in his edition of Benzoni’s Historia del Mondo Nuovo (volumes four, five and six of 4 See for the two idioms in which non-European customs were discussed (the language of civility and the language of Christianity): Joan Pau Rubiés, “New worlds and Renaissance ethnology,” History and Anthropology 6 (1993): 157–197. 5 Steven A. Epstein, Speaking of Slavery: Color, Ethnicity and Human Bondage in Italy (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2001); A.C. de C.M. Saunders, História social dos escravos e libertos negros em Portugal (1441–1555) (Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional 1994); Aurelia Martín Casares, La esclavitud en la Granada del siglo XVI: Género, raza y religión (Granada: Editorial Universidad de Granada, Campus Universitario de Cartuja: Diputación Provincial de Granada, 2000); William D. Phillips, Jr., Slavery from Roman Times to the Early Atlantic Trade (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1985), 154–71; José Luis Cortés López, La esclavitud negra en la España peninsular del siglo XVI (Salamanca: Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca, 1989).

slavery in the de bry collection

167

the West India series, 1594–6). In this work he had noticed shocking passages that he decided to depict. He showed how Spanish soldiers enslaved Indians on the coast of Venezuela for transport to the Caribbean islands. He devoted four prints to the slavery of black Africans on Hispaniola and one to the fate of slaves among Indians in Colombia. All these subjects were not covered by the illustrations of the original Italian edition of Benzoni.6 In fact, Theodor de Bry introduced the theme of overseas slavery in the illustrations of printed European travel reports.7 His sons and successors Johan-Theodor and Johan-Israël de Bry continued to bring this theme to the attention of the reader. In their edition of José de Acosta’s Historia Natural y Moral de las Indias (volume nine of the West India series, 1601) they showed the fate of prisoners of war and slaves among the Aztec. The East India series, started on their initiative, contained plates about slavery in sub-Saharan Africa and in South and Southeast Asia. The picture sections of their edition of the Relatione del reame di Congo by Filippo Pigafetta and Odoardo Lopez (1597) and of Pieter de Marees’ Beschryvinge vant Gout Koninckrijck van Gunea (1603) highlighted indigenous slavery in Kongo and the Gold Coast. Their edition of Jan Huygen van Linschoten’s description of Asia (1598–1600) showed the position of slaves in Portuguese Goa, while the plates accompanying the reports of the earliest Dutch fleets to Asia give an impression of slavery on Sri Lanka, Java, Bali, the Banda islands and the Moluccas. Slavery is one of many themes covered in the picture volumes of the De Bry collection. About twenty-nine plates of the 587 contain information about this subject. Even this relatively small sample shows that overseas slavery caught the attention of European travelers and of the De Brys. As will be shown below, the eyewitnesses and the publishers of their reports discerned the diverse social positions of slaves as well as slavery’s general characteristics. They recognized the important share of black Africans in the slave population of the Portuguese and Spanish colonies in America and Asia and made the readers aware of the intercontinental slave trades in the Atlantic and Indian Oceans.

6 A facsimile edition of the 1572 edition is: Girolamo Benzoni, La Historia del Mondo Nuovo (Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, 1962). 7 The manuscript of Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala’s Primer Nueva Coronica y Buen Gobierno of the beginning of the seventeenth century contains an illustration of black slaves in Peru brutally punished by their Spanish master.

168

ernst van den boogaart

The plates especially designed for the collection show how the De Brys inserted themselves in the ongoing process of gathering information and constructing knowledge about overseas slavery that played itself out through the production and circulation of printed European travel accounts.8 Indigenous and Colonial Slavery in America Benzoni’s Historia del mondo nuovo was one of the most successful books about America to come out at the end of the sixteenth century. The first edition of 1565, published in Venice, was followed by a second one in 1572. The book reached a European public through the Latin and French translations of the Calvinist minister Urbain de Chauveton from 1578/9, with reprints in 1580 and 1600. In 1579 a German translation by Nicolaus Höniger was published in Basel and reissued in 1582–3. Karel van Mander, the Vasari of the Low Countries, translated the book into Dutch, but his version appeared posthumously in 1610. Theodor de Bry used for his Latin edition the Chauveton translation, for the German edition the translation by Höniger. This success is amazing since—as discriminating contemporaries surely noticed—Benzoni wrote only a small part of the text. The author, a native of Milan, probably did stay in Spanish America between 1541 en 1556, but he had very little to say about his own experiences. The major part of his text is a compilation of summaries, excerpts or paraphrases from the well-known works of the Spanish chroniclers Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo and Francisco López de Gómara. In fact, Benzoni offers a succinct history of the conquest of the Caribbean islands, the circum-Caribbean region, and Peru, larded with passages about his own adventures.9 The success of the work has been attributed to its usefulness in an anti-Spanish and anti-Catholic propaganda attack of the Protestant 8 On the effects of printing on cognitive performance, see: Michael Giesecke, Der Buchdruck in der frühen Neuzeit: Eine historische Fallstudie über die Durchsetzung neuer Informations- und Kommunikationstechnologien (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1998). 9 See the introduction by Leon Croizat in the Spanish translation: Girolamo Benzoni, La Historia del Mundo Nuevo (Caracas: Academia Nacional de la Historia, 1967). As far as I am aware there is no modern critical edition of Benzoni. However, I was not able to consult Ilaria Luzzana Caraci, La Scoperta dell’ America secondo Theodoro de Bry (Genova: Sagep, 1991).

slavery in the de bry collection

169

forces in North-West Europe. Almost at the same time as the Benzoni editions, translations of Las Casas’ Brevísima Relación de la destruyción de las Indias were published in France, the Netherlands and Germany. Theodor de Bry also published a Latin and a German translation of the Brevísima Relación, as a separate publication outside the collection of travel reports. De Bry thereby became one of the major instigators of the Black Legend of Spanish colonization in the New World.10 However, it is far from certain that anti-Spanish propaganda was the main purpose of the De Bry edition. In the editor’s preface Theodor de Bry rejected such a reading of Benzoni. Not the Spanish nation acted with horrendous cruelty in America, but undisciplined Spanish soldiers. French, German and Walloon soldiers were known to have committed similar atrocities in Europe. Nor were Spaniards the only ones to succumb to greed and the thirst for gold. Members of other nations robbed many of their brothers through usury and financial fraud. Unlike Las Casas in the Brevísima Relación, Benzoni did not depict the Indians as innocent lambs. They were devil worshippers and sometimes committed terrible cruelties themselves, as De Bry showed in plates especially designed for that purpose. The horrors abundantly depicted in De Bry’s Benzoni edition referred to general human depravity, found among both civil Christians and savage heathens. Benzoni described how the conquistadores destroyed the Indians of the Caribbean. They requisitioned food and robbed them of golden objects. They forced the Indians to work for them as slaves and raped their women. The Indians died of despair or, in a last act of resistance, committed suicide. The depopulation of the islands led the conquistadors to hunt for slaves on the continent. In the volumes of plates De Bry showed how commander Pedro de Calice conducts a herd of enslaved Indians from the interior to the coast (Pl. 1). A column of practically naked men, women and children, carrying heavy loads, stumbles through mountainous terrain, prodded on by Spaniards armed with swords and muskets. A native man in the foreground begs for mercy. The soldiers could not care less. At the rear end they slaughter, without any consideration, people who cannot keep the pace.

10

Jean-Paul Duviols, “Théodore de Bry et ses modèles français,” Caravelle 58 (1992): 7–16. Ton Conley, “De Bry’s Las Casas,” in René Jara and Nicholas Spadaccini, eds., American Images and the Legacy of Columbus (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1992), 103–31.

170

ernst van den boogaart

Theodor de Bry showed the enslaved Indians as people cut off from their social roots. Bonds of kinship no longer count. Humans are reduced to beasts of burden by a band of predatory conquistadors. When they were no longer useful, the masters killed them. On the title page of volume five of the West India series De Bry elaborated this motif.11 At the bottom of the page the soldiers of fortune Francisco Pizarro and Diego de Almagro, and the priest Hernando de Luque swear an oath to cooperate in obtaining the riches of Peru. Above them the conquistadors and their Indian slaves are depicted struggling to pass a high mountain. At the top they plant a cross. The conquistadors disguise their mission of pillage as a mission of Christianization. Aversion to the brutality of the conquistadors and compassion for the enslaved Indians did not lead Benzoni or De Bry to condemn Spanish colonization or to sympathize with indigenous customs. They looked down upon the “naked,” uncivilized Indians of the Caribbean islands. They held the somewhat more decently clothed Indians of Peru and Mexico in higher esteem. Even though De Bry was willing to grant that the European Christians committed many sins unknown to the American heathen, he remained thoroughly convinced that because of their idolatry the Indians practised many abominable customs.12 This became apparent in the way they treated their slaves. In Benzoni’s text Theodor de Bry had noticed that the inhabitants of the Tunja valley (Colombia) carried the skeletons of their dead heroes into battle as an ensign. Before the fight their enemies, the Caribs from the coast, sacrificed one of their male slaves to the god of war, Chiappa. They smeared the idol with human blood and then festively consumed the flesh of the victim.13 De Bry depicted this abominable custom, though this time not in a very graphic manner. For volume nine of the West India series Johan-Theodor and Johan-Israël designed a horrifying rendition of a similar custom among the Aztecs (Pl. 2). All through the year, the Aztecs allowed a male slave to parade through town disguised as one of their idols. In the streets everyone treated him with the highest regards. Priests served him sumptuous meals in the temple. If the 11 Maike Christadler, “Die Sammlung zur Schau gestellt: die Titelblätter der AmericaSerie,” in Susanna Burghartz, ed., Inszenierte Welten/Staging New Worlds. Die west- und ostindischen Reisen der Verleger de Bry, 1590–1630/De Brys’ illustrated travel reports, 1590–1630 (Basel: Schwabe Verlag, 2004), 47–93. 12 His balanced judgement of Indian morals appears in the preface of volume four of the West India series. 13 Berger, De Bry. America, vol. 1, Pl. 100.

slavery in the de bry collection

171

slave defeated a priest in combat at the end of the year, he was freed. If he lost, the priest fleeced him alive. The Aztecs believed that by this custom they promoted the common weal. The dead were the victims of pagan superstition, not of greed, as with the Spanish.14 The African slaves on Hispaniola were caught in a quite different social mechanism, as four plates from the Benzoni edition show.15 The caption to the first plate mentions that the Spaniards had started to import black slaves after they had destroyed the Indian population. The Africans had been made captive by the Portuguese who had conquered territory in “Guiney.” The black slaves, exclusively represented as adult males, worked as laborers in a mining enterprise. They dug down a hill and deposed the gold dust at the feet of the owner and the armed supervisors. Mining was a continuation of the plundering of the land to which the conquistadors had devoted themselves. After a short time the gold deposits were exhausted. With the introduction of the sugar plantation the Spaniards shifted towards a productive use of the land. Conquista society gave way to a plantation colony, as shown in the next plate (Pl. 3), which gives equal attention to the exhausting work of the slaves and the different stages of sugar production.16 Slaves, again only adult males, cut the cane in the blistering sun. They clear the stems of the leaves, push them under a heavy millstone and collect the juice in containers which they empty into a large kettle. Finally, they boil the juice into syrup that is poured into the sugar form. Two slaves carry the heavy form to a place in the sun to allow the sugar to dry out. The caption mentions that slaves also worked in cattle pens and in the master’s house, but only a few. Accordingly the black slaves on Hispaniola were depicted as the exploited laborers in a specialized economic enterprise, not as members of a household. In theory slaves were totally dependent on the master’s will. The reality was different. They permanently looked for chances to determine their own life. The masters felt challenged and tried to establish their authority by the most outrageous punishments. They flogged the 14 The actual occurrence of human sacrifice among the Aztecs is a matter of controversy: Peter Hassler, Menschenopfer bei den Azteken? Eine quellen- und ideologiekritische Studie (Bern: Peter Lang, 1992). 15 Berger, De Bry.America, vol. 1, Pls 90–93. 16 De Bry took his clue from Chauveton’s annotations. Benjamin Keen, “The Vision of America in the Writings of Urbain de Chauveton”, in Fredi Chiappelli, ed., First Images of America, 2 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976), 112.

172

ernst van den boogaart

disobedient to the point of bleeding. After that they poured hot oil or pitch into the wounds (Pl. 4). An even more brutal punishment consisted in immobilizing the flogged laborer by putting him into a hole in the ground and covering him up to his neck with earth. Most of the time this was tantamount to execution. Handing out a death sentence was usually the privilege of the highest authority in the land and then only after due process. But slaves were not protected by the law, as De Bry pointed out in the caption. A master who had killed a slave, was not punished if he offered the king a new one. The cruelty of the masters led the slaves to flee to remote places and found their own communities. From these bases they attacked the plantations. In 1522 runaway slaves on Hispaniola engaged in a guerrilla against their former masters. With cavalry troops the plantation owners were able to contain the revolt, but the maroons remained a problem for many years. The plate that De Bry dedicated to this event shows that the total subservience of the slave was a fiction.17 In the West India series the De Brys showed general characteristics of slavery and specific variants in the various societies. Slaves were torn away from the social network into which they were born. They had lost the elementary right to life that membership of a society implicitly presupposed. That is the implication of the reference to capture in war as the major cause of slavery. The captors had spared the lives of the captives. Their fate now depended completely on the new masters who could rightfully treat them as they treated no member of their own society. The De Brys showed two forms of extreme degradation of an adult male slave. In indigenous societies he was sacrificed as an animal for the well-being of the community. In Spanish colonial society, Indian and African slaves were forced to work themselves to death in order to enrich their masters, unless they regained freedom through escape into the wilderness. Spanish slave owners justified enslaving the heathen by pointing to the fate of captives in pagan societies. Among Christians slavery was a rough deal, the apologists recognized. But was it not better than being sacrificed to an idol or being devoured by cannibals? Did not a stay among Christians offer the opportunity to get acquainted with the true faith and the chance of life eternal? The title page of volume five of the West India series showing Spaniards erecting the cross may refer

17

Berger, De Bry. America, vol. 1, Pl. 93.

slavery in the de bry collection

173

to this justification. However, with an anecdote about a conversation between himself and an Indian chief in Nicaragua, depicted by De Bry, Benzoni made it crystal clear that no Indian in his right mind would believe a promise made by Christians.18 Indians would only convert to safe their lives. The reader might well have deduced that the same would be true for African slaves. De Bry showed that Christian masters ruined themselves through the sin of greed; black slaves and Indians persisted in the rejection of salvation. In the New World masters and slaves were on the way to perdition. From a Christian point of view both were slaves of the Devil, the Prince of darkness. Indigenous Slavery in Kongo and on the Gold Coast The Relazione del reame di Congo resulted from the cooperation between the Italian military man and diplomat Filippo Pigafetta who had benefited from a thorough humanistic training and the Portuguese Odoardo Lopez who had spent many years as a slave trader in Kongo.19 The purpose of the book was to support the request for assistance from the King of Kongo that Lopez was to deliver to the Pope and King Philip II of Spain. Lopez supplied the information, Pigafetta composed the report, consisting of a geographical description of the African kingdom and a history of the monarchy since the conversion to Christianity at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Both parts contained data on natural resources and local customs, some of which were depicted in the plates of the original Roman edition of 1591. Text and plates showed that in Kongo slavery was an established institution. The De Bry brothers copied most of the plates from the original Relazione, but added a few that dealt with the conversion to Christianity of the king and with the way of life in the countries adjacent to Kongo.20 The costume plate with three Kongolese women from the original edition showed that their society consisted of noblemen, common people and slaves.21 Whereas aristocrats and commoners practically covered their whole body, the slave woman was merely dressed from 18

Berger, De Bry, America, vol. 1, Pl. 109. Filippo Pigafetta and Duarte Lopez, Description du royaume de Congo et des contrées environnantes, edited and translated by Willy Bal (Paris: Chandeigne, 2002). 20 Ernst van den Boogaart, “De Brys’Africa,” in Susanna Burghartz, ed., Inszenierte Welten, 99–118. 21 Berger, India Orientalis, vol. 1, Pl. 5. 19

174

ernst van den boogaart

the waist down. The dress code pointed to a higher level of civility than demonstrated by the virtually naked Indians of the Caribbean. The town shown in the background of the scene, supposedly the capital São Salvador, was another indication that the Kongolese were no savages, but competent artisans and merchants. In agreement with the text the Kongolese were depicted with European features: oval faces, sharp noses and curling hair. This contrasted with the physiognomy of the neighboring peoples, in the rendition of the De Brys, marked by a round head, a flat nose and cropped hair.22 The original Roman edition contained one plate of a zebra and three of Kongolese noblemen carried by slaves in a sedan chair or in a hammock on a pole (Pl. 5). It was left to the reader to figure out the meaning of these illustrations by looking for clues in the text. The De Brys took up the challenge and communicated the solution in the captions to the plates. This is a beautiful example of the function that the plates were supposed to have and in this case demonstrably did. The plates contained a remarkable comment on slavery in Christian Kongo. In that kingdom no horses were to be found, according to the caption.23 Noblemen did not ride, but were carried by slaves over long distances and at great speed. Adult men, presumably household slaves, performed functions for which in Europe horses were used. Their work demoted them to the level of beasts. Comparative prices mentioned in the text equally stress the bestialization of the slaves. In neighboring Angola a large Bouvier des Flandres sold for twenty-two slaves, a tail hair of an elephant for two or three, the skin of civet cat for one.24 These evaluations made a joke of the notion prevalent in Christendom that man’s station was above the animals and that every human deserved to be treated accordingly. Moreover, no real necessity existed for treating slaves like beasts of burden. Nature may not have provided the Kongolese with horses, but she did have zebras on offer. The Kongolese just had not taken

22 This representational scheme for the heads of black people probably gained acceptance through Albrecht Dürer’s Vier Bücher von menschlicher Proportion (1528), reprinted sixteen times in six languages before 1662. Elmer Kolfin, “Zwarte Modellen in de Nederlandse Kunst tussen 1580 en 1800: feit en fictie,” in Elmer Kolfin and Esther Schreuder, eds., Black is Beautiful: Rubens tot Dumas (Zwolle: Waanders Uitgevers, 2008), 71–2. 23 See: Robin Law, The Horse in West African History: The role of the horse in the pre-colonial societies of West Africa (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980). 24 Pigafetta and Lopez, Description, 89, 98, 109.

slavery in the de bry collection

175

the trouble to tame them.25 The lack of this skill not only lowered the level of civility in Kongo, it also showed that the Christian ethos had not fully caught on. Slave owners, the king and the nobility, had grown lazy and despotic. The king requested signs of slavish submission from the common people. In his presence they prostrated themselves, the arms in front and both feet in the air, as a plate devised by the De Brys pointed out.26 Slavery fitted in with a political regime that showed tyrannical tendencies. The neighbors of the Kongolese were the main suppliers of slaves in the region. They sold their prisoners of war to Kongo and the Portuguese in Angola. The main text informed the reader that this trade involved considerable numbers. Every year the Portuguese exported 5,000 slaves from Luanda, some of them natives from the Kongolese province of Bamba.27 The De Brys designed plates that showed the neighboring Jagas and Anzicans to be aggressive, pagan cannibals.28 This was partly to establish a contrast with relatively civil and Christian Kongo, but may also have served to justify the slave trade of the Christian Kongolese and Portuguese. The social context of slavery on the Gold Coast, described in volume six of the East India series, differed from that in Kongo. Its coastal monarchies were much smaller units, as Pieter de Marees pointed out in his unusually detailed description.29 The original plates, copied for the De Bry edition, showed that Gold Coast society, like Kongo, was made up of nobility, common people and slaves. They depicted the division of labor that was only hinted at in the plates on Kongo. Peasants and fishermen sold their products in a daily market in a central place on the coast, which also served as residence for the king. Professional interpreters and boats men served as intermediaries between the Europeans who offered their wares on board ship and the African long-distance traders, the Acanists, whose slaves brought gold from the hinterland to the coast. Christian missionaries had made no converts on the Gold

25

Ibid., 88, 103–4. Berger, India Orientalis, vol. 1, Pl. 2. 27 Pigafetta and Lopez, Description, 96. 28 Berger, India Orientalis, vol. 1, Pls. 12 and 13. 29 Pieter de Marees, Description and Historical Account of the Gold Kingdom of Guinea (1602), eds. Albert van Dantzig and Adam Jones (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987). 26

176

ernst van den boogaart

Coast. The population adored fetissos, small bundles of assorted things to which they attached magical properties.30 The clothing of the inhabitants of the Gold coast suggested a level of civility somewhat below that of Kongo, but certainly above that of the Caribbean Indians. The nobleman, the interpreter and the long-distance trader cover the lower part of their body with large pieces of cloth, the nobleman also the upper part. They sport remarkable hats. The young peasant and the fisherman wear no more than a loincloth. The male slave goes completely naked. All these lower class men do not cover their head, but show peculiar haircuts. Among women social rank is demarcated in similar ways. The woman who probably represents the female slave is very scantily dressed. Unlike the Kongolese and the Angolans, the inhabitants of the Gold Coast did not dispose of large numbers of slaves, according to the main text. They turned prisoners of war into slaves for life. They condemned some of their own society to slave status for longer or shorter periods. That happened to people who were unable to take care of themselves or could not pay off their debts and to children who were sold by their parents because of acute poverty. These categories did not satisfy demand. The Gold Coast imported slaves from regions further to the East. Slave ownership was a privilege of the king and the nobility. They were the only ones who employed servants, since free people did not go into service. The bond servants were part of the polygamous household. They assisted the women of the noblemen in cutting wood, growing food and what else was asked of them. These precious possessions were branded to prevent them running away. A plate from the original Dutch edition, copied by the De Brys (Pl. 6), clearly shows the subordinate position of the slaves. It depicts the parade of a man who had just been elected to noble rank. He celebrates by presenting an ox to the community for a festive meal. A long procession meanders around the animal while the common people and the king and his advisers watch. In the foreground young nobles perform a mock combat. Higher up, musicians blow on elephant horns and play the drums. The elderly gentlemen display their weapons. The wife of the newly elected sports her golden bracelet and is sprinkled with salt and white earth by other women. The noble novice is carried around

30 Berger, India Orientalis, vol. 2, Pls. 22, 24, 25. Boogaart, “De Brys’ Africa”, 118–136.

slavery in the de bry collection

177

in a sedan chair. His feet rest on the backs of two slaves who walk in bowed down position underneath the sedan. The king owned the largest number of slaves, according to De Marees. They constantly waited on him in the royal compound and in his rooms. The monarch was a rich man who had bought his office. He seldom left the compound. After getting up in the morning he was bathed by some of his countless women. They clothed him in delicate textiles and adorned his beard with golden ornaments. The larger part of the day he just sat in front of the gate to his house and chatted with visitors, while chasing away the flies with an elephant’s tail mounted on a stick. Some of the respect paid to him rubbed off on his slave bodyguards. They behaved in a very haughty manner. A dire fate could strike the low ranking members of the royal household, free or slave, as the De Brys show in an especially designed plate.31 When the king died, the nobles killed women, children and slaves to serve him in the other world. Their skulls were displayed around the royal burial place. During their lives, the kings of the Gold Coast acted as the benevolent fathers of their people. At their death, monarchical power showed its despotic face. In the texts and the plates of their books De Marees and Lopez/ Pigafetta had demonstrated an interest in indigenous slavery in subSaharan Africa.32 They had described it mostly as household slavery. The brothers De Bry shared this interest. Where necessary they clarified the social context by adding captions or newly designed plates. They pointed out its origin among the more savage peoples and highlighted the link between slavery and the despotic tendencies of monarchical power, in Kongo connected to the Catholic Church, on the Gold Coast affiliated to pagan forms of worship. It is tempting to assume a link between the images of African slavery and attitudes vis-à-vis the Atlantic slave trade, either justifying or criticising it. If that is indeed the case, Lopez/Pigafetta, De Marees and in their wake the brothers De Bry made their point very implicitly. None of them described the Atlantic slave trade, although some information

31 Berger, India Orientalis, vol. 2, Pl. 42. Compare: Robin Law, “Human Sacrifice in Pre-colonial West Africa,” African Affairs 84 (1988): 53–63, 70, and Jörg Fisch, “Jenseitsglaube, Ungleichheit und Tod: Zu einigen Aspekten der Totenfolge,” Saeculum 44 (1993): 265–99. 32 For a modern view: John Thornton, Africa and Africans in the making of the Atlantic World, 1400–1680 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 72–97.

178

ernst van den boogaart

on it was contained in the main texts. Neither do the plates hint at this fast growing branch of intercontinental trade. It is true that some plates focus on heinous cruelties in the pagan and the Christianized parts of sub-Saharan Africa, but black Africans are not depicted generally as animal-like human beings, only fit for slavery.33 On the contrary, the authors and the De Brys took care to differentiate between relatively civil and savage blacks. They did not represent black slavery in the Americas as clearly preferable to slavery in Africa. For the younger De Brys as for their father, slavery remained connected to the general depravity of mankind. Indigenous and Colonial Slavery in South and Southeast Asia Jan Huygen van Linschoten served during five years as secretary to the archbishop of Goa.34 After his return in the Netherlands he published the Itinerario. This compilation of texts includes a chronicle of political events during his stay in Goa and a description of the countries within the Portuguese Asian trading empire, from Mozambique to the Moluccas and China. The original edition was richly illustrated with an ingenious series of plates, demonstrating the hierarchy of civility between Asian societies. The man who designed this series may have been Karel van Mander, the Dutch translator of Benzoni. Linschoten’s book served as a guide to the first Dutch trading fleets to Asia. Reports on these enterprises, often in the form of ship’s journals, were published shortly after the fleets had returned. The format of the plates in these publications is clearly related to the format of the Itinerario.35

33

A different point of view is presented in: Jennifer L. Morgan, “Some could suckle over their shoulder: Male travellers, female bodies, and the gendering of racial ideology, 1500–1770”, William and Mary Quarterly, 3d series, 54 (1997): 167–192; and Emily C. Bartels, “Imperialist Beginnings: Richard Hakluyt and the Construction of Africa,” Criticism 34 (1992), 525. Compare for critical comments P.E.H. Hair, “Attitudes to Africans in English Primary Sources on Guinea up to 1650,” History in Africa 26 (1999): 43–68. 34 Ernst van den Boogaart, Civil and Corrupt Asia: Image and Text in the Itinerario and Icones of Jan Huygen van Linschoten (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2003). 35 See Ernst van den Boogaart, “Serialised Virginia: the representational format for comparative ethnology ca. 1600,” in Kim Sloan, ed., European Visions: American Voices (British Museum Research Publication No. 172, London 2008), 116–22.

slavery in the de bry collection

179

For publication in their East India series the brothers De Bry combined the Asian part of Linschoten’s book with the journal of the first Dutch fleet to Asia. They rearranged the sequence of the illustrative program of Itinerario, deleted some prints and added some new ones, but continued to offer a panorama of civility in Asia.36 They prolonged this panorama in the picture volumes accompanying the reports on subsequent Dutch fleets to Asia, which they published as the sequel to Linschoten’s book. The plates on slavery fitted into this format, because the treatment of slaves gave an indication about the level of civility achieved by a society. Some of Linschoten’s plates dealt with slavery in Goa, while plates accompanying the reports on the early Dutch fleets referred to slavery in Sri Lanka, Java, Bali, the Banda islands and the Moluccas.37 The brothers De Bry copied these plates and added excerpts from the main texts. The Banda islands and the Moluccas were the starting point of the spice route that ran along ports of Java, Celebes, Sumatra, Sri Lanka and India and continued to destinations in the Middle East or via Goa and the route around Cape of Good Hope directly to Europe. The orangkayas, the ruling and trading elite of these islands, operated within an international network. They were mostly Muslim and belonged to a literate culture. The visiting Europeans considered the societies that they represented to be relatively civil. A remarkable costume plate depicting the wealthy elite of Banda (Pl. 7) confirms this relative civility.38 It shows a ‘Turkish’ merchant, Kojan Rayoan (A), who had assisted the Dutch on an earlier occasion in Banten, a local nobleman (B) accompanied by a slave carrying his weapons and a woman of substance, perhaps also involved in trade, and her female slave who takes care of her hat. These respectable people are dressed from top to toe, the men even seeming to walk on a kind of cothurns. The nobleman’s slave sports a hat with feather, a shirt with long sleeves and a knee-length skirt. The female slave covers the upper part of her body and wears a skirt, her head is left uncovered. These were clearly household slaves who were well taken care of.

36 Ernst van den Boogaart, “Heathendom and Civility in the Historia Indiae Orientalis,” in Jan de Jong et al., eds., Picturing the Exotic 1550–1950: Peasants and outlandish peoples in Netherlandish art (Zwolle: Waanders, 2003), 71–105. 37 Berger, India Orientalis, vol. 1, pls. 78 and 79; vol. 2, pls. 9, 10, 16, 55. 38 Anthony Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, 1450–1680, 2 vols. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988–93) 2: 116.

180

ernst van den boogaart

A plate dealing with the nutmeg trade is used to show another side of slavery. It demonstrates that some slaves performed heavy labor and were less well treated.39 A bondsman is depicted carrying a large container with palm wine. He wears a simple skirt that differentiates him from the Bandanese engaged in the nutmeg trade, but is comparable to the dress of two supposedly free commoners who also perform menial tasks. One of following plates deals with the types of ships of Banda, another indicator of the level of civility. The official galley, the karkol of the sultan of Ternate in the Moluccas, is added to the Bandanese ships. The accompanying text mentions that its oarsmen were slaves. Nothing is said about their treatment, but as Europeans knew the fate of galley slaves was not to be envied. The texts of the plates dealing with heathen—or actually Hindu—Bali describe the island as populous and prosperous, with many beautiful buildings and artfully constructed palaces. Its inhabitants import “daily many slaves from outside.” Remarkably, the comments on slavery and the plates closely follow the argument put forward in the description of Kongo. Bali did have horses, but only very small ones, exclusively used by the common man. The nobles were carried around by slaves or were transported in skilfully decorated carts drawn by oxen. On this island, slaves did perform an economic function of sorts, but one that was intimately tied to the demonstration of wealth and power. The sequence of plates showing the flourishing commercial centre of Banten on West Java present this coastal sultanate as a multi-ethnic and multi-religious society, ruled by a Muslim elite.40 Costume plates indicate that people were civilly dressed, including the Hindu peasantry of the neighboring villages. These peasants employed slaves ‘for all kinds of tasks.’ One plate shows them building a sloop. They went bareheaded and wore only a small loincloth. How their masters treated them is not explained. The accompanying text just mentions that the slaves were extraordinarily subservient. The Muslim rulers employed slaves on their war galleys, as is shown on a plate dealing with types of ships. A bird’s eye view of Kandy on Sri Lanka represents the city as an orderly arrangement of houses around the square royal compound

39

Berger, India Orientalis, vol. 2, Pl. 9. On Banten in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, see: Claude Guillot, ed., Banten: Histoire d’une région (Paris: Asociation Archipel, 1995); Johan Talens, Een feodale samenleving in koloniaal vaarwater: staatsvorming, koloniale expansie en economische onderontwikkeling in Banten: West Java 1600–1750 (Hilversum: Verloren, 1999). 40

slavery in the de bry collection

181

that contains residential buildings and two heathen, in fact Buddhist, temples. The costume figures placed in front of the city—a noble military official, a pair of commoners with child, and a slave—demonstrate by their dress the relatively civil character of this inland kingdom and by their rank the hierarchical organization of their society. The slave wears a scanty loincloth. His ears are cut off “to signify his lowly status,” one of the few references to cruel treatment of slaves in indigenous Asian societies. In Portuguese Goa, the slaves formed a multinational group. According to Linschoten they came from Mozambique, Abyssinia, the Middle East, and India. Their diversity shows in the plates of the Itinerario, copied by the De Brys. On one plate dealing with the Portuguese masters of the land (Pl. 8) they surround a fidalgo on horseback. The negro do mandil and two other bodyguards, probably blacks as well, walk in front. An oriental looking servant protects the rider against the sun with a sombreiro. Another oriental whisks away the flies with a mounted horsetail. The household slaves are richly dressed, in European and Oriental costumes. They participate in the respect paid to their master. The plate depicting the Goa market (Pl. 9), exceptionally large and hence standing out, provides another view of household slavery. At the market everyone is taking shelter under a parasol against the sun. On the left side a Portuguese nobleman on horseback and a Portuguese woman in a palanquin pass in front of the Misericordia, the hospital supported by a lay brotherhood, a symbol of Christian caritas throughout the Portuguese empire.41 The invisible Portuguese woman in the palanquin flaunts her chastity. To the right indigenous laborers carry an immense water container into the city simmering in the heat. A pair of copulating dogs stands in their way. The money changer and the women selling confection in the background are bystanders. The subject of the plate is revealed by the three scenes in the center. Through numbered legends, lacking in the original plate, the De Bry brothers explain what is happening there. The group around the table (number 5) attends the sale of the belongings of a Portuguese who had passed away in the Misericordia. The group to the right (number 5 again) participates in the sale of a

41 Isabel dos Guimarães Sá, “Charity and Discrimination: The Misericórdia of Goa,” Itinerario 31: 2 (2007): 51–70.

182

ernst van den boogaart

black slave woman and her child. The men to the left in the foreground (number 2) watch a horse whose qualities are demonstrated by the seller. The three scenes are connected with each other and with the two women in the foreground through figures making a demonstrative gesture. The man on horseback points to the sale of the small amount of earthly goods left behind by the dead Portuguese and towards the sale of the African slave woman and her child. The scantily clad woman with the jug on her head points to the wet-nurse with a baby on her arm (number 3) who in turn points over the copulating dogs to the slave woman. The viewer can only guess at the meaning of this connection. Sales of a dead man’s belongings were frequent in Goa. The mortality rate among Portuguese males was extremely high, due to loose living in the hot tropical climate, according to Linschoten. The men were killed by their sexual thirst. The venerable Misericordia cared mainly for victims of venereal disease. The woman with the jug, the wet-nurse, and the female slave with child are, I suggest, manifestations of the same figure. Female household slaves had to quell the sexual thirst of the master or work as prostitutes, as the legend spells out. Her children became the property of the owner who could sell mother and child separately. Household slavery undermined the elementary bonds of the family. Selling people like horses led to beastly behavior. Like the dogs, human beings became slaves to their passions. The Goa market demonstrated the consequences of the licentiousness, encouraged by household slavery. The display of Christian virtue in front of the Misericordia was hypocrisy. Although technologically and economically developed, Portuguese Goa was not an exemplary Christian community. Like Hispaniola, it was in fact a pit of perdition. The picture volumes of the collection offer little information about the countries of origin of the slaves in Goa. However, the De Brys did single out Mozambique for special attention by adding a new plate, certainly one of the most shocking they designed (Pl. 10). Relying on his Portuguese informants, Linschoten had described the pagan Mozambicans of the hinterland as a particularly abominable lot of savages, comparable to the Jagas and Anzicans in the lands adjacent to Kongo. Their small monarchies uninterruptedly made war on each other. Mozambican warriors captured large numbers of prisoners which they killed and consumed or castrated and enslaved. They ritually offered the cut off penises to their king and his wives. One by one the warriors stuck the trophies in their mouth and then spat them out again on the ground in front of the king. The royal spouses picked them up and strung

slavery in the de bry collection

183

them on necklaces. The De Brys turned Linschoten’s description into a plate. This piece of ethnographical information occurs in a passage about the trade with the Portuguese, a connection likely meant as an implicit apology for the slave trade. However, Linschoten and the De Brys also pointed out that the treatment of Mozambicans in Goa was perhaps slightly better, but still beastly. The Asian examples in the De Bry collection show slaves in indigenous societies being used for productive purposes in agriculture and shipbuilding, for military purposes as oarsmen on galleys and to flaunt the wealth and power of their masters. They belonged to kings and trading elites, but also to farmers.42 Most of them were household slaves, and some of them lived in special accommodations provided by the rulers. The plates indicate that household slaves were not necessarily treated more leniently than slaves in more specialized productive or military enterprises. How slavery affected the morals of these indigenous societies remains in the dark. The depiction of slavery in Portuguese Goa is clearly the counterpart to that in Spanish Hispaniola. In the Spanish colony the thirst for gold caused slaves to revolt and thus disrupted the Catholic social order. In Goa an insatiable sexual thirst infected the Catholic community and led to its protracted decadence. The Possibilities of a Worldwide Comparative Perspective on Slavery Comparisons between the customs of overseas peoples and of Europeans and of overseas peoples among each other frequently occurred in the texts of European travel reports. The illustrations encouraged the practice of comparing by regularly highlighting the same topics and by offering a format for picturing customs and structuring the ethnographic discourse. The format used by Theodor de Bry for the picture section about Virginia in the first America volume—a number of costume plates to characterise the level of civility of a society and a number of multi-figure scenes to show specific dimensions of society—was taken 42 See for a modern view: Indrani Chatterjee and Richard Maxwell Eaton, Slavery and South Asian History (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006); Gwyn Campbell, The Structure of Slavery in the Indian Ocean: Africa and Asia (London: Cass, 2003); Reid, Southeast Asia, 1: 102, 121, 129–134. On the Dutch involvement: Marcus Vink, “The World’s Oldest Trade: The Dutch Indian Ocean Slave Trade in the Seventeenth Century,” Journal of World History 14: 2 (2003): 131–77.

184

ernst van den boogaart

over by the illustrators of Linschoten’s Itinerario and of the reports of the first Dutch fleets to Asia, to be copied or reworked by the De Brys for their East India series. As suggested above, it is quite likely that Linschoten’s highlighting of slavery in the Market of Goa was inspired by De Bry’s highlighting of slavery in Hispaniola. The visual treatment of slavery in Bali harked back to the treatment of slavery in Kongo in Lopez/Pigafetta. When the West and East India series were finished, the inquisitive reader could draw comparisons between slavery in America, sub-Saharan Africa and South and Southeast Asia. He would have understood that the geographic range of the comparisons could be extended to encompass the whole world and the past as well as the present. Comparison taught the reader to watch out for variety and similarity. The De Bry plates informed him that slaves could belong to the community they lived in, but had lost the free disposal of their person through failure to honor serious obligations, such as feeding oneself and one’s children and settling one’s debts. However, the texts and images in the De Bry collection predominantly linked slavery to capture in war and thus stressed that slaves were strangers by origin. Through long-distance trade, the captives could be forcefully brought to places very far from their country of origin. Alerted by the plates of slave treatment in Hispaniola the reader may have noticed with some concern the high figure for slave exports from Kongo and Angola to America given by Lopez/Pigafetta and become aware of the seamier sides of the globalization of trade. The De Bry plates also familiarized the reader with different uses of slaves. The savage inhabitants of the Tunja valley, the Anzicans and Mozambicans devoured their prisoners of war in rituals of revenge or sacrificed them to their bloodthirsty idols. Sacrificial slavery also occurred among the more developed Aztecs and the inhabitants of the Gold Coast. The semi-savage Kongolese as well as the members of the civil, literate societies of South and Southeast Asia used slaves for economic and military activities, but at least as much for the conspicuous display of the wealth and power of their households. Only in the sugar mills of Hispaniola, celebrated by Johannes Stradanus as one of the nova reperta—signs of modern civility—were slaves primarily laborers in a specialized economic enterprise.43

43 Uta Bernsmeier, “Die Nova Reperta des Jan van der Straet. Ein Beitrag zur Problemgeschichte der Entdeckungen und Erfindungen im 16. Jahrhundert” (Ph.D.

slavery in the de bry collection

185

However, the plates of the De Bry collection hardly suggested that the development of civility led to a milder treatment of slaves. Kings and priests in the semi-savage societies of the Gold Coast and in Mexico used slaves for human sacrifice. The semi-savage, but Christian Kongolese employed slaves as beasts of burden. The civil Spaniards on Hispaniola sacrificed their slaves slowly through back-breaking labor. The licentiousness of the Portuguese in Goa shortened slave lives through the spread of venereal disease. In the De Bry, collection slavery is frequently linked to uncontrolled passions: cruelty abetted by idolatry, despotic thirst for power, greed disguised as entrepreneurship or lust indulged in under the cover of the charitable Christian household.44 The De Brys certainly did not represent slavery as a civilizing institution. The comparative perspective may have affected European thinking on slavery in two ways. It supported the legitimizing tradition that argued that slavery was justified by the ius gentium, the common law of all peoples. The De Brys demonstrated that servitude occurred in many places in the West and East Indies and that followers of the most diverse religions tolerated or even promoted this degradation of human beings: the heathen of the three continents, Christians in Kongo and in the Spanish and Portuguese colonies, as well as Muslims on Java and the Spice Islands. On the other hand, an extension of the comparative perspective beyond the Indies may have made the readers aware of the paradoxical bifurcation between north-western Europe and the overseas world in matters of slavery. While in north-western Europe, slavery and servile labor had gradually disappeared during the six centuries after the year 1000, unfree labor and more particularly unfree labor by black Africans greatly expanded through European colonization in the West and East Indies. The De Bry collection may thus have contributed to the shift in European thinking about slavery that Seymour Drescher pointed out. Around 1600, he has argued, slavery for Europeans “was

dissertation, Universität Hamburg, 1986). Alice Bonner McGinty, “Stradanus (Jan van der Straet): His Role in the Visual Communication of Renaissance Discoveries, Technologies and Values” (unpublished Ph.D. diss., Tufts University 1990). De Bry used Stadanus’ allegories of the discovery of America. 44 Sometimes the ethnographic depiction seems to shift towards the older tradition of the mortal sins. The picture volumes of the De Bry collection could be seen as an alternative Theatrum vitae humanae, the series of plates in which Theodor de Bry encapsulated his Calvinist view of life. Pol-Pierre.Gossiaux, “L’Iconographie des ‘Grands Voyages,’ ” in Philippe Denis and Richard Stauffer, eds., Protestantisme aux frontières: La Réforme dans le duché de Limbourg et dans la principauté de Liège (XVIe–XIXe siècles) (Aubel: Gason, 1985), 157–160.

186

ernst van den boogaart

no longer sustained by a consensual accepted sense of universality and centrality, but by geographical and climatic difference and distance.” At the same time, the images of exploitation and resistance of black slaves in colonial America, invented by the De Brys and unequaled until the abolitionist campaigns of the eighteenth century, may well have strengthened the assumption of slavery as “morally polluting and historically anachronistic.”45 However, critical as the De Brys may have been towards the institution, they were far from becoming abolitionist. For them, as for many readers, the wide occurrence of slavery remained just another demonstration of the wicked ways of the world.

45 Seymour Drescher, “Moral Issues,” in Seymour Drescher and Stanley L. Engerman, eds., A Historical Guide to World Slavery (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998): 283–284.

slavery in the de bry collection

187

1. Spanish slave raid on the coast of Cumaná (Venezuela). Th. De Bry, Das vierdte Buch von der neuwen Welt. Frankfurt 1594, pl. 4. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam

188

ernst van den boogaart

2. Slave sacrifice by Aztec priest. Th. De Bry, Americe nona et postrema pars. Frankfurt 1602, pl. 9. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam

slavery in the de bry collection

189

3. Black slaves of sugar plantation on Hispaniola. Th. De Bry, America das fünffte Buch. Frankfurt 1595, pl. 2. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam

190

ernst van den boogaart

4. Slave punishments on Hispaniola. Th. De Bry, America das fünffte Buch. Frankfurt 1595, pl. 3. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam

slavery in the de bry collection

191

5. Kongolese nobleman carried by slaves. Joh. Th. and Joh. Isr. de Bry, Regnum Congo (= India Orientalis). Frankfurt 1598, vol. I, pl. 7. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam

192

ernst van den boogaart

6. Gold Coast nobleman carried by slaves. Joh. Th. and Joh. Isr. de Bry, India Orientalis. Frankfurt 1604, vol. VI, pl. 16. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam

slavery in the de bry collection

193

7. Bandanese nobleman accompanied by a slave. Joh. Th. and Joh. Isr. de Bry, India Orientalis. Frankfurt 1601, vol. V, pl. 10. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam

194

ernst van den boogaart

8. Portuguese nobleman in Goa accompanied by black and Asian slaves. Joh. Th. and Joh. Isr. de Bry, India Orientalis. Frankfurt 1599, vol. II, pl. 33. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam

9. Slave sale on Goa market. Joh. Th. and Joh. Isr. de Bry, India Orientalis. Frankfurt 1599, vol. II, pl. 37. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam

slavery in the de bry collection 195

196

ernst van den boogaart

10. Cruel treatment of captives in Mozambique. Joh. Th. and Joh. Isr. de Bry, India Orientalis. Frankfurt 1599, vol. II, pl. 4. Courtesy University Library Amsterdam

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE REPRESENTATION OF SLAVES AND SLAVERY IN THE WRITING OF THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE WEST INDIES DURING THE EARLY MODERN CENTURIES: FRENCH AND ENGLISH CONTRIBUTIONS COMPARED Nicholas Canny Professor Pieter Emmer, to whose scholarly achievement this volume is dedicated, has devoted much of his life to the study of the rise and fall of the Atlantic slave trade.1 This is a subject that, during the course of the nineteenth century, came to be perceived in most parts of the western world as an iniquitous activity that, at no point, was, or could have been, morally justified either in secular or in religious terms.2 This stance may be taken as much a snub upon those nineteenth-century writers, principally from the southern states of the United States, who sought to justify slavery in just such terms,3 as it was a manifestation of nineteenth-century self belief in the spiritual and material progress of rational people. However its general acceptance as a truism has meant that historians in the twentieth and in the present century have devoted relatively little attention to justifications for slavery in the Atlantic offered by those who witnessed the system in practice during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Rather, the development of the trade in African slaves has come to be represented as an expansion

1 Research for this paper and the wider work of which it forms a part was enabled by a Project Grant on the theme Colonization and Globalization c. 1500–c. 1800, awarded to the author and his graduate research team by the Irish Research Council for the Humanities and Social Sciences. 2 See the works of David Brion Davis, The Problem of Slavery in Western Culture (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1966) and The Problem of Slavery in the Age of Revolution, 1770–1823 (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1975); his works both explain the novelty of opposition to slavery in western and demonstrate the rapidity with which principled opposition to slavery quickly became almost universally adopted in western society. 3 For some fine examples of continued rationalizations of slavery especially from states that later constituted themselves as the American Confederacy see Drew Gilpin Faust, The Ideology of Slavery: Proslavery Thought in the Antebellum South (Baton Rouge, La.: Louisiana State University Press, 1981).

198

nicholas canny

westwards of an activity that had long prevailed within both Africa and the Mediterranean basin, and the adoption of chattel slavery as a normal form of labor is frequently referred to as “an unthinking decision” stumbled upon at the moment when entrepreneurs in various locations in the Atlantic undertook to cultivate particular crops, notably sugar, tobacco and rice, that had already come to be associated with black slave labor.4 This position does not allow for the fact that some authors of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries did comment (sometimes with unease) on the phenomenon of slavery, and tendered observations on the moral obligations of the dominant white society towards the slaves whose work enabled their prosperity. The texts to which I refer were composed by French and English authors principally in the context of writing Natural Histories of the West Indies, and while we will examine these works sequentially the ultimate intention is to compare French with English appraisals of the phenomenon of slavery. The writing of natural history is as old as the recorded word and can certainly be traced back to Herodotus and Pliny each of whom described, and sought to categorize, the various “barbaric” peoples of whom they had information, and the responsibility of the “civilized” people of their respective classical worlds towards these outliers. Each of these authors was read through the centuries by people conversant with classical learning, but their observations seemed all the more relevant during the early modern centuries when European encounters in the Atlantic basin with a variety of peoples who were completely foreign to them added a fresh urgency to the fundamental question concerning the origins of America and the origins of man. Spaniards (and some Portuguese) authors were the first to respond to the demand for answers to the philosophical questions that the socalled ‘Discoveries’ posed for Europeans. This is not surprising given that these had the most sustained and varied contacts with the indigenous peoples of America, from the initial Columbus voyage to the close of the sixteenth century.5 These Iberian authors (mostly priests) 4 See, for example, Richard S. Dunn, Sugar and Slaves: The Rise of the Planter Class in the English West Indies, 1624–1713 (New York and London: W.W. Norton, 1973), esp. 224–262. 5 Anthony Pagden, The Fall of Natural Man: The American Indian and the Origins of Comparative Ethnology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982); see also David Abulafia, The Discovery of Mankind: Atlantic Encounters in the Age of Columbus (New Haven, Ct.: Yale University Press, 2008).

french and english contributions compared

199

of the first phase of writing on the New World came to be rivalled in the later sixteenth and the early seventeenth century by such French authors as the Franciscan priest André Thevet and the Calvinist zealot Jean de Léry, by the English scientist, Thomas Hariot, by Richard Hakluyt and Samuel Purchas, two English propagandists for colonization, by the Dutch reporter Johannes de Laet, and by the German publisher Theodor de Bry whose multi-volume and illustrated America became the standard counter to Spanish accounts of their achievements in the New World. Questions about the responsibility of Europeans towards the less-advantaged populations of the Atlantic world appeared relevant to these various writers once English, French and Dutch Protestant adventurers began to rival the endeavors of Spain in the New World. Charles de Rochefort While these second-phase texts were, for the most part, products of the bitter animosity associated with what was widely perceived as Spain’s war of aggression in Europe, all authors conceded pride of place as a delineator of Native American societies to the Spanish Jesuit José de Acosta.6 Thus it was Acosta’s work that inspired a book published anonymously from Rotterdam in 1658 under the title Histoire naturelle & morale des iles Antilles de l’Amerique; a book that might be taken as the first instalment in a third phase of European investigations into the natural history of America and its indigenous populations.7 The second phase of published northern European interest in America had petered out with the gradual cessation of hostilities during the first decade of the seventeenth century between Spain and its principal competitors for power in Europe. When publication interest was renewed in the midseventeenth century the focus was on the Antilles, or the West Indian islands of the Caribbean, rather than on mainland America because Spain’s former European rivals, notably the English, the French and the Dutch, had taken advantage of the decades of peace to establish settlements, plantations, and trade on those islands within that sector 6 Pagden, Fall of Natural Man, 146–200; José de Acosta, Historia natural y moral de las Indias (1590), ed. Edmundo O’Gorman (Mexico: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1962). 7 Histoire naturelle & morale des iles Antilles de l’Amerique, enrichie de plusieurs belles figures raretez les plus considerable qui y sont, éscrites avec un vocabulaire caraïbe (Rotterdam: Arnout Leers, 1658).

200

nicholas canny

of the Spanish sphere of influence in the Atlantic in which the Spanish had no immediate interest. Although concerned primarily with the iles Antilles de l’Amerique, which might be thought of as French, this first book in the third phase of enquiry was really concerned with the entire European engagement with the West Indies. Moreover, the author, who was quickly identified as Charles de Rochefort, a French Huguenot who had settled in the Netherlands but had spent some time in the Antilles,8 pronounced that the audience he had in mind was not only fellow French people in the Netherlands (by which he would have meant Huguenots) but the entire population of the United Provinces. The author obviously had a wider French, or indeed international, audience in mind since he had selected almost the identical title that had been chosen for his natural history by l’excellent Josef Acosta.9 And de Rochefort made a further claim on Catholic readers when he declared himself indebted also to the French Dominican missionary priest Raymond Breton who he claimed to have visited in Paris to learn the language used by the native inhabitants of the West Indies. Therefore the word list, which de Rochefort appended to his text, was really a product of the work of Raymond Breton when he had ministered to the native populations of the French West Indies. While alluding to such Catholic influences, it was apparent that the authority de Rochefort held in greatest regard was Jean de Léry, both because he emphasised that his own work, like that of de Léry, was l’histoire de l’esperance,10 and because, as with de Léry’s Histoire d’un voyage, it used illustrations of native peoples to valorize the ideas advanced by him in his text.11 In fact the de Léry influence was much greater than de Rochefort acknowledged since his description of the lives

8 Everett C. Wilkie, jr., “The Authorship and Purpose of the Histoire naturelle et morale des îles Antilles” in Harvard Library Bulletin 2: 3 (1991), 27–84; I am grateful to Wim Klooster for informing me that de Rochefort was also known to have engaged in missionary work on the Dutch island of Tobago and to have subsequently written Le tableau de l’isle de Tabago, ou de Nouvelle Oüalchre, l’une des isles Antilles de l’Amerique, dependante de la souverainité des Hauts & Puissans Seigneurs les Estats Generaus des Provinces Unies des Pais-bas (Leyde: Jean le Carpentier, 1665). 9 Histoire naturelle & morale, introduction, sig., b1. 10 Histoire naturelle & morale, introduction, sig., b4. 11 Jean de Léry, Histoire d’un voyage faict en la terre du Brésil (1578), ed. Frank Lestringant (Paris: Librairie Générale Française, 1994); this edition with introduction is, in fact, a reproduction of the 1580 Geneva edition which was the first to include illustrations.

french and english contributions compared

201

and habitat of the indigenous inhabitants, to whom he referred as les Caraïbs insulaires, was in effect a replication of what de Léry had said of the Tupinamba Indians in Brazil almost a century previously, which explains why de Rochefort agreed with de Léry that the conversion of these island peoples to the Christian faith might be effected most readily when they were removed from their natural location, and brought into a Christian community.12 Again, like de Léry, de Rochefort deplored how some French men cavorted naked with the indigenes, but, despite this castigation, his general purpose was to refute a popular belief that the West Indies attracted only those Europeans who were bankrupt or gens de mauvaise vie.13 De Rochefort advanced his case by reference to the several people of quality who had taken up residence and established handsome buildings and plantations there, and to the many families who lived a civil and Christian life on the islands. Then, as if to suggest that their decision to settle on the islands had been a wise one, de Rochefort devoted much of his text to describing and depicting the natural resources of the islands as well as the manufacturing and trading activity that had already been promoted by the various European peoples who had settled there. In his account de Rochefort referred repeatedly to the diversity of populations on each of the islands that had been settled by Europeans, including those under French control; he spoke positively, but not uncritically, of all of these settlers, except for the Spanish and Portuguese who were, in their respective ways, represented as tyrannical; and he referred repeatedly to the trading acumen of the Dutch for whom the islands had become their Peru in the Atlantic. This summary will make it clear that discoursing on slaves and slavery was far from a priority with de Rochefort, and one might be unaware that what he was describing was a society whose economic well being was reliant upon slave labor had he not associated the production of particular commodities with slaves and portrayed African slaves at work in several of his illustrations.14 Also in the second section of his

12 Others who de Rochefort acknowledged as having influenced him were Johannes de Laet, Charles de l’Écluse and Marc Lescarbot; Histoire naturelle & morale, introduction, sig. b1. 13 Histoire naturelle & morale, introduction, sig. b4; de Rochefort countered by saying that the islands had “infinité d’honnestes familles, qui y vivent chretiennement et civilement en la crainte de Dieu,” by which he would have meant Protestants. 14 Histoire naturelle & morale, 88, for a picture of an African processing Cassava, p. 116, for a picture of an African with a water melon.

202

nicholas canny

book, dealing with the habits and customs of the several segments of the different populations on the islands, he offered detailed remarks on the condition of the African population there. These condescending and superficial remarks that de Rochefort did offer came after a brief discourse on the recruitment of white servants within France where he depicted young, unsuspecting people being gulled into what were in effect three years of slave labor when, as he put it, slavery was not permitted anywhere in Europe except in Spain and Portugal to which countries, he claimed, slaves were being imported from Angola, Cape Verde and Guinea. This provided him with an opening to discuss slavery in the West Indies, which he represented as the perpetual servitude of those who had become slaves in the first instance on the coast of Africa because famine conditions caused by locusts compelled people to commit their children and even themselves to slave markets where they were bought and sold like cattle in other places. He conceded that in Africa others who were taken as prisoners of war in internecine conflict were made slaves against their will, and he suggested that such enslavement had been escalated because Portuguese merchants had begun to exchange those who were thus made slaves (women as well as men) for iron, wine, aqua vitae, and clothes. All these slaves were then conveyed across the Atlantic where they were sold a second time, at the rate of fifteen or sixteen hundred weight of tobacco per slave, to planters in the Antilles requiring a labor force. It is important to relay this account because it, and various renditions of this same story that have circulated down the centuries, conveniently absolve planters in the West Indies of any moral culpability in the matter of introducing slavery there. The villains of the story were African poverty and Portuguese cupidity. However, if we are to accept de Rochefort’s appraisal, there may have been no villains at all because, when they were committed to good masters, the slaves preferred their present condition to their previous existence in Africa, as was suggested to him by the fact that they married readily and multiplied profusely. Then—apart from admonishing masters to choose a mean between extreme severity and indulgence in managing their workers lest by excessive punishment they encourage them to flee the plantations and become marrons—de Rochefort’s comments on the slave population of the Antilles were by way of contrasting the Africans as a people with the indigenous populations of the Antilles on whose lives and customs he discoursed at length. Each group of Africans who were settled on the French islands, according to de Rochefort, adopted

french and english contributions compared

203

the laws and customs of their own country; those on the island of St Christopher with whose condition he claimed most familiarity, were great lovers of music; and, in the diversionary time permitted to them on Sundays, all Africans cultivated crops of their choosing. But, more generally in their favour, Africans, unlike the Caraïbs, were an impressionable people who readily accepted the truths of Christianity once they had been persuaded by missionaries to abandon superstition and idolatry. As proof of this, de Rochefort cited the implausible story of some Africans on the French islands observing the Christian practice of abstinence during Lent.15 The weaknesses we can identify in the de Rochefort’s appraisal of slaves and slavery—its paternalism, its superficiality, its lack of specificity, its acceptance of unproven assumptions, and its reliance on rumors circulated by others—are all replicated in the writings of the next group of authors whose work we shall consider despite their stated disdain for de Rochefort. These authors were Catholic missionaries—and this paper will confine itself to texts by Dominicans—who were provoked into writing by the appearance in French of a text declaring its concern to bring the Caraïb population to civility and Christianity and symbolising this concern with a depiction in its frontispiece of an allegorical figure of France extending a hand of welcome to American natives and standing side by side with a pastor in Calvinist attire holding out a Gospel for them to accept. This presumptuous text of de Rochefort occasioned further offence to Catholics in France because the assembly of Physicians, Mathematicians and Astronomers had acknowledged it in Paris.16 Jean Baptiste du Tertre The responsibility for responding to this sequence of impertinences fell to the Dominican order because, Cardinal Richelieu had, in 1635, given them prime responsibility for the evangelization of the indigenous population of the West Indies; an appointment that was subsequently endorsed by the Papacy. The initial intervention came in the form of a quick sequence of texts on the Caraïbe language by Père Raymond

15

Histoire naturelle & morale, part 2. R.P.J.B. du Tertre, Histoire general des Antilles habittées par les François (Paris: Thomas Jolly, 1667–71), vol. 1, epistle. 16

204

nicholas canny

Breton published between 1664 and 1667.17 It was Breton’s linguistic work, based on fifteen years as a missionary in the Antilles, that had supposedly been plagiarized by de Rochefort, and his texts were now being published to enable Catholic missionaries to effect the conversion of the population to Catholicism, the official religion of the French monarchy. On a far greater scale was the four-volume Histoire general des Antilles habittées par les françois by Père Jean Baptiste du Tertre and published sequentially in Paris between 1667 and 1671.18 This, as we shall see, set a new standard in writing the natural history of the Atlantic that was not to be surpassed in French until 1722, the year of the first edition of Nouveau voyage aux isles de l’Amérique, contenant l’histoire naturelle de ces pays . . . authored by another Dominican, Père Jean Baptiste Labat.19 This latter was consciously advanced as a sequel to, and updating of, the work of du Tertre. Since du Tertre established the template for Catholic writing on the Natural History of the Antilles it will receive the more detailed attention but some consideration will be given to how Père Labat furthered as well as updated the subject. Du Tertre had been a missionary in the Antilles between 1641 and 1654, and had kept detailed notes and illustrations of his work there but it was probably the polemical imperative that forced him to publish fifteen years after he had returned to France from the West Indies. He seems also to have been provoked into doing so by what he saw to be the calumnies of Antoine Biet, a Jesuit author, who, in the opinion of du Tertre, had proven himself a Judas when, after but seven weeks in Guadeloupe—most of them spent taking hot baths for his rheumatism—had charged the Dominican missionaries who had been appointed to the West Indies with libertinage et d’impieté and general neglect of duty.20 Writing as a Dominican, du Tertre refuted this charge both by pointing to the achievements of the French in the West Indies, including the

17 Grammaire Caraïbe composée par le R.P. Raymond Breton . . . (Auxerre, 1667); Petit catechisme ou sommaire des trios premieres partes de la doctrine Chrestienne traduit du François en la langue des Caraïbes insulaire, par le R.P. Raymond Breton . . . (Auxerre, 1664); Dictionnaire caraïbe-françois, par le R.P. Raymond Breton (Auxerre, 1665); Dictionnaire françois-caraïbe, par le R.P. Raymond Breton (Auxerre, 1666). 18 du Tertre, Histoire general des Antilles. 19 R.P. Labat de l’Ordre des Frères Prêcheurs, Nouveau voyage aux isles de l’Amérique, contenant l’histoire naturelle de ces pay l’origine, les moeurs, la religion et le gouvernement des habitand ancien et modernes . . . (1722), nouvelle edition augmentée considerablement . . . (Paris, 1742). 20 du Tertre, Histoire general des Antilles, 1: 398–404.

french and english contributions compared

205

creation of a parochial system and an effort to extend Christian worship to the indigenous population and African slaves, and by indicating the glorious prospects to which France might look forward once the planters began to exploit the natural resources that he could identify. Whatever disorder, including the neglect of Christian duty, that had obtained in the early years were attributed by du Tertre to insufficiencies in the company (mostly merchants from the largely-Protestant Dieppe) that had been authorised to promote French interest in the West Indies, to shortcomings of some governors, to the sequence of wars that had to be fought on two fronts—against both the indigenous population and English and Spanish opponents—and to the delay, until 1635, of providing for the spiritual welfare of the community. However his recurring theme was that the colony had fallen short of expectations in the early years because of the diversity and unsuitability of many of the people, including many Protestants, who had been attracted to the effort, who instead of dedicating themselves to any grand imperial vision had engaged in revolution, revolt, intrigues, persecutions of the Church, exploitation of the innocent, and in the basic criminality that had characterised French society in the West Indies for more than a decade. The early section of du Tertre’s text treated sequentially of the establishment and endurance of French settlement on a range of islands of the West Indies from St. Christopher to Grenada, and of the memorable episodes, and the sequence of calamities, including the detection on Guadeloupe in 1656 of a slave conspiracy that would have led to the destruction of the entire European population if it had not been nipped in the bud. The detailed, and necessarily repetitious, chronology of events composed by du Tertre was rendered more comprehensible by a series of maps of the islands which showed both the principal places of settlement, the location of the more coveted resources, and the plans of several of the more potent fortifications. And detailed maps, this time describing military engagements, also featured is his final volume which treated principally with the French repulsion of English efforts to invade their possessions during the 1660s, and after du Tertre had returned to France. At appropriate moments in both his first and his final volume du Tertre interrupted what was a forbidding chronology of events to draw attention to major spiritual landmarks, and he gave attention also to civil improvements such as the development of European-style cultivation, and the introduction of a judicial system. And better still, from his perspective, was a combination of civil with spiritual improvement

206

nicholas canny

as exemplified by the Jesuit house at St. Pierre on Martinique with its chapel and sugar mill, the first such on the island.21 Such casual reportage hardly prepares readers for du Tertre’s extensive treatment of the natural history of the French islands, which was both systematic and engaging and occupied most of his second volume. The first hint of his interest and competence in Natural History feature in his account of his own peregrinations from Europe to the West Indies, and from one island to the next. In his digressions, du Tertre described the changing character of marine life, he discoursed on scientific explanations for the flux and reflux of the ocean, he provided details on temperature variations and the diversity of seasons in the West Indies, he provided the calculations he had taken of wind velocity and the frequency of hurricanes between late July and September 1651 and 1656, and as he narrated his progression on his spiritual duties from one settlement to the next and one island to the other, he identified the rocks, minerals and materials of the Antilles taking note of the economic potential that each held.22 When it came to discussing vegetation du Tertre first spoke of the fertility of the soil, especially on Guadeloupe, which made possible the cultivation of European crops, and therefore the creation of a European-like society in a tropical environment. He mentioned also that two sorts of Angolan peas flourished there: one introduced by des Negres d’Angole the other by former Spanish slaves who had been introduced to the islands from the American mainland.23 And what was true of European fruits and vegetables was equally true of European animals, which, he testified, bred extremely well on good pasture. To this were added du Tertre’s descriptions of the tropical crops being grown on the island (both those that were indigenous and those that had been introduced), and the manufacturing processes that had been promoted to render some of them commercial: tobacco, ginger, cotton and above all sugar cane.24 As he described the various plants, both in words and in pictorial representation, he outlined the virtues of each whether for food, medicine or commercial purposes usually citing authority for his opinions. For those plants with proven commercial potential, du Tertre provided 21 22 23 24

Ibid., 23. Ibid., 55–71. Ibid., 80. Ibid., 92–119.

french and english contributions compared

207

graphic descriptions of how they were cultivated as well as how the desired by-product was extracted and processed. Thus the most detailed illustrations in the text describe the production of indigo, cassava bread, tobacco, and sugar. Here he displayed knowledge not only of matters botanical but also of the technology associated with each extractive process up to the point of having an end product suitable either for sale or consumption. He also discussed the range of skills associated with each step in the process, those who were responsible for successive stages of the work, and any by-products that remained after the principal extraction had occurred.25 In his discussion of fish, animals, birds, and insects, du Tertre’s contribution was original only to the extent that his illustrations were of better quality and more wide-ranging than any previously published. His information on these matters seems to have come from the observation of others, and anything original in this part of his narration seemed to derive from what he had to say of the uses that the native population and the African slave population made of these resources of nature. In the section devoted to the three populations of the French islands, du Tertre’s assessment of the indigenous society was in line with that of the other European reporters of Native American societies whose opinions we have considered. Like them it was torn between admiration for those people who he described as the happiest, least vicious, most sociable, and least counterfeit people in the world who lived in un petit Paradis, and despair for those whose infidelity and scandalous practices left little prospect that they would attain salvation. Du Tertre bewailed the scant success in converting them to Christianity and attributed this as much to the bad life of the Christians they had encountered as to the efforts of Satan to counter the missionary effort, and also to the difficulty of their language that had only recently been mastered by Père Breton for the benefit of missionaries. On the other hand du Tertre found much to commend in the fishing methods of the natives, their agricultural practices, and their skill in boat construction and navigation.26 The coherence of the community that had endured can be appreciated because du Tertre mentioned the regularity with which inhabitants of the various islands in the Caribbean and those on the mainland maintained contact with each other in their boats,

25 26

Ibid. du Tertre, Histoire general des Antilles, 1: 337–395.

208

nicholas canny

and because he provided a pictorial representation of a delegation of natives negotiating as diplomatic equals with the French.27 Because one of his purposes was to defend the reputation of the French community on the islands against their detractors, du Tertre tended to gild the lily when it came to describing the moral condition of that society. He was especially concerned to show how the various religious orders, including his own, were committed to their duties not only in administering to the spiritual needs of Christians, but also in bringing Africans as well as Caraïbes to Christian worship. This argument in favour of the religious commitment of the French on the islands was rendered plausible by du Tertre generalizing from his own particular experience of catechising children, white and African alike, in the house of the Governor. This enabled him also to express his admiration for the aristocratic and hierarchical character of French society, and this admiration was endorsed by his depiction, on the margins of his maps, of engravings of the principal residences and fortifications that had been constructed on the various islands. However he also described social cleavage within French society on the islands between those who were married heads of household of competent means, and those who were indentured servants.28 Here he made specific reference to variations of achievement among the producers and he made reference also to the artisanal skills that were represented in the French community on the islands and those that were in short supply. He could not conceal all deficiencies as, for example, the absence of a tithe for the maintenance of the church that had been compensated for by a grant, conceded by General du Parquet when he was governor, of four African slaves for the upkeep of every parish.29 This, in turn, revealed how, almost from the outset, the church on the French islands had a vested interest in the institution of slavery. Du Tertre also criticized his fellow countrymen for taking unfair commercial advantage of the natives, who did not know the true value of commodities, while the existence of a mulatto population provided evidence for him of the sexual exploitation of African women by French men whose ardor was not allayed by what he described as the hideous visage of the negresses or l’odeur insupportable qu’elles exhalent.30 27 28 29 30

Ibid., opposite p. 372. Ibid., 426–30. Ibid., 404. Ibid., 477.

french and english contributions compared

209

Just as du Tertre’s appraisal of French society in the West Indies blended original insights with conventional platitudes so also did his assessment of slave society. As he agonized over slavery, he, like de Rochefort, described the trade in slaves as detestable 31 but he contended that the institution of slavery was justified so long as slaves were treated humanely and were given an opportunity to become Christians. Here he found that the slaves maintained by the religious orders, and especially by the Jesuits, and those in the houses of the governors of the various islands, were treated in exemplary fashion. In this matter his reportage was based on actual observation and experience because he could identify the different categories of slaves on the islands, detail their work regimes, and offer explanations both of the punishments accorded them and of their responses when they perceived themselves to be treated unjustly. Essentially, as du Tertre described it, there were two different communities of slaves on the islands, those who were Native Americans slaves and des Esclaves nègres. Of the former, there were Brazilian slaves, captured by Dutch and Portuguese and presumably sold to the French, who he found a patient people particularly adept at hunting and fishing. These had become Christian, and had proven themselves reliable in the suppression of slave revolts. Another category of indigenous slaves was those from among the Aroüagues, the bitter enemies of the Caraïbes, who had become slaves by virtue of being captured in battle. These had not been found suited to laborious work but had proven themselves excellent assistants to the French in hunting, and du Tertre was satisfied that Père Breton had succeeded in bringing them to a knowledge of God through amity. Both groups, according to du Tertre, were slaves according to the classical definition of that term, in that they were a once-free people who had been deprived of the liberty.32 On the other hand, he like de Rochefort, argued that the African ‘slaves,’ taken from Guinea, Angola, Senegal and Cape Verde, had always been in that condition, except for those few of grande qualité who had been brought into a slave condition through cheating. The plight of these few, who should have been rightfully free, was the aspect of slavery that occasioned him most moral anguish. However for du Tertre, the vast majority of Africans in the Antilles who were inured

31 32

Ibid., 437. Ibid., 453–60.

210

nicholas canny

to slavery, were the happiest people in the world as could be judged from their smiling countenances when they were well used, and by their gaiety of temperament and singing at work. He found them respectful of the marriages they formed, tender in caring for their children, and especially contented when their children were baptised. The fact that they were provided with such opportunity, claimed du Tertre, made slavery as it was practiced by the French less objectionable than that used by the English and the Dutch who could not be persuaded to have their slaves become Christians.33 Among the African slaves maintained by the French, du Tertre claimed that Angolans were preferred over other groups, and, for him, the model slave settlement in the Antilles was a cluster of stone and brick houses capable of accommodating between 700 and 800 people that had been constructed by Governor de Poincy. This was called ville d’Angole and was so represented on his maps.34 It was probably in that community that du Tertre had witnessed the emergence of a hierarchical slave society with individual slaves being chosen to serve apprenticeships for two to three years in a variety of trades, ranging from masonry to cutlery. It was certainly within that slave community that du Tertre witnessed commendable efforts being made to catechise slave children. There also he found that the young blacks spoke French where their parents had used a baragouion composed of elements of French, Spanish, English and Dutch.35 While praising what he identified as positive, du Tertre acknowledged that the work regime required of all slaves was harsh, that they were continuously exposed to the sun in an almost naked condition, and that they suffered from consequential disease and premature death. Also he conceded that the tyranny of several French masters was provoking slaves into rebellious conspiracies or into becoming marrons who, by forming themselves into free communities in the woods and mountains, threatened the security of the entire colony. However, while understanding that such actions derived from the mal-treatment of slaves, du Tertre did not consider that rebellion or flight was ever justified and on this grounds he could logically condone the tortures

33 34 35

Ibid., 461–498. Ibid., 7–8. Ibid., 475.

french and english contributions compared

211

and mutilations meted out to those slaves who had dared take the law into their own hands.36 This summation reveals that du Tertre, despite his vilification of de Rochefort, drew heavily upon the platitudinous rationalization of slavery that he had presented, and du Tertre’s contribution to the subject is valuable only to the extent that it is evident that he knew some slaves and had ministered to some slave communities, even if in atypical circumstances. Again, like de Rochefort, he used the slave population as a foil to the natives on the island citing his success in converting slaves to Christianity as a vindication of the sincerity of French missionaries in pursuing their vocation despite evidence that they had not succeeded in evangelizing the natives. Thus the merit of du Tertre’s Histoire general des Antilles relates not to anything new he had to say about slaves and slavery, but rather that it set a new standard for writing the natural history of the Atlantic world, and seemed to offer a scientific base from which to justify slavery. Jean-Baptiste Labat Having thus won respect for the Dominican order as the most comprehensive reporters on French achievements in the Antilles it is no surprise that du Tertres’s work was followed up in 1722 by the multi-volume Nouveau voyage aux isles de l’Amerique contenant l’histoire naturelle de ces pays…by Jean-Baptiste Labat, based on the author’s observations and experience on the islands between 1693 and 1705. A fresh text, rather than a fresh edition of du Tertre’s volumes was called for, first because the French interest in the Caribbean had been considerably modified by war and treaties since the 1660s, and second because the economy and societies within which the French functioned in that region had undergone considerable change in the intervening period. Also French scientific method, particularly in map-making, the design and structure of fortifications, and the assembly and pictorial representation of machines, had developed considerably following the establishment of the French Academy in 1666 and the French Observatory in 1667. The thirty year old Labat who, in 1693, departed from the motherhouse of his order in Paris, and a previous career as a teacher of Mathematics

36

Ibid., 497–8.

212

nicholas canny

and Philosophy, to serve in the West Indies, was equipped scientifically and technologically as well as spiritually for what confronted him. A fellow priest who had just returned from the mission briefed him on pastoral matters, but it was evident that Labat had also been assigned a scientific responsibility since he included books, mathematical instruments and a microscope in his baggage.37 In these respects Labat was an appropriate successor to du Tertre but he was more relaxed and self-assured than he, and made himself at home in whatever company he was cast.38 Even sailors, who du Tertre’s had found a profane lot with Protestant leanings, were to Labat’s liking, and he modulated his day on his first outward voyage by saying Mass, providing lessons in geometry to the pilots, and dining well on ham, paté, stews, butter and cheese, good wine, green salads grown in pots of soil he had brought on board, and fresh bread morning and evening.39 The religious divisions that had perplexed du Tertre were of scant concern to Labat who took the dominance of Catholicism over Protestantism in France so much for granted that he was merely bemused when he encounter on Guadeloupe one Jacques le Roy from Languedoc who had been born into la religion prétendue reformée before emigrating as a youth to Holland and thence to the Antilles.40 Labat believed himself to be dealing with an island community that was mature and settled, and his only concern for the future related to possible foreign attacks and hurricanes. In this respect his experience was altogether different from that of du Tertre who, in Labat’s words, had been describing les premiers établissemens. What he saw to have been a successful outcome gave him all the more reason to join with du Tertre in refuting the calumnies of Le sieur Biet, prêtre.41 Because he admired the achievements of the islands’ European population he took a special interest in tracing the pedigrees of the notables whose company and hospitality he appreciated. To ensure that security would be more certain in the future than in the past, Labat published especially detailed maps of the islands (and of the whole Caribbean region), with special attention to the fortifications and engineering works that had provided for the defence of the 37

Labat, Nouveau voyage, 1: 20–35. Ibid., 43, where Labat gives the life history of each of his travelling companions. 39 Ibid., 36. 40 Ibid., 171. 41 Ibid., preface, and pp. 1–11; others whose work he was refuting or correcting were Le Ministre Rochefort, M.de la Barre, Le sieur Durret who had written on a voyage from Marseille to Lima and a scientist P. Feüillée who had travelled on the same voyage. 38

french and english contributions compared

213

principal settlements.42 These latter were described in scientific detail, explaining, as did du Tertre, how civilizing and Christianizing ambitions were furthered by economic endeavours, especially in the religious houses of the Dominicans and Jesuits which were maintained by food production and processing that was reliant upon slave labor.43 He saw little need to moralize about slavery because, as he saw it, the proprietors on the French islands housed and fed their slaves well and were ready to have them catechized. To sustain this point, Labat described how, both in his own parish work, and in his perambulations throughout the islands, he devoted time to preparing French children for communion and adult slaves for baptism.44 What most assured Labat of the islands’ progress towards civility was the ease with which he could travel about the islands either on his horse Corosol, which had been purchased on the Dutch island of Curaçao, accompanied by his personal creole slave, Robert Popo (at the outset a boy of 15 or 16 years, who spoke standard French which he had learned from previous priests), or in boats navigated by free negroes.45 While he was vocationally concerned with matters spiritual, Père Labat was always attentive to describing the fertility of the islands and countryside through which he passed and to illustrating the vast range of animals, vegetables, sea life and insects that flourished on the islands, including some observations he had conducted under the microscope.46 As with du Tertre, this commentary led to a critique of the social and moral conditions of the constituent elements of the population, with lesser attention than that given by du Tertre to describing the indigenous society, which was in numerical decline, and with less criticism of French society on the islands. His appraisal of slave society (based principally on what he had observed on the better-managed plantations) alluded to the opportunities provided to slaves to become Christian and to practice their faith, and he also described the work of those slaves who had taken advantage of the opportunity to acquire a trade including two of mixed race named Courtois who had been granted

42 Ibid., vol. 1, see, for example, map of Martinique between pp. 22–3; plan of Fort Pierre, p. 56; plan of Fort Royal, opp. p. 103; description of work of an engineer in constructing a fort, p. 109. 43 Ibid., 124, for an especially detailed description of the achievements of the Jesuits on Guadaloupe. 44 Ibid., 74, 96, 337. 45 Ibid., 80 and 109. 46 Ibid., for example 88.

214

nicholas canny

their freedom and made canoes.47 Like du Tertre, he deplored libertinage des blancs avec les négresses, the proof of which was a population of mixed race. Labat attributed sexual transgression principally to the ardour of white males but the lascivious black women were considered by him to have been partly responsible because they had succumbed too readily to white men seeking only to satisfy their lust.48 Labat’s scientific mind produced a detailed commentary on the commercial benefit that might accrue from the resources of the islands. In this Labat drew attention to the potential of crops such as cotton, ginger and cacao that had not been of consequence when du Tertre was writing. However his crowning achievement was his detailed accounts, supported by illustrations, of the production and manufacture of dye stuffs (annatto and indigo), tobacco and cassava.49 Then his description of the growth and processing of sugar was more comprehensive than any previously written on the subject, as he explained successive steps from planting to exportation, and the circumstances that favoured water mills over those powered by oxen or by wind.50 This was based as much on practical experience as upon keen observation since Labat described his own work designing and constructing a water-powered sugar mill with the aid of four black slaves.51 The richness of these two texts suggests that French Dominicans were the most proficient authors on the Natural History of the West Indies, even to the second decade of the eighteenth century. However the more proficient and precise they became in their reportage on the social and commercial achievements of the French the more they took for granted the existence of slavery as the mode of labor needed to promote the greater good. Thus, like de Rochefort, who they reviled, they proceeded from the assumption that Africans slaves in the West Indies had already been slaves in their home countries, and while suffering moral unease over the trans-Atlantic trade in slaves that provided themselves (and also the English) with a labor force they took some satisfaction from knowing that it was Portuguese rather than French traders who had profited from that business. And the more our

47

Ibid., 2: 88. Labat, Nouveau voyage; the entire of vol. 1, chapter 9 is devoted to “Des Mulatres.” 49 Ibid., 1: 25–32, 139–55. 50 Ibid., 155–299. 51 Ibid., 373; for illustrations of sugar engines of various types, vol. 2: 244, 245, 258, 259, 264, 266, 268, 277, 295. 48

french and english contributions compared

215

authors became accustomed to, and even dependant upon, slavery the more they rationalized its existence. The most ready means of doing this was to generalize from the particular experience of the few plantations with which they were most familiar and where slaves were treated humanely. It was only a short step from there to suggesting that those Africans conveyed to the West Indies were natural slaves who would work productively only when supervised by others, and who lived contentedly when they were thus subjected. Labat even suggested that those Africans brought into French hands had been fortunate because of the opportunities provided to slaves to achieve salvation and also to improve their condition in this life by becoming apprenticed to a trade or even by winning their freedom as a reward for good behaviour. We find an endorsement of this condescending attitude in the expanded 1742 edition of Labat’s text, published four years after his death in Paris. This, for its frontispiece, had a depiction of a portrait of Labat in a tropical setting being held aloft by a male negro youth whose smiling countenance conveyed his gratitude to Labat both for his benevolence towards him in this life and for the opportunity he had provided him to attain salvation in the next. Given the comprehensive nature of his work on African society in the West Indies, it is not surprising that, after his return to France, J.B. Labat was taken to be an expert on African as well as Caribbean affairs, and was assigned the task of composing a further five volumes, entitled Nouvelle relation de l’Afrique occidentale, published in 1728, treating of society in West Africa.52 This was based not on his own direct observation but on accounts composed by authors who had investigated the customs, religions and ceremonies of African peoples ranging from Moors in the north to blacks in the Niger basin. Here, as in what he wrote of the West Indies, Labat acknowledged that crafts flourished among African peoples, he described their music and musical instruments, he identified a variety of African languages and religious practices; and he detailed the practice of circumcision, including female circumcision, which he deplored.53 However he then cancelled all the credit he had given to Africans for their technical accomplishments and the variety of their cultures when he attributed the blackness and

52 53

J.B. Labat, Nouvelle relation de l’Afrique occidentale (Paris, 1728). Ibid., 2: 280.

216

nicholas canny

backwardness of all African peoples to the sin of Cain.54 And, as if to valorise his suggestion that all Africans were the same regardless of location, he deployed some of his earlier depictions of African slaves at work in the West Indies to describe Africans engaged on the same tasks in their home continent.55 The writings of these two Dominicans du Tertre and Labat, and similar texts by members of other French Catholic religious orders, including the Jesuits, together with the composition by the Protestant de Rochefort, may strike the reader of the twenty first century as limited and paternalistic in their representation of slavery. However they proved themselves influential in propagating the view that it was the slave trade rather than slavery that was iniquitous; a proposition that was rendered plausible by their expressed concern over the harsh treatment of slaves which threatened to taint an otherwise worthy institution. By thus isolating the slave trade as evil they were representing slavery as an unfortunate feature of life in Africa that happened to have been accidentally translated to the Caribbean, thus absolving European Christians from any culpability in the matter. Even in this they debased all African peoples by suggesting that life as a slave in the French islands represented an improvement upon their previous existence in Africa while it also offered them the incalculable compensation of the solace of the Christian message. In thus elaborating such implausible justifications for slavery French authors were, in a sense, doing the thinking for their English counterparts who, as we shall see, were relatively silent on the issue of the slave trade, and readily accorded with the opinion of our French authors whenever they considered it necessary to provide moral justification for the practice of slavery on Britain’s islands in the West Indies. Richard Ligon This lacuna in English writing may be explained by the fact that, as a Protestant nation, England had no equivalent to the great religious orders such as the Dominicans and Jesuits, whose French houses assigned individual members not only to engage in missionary work in particular colonies but to write on the natural history of those 54 55

Ibid., 2: 257. Ibid., 5: opp. 81, where he recycles an illustration of the processing of cassava.

french and english contributions compared

217

colonies just as Spanish and Portuguese members of these same religious orders had done in the sixteenth century. For their part English adventurers during the earlier part of the seventeenth century seemed more concerned to establish themselves on some of the islands of the West Indies than to chronicle their achievements, much less to reflect upon any moral dilemmas associated with their efforts. However, it seems that English writers were aware of French precociousness in this domain if for no other reason than that one seventeenth-century publication in English on general European achievements in the West Indies was an adaptation from the French. The text in question, published in 1666, was John Davies, The History of the Caribby Islands in Two Books the first containing the Natural, the second the Moral History of those Islands . . . with a Caribbean Vocabulary.56 Although purporting to have specific reference to the English islands this was no more that an adaptation and partial translation of de Rochefort’s 1658 text, Histoire naturelle & morale des iles Antilles de l’Amerique. Even then it included but a selection of the illustrations that de Rochefort had reproduced while the Caribbean vocabulary of which its title boasted was but a translation into English of the word list compiled by Père Raymond Breton and that had been incorporated in the de Rochefort text. Moreover, as Davies acknowledged in his preface, his volume was especially deficient for the English-reading public it was intended to serve because it included no maps of the English islands, and the altogether greater shortcoming, which Davies did not acknowledge, was that the observations on which its authority rested were those of de Rochefort rather than of Davies himself and related to the French islands rather than those occupied by the English. Despite these shortcomings the Davies text proved important in that it introduced English readers to the rationalization of slavery favoured by one French author. Since Davies’ The History of the Caribby Islands can hardly be considered original, the only seventeenth-century text published in English with any pretension to match in quality the natural histories of the Atlantic world composed by French authors, is Richard Ligon, A True and Exact History of the Island of Barbados.57 This book, in Ligon’s view,

56 John Davies, The History of the Caribby Islands in Two Books the first containing the Natural, the second the Moral History of those Islands . . . with a Caribbean Vocabulary reduced into English by John Davies of Kidwelly (London, 1666). 57 Richard Ligon, A True and Exact History of the Island of Barbados Illustrated with a Map of the Island. . . . together with the Ingenio that Makes the Sugar (London, 1657).

218

nicholas canny

fell short of the ideal because his own detention in debtors’ prison in England had made it impossible for him to include visual depictions of a scientific kind that he, as an artist, considered essential to his task. Instead, the few illustrations of trees, plants, and fruits that he did supply were derived from “some pieces of limning” that he had executed after his return to England from his “memory only” rather than being drawn from the life. If circumstances had permitted he would have proceeded “more like a master” to design “a piece of landscape, and one of story” presented in color, in which he would have shown “the postures of the negroes in their several kinds of sports and labors and with it the beauties of the vegetables that do adorn that place.”58 Instead Ligon’s Exact History was principally a narrative derived from memory and notes describing, for the most parts, the accomplishments of the principal planters on the island of Barbados, probably those who had entertained and employed him during his two year sojourn beginning in 1647. To his narrative and his few illustrations was added a map of Barbados.59 The most striking feature of this map was its arrangement of the chief plantations on Barbados just as they that had been first witnessed by Ligon from on board ship “one above the other: like several storeys of stately buildings.”60 What Ligon had to say of sugar production, and the acquisition and management of servants and slaves, thus derived as much from what he had seen done by his hosts as from his own involvement with these matters. However some of his commentary on slave society in Barbados, describing how slaves spent their Sunday leisure time wrestling, playing music, dancing, huckstering, and sowing crops for their own benefit, suggest that this was based on his own close observations.61 Ligon, like the French authors whose writings we have considered, adopted a paternalistic attitude towards the African slave population of the West Indies; he would have his readers believe that slaves had been brought to Barbados only after they had first “been taken prisoners by prince or potentate in their own country”; that they were of slower

58

Ibid., Dedication. Ibid.; Ligon described the map as “a topographical description and admeasurement of the yland of Barbados in the West Indyacs with the names of the severall plantations.” 60 Ibid., 21. 61 Ibid., 46–52. 59

french and english contributions compared

219

wit than the native American slaves, principally from the mainland, who also worked for the Barbadian planters; that they were “a happy people whom so little contents [and who made] very good servants, if they be not spoiled by the English”; that they were “a people of a timorous and fearful disposition and consequently bloody when they find advantages”;62 but that they could be “truly honourable and conscientious” when they were treated mercifully rather than cruelly by their masters.63 He described the precautions that the planters had taken to deal with possible combinations and slave revolt but Ligon considered that these would prove less necessary in the future because “discreet and better natured men” who had come to dominate life in Barbados and treated “their servants well in their meat, drink and lodging and gave them such work as is not fit for Christians to do.”64 Ligon also acknowledged the skills that had been acquired by those slaves who had previously spent time with the Portuguese,65 and his general optimism concerning relations between masters and slaves can be gauged from his gripping description of the “lovely sight to see a hundred handsome negroes, men and women, with every one of them a grassie-greene bounch of these fruits [plantin] on their heads, every one twice as big as their heads, all coming in a train one after another, the black and green so well becoming one another.”66 This word picture, among many, suggests that he, like the French observers of slavery, was satisfied that Africans were content with their menial condition whenever they had the good fortune to be placed on well managed plantations. The description of, and specifications for, the sugar mill, which Ligon termed an Ingenio, that was included in the Ligon text, was as precise as anything that would be described by du Tertre or even Labat and probably owed a good deal to his close study of the object and its functions. However Ligon’s account of living conditions and work practices in seventeenth-century Barbados seems biased in favor of what he had witnessed on the plantations of the larger sugar producers who, at the very moment when Ligon was writing, were squeezing out the lesser planters who had sustained themselves with the production of a range of marketable crops and not sugar alone. This in itself, gives it a particular

62 63 64 65 66

Ibid., 50. Ibid., 52. Ibid., 44. Ibid., 52. Ibid., 43–4.

220

nicholas canny

value as a text for its time, as does Ligon’s description, based largely on his experience on the outward voyage, of the commercial networks that had been established between Barbados and other locations in the Atlantic ranging from several points on the coast of west Africa to Madeira and the Cape Verde islands, whereby commodities required on Barbados were bartered either for the produce of those other locations or for commodities which had been brought from Europe. While Ligon was thus able to locate Barbados within a broader Atlantic commercial world, he seemed less concerned than his French counterparts over the moral issues raised by trade in slaves as is suggested by his passing comment that the business that had brought his ship to Madeira on the outward voyage was “to trade for negroes, horses and cattle which we were to sell at the Barbados.”67 Sir Hans Sloane To say that Ligon’s Exact History, the single most frequently cited source on the society created by the English in the West Indies during the course of the seventeenth century, falls short, by the author’s own admission, of being a true ‘naturall’ history of those islands identifies Sir Hans Sloane as the first English-language author whose work fitted that description. Sloane’s A Voyage to the Islands of Madeira, Barbados, Nieves, S. Christopher and Jamaica, with the Natural History . . . of the Last of these Islands was published in 1701, and a second supplementary and complementary volume with copper plates followed in 1725.68 The author himself would not have demurred at being described a pioneer in the writing of Natural History, at least from within England and his native Ireland, since, in his preface, he detailed both the methods he had employed in the field, and how he had conveyed specimens back to Europe where he had shown them “freely to lovers of all such curiosities,” in various parts of England and Ireland and had sent them to Amsterdam, Leiden, Leipzig and Uppsala. Sloane was also a pioneer

67

Ibid., 2. Hans Sloane, M.D., A Voyage to the Islands of Madeira, Barbados, Nieves, S. Christopher and Jamaica, with the Natural History of the Herbs and Trees, Four-footed beasts, fishes, birds, insects, reptiles, &c of the Last of these Islands. To which is prefix’d an Introduction, wherein is an account of the Inhabitants, Air, Waters, Diseases, Trade &c . . . Illustrated with the figures of the things described . . . In large copper-plates as big as the life, 2 vols. (London, 1701–1725). 68

french and english contributions compared

221

in that the illustrations of botanical specimens he incorporated into his text were larger, more vivid and more authentic than those of any previous author of any nationality.69 He was also able to situate his work in the European mainstream because he had had his medical education at Montpellier, when it was still a Protestant university,70 and had kept himself appraised of French writing on natural history regardless of the religion of the authors.71 While, like any good scientist, Sloane was driven primarily by curiosity there was also a utilitarian dimension to his work in that he wished to ascertain the medicinal qualities and “uses” to which the plants he was describing had been “put to in any of the countries wherever they grow.” It was in this context that Sloane, like the French authors we have discussed, had occasion to mention both the indigenous population of the islands and the slaves who had been introduced there from Africa and other areas of the Atlantic basin. His appraisal of the uses made by native Americans, Africans and his fellow European peoples of the plants of the West Indies was with a view also to establishing which plants were indigenous to the islands, and which had been brought there, and from which sources, by some of the several peoples, “Europeans, Indians and Blacks” who had been involved with the islands since they had first became know to Europeans following the Columbus voyage. Like the other authors whose works we have considered, Sloane was interested in how the resources of the islands, and particularly Jamaica, might best be processed and sold, and he included an especially interesting digression on sugar refining and whitening as this was exemplified on his plantation by Sir Francis Watson who had built a refining house valued at £6,000.72 Moreover, as was to be expected from a medical doctor who had been first employed in Jamaica as a physician to the duke of Albemarle, he included some acute observation of the diseases prevalent among the different elements of the population of the island, including

69

Ibid., preface. E. St. John Brooks, Sir Hans Sloane: the Great Collector and his Circle (London: The Batchworth Press, 1954). 71 In the preface to his second volume, he cited Labat as an authority and in both volumes he made reference to Plumier as a guide by whom he would have meant the French Franciscan priest Charles Plumier author of various botanical works on the West Indies including Description des Plantes de l’Amerique avec leurs figures (Paris, 1693). 72 Sloane, A Voyage, 1: introduction, lx–lxi. 70

222

nicholas canny

the slave population, which were supported by his case notes.73 Sloane also made use of the most up-to-date geographic knowledge, including “A New Chart of the Western Ocean”; to illustrate the commercial inter-dependencies that had been established between widely dispersed areas of the Atlantic.74 Sloane refrained from moralizing on slavery and the slave trade, and his disdainful mention of a ship just “arrived from Guinea loaded with Blacks to sell . . . very nasty with so many people on board” tells more of his fastidiousness than of his concern for the unfortunate slaves.75 One of the most frequently quoted aspects of his work relates to his comments on the music of slaves and his depiction of their instruments made from whatever materials came to hand, and on how he had required “Mr Baptiste, the best musician here, to take the words they sung and set them to music.”76 However this recognition of the musical accomplishment and capability of African slaves did not earn them the respect of Sloane who considered Africans “much given to venery” with their songs being “all bawdy . . . leading that way.”77 This summation indicates that Sloane’s interests were as wide ranging, and his methods as precise, as those of any of his generation writing on the Natural History of the Atlantic. His depiction of plant life was scientifically superior to anything that had gone before not only in its precision but in its concern to relate the plants he was describing to the categories of plants that were being designed by other scientists in Europe and more particularly by several authors of different nationalities, ranging from Portuguese Jesuits, who had reported on botanical life in Brazil, to French Franciscans who had listed the plants, especially the ferns, they had encountered on the French Antilles. On the other hand he had less to say than his French counterparts concerning the indigenous population of Jamaica possibly because he recognized them to be a dwindling community who were less independent, and less potent militarily, than their counterparts on the French islands. This economy of effort as well as his professional skills as a doctor provided him with more occasion than his French equivalents to comment on the intimate lives of the slaves on the English islands including their health and the relative merits of European and African treatments of

73 74 75 76 77

Ibid., xc–cliv. Ibid., after cliv. Ibid., preface, lxxiii. Ibid., 1: li, 2: tab 232. Ibid., 1: introduction, xlviii.

french and english contributions compared

223

various diseases. There is no doubting that Sloane respected Africans (slave or free) as human beings, and he was consciously seeking to improve their lives by compounding better medicines and establishing how people, from whatever cultural background, overcame privation and famine conditions.78 But that said, Sloane seemed less troubled than his French counterparts over the issue of slavery other than to admonish masters to be more considerate of their slaves and to avoid unreasonable punishments lest cruel treatment provoke unwarranted disturbance. As we absorb these observations of Sir Hans Sloane which, although published in the eighteenth century were, like the commentary of Jean-Pierre Labat, based on a seventeenth-century experience, we can move towards some general conclusions. First it emerges that seventeenth-century depictions of slaves and slavery, whether by French or English authors, were usually offered in the context of more general representations of the natural histories of the islands on which Europeans had recently settled. This meant that commentaries by French authors, and particularly by members of French religious orders, provided more detail than English authors on the slave communities of the islands because the formula they had been trained to follow when writing natural history required a detailed description of the life and manners of each element of the population as well as of the flora and fauna, of the islands they were describing and the uses to which these might be put for the benefit of humanity. Despite being more detailed, the French accounts were no more sympathetic to the African population than were the English ones, and both sets of authors proceeded from the assumption that African peoples (or at least those who had ended up as slaves in the West Indies) were less capable intellectually than other peoples including the native populations of the Americas whether slave or free. This proposition came perilously close to suggesting that Africans were natural slaves, as was inferred by the repeated statements that African slaves were happy in that condition. Moreover, both English and French authors supposed that those who were slaves in the West Indies had first been made slaves (or sold themselves voluntary into slavery) in Africa, which conveniently absolved the European slave owners from any culpability in that matter. We noted how French

78

Ibid., 1: introduction, xxi–xxiv.

224

nicholas canny

authors agonized more than their English counterparts over the transAtlantic slave trade possibly because French traders were not, at this point, seriously involved in the business. When discussing the plight of slaves in the West Indies itself both sets of authors acknowledged the gravity of punishments, ranging from whipping to castration and other mutilations, that were doled out to slaves, and while they deplored these when they were not justified (not least because they threatened to provoke slave insurrection), they stood firmly behind the authorities when they imposed exemplary punishments to deter dissidents from further insurrection or arson. The two sets of authors were again able to relieve their consciences over such unpalatable issues by concentrating on how those they regarded as model planters managed their slaves in a humane fashion, and by suggesting that the future lay with them. Ultimately, the only essential difference between the two sets of commentaries of slaves and slavery is that while each could point to the skill enhancement, career advancement, and even emancipation that could be achieved by good workers within the slave system, only the French could identify slavery as a vehicle that enhanced the prospect of good workers also in the next life because only they permitted the evangelization of slaves. How extensive and how successful their missionary efforts were is not calculable, and was possibly slight. However, Richard Ligon in mentioning the denial by one Barbadian planter of the wishes of a ‘Sambo’ to become a Christian—on the grounds that “the people of that island were governed by the laws of England” which decreed that no Christian might be a slave—was tacitly acknowledging that this denial placed the English at a disadvantage in formulating an apologia for slavery.79

79

Ibid., 50.

SLAVERY’S DEMISE AND LEGACY

CHAPTER NINE

ABOLITION AND IDENTITY IN THE VERY LONG RUN David Eltis A global shift in attitudes toward coerced labor has occurred in the last three centuries. Whereas all societies once accepted slavery and the slave trade as useful, but unremarkable institutions present in most societies, now it is inconceivable that chattel slavery and the slave trade could exist ever again. Such a shift has happened in one country after another so that today no state anywhere sanctions slavery or slave trading. In some countries the change has manifested itself as a popular campaign against abuse, while in others, such as the Netherlands, it happened with little pressure from below. But in all instances the end result has been the same. The fact that in our own day the terms ‘modern slavery’ and ‘modern slave trades’ can increasingly be used to describe activities that no captive emerging from the hold of a transatlantic slave vessel would recognize as slavery is, in a sense, testament to how far and how fast values have altered. It is possible that modern sex slaves and child laborers around the globe might out-number chattel slaves in the Americas just prior to the formal abolition of slavery, and some law-enforcement authorities certainly tolerate the conditions under which such individuals are forced to labor. But such conditions are not enshrined and protected by law, and the share of the modern labor force that comprise ‘slaves,’ or, more broadly, dependents of their employers is a tiny fraction of what it was in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. How did the world—and there is no doubt that the shift was global in scope—move from unquestioning acceptance of coercion to current attitudes that see slavery as the apotheosis of evil?1 Historians have hardly ignored this question. Indeed, the shifts in the historiography of abolition have been as dramatic as the disappearance of

1 For this association see David Eltis and Stanley L Engerman, “Slavery and Evil,” in Steve Mintz and John Stauffer, eds., The Problem of Evil: Slavery, Freedom, and the Ambiguities of American Reform (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2006), pp. 54–60.

228

david eltis

the phenomenon itself. We need not review the debates in detail, but a salient feature or two should be noted. Most early abolitionists felt there was no tension between humanitarianism and economic interest—Africa would take its place in global commerce once the ravages of the slave trade were ended, and in the Americas and elsewhere, slave owners would find free laborers to be more productive than slaves. In the aftermath of abolition, when Africa’s share of world trade began to decline and the former slave plantations of the Americas did not do well, “the triumphant achievements of British abolitionists were interpreted . . . to support the view, as phrased by philosopher, John Stuart Mill, that ‘the spread of moral convictions could sometimes take precedence over material interests.’ ”2 But from the re-publication of Eric Williams’ Capitalism and Slavery in 1964 to John Ashworth’s Slavery, Capitalism, and Politics in the Antebellum Republic in 1995 it was the economic interest strand of the original abolitionist position that became the mainstream explanation for the ending of the slave trade and slavery, though with the Industrial Revolution (and the new entrepreneurs it spawned) at center stage rather than the economic interests of the planters themselves.3 The idea that the ending of the slave trade and slavery served the economic interests of industrializing nations still predominates in the Caribbean and in many histories written for a mass audience. In the last decade or so, however, the ties

2 David Brion Davis, Inhuman Bondage: The Rise and Fall of Slavery in the New World (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 238. 3 Capitalism and Slavery was originally published in 1944 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press), but the book’s massive impact on the historiography developed only after its re-issue in 1964. See Howard Temperley, “Eric Williams and the Birth of a New Orthodoxy,” in Barbara L. Solow and Stanley L. Engerman, eds., British Capitalism and Caribbean Slavery: The Legacy of Eric Williams (Cambridge: Cambridge: University Press, 1987), 229–58. The new transatlantic slave trade database (at www.slavevoyages.org, henceforth Voyages) shows that the Portuguese slave trade was almost twice the size of the British and casts further doubt on how such a traffic could have generated both capitalism and abolition in Britain and not in Portugal. But even historians who disagreed with Williams, including the author, still accepted his linking of industrialization and abolition and searched instead for ways of making the connection that did not rest on direct financial rewards for those supporting abolition. See David Brion Davis, The Problem of Slavery in the Age of Revolution (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1974); Seymour Drescher, Capitalism and Antislavery: British Mobilization in Comparative Perspective (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987); David Eltis, Economic Growth and the Ending of the Transatlantic Slave Trade (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987). Ashworth’s book (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995) does not even mention Williams’ work though it hews much more closely than Williams to the classical Marxist interpretation with which scholars have traditionally associated Capitalism and Slavery.

abolition and identity in the very long run

229

between industrialization and abolition have received less attention. In part this is because of greater interest in the participation of peoples of African descent in abolition (both slave and free) and also in the difficulty of tracking down a credible role for industrialization—either in terms of identifying the direct economic beneficiaries of abolition or in making ideological links between the two phenomena. Societies had accepted slavery as a central social institution for centuries prior to 1780, and the campaign to rid at least the western world of the slave trade and slavery was thus both sudden and swiftly successful. Within a century, the transatlantic slave trade and slavery in the Americas had gone. Orlando Patterson and David Brion Davis have explored the genesis of the idea of abolition as well as conceptions of slavery over the very long run, yet their superb analyses of intellectual trends and state policies tend only to underline the sharp discontinuity between the pre- and post-1780s. Christopher Brown has tracked the failure of early anti-slavery initiatives, but sees attempts to abolish slavery as a product of the American, rather than the Industrial Revolution.4 The long run perspective of these scholars is essential. Yet if we shift the emphasis of inquiry away from the history of ideas, state policy, or British angst triggered by defeat in America, and toward an examination of changing perceptions of cruelty, and how people of different cultures interacted with each other—both within their own societies and between cultures—we can at once reduce the discontinuity and make the disappearance of chattel slavery easier to understand. Such an approach is one sense a return to David Brion Davis’ earlier work with its concern for changing conceptions of sensibility over the centuries prior to the age of abolition.5 Slavery was just one extreme form of social and personal relations and it is unlikely that changes in the way it was perceived occurred in isolation from other central social relations, or was even the most significant of such changes. I have argued elsewhere that abolition is best viewed as a phase in a titanic clash of identity. In the Atlantic after 1492 oceans that had hermetically sealed peoples and cultures from each other sprouted sealanes almost overnight. Cultural accommodation between peoples, in

4 Davis, Age of Revolution; Orlando Patterson, Freedom, 2 vols. (New York: Basic Books, 1991–), 1: Freedom in the Making of Western Culture; Christopher Leslie Brown, Moral Capital: Foundations of British Abolitionism (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2006). 5 The Problem of Slavery in Western Culture (Cornell University Press: Ithaca, 1966), 363–94, 480–516.

230

david eltis

this case between Africans and Europeans, always took time. The big difference was that before Columbus, migrations had been gradual and tended to move outwards from the more to the less densely populated parts of the globe. But Columbian contact was sudden, and inhibited any gradual adjustment, in terms of values just as much as it did in epidemiological terms. A merging of perceptions of right and wrong, the erosion and redrawing of group identities, and relations between the sexes, to look only at the top of a very long list of social values that came into conflict, could not be expected to occur quickly in a postColumbian world. In short, cultural accommodation could not keep pace with transportation technology. The result was first the rise, and then, as perceptions of the insider-outsider divide slowly changed, the fall, of the transatlantic trade in enslaved Africans. During the long coercive interlude of forced transatlantic migration, European and African conceptions of self and community (and eligibility for enslavement) did not remain static. On the African side, the initial and unintentional impact of European sea-borne contact was to force non-elite Africans to think of themselves as part of a wider African group. Initially, this group might be Igbo, or Yoruba, but also blacks as opposed to whites. And on board a slave ship with all the slaves always black and the crew largely white, skin color quickly came to define ethnicity.6 In this essay I would like to provide new evidence in support of this interpretation and link it with other latent elements of anti-slavery (if not abolition) that have a history as long and as complicated as slavery itself. The identity element is rooted in the fact that every group of enslavers has had a set of criteria that have separated out those eligible for enslavement from those that are not. Abolition of slavery is in a sense no more than making these criteria all-inclusive. A second element stems from the fact that most slaves by definition have wanted to escape from slavery, and thus resistance to the institution is as old as the institution itself. Some slaves had always managed to permanently abscond, commit suicide or join in rebellions that might last years, but resistance to slavery never threatened the existence of slavery itself prior to the late eighteenth century and “never challenged the justice of

6 For an early use of ‘whites’ in a racialized context in the English West Indies see George Fox, Gospel, Family-Order, Being a Short Discourse concerning the ordering of Families, Both of Whites, Blacks and Indians (London, 1676), 13–14, cited by Philippe Rosenberg, “Thomas Tryon and the Seventeenth-Century Dimensions of Anti-Slavery,” William and Mary Quarterly (2004): 609–642 especially n. 31 on p. 621.

abolition and identity in the very long run

231

slavery as an institution.”7 Rarely had the resistance of slaves or even direct and personal experience of enslavement persuaded slaveholders or slaveholding societies to contemplate abolition. The Earl of Inchquin, enslaved by the Barbary “pirates” while sailing to Jamaica to become governor of a slave colony, James Irving, who had a similar experience when the slave ship he commanded was wrecked on its way to Africa, and the liberated Africans who returned to Yorubaland from Sierra Leone in the 1830s provide clear enough evidence of this last point. The first eventually took up his post anyway, the second took command of yet another slave voyage when he was ransomed and several Yoruba became slave traders when they reached their homelands.8 Yet it is nevertheless probable that without the resistance of slaves, abolition would not have happened, or at least would not have happened when it did. The third antislavery element derives from the rules of conflict—and the attendant attitudes to violence—that evolved in the centuries prior to abolition. In the eleventh century it was still possible on the fringes of Europe for prisoners of war to be enslaved and for several centuries thereafter no quarter was given in civil wars and military conflicts with Celts, Croats, and Turkic peoples. Yet rules of war did develop between states in Western Europe—in the English case after the Norman Conquest—that removed the possibility of enslavement or made death for prisoners, and certainly civilians, less likely.9 I have argued elsewhere that this constituted a major step toward making Europeans off-limits for enslavement by other Europeans, but here my interest is more in drawing attention to the fact that the acceptance of rules indicates shifts in what communities considered to be appropriate violence and indeed, a narrowing of limits on violence. The corollary was an increasing concern with cruelty and brutality that became more

7 David Brion Davis, “American Slavery and the American Revolution,” in Ira Berlin and Ronald Hoffman, eds., Slavery and Freedom in the Age of the American Revolution (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 1983), 276. 8 David Eltis, Rise of African Slavery in the Americas (Cambridge, 2000), 57–84; Suzanne Schwarz, ed., Slave Captain: The Career of James Irving in the Liverpool Slave Trade (Wrexham, Clwyd: Bridge Books, 1995). The two slave voyages are voyageids 80295, 81242 in the database. Jean Herskovits Kopytoff, A Preface to Modern Nigeria: The “Sierra Leonians” in Yoruba, 1830–1890 (Madison, Wis.: University of Wisconsin Press, 1965), 108. 9 Matthew Strickland, War and Chivalry: The Conduct and Perception of War in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).

232

david eltis

marked during the late medieval period and Renaissance.10 Intensive debates developed in Europe on what these limits should be by the time of the Thirty Years War and the British variants of these, fuelled by a burgeoning print culture and tracked by analysis of the content of titles of published works, has been interpreted as an increasing sensitization toward violence. Three topics in particular dominated the pamphlet literature between 1640 and 1700: the Civil War, rebellion in Ireland, and sectarian conflict between Protestants and Catholics.11 Philippe Rosenberg has argued that these issues provided “models for complaints” against other forms of violence, particularly in the domestic sphere, the jailing of debtors, and captivity abroad, including slavery, all of which were clearly of lesser concern. Yet when we consider that in the second half of the seventeenth century, pamphleteers wishing to draw attention to abuses in England would often use the term ‘slavery’ rhetorically, it is startling to see how few references there were to the full chattel slavery that was growing rapidly in the plantation Atlantic at the same time. Rosenberg’s analysis of keywords such as ‘bloody,’ ‘cruel,’ ‘barbarous,’ and ‘inhumane,’ appearing in the English Short Title Catalogue shows dramatic peaks in usage between the 1640s and 1680s, but almost always in relation to the three domestic issues above. Yet these were the very years that English slave merchants were ensuring that England would become the leading slave trading power in the Atlantic, and, for a while, the leading slave power in the Americas. The quite sudden revival of full chattel slavery under English jurisdiction, enforced with an everyday brutality that would have triggered outrage if instituted in England, was carried out without public discussion.12 Some questioning of slavery has existed

10 Philippe Rosenberg, Negative Enlightenment: The Polemics of Brutality and the Cultivation of Restraint in the British Isles (1640–1700) (forthcoming). I thank Dr Rosenberg for generously allowing me to read and cite his manuscript in advance of publication. 11 Ibid., Chapter 2. 12 A search for the words ‘slave’ or ‘slavery’ in the titles included in the Goldsmith’sKress Library of Economic Literature: A Consolidated Guide, 4 vols. (Woodbridge, Conn.: Joyce Printers, 1976–77), and R.L.G. Eureka, English Short Title Catalogue (London: British Library, 1992) for the years 1600 to 1710 generates 173 hits, but almost all use these terms either in a metaphorical sense, or refer to white slavery in North Africa, or to slavery in some part of the world other than the slave colonies. When the Caribbean is mentioned in connection to slavery the reference is usually to white servants being treated as slaves.

abolition and identity in the very long run

233

in most societies though it has often been subsumed in discussions of eligibility, as in the long debates among Islamic scholars on who could be enslaved. Even as the early modern European slave empires of the Americas emerged, critics of slavery from Jean Bodin through the early Quakers to Thomas Tryon developed arguments that were little different from those employed by their more successful nineteenth century successors. How could seventeenth century debates on violence make little reference to the slave colonies or how they were sustained? How could eighteenth century newspapers still run advertisements for runaway slaves when, for at least two centuries, it had been thought that no one entering England, the Netherlands, and France could remain a slave?13 The failure of anti-slavery arguments to resonate in the seventeenth century is striking, as indeed is the failure of attempts to establish alternatives to slavery in the eighteenth century.14 It is, perhaps, time that scholars interested in the origins of the abolitionist impulse either return to Davis’ earlier work or tap into the new literature on the history of sensibilities and a changing awareness of others in the seventeenth and eighteenth century.15 Identity New evidence on the first of the three precursors of abolition to be examined here—the identity element—is provided by the naming pattern of slave ships, study of which is facilitated by the new transatlantic slave trade database. These may be used as an indicator of the increasing engagement between African and European peoples, albeit at an elite level. One obvious preliminary point is the fact that the great majority of slave ships were named no differently from other oceangoing vessels. Until the illegal period of slave trading this suggests that the slave trade

13 Daily Courant, April 28, April 30, May 2, 1713 (London); Williamson’s Advertizer, May 4, 1780 (Liverpool), cited in Gomer Williams, History of the Liverpool Privateers and Letters of Marque (London, 1897), 554; Eltis, Rise of African Slavery, 82. 14 See Brown, Moral Capital. 15 The foundational works on the history of violence and cruelty by Norbert Elias and Michel Foucault appeared somewhat formalistic to many scholars even at the time of publication and were largely ignored by students of slavery and abolition. The more recent focus is on the historical evolution of attitudes to violence as a social construct subject to constant reformulation by communities via a print culture. This offers more promising avenues of investigation for those interested in the rise and fall of the plantation complexes of the Atlantic World.

234

david eltis

was seen as having no stigma. Vessels were named after the owners or the owners’ family members or their collective aspirations. Hope, Good Hope, or more pointedly, Espera Dinheiro (hope for money) can be seen frequently.16 Others took the names of royalty or prominent members of the aristocracy, though admittedly in the last years of the slave trade these were more likely to be peers who opposed abolition like the Duke of Clarence. Occasionally a poetic name leaps out to contrast with the on-board filth and hopelessness—the Dutch Watergeus, the Portuguese Flor do Mar or its English counterpart, Seaflower. Such contrasts are not just incongruous to modern eyes. They point to an obliviousness to the horrific that can only come from assigning a people to the category of ‘other,’ and go to the root of what made slavery and the slave trade possible. The filth and hopelessness on say the Watergeus was not experienced by Europeans and in a sense did not therefore exist. That African peoples were outsiders, eligible for enslavement, and Europeans were not, made it possible for French slave ships that went to get slaves after the outbreak of the Revolution to be named the Citoyen, and the Fraternité. Then there were the many U.S. and British slavers after 1755 named Liberty, and the celebration of freedom and independence encapsulated in the registration of the U.S. slave vessel the Fourth of July. There is no hint of ironic overtones in any of these cases. Of course not all of these vessels would have been named specifically for a slave trade voyage—most vessels sailed in more than one type of trade over the course of their lifetime. But to the modern observer the basic lack of eighteenth century awareness of the tensions between the name on the one hand, and the function of the named vessel on the other, is no less striking. Arguably, such tensions testify to the still yawning gap in cultural accommodation and identity between Europeans and Africans. Yet less than a century later in the last years of the slave trade (1850–1867), names that appear incongruous to the modern observer had disappeared completely. Racism existed and of course still exists. Colonial partition of the sub-continent and the murderous twentieth century still lay ahead. But a massive shift in awareness occurred in the course of the eighteenth century. In 1700 one prominent figure in colonial New England society,

16 The voyages (and of course names) of every one of the vessels mentioned in this and the following paragraphs can be easily called up using the ‘search the Database’ function on the voyages database site at www.slavevoyages.org.

abolition and identity in the very long run

235

Samuel Sewall, launched an attack on slavery based in part on the golden rule. He drew attention to the enslavement of New Englanders in North Africa and argued that “we are . . . culpable in forcing Africans to become Slaves amongst ourselves.” A high profile published exchange ended with Sewall’s position rejected, and in New England, as everywhere else in the Atlantic world, “[s]lavery . . . experienced little opposition until the decades of the Revolution.”17 Charles James Fox repeated the argument in 1792 when he asked how Members of Parliament would react if “a Bristol ship were to go to any part of France . . . and the democrats (there) were to sell the aristocrats, or vice-versa, to be carried off to Jamaica . . . to be sold for slaves.”18 This time defenders of the slave trade responded only with economic reasons for its retention and the supposed benefits to Africans of being removed from Africa, and the latter argument may in fact be seen as an acceptance of the golden rule. By the mid-1860s almost everyone around the Atlantic recognized the force of Fox’s argument, first made seventy years earlier by Sewall, that violation of the golden rule was the “foundation of the whole business (of the slave trade).” No society thereafter formally sanctioned a slave trade. Guards and inmates alike knew the awful irony of slogans such as “Arbeit macht frei” in the Nazi concentration camps. By contrast, the captains and crew of the numerous vessels named the ‘Liberty’ in the eighteenth century had no such awareness. That is the measure of the shift that made abolition possible. Acceptance of the golden rule on this issue was effectively extending the limits of ‘insidership,’ or ineligibility for transportation in a slave ship. The role of religion in the patterns of naming reinforces the dichotomy between the slave trade and modern era. Down to the beginning of the nineteenth century the Portuguese and Spanish invariably named their vessels after saints, the holy family, or other subjects of religious veneration. It is noteworthy that the naming process was often designed to invoke divine intervention to secure the success of the voyage. By contrast the few names of religious figures that appear on the registry of English, Dutch and French vessels were either of national significance—St. George, for the English, Saint Louis, for the French for example—or major figures in the Old and New Testament—King 17

Samuel Sewall, The Selling of Joseph (Boston: Bartholomew Green, and John Allen, 1700). For a review of the debate see Lawrence W. Turner, “The Sewall-Saffin Dialogue on Slavery,” William and Mary Quarterly (1964): 40–52. For quotes, see pp. 43, 52. 18 Parliamentary Debates, 1792, XXIX: 1122.

236

david eltis

David, for example, and in the seventeenth century Dutch slave trade, S. Jan, S. Jan Baptist, S. Pieter, S. Michiel, Profeet Daniel, and Engel Gabriel.19 Names could also be just religiously generic like the Don de Dieu. Its American counterpart, Gift of God, was sent out, interestingly from Massachusetts in 1650, when Puritan influence and godliness there were close to peaking. English, French and Dutch owners of such vessels probably saw no special protective significance in such names. Portuguese vessels by contrast were named after figures who were thought able to control the success of the voyage. In 1743, Captain Dionísio da Silva, part owner of the Nossa Senhora de Nazaré e São Antônio, was drifting helplessly toward rocks on the Brazilian coast with a full cargo of slaves when he prayed to São Antônio (St. Anthony) for a favorable wind, promising in return to build a church if one was forthcoming. One was indeed forthcoming and the vessel delivered its slaves in Rio de Janeiro. Inside the resulting church there hung until recently a painting of the vessel complete with the captain praying on the deck of the drifting vessel.20 In a further example a few years after this incident, a slave ship owner, Teodózio Rodrigues de Faria, erected what is still one of the most popular churches in modern Bahia, Nosso Senhor do Bonfim, after surviving a shipwreck through what he saw as the intervention of his patron.21 For almost eighteen centuries, Christian slaveholders had accommodated slavery to their religion; why should slave traders have been any different? Yet the misery and mortality of a slave ship was somehow of a different magnitude to what most

19 Wim Klooster has raised the possibility that Dutch ships en route to Spanish America adopted saint’s names in order to camouflage Dutch ownership (personal communication) The secularization of ship names nevertheless probably occurred in the Dutch slave trade about 125 years (late seventeenth century) before the same process in the Portuguese traffic (early nineteenth century). It does not seem likely that disappearance of religious names in the Portuguese traffic was linked in any way with a new sensibility, or recognition that the slave trade might no longer be respectable. 20 Emanuel Araujo et al., Para Nunca Esquecer: Negras Memórias, Memórias de Negros (Rio de Janeiro: Museu Histórico Nacional, 2002), frontispiece. The vessel depicted is in fact voyageid 8148 in the database. For a similar case in 1756, see the painting, “Milagre de Nossa Senhora do Rosário do Castelo a Francisco de Sousa Pereira,” in the Museu dos Biscainhos in Braga, Portugal which shows the story of a captain who survived an on-board slave rebellion by praying to Our Lady of the Rosary of Castelo after whom the slave ship was named, though in this case the vessel was probably involved in the intra-American slave trade. I thank Stuart Schwartz for drawing this to my attention. 21 See ids 47612, 50730 and 50758 in Voyages. I thank Alexandre Ribeiro for drawing my attention to this case.

abolition and identity in the very long run

237

slaveholders ever observed. Not only was no tension perceived between the Christian message and forcing hundreds of unwilling people onto a tiny ship for a transoceanic voyage, but a Christian god and his minions were expected to go out of their way to ensure the success of such a venture. Our main interest here, however, is in the ship names that refer to Africans. For this category, the ships’ names show a clear progression over two centuries from the general to the particular. We focus here on the names of northern European and US vessels. The first recorded English voyage was by a ship called the Negro (1556) and Negro and Negro Merchant appear as the English trade expanded in the 1650s. In the following decade Black Boy, Blackamoor (plus variants) and Ethiopia or Ethiopian were used, and in 1720s the sickeningly named Negro’s Nest made three voyages. Variants on Africa remained in use by all national participants throughout the slave trade, but apart from this, general references to the people of Africa disappear from the English traffic by 1730, though they continued to be used in the French. References to specific African peoples, by contrast, first appear in the early eighteenth century with fifteen vessels named after the Fanteen (or Fanti) on the western Gold Coast by 1760—the African group with whom the English had the earliest and most enduring trading contact (initially in gold). Place names on the African coast become increasingly common from the late seventeenth century, as do titles of African rulers. From the Roy Damel, Damel being the title of the ruler (or king) of the Wolof kingdom of Cayor in what is now northwest Senegal, in the north to the rather vague Roy d’Angole in the south, dozens of English and French slave vessels assumed such titles.22 This may track no more than a growing familiarity with the trading environment, but it also reflects a formal recognition of some Africans as equal trading partners. Almost as many vessels were named after the titles (as opposed to the actual individual names) of African rulers as their European counterparts. In 1755 the name Othello appears for the first time and is the name of the vessel in twenty-four British and U.S. 22 The others include Queen of Barra; King of Dahomey and its French variants, Roi d’Akim; Roi d’Ardres; Roi de Cabinde; Roi de Juda; Roi de Malimbe; Roy d’Ambris; Roy de Gabingue; Roy de Louangue. With some exceptions these vessels traded with or close to the polity after whose head the vessel had been named. The Dutch never seemed to tailor their ship names to African individuals. Perhaps this was a reflection of the high proportion of fort trade on their vessels and the relative lack of direct interaction between ship owner and captain, and African trader.

238

david eltis

slave voyages through to 1795. In European eyes, Africans continued to be the only candidates for transportation in a slave vessel, but just as clearly a small, but growing number of Africans had come to hold a different status for Europeans. But the progression to the specific in naming practices was not limited to geography or to titles. French and English ships in the eighteenth century also began to be named after African individuals who are known to have lived at the time23 The first slave ship to be so named was the King Amboe, a vessel that sailed out of Bristol in 1724. King Ambo was then an eighty year old Obong or ‘mayor’ of Old Calabar. He was the head of the most powerful ward in the community prior to the evolution of the Ekpe society that was later an umbrella organization for slave trading in which English slave captains as well as Africans were members.24 After 1750 the practice proliferated. First, the generic King of Bonny (five voyages, 1758–66) was replaced by the King Pepple (ten voyages, 1786–99)—King Pepple being the head of the Anna Pepple house in Bonny. The first French vessel named after an African appears to have been Le Roi Guinguin, in 1764—Guinguin being a ruler of Badagry, a port which became a major source of captives for French slavers down to 1793. In Upper Guinea, there was a similar progression from the general to the specific in the second half of the eighteenth century. Instead of the King of Sherbro in the 1760s, we have several voyages of the King Grey and its French counterpart Roy Grey, in the 1780s and 1790s. The king in question was a southern Vai ruler from whom both the French and English obtained slaves.25 Further north, the Roy Kanta, a Honfleur slaver in 1790, was probably named after a Temne king. Vessels named the King Willy and the Willy Tom Robin, the latter an Old Calabar slave trader who died in 1820, also traded for slaves later in the eighteenth century, as did King Bell,

23 The absence of this trend for Dutch ships is curious. If it is suggestive of lower degree of engagement with Africans than the French and English had, perhaps one could speculate that such a pattern is consistent with the very divergent route to abolition that the Netherlands took—that is to say the total absence of a Dutch abolition movement. 24 Stephen D. Behrendt and Eric J. Graham, “African Merchants, Notables and the Slave Trade at Old Calabar, 1720: Evidence from the National Archives of Scotland,” History in Africa 30 (2003), 37–61: 48, 50. 25 I thank Stephen D. Behrendt for this identification.

abolition and identity in the very long run

239

the major slave trader in the Cameroons. King Bell’s son signed one of the first anti-slave trade treaties in the 1840s.26 The invocation of individual African names, even for vessels carrying off Africans to chattel slavery in the New World, implies a much greater degree of interaction between African and European than do generic references to African peoples embodied in the ship names of an earlier era. A similar pattern is apparent in European recognition of the names of individual Africans. For three centuries after ocean-born contact with sub-Saharan Africa, Africans in the European Atlantic world, whether enslaved or free, were either anonymous or known by Europeanized names.27 In the English slave Americas African names survived to a limited extent in Europeanized form to a much greater degree than has been appreciated28—but renaming, or in the Iberian worlds, formal christening was certainly the norm. Africans who received recognition or acceptance in European society did so under European names. African names emerge only in the 1780s when Ottobah Cugoano (baptized John Steuart in 1772) and Olaudah Equiano (Gustavus Vasa) reverted to their former (or what they claimed were former) names.29 In those parts of the Atlantic World affected by abolitionism, even before orthographies of African languages emerged, Europeans increasingly accepted the African birth-name. African names begin to appear in the recruitment records of slaves purchased in Africa at the end of the eighteenth century put into the British army.30 Beginning in 1819, international courts established in several locations around the Atlantic as part of attempts to suppress the slave trade, recorded the personal details of over 70,000 captive Africans found on board slave vessels.31 The records of such liberation that were 26 The Prince Tom which made eight voyages between 1756 and 1774 was also likely named after an African, but I have not so far been able to identify this individual. 27 The best recent review of an African presence and African status in fifteenth and sixteenth century England relative to southern Europe is Gustav Ungerer, “Recovering a Black African’s Voice in an English Lawsuit: Jacques Francis and the Salvage Operations of the Mary Rose and the Sancta Maria and Sanctus Edwardus, 1545–ca. 1550,” Medieval and Renaissance Drama in England 17 (2005): 255–71. 28 Kwesi de Graf, “Transcribing Enslaved African Personal and Place Names from the Atlantic Slave Trade Database” (unpublished paper, 2008). 29 Even Ayuba Suleiman Diallo was known as Job Ben Solomon during his sojourn in England in 1733–34. 30 Roger Norman Buckley, Slaves in Red Coats: The British West India Regiments, 1795–1815 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979). 31 David Eltis, “Liberated Africans in Time and Space: An Overview” (Conference on Liberated Africans at University of California, Berkeley, May, 2008).

240

david eltis

created in Havana and kept in Spanish listed an assigned Spanish name as well as the original African name—the first time to my knowledge that any Iberian authority systematically took note of the birth names of Africans. The equivalent records kept in Sierra Leone dispensed altogether with a European name and attempted what must have been a phonetic rendition of the African name alone.32 Such practices would have been inconceivable prior to 1780 and constitute, however limited, some indication of cultural respect. The trend in naming patterns indicates some erosion of skin color or sub-continental origin (Europe vs. sub-Saharan Africa) as the central separators of insider from outsider. In the case of slave ship names it also underscores acceptance of one group of slave traders (Europeans) of the definitions of eligibility of enslavement of another (Africans),33 which in the end constituted, from the European perspective, a shrinking of the pool of potential slaves. Patterns in the evolution of the naming practices comprise, by themselves, a limited indication of trends that could have significance for the onset of abolition. They have to be seen in conjunction with shifts in the behavior of non-elites—African and European alike. If we focus attention away from those who traded slaves, to the Africans who found themselves below decks on a slave vessel, it is possible to discern a quite different element of the recasting of identity that forms the core of this attempt to reassess the emergence of abolitionism. As mentioned earlier, and argued at length elsewhere, on-board slave resistance patterns indicate that barriers of languages and culture between captives on board the same slave vessel lessened over the course of the slave trade.34 Slave rebellions were both more frequent and more likely to be successful in the second half of the eighteenth century than earlier, as Africans integrated both skin color and ‘African’ as elements of self-perception and joined forces against the crew. African resistance reduced the numbers of captives carried across the Atlantic and in addition shaped the direction of the traffic, but it was never by itself sufficient to bring the slave trade to an end.35

32

See the African names database at www.slavevoyages.org. Robin Law, “Legal and Illegal Enslavement in West Africa in the Context of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade,” in Toyin Falola, ed., Ghana in Africa and the World: Essays in Honor of Adu Boahen (Trenton: Africa World Press, 2003), 513–33. 34 Eltis, Rise of African Slavery. 35 Ibid., Ch 7; Stephen D. Behrendt, David Eltis and David Richardson, “The Costs of Coercion: African Agency in the History of the Atlantic World,” Economic History Review 54 (2001): 454–76. 33

abolition and identity in the very long run

241

Slave Ship Rebellions Slave resistance made a critical contribution to abolition for quite a different reason. It appears to have played a central role in the emergence of antipathy toward the slave trade in the English-speaking Atlantic given that the increased incidence of revolts coincided with the rapid growth of an extraordinarily rich newspaper culture in Britain and what became the U.S. Revolts comprised the rawest possible edge of interaction between cultures with the thinnest possible zone of intermingling of peoples separating them. Given the large size of the populations of Northern Europe and sub-Saharan Africa, the extent of intermixing on the African coast was miniscule. ‘Atlantic creoles’ have received huge attention recently, but from a broad Atlantic perspective they were numerically trivial and the role assigned to them has verged on hyperbole. European experience of Africans was mainly as slaves in the Americas; African experience of Europeans was largely as slave owners and buyers. The largest part of that interaction was not war, conquest, a gradual infiltration of one by the other—much less the cooption of a tiny group of peoples of mixed European and African descent—but rather a system embodying the most extreme form of labor exploitation possible. For three centuries after ocean going contact was established Africa and Europe remained insulated from each other and their chief point of contact—the slave trade—was a specialized business that received about as much public attention as the whale fisheries or the fur trade.36 The great broadsheet, pamphlet, and eventually newspaper culture that exploded in England during the seventeenth century took almost no notice of either the establishment of the slave colonies or the trade in people that sustained them. In the eighteenth century the number of newspapers increased—by the 1750s there were seventeen daily, triweekly and weekly newspapers circulating in London alone and another forty in the provinces—and stories from the slave colonies and from slave voyages began to form the subject matter of their columns in a way that commerce in long-distance non-human commodities never did.37 Like the advent of television in the mid-twentieth century there 36

The Netherlands, for example, sent far more vessels and men to hunt whales than to carry slaves from Africa between 1680 and 1720. 37 The most convenient way to track the distinctive time profile of reports of slave ship revolts in newspapers is at www.slavevoyages.org or the appendix in Eric Robert

242

david eltis

was now suddenly a medium for the dissemination of information about the interaction of Africans and Europeans that had never existed before. Far more people read newspapers than read the private reports and travel books on which scholars have traditionally relied in their explorations of cultural differences in the Atlantic, or than talked to sailors and Africans on the wharves of European ports.38 As noted below, the origin of newspaper interest in such matters appears to have begun in the 1720s. It predates but was certainly reinforced by a striking increase in the incidence of slave rebellions. A record of 579 rebellions or attacks on the slave ship and its auxiliary boats is now available.39 Almost four out of every five of these are recorded as occurring in the period 1726 to 1800. A comparison with the profile of the volume of the slave trade itself reveals that slightly fewer than one in two of all slaves were carried off from Africa in this period. Is it possible that a greater proportion of slaves was really likely to rise up in this period—most of which falls into the era that precedes the slave trade reaching its peak? The answer is in part, yes. In the very early era of the slave trade—before 1630—vessels in the large segment of the traffic supplying the Spanish Americas were restricted by law to carrying one slave per ton.40 The mean number of slaves per ship carried off from Africa was under 200, and on average there was one crew member for every nine slaves.41 Crew size changed little thereafter, but the average number of slaves per vessel increased by almost 50 percent. At the other end of the traffic—after 1800—the share of children carried doubled from about one in five to two in five, for reasons that are still

Taylor, ‘If we must die’: Shipboard Insurrections in the Era of the Atlantic Slave Trade (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2006), 179–213. For newspapers see Jeremy Black, The English Press in the Eighteenth Century (Philadelphia, University of Philadelphia Press, 1987). 38 The most convenient way to track the distinctive time profile of reports of slave ship revolts in newspapers is (given the fact that Voyages is multi-sourced and does not link specific bits on information in a given voyage record to specific references) is the appendix in Eric Robert Taylor, If We Must Die, 179–213. 39 These data constitute a revised version of the database used in Behrendt, Eltis, Richardson, “The Costs of Coercion.” 40 António de Almeida Mendes, “The Foundations of the System: A Reassessment of the Slave Trade to the Spanish Americas in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” David Eltis and David Richardson, eds., Extending the Frontiers: Essays on the New Transatlantic Slave Trade Database (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 63–94. 41 Crew counted at departure from Africa. All statistics calculated from Voyages.

abolition and identity in the very long run

243

poorly understood. Both these factors must have reduced the incidence of slave revolts in the early and the late eras of the slave trade. One further factor reinforces the argument for a disproportionate share of slave-ship rebellions occurring in the eighteenth century. It is now clear that the coastal provenance of the slaves shifted markedly between 1751 and 1775, and that this shift increased the incidence of revolts. It was in these years that slave vessels began to trade in Upper Guinea to a greater extent than ever before (and, indeed, after). As voyages leaving this region—comprising Senegambia, Sierra Leone and the Windward Coast—always experienced significantly higher violent incidents than those leaving Africa south and east of the Windward Coast, the impact was to push up the total number of rebellions.42 Yet crew per slave ratios, the demographic composition of captives, and geographic origins of those captives cannot by themselves explain the striking time-profile of ship-board resistance that emerges from surviving documents. An important part of the explanation stems from changing patterns in the reporting of revolts during the eighteenth century which made it more probable that a record of such events would survive. In short, there may have been more slave ship revolts in this period, but those incidents were also more likely to have been reported—particularly in the published record. If this was the case, then we should be able to say something about the changing preoccupation of the literate public. To understand this last point it is necessary to recognize that for much of the history of the slave trade, as also for slavery itself, the resistance of slaves, while feared, was not unexpected, or regarded by the larger society as exceptional and even worthy of report, unless on a large enough scale. A preliminary tracking of newspaper coverage of violent incidents over the last two centuries of the transatlantic traffic shows that initially such incidents were rarely the subject of press or pamphlet coverage. Violent crime and military violence was much more likely to be reported—the former in the form of street crime, public punishments and shaming. In the English and North American press, relative indifference to slave ship and plantation violence lasted into the 1720s, when a second phase of coverage may be discerned marked by a new willingness to report resistance in the colonies, conflicts on

42 David Eltis and David Richardson, “Productivity in the Slave Trade,” Explorations in Economic History 32 (1995): 465–84.

244

david eltis

the African coast, and violence at sea, including piracy—the latter no doubt triggered by the upswing in piracy in the aftermath of the Treaty of Utrecht. Eighty years followed in which violence in the Atlantic slave system was regularly before the reading public, culminating of course in the St. Domingue revolution and intense public discussion of the abolition of the slave trade. After 1807, a third phase of coverage of the slave trade in British and American newspapers is apparent. Attention shifted sharply away from revolts and toward the detention of foreign slave vessels. In the American case, the internal slave trade from the Old to the New South became a major pre-occupation. More central to the present argument is the second of these three phases, but the very long-run pattern is also of interest. The entry of slave revolts into the public record can be shown with some precision. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, violent incidents on slave vessels whether within the crew, among slaves, or between crew and slaves, appear in private correspondence, logbooks, and occasionally in court records, but not generally in the nascent newspapers of the period. A slave rebellion was a misfortune of business, but not a matter of public interest. In fact newspapers did not exist in Brazil (where over forty percent of slaves arrived) until the nineteenth century, or in most ports around the Atlantic from which vessels cleared for slaving expeditions. A complete run of the Lloyd’s List shipping newspaper exists for 1702–1704, a period for which other sources tell us that five instances of slave revolts on English vessels occurred. Not one of these was reported in Lloyd’s List. By 1742, when continuous runs of the publication once more become available, reports are frequent. In other newspapers the first references to violent resistance by slaves occur in 1726 and are extremely cryptic—phrases such as “cut-off ” or “slaves rose,” and little else.43 In the first quarter of the eighteenth century there was far more interest in the attacks of Barbary corsairs, the resulting enslavement of English sailors, and, of course at this time, violence involving pirates—including that against slaves.44 Sources other than the newspapers make it clear that the resistance of captives was 43 Lloyd’s List, no. 167, 1703. There may well be earlier references, but until the extensive newspaper holdings of the Bodleian and British libraries are digitized and made searchable, it is beyond the means of any individual scholar to extract everything this material has to offer. 44 See for example, News Letter, Jan 21, 1716; The Weekly Journal or Saturday’s Post, March 15, 1718. The Weekly Journal of Oct 10, 1719 reported that off Ouidah “the Pirates commit un-heard of Cruelties; they have hang’d Capt. Abraham Plumb of the

abolition and identity in the very long run

245

taking its toll of slaving ventures in these years, yet the incidents are not seen as worthy of publication. Beginning in the late 1720s, public interest in the English Atlantic (but not as far as we can tell in the non-English Atlantic) apparently increased and more detail is provided on the incidents themselves.45 A typical report reads: The Hester and Jane, Captain Bond from London, having taken on a considerable number of Slaves on the Coast of Africa, for the Leeward Islands, the Negroes rose and murdered all her crew, Except the Master and 4 Men, who by good Fortune made their Escape, and got on Shore in their Boat, leaving the Ship in the Possession of the Negroes.46

In 1731, the dramatic story of the Rhode Island sloop, the “Little George,” attracted wide attention on both sides of the Atlantic and has frequently been reported by several historians from different sources. The ninety-six captives gained control of the small vessel six days after leaving the Banana Islands south of Sierra Leone. The captain, three crew, and a boy were trapped in the cabin under the quarter deck in a stand-off while the captives managed to sail the sloop back to the coast, run the vessel ashore and make their escape. The account was dramatic, filled with incident and, as with many of these early reports, written by a survivor or someone who was there. The Daily Post Boy published it in full, giving over more than a column of its four pages to the story. The depth of coverage here and in other newspapers constitutes a watershed.47 For land-based incidents the rebellion on St. John in the Danish West Indies in 1733 where slaves took control of the whole island was given similar coverage in the London press. Thereafter, slave revolts, but particularly those on slave ships, where of course they were most common, are reported systematically in the English language press on Prince’s Galley; and just as if they set themselves apart to study Cruelty, have hang’d several of the Negroes by the Legs, and afterwards shot ‘em.’ 45 There was no counterpart to the newspaper culture of the English-speaking Atlantic in the areas held by other slave trading powers, so comparisons across national boundaries are not possible. Paradoxically, the slave-trading country with the most complete record of slave ship rebellions is France. The paradox arises from the fact that captains of ships on ocean-going voyages were required to submit detailed reports of their completed voyages to the port authorities upon their return, and in the case of Nantes, these reports have largely survived. These remained part of the official record, but never formed part of a published record. 46 Daily Journal, May 26, 1727, London. 47 Daily Post Boy, June 25, 1731. See inter alia Kenneth Scott, “George Scott, Slave Trader of Newport,” American Neptune 12 (1952): 222–28.

246

david eltis

both sides of the Atlantic. The vessels concerned were mainly English, but, what we know of rebellions on French, Dutch and Danish vessels also often comes from such newspapers.48 The tone of the reports was matter of fact, though the rebels were occasionally termed ‘barbarous.’ The reports bring to mind public executions or disasters or street crimes. There is a strong sense of placing the reader at the scene and being involved in the horrors of the events. A sense of sharing is the same as making the reader feel what those present must have felt, and while the captives are sometimes cast as the villains, this is not always the case. Later in the eighteenth century newspapers reported these events to a greater extent and in more detail. Cataclysmic events such as the 1773 explosion of the New Britannia during a slave revolt, from which only Captain Stephen Deane and a single slave survived out of 236 captives and 53 crew, had no parallels in the non-human commodity trade of the Atlantic by this time—natural disasters and war apart.49 The Scipio suffered a similar fate in 1749, but had no survivors.50 Slave vessels found floating in the Atlantic with only a few captives on board and no crew in the aftermath of a successful rebellion fascinated the reading public. In one instance the facts became known because one of the crew had survived long enough to maintain a logbook during and after the slave uprising, but when the vessel was recaptured all the crew were dead. The fifty-four recaptured slaves were taken into Charleston where they were sold.51 For decades there is no hint of anti-slave trade sentiment, or links to issues of rights. Eric Slauter has tracked mentions of ‘natural rights,’ ‘rights of man,’ ‘human rights,’ and the ‘slave trade’ in three major electronic collections of eighteenth century publications—the Goldsmith-Kress Library of Economic Literature (for 1750–1849), Eighteenth Century Collections Online, and American Imprints, 1700–1819. ‘Human Rights’ comes into use slowly only in the nineteenth century, and prior to the late 1780s, as we might expect, usage of ‘Rights of Man’ is fairly

48 Specific references may be found in the expanded data base by selecting all those voyages with a positive value in the ‘African resistance’ variable for these years, and then displaying the sources in the ‘Results listing’ panel. 49 Gentleman’s Magazine, October, 1773, p. 523; Lloyd’s List, June 18, 1773; South Carolina Gazette, May 31, 1773. 50 Lloyd’s List, January 5, 1750. 51 For these three cases see voyageids 25,486 in 1808, 25,045 in 1785, and probably 32,981 in 1770, in Voyages. Taylor, If We Must Die, 128 mentions these cases.

abolition and identity in the very long run

247

rare. An upward trend in mentions of ‘Natural Rights,’ however, is apparent from the 1720s, well before a modest increase in the trend line for the slave trade begins in the 1760s. Unfortunately, the collections he consults do not include any newspapers. While the latter never link the topics of natural rights and the slave trade before the second half of the eighteenth century—although I have made no effort to log references to natural rights in early newspapers—it is suggestive that awareness of both topics apparently increases at about the same time, albeit in different branches of the print media.52 By the 1760s and 1770s, when reports of slave revolts in newspapers are at their most frequent (and the incidence of revolts in the slave colonies is relatively low), references to natural rights are already half or more of the level of usage attained during the 1780s, 1790s and early 1800s. After 1807, while mentions of the slave trade in print continue to increase, paradoxically there is much less information on shipboard resistance. Rather than violence within the hold, it is violence between vessels that captures attention: captures of slave ships by British and American naval vessels pick up and ship revolts become less frequent. The reasons for this dearth are pertinent to the themes of this paper. As already noted, there was very likely a decline in shipboard violence because in contrast to earlier periods, well over half of those carried off from Africa in the nineteenth century were women and children. In addition, the volume of the transatlantic slave trade was generally substantially lower than in 1727–1807. Yet many more revolts must have occurred than are reported. Two quite different reasons for the sparse information on nineteenth century revolts must be considered. First, there were far fewer English and U.S. vessels on the coast after formal abolition, and thus a major source of information for the newspapers had disappeared. And, of course, from 1802 (Danish abolition) to 1830 (Brazilian abolition), the slave trade became illegal around the Atlantic and was carried on less openly. But why were reports of revolts not appearing in the non–English language press? The transatlantic slave trade was dominated by the Spanish and Portuguese after 1807. Cuba, one major destination, had no free press. In Brazil, now the most important remaining market for African captives, a press evolved with

52 Eric Slauter, commentary, presented to “The Bloody Writing is forever Torn,” a Conference on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, held at Elmina, Ghana, August, 2007.

248

david eltis

the move of the Portuguese court to Rio de Janeiro after 1808, but while they reported shipping movements—as did the London press a century earlier, newspapers were no more likely to record and describe slave revolts prior to 1830 as were their earlier London counterparts. And then from 1830, the traffic slipped partly under cover because of its illegal status. On the other side of the Atlantic, ports in Spain and Portugal were not centrally engaged in the slave traffic—only the small Amazonia traffic was under the partial control of Lisbon merchants by the late 1820s and there were few voyages from the Iberian peninsular thereafter. The lower incidence of revolts after 1807 and less readily accessible information on those that did happen meant that published reports on the slave trade began to focus on captures. The tone shifted from a matterof-fact statement of outcome of a voyage to outrage, to melancholy, to horror, to indignation that slave traders could do such a thing. The Illustrated London News first began to present pictures and slave ship captures. Pictures of captives after recapture became a staple item, those after 1860 likely to have been drawn by artists from a photograph.53 Overall, incidents of violence on the African coast and on board slave vessels were reported in print more frequently than similar news from the plantation Americas prior to the outbreak of the St. Domingue revolution. Such reports served to keep the slave system before the public eye and for the English newspaper reader comprised the main form of information to come out of that system. In terms of the broader argument presented here, awareness of the struggles of slaves was at once likely to accelerate abolition, and, given the split in the ruling class that abolition constituted, make land-based revolts, at least, more likely to occur as well as to improve their chances of success. Attitudes to Violence While reports of violence from the Atlantic appearing in the English press continued to increase, attitudes to violence within England did not stay the same. The limits of what was considered acceptable violence continued to shift. The easiest way to follow such patterns is

53 For examples see the images on the slave trade page of Jerome S. Handler and Michael L. Tuite, Jr., Virginia Foundation for the Humanities web site at http://hitchcock.itc.virginia.edu/Slavery/.

abolition and identity in the very long run

249

through the evolution of penalties and public reaction in the criminal justice arena. The master-servant act remained part of the penal code until 1875, and servants continued to be incarcerated and fined, but the penalty of physical chastisement diminished in the course of the eighteenth century.54 In 1351 the English Treason Act defined the murder of a husband by a wife as petty treason for which the penalty was burning at the stake. This clause was not repealed until 1790. From 1675 to 1773, six women were condemned for the offence. The fire was set as close as possible to the site of the offence—usually in the street—and while the executioner had the option of dispatching the condemned women before lighting the fire, this did not always happen. The last time the sentence was carried out was probably in 1737.55 Witchcraft was also defined as petty treason, but had its own act. It was repealed in both England and Scotland in 1736. In England the penalty was hanging, with the last execution occurring in 1684 and the last conviction in 1712. In Scotland, where cases were much more common (as in France and Germany), there were at least 3,837 prosecutions between 1563 and 1736. The penalty was burning at the stake with the last cases prosecuted in the 1720s.56 As for High Treason, there are twenty-seven cases in the Old Bailey Proceedings, but twenty-three of them occurred before 1717. When Colonel Edward Marcus Despard and his co-conspirators, in a plot to kill George III, were sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered in 1803, public concern led to the sentence being commuted to hanging and beheading.57 The “quarters” of the ten regicides, “mangled and cut and reeking as they were brought from the gallows in baskets,” that diarist John Evelyn noted in 1660 as he arrived late for the execution,

54

Seymour Drescher, The Mighty Experiment: Free Labor versus Slavery in British Emancipation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 13. 55 Petty treason also included the murder of a master by a servant. These cases are available on the “Proceedings of the Old Bailey, London, 1674 to 1834” web site at http://www.hrionline.ac.uk/oldbailey/search/crime. For the botched burning of Katherine Hays in 1726, see the Daily Journal, May 1, 1726. I have not been able to find any record of the sentence of burning at the stake of Elizabeth Herring in 1773 being carried out. 56 http://www.shc.ed.ac.uk/Research/witches and http://www.library.usyd.edu.au/ libraries/rare/witchcraft/witchcraft.html 57 Mike Jay, The Unfortunate Colonel Despard: The Tragic True Story of the Last Man to be Hung, Drawn and Quartered (New York: Transworld Publishers, 2005).

250

david eltis

were indeed of an earlier age.58 The mass execution of 52 pirates, all British, over a two week period in April, 1722 on the Gold Coast falls into the same category.59 The introduction of the drop at the gallows in 1783, and thus the elimination of slow strangulation (paralleled in France by the guillotine a few years later), meant that the means of death itself were becoming somewhat more humane. The English domestic relationship that was closest to that of slave owner and slave in the plantation system was that of the master-servant. The murder of a master by the servant—a subversion of normal hierarchies to match that of a woman killing her husband—was also defined as petty treason, with the penalty for men being hanging, drawing, and quartering. While the draconian terms of the master-servant act remained in place until 1875, by the mid-eighteenth century the penalty was hanging, followed by dissection. To be “dissected and anatomized” by surgeons was an extra penalty reserved for aggravated murder. But as protests and riots at the practice increased during the eighteenth century it was clear that this form of judicial violence, too, was moving into the unacceptable category.60 The master who had the greatest powers over servants, indeed, close to absolute, was the sea captain, but here too some de facto limits developed over time. Records of the mid-seventeenth century Admiralty courts contain instances of piracy, mutiny, disputes over wages and property, but no cases that I have seen of captains prosecuted for excessive use of force. Such prosecutions first appear well into the eighteenth century, many resulting in acquittal.61 But John Jane, a Bristol captain, was condemned for “barbarously” killing a cabin boy and jeered by a large crowd on his way through London to execution at Wapping Dock.62 The chief mate of another Bristol ship, the Mary, threw a yam at a seaman on a slave ship in the Bight of Biafra, killed him, and then immediately absconded (not a tempting option in the Bight of Biafra) rather than face trial.63 Mate Thomas 58 Diary of John Evelyn (London: Macmillan and Co., 1901), entry of 17 October, 1660. 59 For the trial and executions see High Court of Admiralty (HCA), National Archives, Kew 1/99/pt3. 60 See Peter Linebaugh, London Hanged: Crime and Civil Society in the Eighteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). Linebaugh does not note a trend, but the evidence he provides certainly points to increasing protests over time. 61 Emma Christopher, Slave Ships, Sailors and their Captive Cargoes, 1730–1807 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 97–108. 62 Daily Journal, April 26, 1726 and May 3, 1726. 63 Whitehall Evening Post, Sept., 26–28, 1732.

abolition and identity in the very long run

251

Sanderson beat a sailor with a #2” rope in 1739 and was prosecuted,64 and many similar cases appear thereafter. Tensions between master and servant, street crime, domestic violence, the retribution exacted for such acts, and of course warfare made late eighteenth century Europe, and especially London, a dangerous environment. But the limits of what was tolerable and appropriate had nevertheless narrowed relative to the previous century. There was no such change in the Atlantic slave system, by contrast. As early as 1788, the Times reprinted runaway slave advertisements from West Indian newspapers that used scars and deformities from punishments to identify the slaves. This, the paper argued, was evidence of the “usage received by Negroes in captivity.”65 In the aftermath of acts of slave resistance, large-scale painful death remained the norm. Concern at loss of property that retribution inevitably incurred might impose restrictions on the numbers killed. Thus, while executions on slave ships were invariably horrific, they were usually limited in number given the strong effect of mortality on the profitability of the voyage.66 But in plantation society the owners of slaves executed after rebellions were often compensated by the state, and with the costs spread to the community as a whole, such limits were less likely to be observed. Historians have noted the huge contrast between the number of whites killed by slaves in the series of rebellions toward the end of slavery in the British Caribbean, and the number of slaves killed by whites after the rebellion was suppressed.67 But the key impact for campaigns against the slave trade of such events came in the late eighteenth century with the publication of accounts of wars against maroons, violent reactions to slave conspiracies, real or imagined, and, of course, the violence unleashed in St Domingue in 1791. Awareness of overseas

64 HCA, 24/139 Thomas Powell v Eustace Hardwicke—no outcome to the case survives. Cited in Marcus Rediker, The Slave Ship: A Human History (London: John Murray, 2007), 247. 65 The Times, April 2, 1788. 66 A sample of fifteen slave voyages for which a detailed record of retribution has survived includes one savagely spectacular instance from the nineteenth century where 47 slaves were killed after the suppression of an uprising (the ‘Kentucky,’ voyageid = 3433), but apart from this, the average was between one and two captives executed. 67 The argument here for the role of violent resistance of slaves in the emergence of abolition in the second half of the eighteenth century is similar to that put forward for the last years of British slavery by Gelien Matthews [Caribbean Slave Revolts and the British Abolitionist Movement (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2006)], in this case slave revolts in the British Caribbean rather than on board slave vessels.

252

david eltis

violence and the different role it played in relations between master and slave on the one hand, and master and servant on the other had never been greater.68 The transatlantic slave trade formed a bridge, literal and figurative, between these two diverging conceptions of appropriate violence. Because, for the most part, the slave trade was organized in Europe, it was bound to reflect the tensions between the standards that held in Europe on the one hand and Atlantic slave societies on the other. While ship’s officers might be prosecuted for cruelty practiced on ordinary seamen in the second quarter of the eighteenth century, there were certainly no cases involving cruelty to slaves on board slave vessels then, or earlier. A half century later, however, captains could become infamous for their involvement in the death of slaves as well. The Zong trial of 1781, arising from the fact that slaves were thrown to their deaths by Captain Luke Collingwood, and the Captain John Kimber case involving the torture of a slave girl,69 were unusual only in the sense that they became well-known, not because it was the first time that such things had happened. Captain John Brelsford, the second mate, surgeon and a crew member of the Sarah were acquitted of murdering two slaves in 1802, but the charges were prosecuted by the Advocate-General, and the judge commented that “it was necessary that the affair should have been sifted to the bottom. When the Admiralty heard a charge made . . ., they were bound to institute an enquiry.”70 Such a comment could not have been made by a seventeenth century judge, nor could

68 The classic graphic account was that of John Gabriel Stedman, Narrative of Five Years’ Expedition Against the Revolted Negroes in Surinam (London: J. Johnson, 1796). For St. Domingue, one interesting European reaction that focuses on the violence, not much used by historians, is Henry Brougham’s An Inquiry into the Colonial Policy of the European Powers (Edinburgh: E. Balfour, 1803). While even then an ardent abolitionist, Brougham’s view of violence against the planters is in places not much different from that of a grand blanc. By the 1820s, however, when he was the most effective of the abolitionist speakers in Parliament, slaves appear in his speeches as peaceloving peasants subject to unfair restraint. It should be noted that Caribbean attitudes to violence did not remain completely unchanged. In 1811 the trial and execution of the Honorable Arthur William Hodge, a member of the HM Council of the Island of Tortola, for the sadistic murder of a slave, was widely reported in newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic. It is difficult to imagine the trial and execution of a planter for such an offence in any earlier era of Caribbean history. 69 Christopher, Slave Ships and Sailors, 178–81. The fact that neither of these men was convicted is beside the point. 70 HCA 1/61, ff.348–57; The Times, November 12, 1802.

abolition and identity in the very long run

253

the attention all of these cases attracted have occurred in the 1680s or the 1730s. Four separate acts from 1788 to 1799 governing the space provided by slave vessels and the conditions under which the trade was carried on also had implications for violence. The ultimate purpose of this legislation was to reduce voyage mortality, seen then as directly connected to crowding. Among the longest articles of the original law, usually termed Dolben’s Act, were those requiring surgeons to keep a sworn log of the cause of each slave death. The log was to be handed over to the Collector of the Customs of the first British port entered after departure from Africa.71 Subsequent legislation, particularly the 1799 Act, increased the level of oversight, and penalties for non-compliance very significantly. Whatever the broader impact on mortality of the 1788–1799 acts regulating the slave trade, they must have inhibited casual violence and can be viewed as an attempt to impose an evolving British sense of what violence was appropriate on to the part of the slave Atlantic directly under metropolitan control. While the first regulation to impose limits on numbers carried was Spanish, dates from the sixteenth century and was repealed, Dolben and its successors had a measurable impact and were widely publicized. The legislation can be more appropriately grouped with the first British Passenger Act of 1803, though it was clearly the slave trade that seemed most at odds with the sensibilities of the late eighteenth century. In terms of the larger argument proposed here, the widening difference between conceptions of appropriate violence in Europe on the one hand, and Atlantic slave systems on the other, have an additional implication. On the part of Europeans not directly involved in the slave system, the pattern indicates a massive change in awareness of the black Atlantic since the early eighteenth century. It also points to a developing assumption that the rule of law should apply to slaves just as much as to others, and that in the long run all should be subject to the same law. And one fundamental element of a shared identity, though clearly not sufficient by itself, is being subject to the same law. The laws governing the transport of slaves and those dealing with passenger transportation were of course very different, and conditions on these

71 Great Britain, Statutes at Large, Geo III, 1788, c. 54, clauses 3 and 4. The stated motive in the Brelsford case above was the captain’s need to bring the numbers of slaves on board down to the limits allowed by the later 1799 act.

254

david eltis

two branches of transatlantic commerce remained drastically separate. Yet collectively the British acts of the 1788–1799 period regulating the slave trade are sufficiently different from their Spanish and Portuguese predecessors that they constitute some erosion of the ‘outsider’ status of those occupying the holds of slave ships. Briefly in France in the 1790s, and more gradually and permanently in the British system in the first decades of the nineteenth century, slave resistance together with metropolitan pressure resulted in the establishment of new conceptions of appropriate violence in the slave systems. The abolition of the slave trade, beginning with the Danes in 1802, had the effect of bringing a degree of homogeneity to the long-distance transportation of labor. The differences in regulations and conditions under which convicts traveled to Australia, Asian contract labor went to the Mascarene Islands, South Africa, and the Americas, steerage passengers voyaged across the Atlantic from northern Europe, and African contract labor went to Jamaica in the nineteenth century appear small compared to those migrating in the various forms of pre-1800 migration. The abolition of slavery itself in the British system was at root an attempt to eliminate differences between domestic and colonial labor regimes, as opposed to migratory regimes.72 The society that the British elite tried to create in the former slave colonies was one that they would have liked to have had in Britain. The 1833 Act reflects a Tory view of master-servant relations, the Whig origins of the Act notwithstanding. The new society was certainly based on free labor, but the expectations, if not the provisions, were highly paternalistic. The free laborers would choose jobs that the elite thought appropriate, they would work hard for their pay, they would be deferential and sober, and, of course, they would respect the property of others. In the aftermath of abolition of slavery itself, it should be remembered, a greater share of Barbadians than English had the right to vote for their respective governments. The former slaves ensured that such a society never evolved, and indeed, in a real sense, it had never existed in England. Nevertheless, in some ways the discussion within the Colonial Office in 1833 of the various plans for emancipation constituted a high-water mark for applying the rule of the same law over regions and peoples that were very different. Given the scientific racism that was shortly to get

72 David Eltis, “Abolitionist Perceptions of Society after Slavery,” in James Walvin, ed., Slavery and British Society, 1780–1846 (London: Macmillan, 1982), 195–217.

abolition and identity in the very long run

255

under way, the several printed plans and position papers, as well as the hand-written annotations are grounded in a world view remarkable for its lack of racism. The underlying assumption in the exchanges is that English, Irish, indeed laboring peoples around the world were no different from the soon-to-be former slaves.73 This is not of course the same as the integration of cultures—a black culture scarcely existed in England—but it is a useful start. If in the 1830s large numbers of people of African descent had been routinely offered for sale within walking distance of the Houses of Parliament, in other words if London had been like Washington, attitudes may well have been quite different. But they were not. For a few years at least, the French in the 1790s and the British in the 1830s and 1840s, in both cases prodded by large scale unrest in their slave colonies, seemed to have attained a cultural accommodation with peoples of sub-Saharan Africa and their descendants so conspicuously absent since 1492. As many historians have observed, the ex-slaves refused to conform to white paternalistic expectations and exited the sugar plantations in the aftermath of the first abolition of slavery. The impact of this on the remaining stakeholders of the slave systems of the Americas was almost as great as the St. Domingue revolution forty years earlier.74 The restoration of slavery in the French case, and reemergence of overt racism as a response to the collapse of sugar exports in the British case constituted a major retreat from the attitudes that had fuelled abolition. Thereafter, every post-emancipation society drew on constructions of race that differed little from those prevalent in slave societies.75 Yet in the long run the integration of cultures and identities that first came into contact in 1492 has arguably continued since the late eighteenth century. In summary, it is possible to discern three strands of opposition to slavery that interacted and eventually coalesced: resistance by those that were enslaved, narrowing conceptions of eligibility for enslavement, and

73 The printed position papers, mostly anonymous, are collected in a single piece—Colonial Office 8/320. For a discussion of authors and the context, see W.L. Burn, Emancipation and Apprenticeship in the British West Indies (London: Jonathan Cape, 1937), 75–120. 74 Lawrence C. Jennings, French Reaction to British Slave Emancipation (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1988); Davis, Inhuman Bondage. 75 Drescher, The Mighty Experiment; Frederick Cooper, Thomas Holt, and Rebecca Scott, Beyond Slavery: Explorations of Race, Labor, and Citizenship in Postemancipation Societies (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000).

256

david eltis

a rising sensitivity toward cruelty. Two of the three themes thus stem from changing attitudes rather than military events (the St. Domingue rebellion and the U.S. Civil War notwithstanding), structural changes in the economies of the Atlantic World, or democratization and revolution, however defined. An historiographical shift toward increased focus on the European elements of this coalescence may be traced back to Thomas Haskell, though a recent book on emerging human rights by Lynn Hunt, which makes almost no mention of slavery or the slave trade, deals with same phenomenon from a different perspective.76 Christopher Brown’s prize-winning work may be seen as part of this pattern. It, too, focuses on shifting attitudes within Britain, but privileges the traumatic impact of the loss of the American colonies on those attitudes. Would British abolition of the slave trade have happened—or at least have happened when it did—without the American Revolution? Brown’s nuanced and insightful discussion implies not. The argument here, by contrast, views the shift in sensibilities and the impact of slave ship revolts as taking place well before 1776. There is not much role for industrialization in the more recent research on abolition. Neither Christopher Brown nor David Brion Davis’ Inhuman Bondage pay it much attention.77 But it should not be ignored. The accelerated communication and transportation that it made possible appear of central importance to the process whereby peoples become more aware of other cultures and sensitive to the consequences of their own actions. Haskell set out to link such rising awareness to market activity, but a stronger link might be made with technological innovation which predated, though clearly accelerated through, the Industrial Revolution. Is it possible that scholars are moving toward a new consensus view of abolition as a shift in attitudes? While this essay has been mainly concerned with attitudes rather than state regulation, we might nevertheless note in conclusion that the long perspective suggests the 1807 act not to have been quite the watershed and model for other reforms that some scholars (including myself )

76 Thomas L. Haskell, “Capitalism and the Origins of the Humanitarian Sensibility, Part 1” and “Capitalism and the Origins of the Humanitarian Sensibility, Part 2,” in Thomas Bender, ed., The Antislavery Debate: Capitalism and Abolitionism as a Problem in Historical Interpretation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992). Lynn Hunt, Inventing Human Rights: A History (New York: W.W. Norton, 2007). 77 For a broad review of the shifts in the debate on abolition and a clear distancing from the older economic interpretations, see Davis, Inhuman Bondage, 205–96.

abolition and identity in the very long run

257

have assumed.78 Quite apart from the provisions already mentioned, especially in relation to criminal law, it might be noted that legislation making the binding of Scottish colliers for life illegal passed in 1775, and higher penalties and more restrictive provisions became law in 1799. Thus, formal abolition of serfdom in Scotland came well ahead of attempts to suppress the slave trade. Further, the first British East India Company regulation against the slave trade was in 1774 and prohibitions of the export of slaves from first Bengal and then Madras followed in 1789 and 1790 respectively. All these measures were “apparently part of a more comprehensive attack on the institution of slavery in India.”79 Although the gap between British metropolitan and Caribbean attitudes to violence and labor had become large indeed by the late eighteenth century, the shift on the British side between the mid-seventeenth and late eighteenth centuries was of sufficient magnitude that we would not expect an impact limited to the Caribbean alone.

78 Oliver MacDonagh, A Pattern of Government Growth, 1800–60; the Passenger Acts and their Enforcement (London: MacGibbon and Kee, 1961). 79 Richard B. Allen, “Suppressing a Nefarious Traffic: Britain and the Abolition of Slave Trading in India and the Western Indian Ocean, 1770–1830” (paper presented to “The Bloody Writing is forever Torn,” a Conference on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, held at Elmina, Ghana, August, 2007).

CHAPTER TEN

DIVERGENT PATHS: THE ANGLOAMERICAN ABOLITIONS OF THE ATLANTIC SLAVE TRADE Seymour Drescher In February 1807 the House of Representatives voted to abolish the African slave trade to the United States by a vote of 113 to 5. This was probably “the closest approach to unanimity ever recorded in a congressional roll-call vote on a significant slavery issue in the antebellum United States.”1 Just ten days later the Second Reading of Britain’s abolition bill won approval in the House of Commons by a similarly wide margin, 283 to 16. In both cases nineteen out of every twenty legislators voted in favor of passage. In one respect reaction to the passage of the Acts was remarkably similar on both sides of the ocean. In the United States there was little public celebration of the prohibition on further importations of slaves. Some congressmen hardly mentioned the achievement to their constituents. Others described it as a victory for “morality, humanity and the tranquility of society.”2 For most Americans, however, consideration of the Act was lost amid other national concerns. What “impresses the reader of newspaper coverage of the 1806–1807 slave trade bill is its relative paucity.” The congressional debates over a trade embargo against Britain attracted much more coverage than did the prohibition of the slave trade from Africa. Everywhere in the country European news received far more attention than the Abolition Act.3 In Great Britain, the passage of abolition was greeted by even less national celebration, although Josiah Wedgwood had the market sense

1 Don E. Fehrenbacher, The Slaveholding Republic: An Account of the United States Government’s Relations to Slavery, ed. Ward McAfee (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 136. 2 Howard Albert Ohline, “Politics and Slavery: The Issue of Slavery in National Politics, 1787–1815” (Ph. D. dissertation University of Missouri–Columbia, 1969), 429. 3 Matthew E. Mason, “Slavery Overshadowed: Congress Debates Prohibiting the Atlantic Slave Trade to the United States, 1806–1807,” Journal of the Early Republic 20: 1 (2000), 59–81; quotation on 77.

260

seymour drescher

to fire new batches of his famous cameo of the kneeling slave inscribed with the abolitionists’ classic motto: “Am I not a man and a brother?” British interest was more riveted on what was going on across the Channel than the Atlantic. The spring of 1807 was bringing Napoleon to the peak of his European power, forcing Russia to withdraw from the war. He had imposed a “continental blockade” upon all goods produced in or re-exported through Britain. The administration that had steered abolition through parliament fell on the very day that the Act received a reluctant royal assent. Despite these muted responses the dual passage of the acts marked a turning point in the history of the slave trade. For the British the abolition of slave trade would become an integral aspect of their national and foreign policy. For the United States the Act of 1807 would mark the end, rather than the beginning, of any national consensus in favor of further action against slavery either at home or abroad. I. Before Abolition: Anglo-American trajectories from the 1770s to 1800 On the eve of the American Revolution Anglo-Americans shared a common civil and political legacy. On both sides of the Atlantic they took pride in their representative political institutions and in the common law inheritance that protected the individual rights of freeborn subjects against arbitrary state coercion. With a relative abundance of newspapers Anglo-Americans also shared the most widely diffused and least censored communications network in the world. They possessed an array of voluntary and religious networks that made them the frontrunners in an emerging associational world. In short, AngloAmericans shared the most highly developed public sphere on the face of the earth.4 However, as regards slavery and the slave trade the Anglo-American empire in 1770 presented a broad spectrum of involvement rather than

4 Seymour Drescher, “History’s Engines: British Mobilization in the Age of Revolution” (forthcoming in William and Mary Quarterly (2009); and S. Drescher, “Public Opinion and Parliament in the Abolition of the British Slave Trade,” in Stephen Farrell, Melanie Unwin and James Walvin, eds., The British Slave Trade: Abolition, Parliament and People (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2007), 42–65.

divergent paths

261

a shared legacy.5 At one extreme, the British West India colonies were economies most completely dedicated to slavery. With populations that were more than 5/6th slave, these Caribbean islands contained the highest proportion of slaves to free individuals of any slave societies in human history. They were entirely dependent upon a continuous supply of fresh transcontinental captives to maintain and increase their sugar plantations. Only after their own slave trade had been suppressed in 1807 would they show any political interest in the suppression of the entire Atlantic trade. The North American continent also contained British-ruled economies that were heavily, if not as overwhelmingly, dependent upon the institution of slavery. In every colony from Maryland southward at least one-third of the population was enslaved. In the southernmost Continental Colonies slaves accounted for up to half the residents (61 percent in South Carolina and 46 percent in Georgia). Invested as these colonies were in slavery they differed from those in the Caribbean in an important demographic respect. Slaves born outside the continental colonies made up only 22 percent of the enslaved population. The institution’s growth already depended more upon natural increase than on fresh captives from abroad. As early as 1740 native-born “creole” slaves constituted a majority of the slave population. On the eve of the revolution they represented more than two-thirds of the slave population.6 In the British colonies north of the Chesapeake, slaves accounted for less than 10 percent of the 460,000 residing in the mainland colonies. The slaves’ share of the populations in these colonies ranged from 11% in New York to 0.1% in New Hampshire. The New England colonies were least impacted by the presence of slaves. Nevertheless, they were heavily involved with slavery in the West Indies as suppliers of the plantation system and as carriers, processors and consumers of colonial commodities. On the other side of the Atlantic, thousands of blacks resided in the British Isles by 1770. They amounted to 0.01 percent of the population, or one-tenth of their share of New Hampshire’s population. On

5 I rely here and below on the census of James J. McCusker in “The Rum Trade and the Balance of Payments of the Thirteenth Continental Colonies, 1650–1775” (Ph. D. dissertation, University of Pittsburgh, 1970), Appendix B, 548–716. 6 See Robert W. Fogel, “Revised Estimates of the U.S. Slave Trade and the NativeBorn share of the Black Population”, in Fogel et al., Without Consent or Contract: Evidence and Methods (New York: Norton, 1992), 53–58: 56–57, table 4.3.

262

seymour drescher

the other hand, Great Britain’s metropolitan subjects dominated the empire’s slave trade. In the generation before the American Revolution British slavers were responsible for the transportation of 800,000 captives, or 90 percent of the Anglo-American share of the transatlantic traffic.7 On the eve of the Revolution imperial administrators and legislators in London were unconcerned with ameliorating or containing the slave trade, let alone contemplating its demise. In imperial perspective, the per capita value of colonies for British trade in the early 1770s was often based upon each colony’s proportions of slave laborers.8 How were these two frameworks, the institutions of civil and political liberty and the institutions of slavery kept in equilibrium? The metropolis kept slavery “at a distance” from other institutions by creating an exceptional “space” for it. Unlike the Spanish, Portuguese and French monarchies, the British state created no uniform slave code for its overseas colonies. It rather serially acknowledged the slave laws and codes created piecemeal by individual colonies. The English common law recognized no special status for black Africans, slave or free. From the outset overseas slaves were also juridically excluded from the ancient customary laws concerning villeins or prisoners of war.9 In 1772, on the eve of the Revolution, the question was dramatically clarified, if not theoretically resolved, for slaves residing in England itself. In the famous Somerset Case, Chief Justice Lord Mansfield ruled that external laws of enslavement did not apply within England, nor did the common law recognize the status. Whatever the ambiguities might have remained, by 1776, Lord Advocate Henry Dundas casually noted at a hearing before the Scottish courts, that “there was not now a slave in Britain, nor could possibly be from its constitution.” Two years later this pronouncement was reaffirmed for Scotland in the Knight decision.10 The Somerset judgment was echoed, without qualification, by all of those residing in Britain including the Afro-British, West Indians, and Continental Americans. Of course, the Somerset and Knight decisions affected the status only of black slaves residing within that part of the empire where less than 7

See Transatlantic Slave Trade Database, derived by David Eltis, et al. See Arthur Young, Political Essays concerning the present state of the British Empire (London: W. Strahan, 1772), sec. V—The Colonies. 9 See Seymour Drescher, Capitalism and Antislavery (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), Ch. 2. 10 Iain White, Scotland and the abolition of Black Slavery, 1756–1838 (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006), 32–36. See also Steven M. Wise, Though the Heavens May Fall (Cambridge, Mass.: Da Capo Press, 2005), Ch. 16. 8

divergent paths

263

one half of one percent of them lived. The first serious initiative against the slave trade came from the North American Continental colonies during the decade before the outbreak of hostilities with Britain. At a time when no voice was raised either in the British press or parliament, American colonial legislatures from Virginia northward repeatedly attempted to curtail or prohibit further importations of overseas slaves into their jurisdictions. In every case colonial governors or the British Privy Council vetoed or disallowed prohibitive taxes or bans on further slave imports. In 1776 Thomas Jefferson distilled these efforts into his initial draft of the Declaration of Independence. He accused the British monarch of “waging cruel war against human nature itself, violating its most sacred rights of life and liberty in the persons of a distant people who never offended him, captivating and carrying them into slavery in another hemisphere, or to incur miserable death in their transportation thither. . . .”11 The Continental Congress deleted this passage from the final copy of the Declaration. Jefferson later ascribed the exclusion of the article to a combination of lower Southerners’ desires for more slaves and northerners’ desires to be able to deliver them. However, before 1775 there had been considerable agitation against future slave importation in New England itself. In Massachusetts, public agitation had been building for a longer period than elsewhere in the colonies. Where the legislatures were freer of royal control, statutory restrictions on the slave trade were allowed to stand even before the Revolution.12 The emergence of public pressure against the colonial slave trade followed a different pattern in the mid-Atlantic region. In the Philadelphia area Anthony Benezet had begun a one-man pamphlet crusade among his fellow Quakers against the trade and slavery as early as 1759. By the early 1770s Benezet took advantage of broadening hostility to the slave trade to expand his appeal. A New Jersey Quaker reported that the people of Virginia and Maryland were “so convinced of the unexpediency if not all, of the inequity” of the slave trade, that ten or twenty thousand were willing to sign a petition calling for cessation of their importation.” Benezet reported this estimate to Granville Sharp,

11 J.P. Boyd, et al., eds., The Papers of Thomas Jefferson, 27 vols. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1950–97), I: 317–18. 12 See inter alia, Arthur Zilversmit, The First Emancipation: The Abolition of Slavery in the North (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967), 98–108; and Christopher Leslie Brown, Moral Capital: Foundations of British Abolitionism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 107–114.

264

seymour drescher

who had just played a principal role in England on the Somerset case. Sharp was delighted with Benezet’s news.13 From the eastern edge of the Atlantic, Sharp did not inform Benezet that English abolitionist potential was far more limited. An American popular initiative was so important because Sharp was uncertain that he could get even fifty English petitioners to counter a feared possible West Indian move to have parliament undo the Somerset decision.14 Sharp’s pessimism about collective antislavery action in England was echoed by John Wesley who vigorously condemned slavery in 1774. Even Wesley, no mean mobilizer of his fellow Britons, openly despaired of a crusade against the slave trade: “Should we appeal to the English nation as a whole?. . . . This is also striking wide and is never likely to procure any redress for the sore evil we complain of. As little would it in all probability avail, to apply to the Parliament. So many things, which seem of greater importance lie before them.”15 Amidst British public silence the American colonists were left to work out their own public policy on the trade. Between 1772 and 1773 Benezet’s efforts produced petitions to legislators and legislative responses in Philadelphia, New York and New Jersey. In 1774 the first Continental Congress unanimously included a suspension of all slave imports among other banned British commodities. The Congress renewed the ban, more effectively, in 1776. The exigencies of war virtually eliminated the British slave trade to America. Even the British West Indies trade was reduced to its lowest level in the eighteenth century. The war also opened unprecedented opportunities for slave flight and liberations of slaves as enemy contraband. The cessation of hostilities also left a deep and lingering rift between the new United States and Great Britain over the latter’s refusal to return many slaves who had successfully fled to the British lines during the conflict. But despite the sharp rise in mutual wartime accusations and the sharp fall in the volume of the trade the hail of antislavery invective was matched by a dearth of abolitionist action. No political movement to end the transatlantic slave trade emerged.16

13 See York Minister Library, York, England, Granville Sharp Letterbook: Letter of Benezet to Sharp, May 14, 1772; and Sharp to Benezet August 21, 1772. 14 Ibid. 15 John Wesley, Thoughts upon Slavery, 3rd edn. (London: R. Hawes, 1774), 24–27. 16 Brown, Moral Capital, 404–405.

divergent paths

265

With the ending of the war the African slave trade was renewed by merchants on both sides of the Atlantic. In America, New England once again provided most of the vessels. Georgia and Carolina again imported most of the slaves. British merchants delivered Africans to the West Indies. The Quakers also took up their role in petitioning—this time on both sides of the Atlantic. The petitioners were graciously received in both legislatures. In 1783 British Prime Minister Lord North and others expressed approval for their principles and sentiments. In the United States the Friends elicited an approving committee report from the Congress of the American Confederation. In neither case, however, did legislative action follow. In Britain the Quaker initiative was still-born. Along with his compliments, Lord North, without a single contradiction from the assembled House of Commons, noted that the European powers had to make use of the African trade. In response to another Quaker deputation a year later, a new administration, under the young William Pitt, agreed with the Friends in principle, “but thought the time was not yet come to bring the affair to maturity. . . .”17 In the United States, the Congress declined even to resolve that the individual states be called upon to pass laws prohibiting the trade. Those states that banned the importation of slaves during the next three years were those whose citizens were neither principal carriers nor importers of slaves. The Georgia legislature made it quite clear in 1784 that the new Confederation’s power over foreign trade did not “extend to prohibit the importation of Negroes.”18 The Quakers in England followed up their petition with a three year print campaign. Some historians consider it to have had a “tremendous impact,” profoundly affecting England’s “political and cultural landscape.” The evidence for such a transformative role is, however, more negative than positive. The Quaker appeal, in their own words, “impressed many sensible minds.” But as late as November 1786, they also confessed to the Philadelphia Friends that they perceived approbation for their benevolence, “but little chance of success.”19 The Friends’ own poorly attended standing committee on the slave trade met only 17

Ibid., 422–425. Fehrenbacher, Slaveholding Republic, 18–25. 19 Compare David Brion Davis, The Problem of Slavery in the Age of Revolution (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975; rept. 1999) 223; Brown, Moral Capital, 431; Roger Anstey, The Atlantic Slave Trade and British Abolition (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1975), 230; and Seymour Drescher, Capitalism and Antislavery (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), 63. 18

266

seymour drescher

twice between October 1785 and February 1787. This speaks volumes about why the frustrated Quaker activists felt the need to move from their own sectarian enclave into a broader public sphere. After the formation of the first slave trade abolition Society in 1787 the Quakers became the backbone of the provincial network which consolidated a national movement.20 If one looks beyond the abolitionists on either side of the water, the abolitionists’ difficulty in obtaining traction before 1787 becomes even more apparent. An avid reader of the British public press in the years between 1783 and 1787 would have been hard pressed to conclude that Friends had stimulated a rising tide of discussion, much less an expectation of imminent public potency. It was Britain, not America, however, where the first national abolitionist breakthrough occurred, both in civil society and in the national legislature. Why? Between 1776 and 1787 there is ample evidence that in both the Continental Congress and the United States Confederation antislavery sentiment was deliberately muted in the interest of national unity. Both deliberative bodies intermittently touched upon issues of the slave trade and slavery but never as a national issue. In America the Constitutional Convention of 1787, and its subsequent ratification, constituted lost moments for a national debate over the slave trade. Discussions of suppression occurred in the midst of a long crisis over whether the United States could even form a union strong enough to overcome the centrifugal forces that hindered the national government from protecting its citizens abroad and consolidating a national economy at home. By contrast, Britain’s national debate began in 1787 within a society that felt secure and prosperous at home, and powerful abroad. Its agriculture was flourishing. Its industry and overseas trade were expanding at an unprecedented rate. Its financial and fiscal stability were the soundest in the world. Both of its erstwhile enemies were foundering. The French government was bankrupt and militarily impotent. The American government appeared to be at real risk of internal disintegration and external impotence. A British minister commented on the

20 J.R. Oldfield, Popular Politics and British Antislavery: The Mobilization of Public Opinion against the Slave Trade, 1787–1807 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995) Ch. 4.

divergent paths

267

difficulty of negotiating with a polity in which it was difficult to see whether it was “one government or no government at all.”21 A second transnational difference was that in the U.S. Constitutional Convention, discussions of slavery occurred behind closed doors. The delegates avoided any explicit national commitment to or against the institution, except to oblige the return of fugitive slaves from one state jurisdiction to another. Avoidance of the issue extended even to those who belonged to abolition societies. In 1787 the Pennsylvania Abolition Society requested its president, Benjamin Franklin, to deliver a memorial to the Convention, to which he was also a delegate. Franklin neither presented the memorial nor did he make any recorded speech on slavery during the proceedings. One proposed amendment to the commerce clause, allowing the national government to have immediate control over the slave trade, elicited so strong a response from Georgia and South Carolina that the final compromise protected the slave trade from interference for twenty years. Thereafter it only allowed, but did not require, abolition. Antislavery sentiment was too diffuse and the priority of the union too strong to engender a sustained majority for immediate federal power over the foreign slave trade. Only the legislative responses to the problem by individual states indicate the degree to which the majority, in most states, was willing to move cautiously towards formal abolition. Between 1787 and 1789 the slave trade was either prohibited or partially shut down in seven more states. Outside the state legislative bodies, however, there were only very hesitant initiatives from civil society to raise the issue at the national level. The one early national intervention by abolitionist petitioners revealed both the potential explosiveness of the question and the reluctance of almost all national legislators to pursue issues related to slavery. In the first federal Congress in 1790, the Society of Friends from Pennsylvania and New York, supported by another appeal from the Pennsylvania Abolition Society (now signed by Benjamin Franklin) petitioned Congress to curb the trade and to consider the condition of those in perpetual bondage. The Southern reaction was so virulent that the Quakers were put on the defensive. Lower Southerners treated the

21 Seymour Drescher, “Public Opinion and Parliament in the Abolition of the British Slave Trade,” in Stephen Farrell, Melanie Unwin and James Walvin, eds. The British Slave Trade: Abolition, Parliament and People (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2007), 42–65: 47 [Supplement to Parliamentary History 26 (2007).] The slave trade was regulated for the first time in 1788 (the Dolben Act).

268

seymour drescher

petitions as seditious invitations to civil war. Above all they reacted against the implication that slavery itself was morally wrong. Even more significantly, no prominent Northern representative came to the petitioners’ defense. When Congress offered no response to further petitions in 1791 and 1792, the Pennsylvania Society decided, in 1793, to suspend further petitioning to the legislature until they could be assured of a better reception. A sharply contrasting picture emerged on the other side of the Atlantic in 1788–1792. As indicated, British abolitionists started from a much weaker position. In 1787 no Member of Parliament had yet proposed an investigation, much less the abolition, of the slave trade. The new abolitionist Committee did, however, gain the advantage of a parliamentary voice. William Wilberforce agreed to take up the cause in parliament, with the active encouragement of Prime Minister William Pitt. The greatest surprise of the initial mobilization was the enormous surge of provincial support that emerged in response to the formation of the London Society in 1787. Manchester led the way with the formation of a provincial society and a petition signed by more than 10,000 inhabitants of all classes. It was echoed by one hundred other petitions in the next few months, and was to inspire hundreds more over the next few years. In England the opposition to abolition could generate a small number of mercantile and planter petitions, but only one large aggregation of hostile citizens—in Liverpool—the nation’s principal slaving port.22 The slaving interest quickly acknowledged that public opinion was overwhelmingly against them. In contrast to the U.S. Congress the first British abolitionist petitions were boisterously welcomed by parliamentary leaders from both major parties. The prime minister, invoking popular interest, launched a privy council to inquire into conditions of the slave trade in 1788. Its charge marked a shift in political perspective. For the first time the British political system was tasked with treating African captives and Caribbean slaves as fellow human beings rather than as items of trade and factors of production.23 When consideration of the trade was formally introduced into the House of Commons by Pitt in May, 1788 it was framed as a necessary response to “the great number and variety of petitions” emanating

22 23

Drescher, Capitalism and Antislavery, Ch. 3. Drescher, “Public Opinion”, 50.

divergent paths

269

from the public. The Prime Minister’s motion was powerfully seconded by Charles James Fox, leader of the opposition. Edmund Burke, one of the legislature’s premier orators, drew attention to the table of the House, loaded with petitions. Burke rhetorically charged parliament either to attend to the petitions of their constituents or forfeit its right to exist. For all of the enthusiasm aroused by popular hostility to the trade, British abolitionists faced formidable obstacles. In addition to the material interests at stake for West Indian planters and British slavers, there was a widely shared and hitherto unquestioned assumption that the British slave system constituted a major ingredient of the nation’s commercial dominance, economic prosperity and national security. These attitudes were widely entertained by imperial officials, including naval officers, the board of trade, and King George III himself. Above all, opposition to abolition as a threat to Britain’s power and prosperity found a powerful institutional base in the House of Lords, a body far less susceptible to public opinion than the Commons. Against these formidable barriers the abolitionists initially relied on a steadfast minority of MPs and abolitionist sentiment out of doors. As early as its political breakthrough in 1788, abolitionism showed its capacity to incorporate adherents from all classes in society into the public sphere. Religious non-conformists, including Methodists, Baptists, Unitarians, Congregationalists and Evangelical Anglicans quickly added their support to the crucial Quaker cadres. Although women’s signatures were regarded as delegitimizing public petitions during the first generation of popular abolitionism, their opinions were quickly manifest in debating clubs, poetry, pamphlets and newspaper correspondence. Public space opened up for African voices as well. Through his autobiography Olaudah Equiano quickly became the most popular narrative of an African lifetime journey from slave to abolitionist writer and lecturer. British abolitionists not only amassed petitions. They organized witnesses to parliamentary hearings that disclosed the horrific conditions of the slave trade with a depth of detail and breadth of nationwide publicity never replicated in America. They summarized the evidence thus gathered in popular formats. They created the precise print of a slave ship that resonated in the public imagination for the next half century. Abolitionists contrived other innovations in mass mobilization that were to endure for generations. In response to Parliament’s first rejection of abolition in 1791, a movement to boycott slave grown

270

seymour drescher

sugar briefly managed to attract hundreds of thousands of participants. Women and children became an integral part of this consumer movement. In the early 1790s while American abolitionists submitted eleven petitions to an unresponsive Congress, British abolitionists gathered an unprecedented number of petitions designed to coincide with by Wilberforce’s second motion to abolish the slave trade. Long after that event Thomas Clarkson’s sober History of Abolition (1808) paused to describe the mood of the people who produced this unprecedented wave: Of the enthusiasm of the nation at this time none can form an opinion but they who witnessed it. There never was perhaps a season when so much virtuous feeling pervaded all ranks. . . . The current ran with such strength and rapidity that it was impossible to stem it. . . . [No petitions] were ever more numerous, as far as we have any record of transactions. . . . The account stood thus. For regulation there was one; against all abolition there were four; and for the total abolition of the trade five hundred and nineteen.24

This time the Commons responded with an overwhelming vote of 230 to 85 in favor of gradual abolition. By a narrower majority the Commons set the date for final abolition at 1796. As it turned out the implementation of the House vote was soon nullified. The Upper House insisted on initiating its own lengthy hearings during the following session of Parliament. By then the political window for both agitation and reform had closed. Fear of domestic radicalism was compounded by the twin specter of slave emancipation in the Caribbean and French revolutionary war against Britain. With external threats converging on both Britain and its colonial empire, “odium had fallen on collective applications” to Parliament for any reform whatever.25 In America one ultra-cautious national initiative succeeded in making some nominal legal leeway against one branch of the U.S. slave trade. In 1794, a new American Abolitionist Convention decided to ask Congress for a law prohibiting American citizens from participating in the slave trade between Africa and foreign nations. To obviate another debacle from hostile congressmen, the abolitionists did not

24 Thomas Clarkson, The History of the Rise, Progress, and Accomplishment of the Abolition of the African Slave Trade by the British Parliament, 2 vols. (London: Longman, 1808), II: 352–355. 25 Robert Isaac Wilberforce and Samuel Wilberforce, The Life of William Wilberforce, 5 vols. (London: J. Murray, 1838), II: 18.

divergent paths

271

venture another petition until they were assured that it would be fully considered. Thereafter American abolitionist activity fell off sharply. Even the anti-slavery political literature within the various state societies declined. The National Convention made no further attempt to lobby Congress during the rest of the 1790s.26 II. Anglo-American Abolitions 1800–1815 It was during the opening years of the nineteenth century that the trajectories of the United States and Britain tangibly began to diverge. In Britain the Commons vote of 1792 continued to be used by abolitionist MPs as a national pledge not to allow the opening of new frontiers for British imperial slavery. British slavers still fed the institution’s economic development from South Carolina to Buenos Aires. Jamaican shipping lists show that British slavers were now re-exporting African captives to Trinidad, Florida, Cuba, New Orleans, Charleston, and Honduras on the Spanish Caribbean mainland. Within the British Empire two new frontiers aroused the greatest hopes and fears of both the British slavery interest and the abolitionists. At the moment of Trinidad’s prospective permanent acquisition in 1801, Wilberforce cautioned parliament that that island alone would require a million fresh slaves to clear and settle, in a process extending indefinitely into the future. In 1802 a parliamentary combination forced Prime Minister Addington to postpone the further sale of lands and blocked the rapid development of Trinidad. When Demerara and Berbice in Guiana were also seized from the Dutch in 1796, British capital poured in for land acquisition and slave purchases before the colonies were returned to the Dutch (during the brief Peace of Amiens, 1802–1803). The British reoccupied the Dutch Guiana colonies in 1804–1805 and slave imports again surged to 12,000 per year. By 1806, again under abolitionist parliamentary pressure, no further slaves from Africa were allowed to enter the colony.27 The United States’ potential slave frontier expanded even more dramatically in the years prior to 1807. In 1804 the United States acquired 826,000 square miles of new territory from the French. With this vast

26

Ohline, “Politics,” 241–42. Seymour Drescher, Econocide: British Slavery in the Era of Abolition (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1977), 99–100. 27

272

seymour drescher

underdeveloped arable land and with slavery already established in Louisiana from the Gulf of Mexico to the Missouri River, the United States had acquired a far more expansive slave frontier than was available to British planters. American concerns about some of the implications of this acquisition were also different from those of British legislators. Even before the Louisiana Purchase, the United States government at both executive and legislative levels was showing as much determination to restrict the black presence in the United States as to enforce any legislation against the slave trade. In 1802–1803, during Napoleon’s final struggle to re-enslave the blacks of St. Domingue and all of the French Caribbean colonies, a wave of fear swept through parts of the South. Congress reacted with a bill prohibiting any ships captain from bringing any “Negro, mulatto or other person into any port or place of the United States” where a state had already prohibited such importations. The implicit national and racialist consensus against admitting anyone of African descent, slave or free, appears to have been accepted without dissent. By early 1803, all states had prohibited the introduction of “Negro” slaves, so the prohibition was also a law against the introduction of any black foreigner. For some legislators this would also remain the principal reason for passing slave trade abolition four years later.28 The attempted enforcement of the Act by federal agents in Charleston had unintended consequences. South Carolina reopened its doors to the slave trade in 1803. By 1807 the number of slaves disembarked in the United States equaled those unloaded in the British Caribbean for the first time in the history of the Atlantic trade. At the same time that South Carolina renewed importations the Jefferson administration was attempting to close the African slave trade into Louisiana. The power of local popular sovereignty carried the day in the organization of both the lower (Orleans) and upper (Missouri) settled segments of the new territory. Despite the prohibition on direct shipments of foreign slaves into Louisiana itself, the flow of both African and American slaves from the older states ensured the continued growth of slavery within the territory. A petition from the national antislavery convention to prohibit all further importation into Louisiana failed to sway Congress.29 The final compromise closed the new territory to the

28 29

Ohline, “Politics,” 343–348. Ibid., 281, 361, 382.

divergent paths

273

foreign trade but left domestic importation open. Although the terms of the Louisiana settlement legally prohibited the direct entry of foreignborn slaves into Louisiana, foreign slaves continued to enter the territory both legally and illegally, via Charleston and other gulf ports until the passage of U.S. slave trade abolition.30 Thus, despite similarly overwhelming proportions of legislative support for slave trade abolition in 1807, the United States and Britain had followed different paths to enactment, which forecast divergent trajectories of commitment and enforcement. In terms of popular mobilization the final passages and significance of the two Acts of 1807 differed considerably. The framers of the American Constitution had prohibited closure for twenty years. Congress had reinforced this formal prohibition with twenty years of almost suspended discussion. Civil society followed a similar path. Despite prolonged and bitter disputes over enforcement details, there was no attempt to apply popular pressure on the nation’s representatives. The Senate debates on the Bill were not published. Nor was there much public recognition of its passage. Many congressmen were unsure about what the federal legislation had actually achieved. Some hardly mentioned it to their constituents. Antislavery groups themselves evoked only moderate degrees of enthusiasm. The American antislavery convention donated a copy of Clarkson’s twovolume History of the Abolition of the British Slave Trade (1808) to Congress. No contemporary account of American abolition appeared. Even Clarkson’s work, which emphasized British abolition as a moral crusade, was accepted by Congress only over the objection of sixteen representatives.31 African American communities manifested the most visible public response to the Abolition Act. Significantly, they tended to link the American and British enactments. African American commemorations were constrained by white abolitionist anxiety that American blacks should not read too much into the act.32 The message to Boston’s black celebrants in 1808 was pointed. Although African Americans had taken the initiative, the ceremony was permitted only after the Governor and the city’s Selectmen gave their approval. The sermon, delivered by

30 31 32

Ibid., 382–390. Ibid., 429–430. Ibid., 432–433.

274

seymour drescher

Calvinist minister Jedediah Morse, focused upon caution rather than hope. The African Americans were warned that the doctrine of equality was not to be so construed as to subvert order and subordination; that they were not to think that African slavery was worse than moral sin; that the slave trade had benefited “multitudes. . . . brought from the darkness of paganism, to a Christian land,” and that they were not to expect a change in the domestic institution in the south. Caution, minimal expectations and muted gratitude were the watchwords of civil society.33 In Britain the passage of abolition was part of a more open and more popular public struggle. No constitutional amendment had postponed action for twenty years. A Resolution calling for gradual abolition had been overwhelmingly approved by Parliament by 1792. Years of internal radical agitation and an even longer external threat to Britain had led to the suppression of all reform legislation. Despite all this, abolition became the first reform movement to revive and succeed in the early 1800s. After the victory of St. Domingue’s black army over Napoleon in 1803, Haiti began to figure as a potential British ally in the AngloFrench conflict. The British abolitionists suffered their last major defeat in Parliament in February 1805. Napoleon’s military threat to both the British Caribbean and the home islands waned after the battle of Trafalgar in October 1805. In the same year the London Committee renewed public pressure from without.34 With the return of a favorable ministry to power early in 1806 the abolitionists turned first to a partial (‘foreign trade’) abolition. They succeeded with the help of yet another Manchester mass petition. Late in 1806, for the first time, abolition became a crucial issue in a British general election, above all in Wilberforce’s widely-enfranchised county of Yorkshire. In February 1807 a House of Commons negative of 77 to 70 in 1805 was converted into an overwhelming positive majority of 283 to 16. General Gascoyne, the MP for Liverpool, bitterly pointed the finger to the successful pressure from without. The abolitionists, he complained, had “resorted to every measure that invention or art

33

Ibid., 432–435. Clarkson, History, II: 502–503. On this mobilization see also S. Drescher, “Whose Abolition? Popular Pressure and the Ending of the British Slave Trade,” Past and Present, no. 143 (1994), 136–66 and Peter F. Dixon, “The Politics of Emancipation: The Movement for the Abolition of Slavery in the British West Indies,” Oxford University D. Phil., 1971, 119–132. 34

divergent paths

275

could devise to create a popular clamour was resorted to on this occasion. The church, the theatre, and the press, had laboured to create a prejudice against the Slave Trade . . . The attempts to make a popular clamour against the trade were never so conspicuous as during the late Election, when the public newspapers teemed with abuse of the trade, and when promises were required from different candidates that they would oppose its continuance. There never had been any question agitated since that of parliamentary reform, in which so much industry had been exerted to raise a popular prejudice and clamour, and to make the trade an object of universal detestation. In every manufacturing town and borough in the kingdom, all those arts had been tried.”35 At the end of the Napoleonic wars, the consequences of the different roads to abolition in America and Britain became apparent. Until then the impact of British abolition had been veiled by the fact that the British navy had conquered every slave colony of foreign enemies. This effectively closed down the wartime African trade to the French and Dutch slavers. Britain still remained, along with the United States and Brazil, one of the three great Western slave powers. Each had jurisdiction over a million slaves. With their occupations of the slave colonies of France, the Netherlands and Denmark, the British monarchy continued to control more than two-thirds of the sugar reaching the Northern Atlantic market as well as significant shares of Europe’s cotton and coffee imports.36 After 1808 the British also used their crucial role in helping the Portuguese king to flee to Brazil and was able to extract a treaty prohibiting Luso-Brazilian slavers from operating north of the equator. The British navy used its position as the world’s dominant sea power to seize even slavers flying the flags of its Spanish and Portuguese allies.37 The return of peace confronted Britain with a crisis. The closure of the British African slave trade after 1807 meant that their West Indian slave population in the colonies was already progressively diminishing relative to importing foreign colonies. As the world’s leading sugar producer the British had three options. They could allow other nations to 35

Drescher, “Public Opinion,” 62. Drescher, Econocide, 78–85, tables 17 and 20; David Eltis, Economic Growth and the Ending of the Transatlantic Slave Trade (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 6, table 6 and 294, n. 6. On British slave population figures in 1814, see P. Colquhoun, Treatise on the Wealth, Power, and Resources of the British Empire (London: Joseph Mawman, 1815), 384–386. 37 David Eltis, Economic Growth, 81–122. 36

276

seymour drescher

reopen an unlimited trade. They could conditionally restore the African trade to their own colonies pending a negotiated multilateral abolition. Or their government could slowly develop a variety of diplomatic, economic, and military naval strategies to curtail the coerced traffic from Africa. The last option promised to create a long and expensive battle, entailing serious diplomatic complications, expanding economic and military costs, and vexing British taxpayers and consumers.38 This last and least effective direction was the path taken by the British people and its government. The catalytic moment was an article in the Anglo-French peace treaty which sanctioned the renewal of the French slave trade for five years. The popular reaction in Britain was swift and decisive. In many ways it was the most impressive of all the British petition campaigns against the slave trade. Once again the number of petitions and signatures reaching parliament exceeded those for any other issue of the day. Abolitionists estimated that three quarters of a million people signed up. One historian calculates the total number at more than 1.3 million. So between a fifth and a third of all adult males added their names to the appeal.39 The government response was immediate and durable. Britain became the leading, and often virtually the only, state pressing for the international abolition of the African slave trade. For more than half a century, all of the many bilateral treaties against the trade would have Britain as the co-signer. No other naval force would come close to keeping a permanent anti-slaving patrol in the Atlantic. British initiated international courts were set up to adjudicate the disposition of captives, and would always include a British representative. No other antislavery movement would more than faintly echo the British movement’s commitment to slave trade abolition. For more than half a century after 1815 the American government pursued a different path. In 1809 the abolition law was temporarily suspended to accommodate the arrival of several thousand French masters and slaves expelled from Cuba. After the return of peacetime commerce in 1815, the American government was chiefly concerned with preventing slave smuggling from West Indies into the coastal areas

38

Drescher, Econocide, 154–161. Paul Michael Kielstra, The Politics of Slave Trade Suppression in Britain and France, 1814–1848 (Houndmills: Macmillan, 2000), 30–32. 39

divergent paths

277

of the Gulf of Mexico. Florida, another potential American slave zone, was a center for smuggling Africans into the United States.40 American policy makers were now simultaneously concerned with prohibiting further importations of African slaves and resisting British pressures to become part of a porous multinational system to shut down the transatlantic trade. In 1818 the U.S. Congress moved to reduce the penalties for American slavers in hopes of ensuring enforcement. Once again there were telltale characteristics of U.S. abolitionism—no evidence of pressure from outside the legislature and no record of congressional debate preceding the law’s passage. The following year a Southern–sponsored revision of the Act required the federal government to create a naval patrol and to arrange for the return of slaves aboard any captured vessels to Africa. The old linkage between blocking the entry of slaves and the priority of diminishing the black presence in America was made crystal clear by the formation of a non-governmental organization that initially exceeded abolitionism in national appeal. The day after the passage of the 1819 Act, the American Colonization Society, founded three years earlier, approached president James Monroe to request federal funding to transport free (or freed) African Americans to the African coast. The first American warships sent to the African coast, officially supporting the British patrol, were in fact “a thinly veiled colonization venture”.41 III. Anglo-American Abolition after the Age of Revolution By the end of the ‘Age of Revolution’ (1775–1825) the United States government had begun a foot-dragging exercise that was to lead the republic well away from the policy of interdiction pursued by the British. By the early 1820s the smuggling of slaves into the United States had diminished to a miniscule proportion of its pre-abolition scale. On the other hand, the American navy was not a real presence on the African

40

Rafe Blaufarb, “The Geopolitics of Latin American Independence,” American Historical Review 112: 3 (2007), 742–763. 41 Fehrenbacher, Slaveholding Republic, 154, quoting Harry Ammon, James Monroe: The Quest for National Identity (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1971), 522–23.

278

seymour drescher

coast. Between the early 1820s and the early 1840s it intercepted only one slaver in African waters.42 Americans rather increased their role as builders, outfitters and investors of slave ships for the transatlantic traffic in slaves to Brazil and Cuba. By the 1840s hundreds of thousands of slaves were landed in Brazil. American Consuls in Rio de Janeiro claimed that half of them crossed with American aid. No American administration or congressional bloc took any interest in implementing a policy of suppression. Th e Brazilian trade was brought to an end in 1850 only after a British naval action on the coast of Brazil.43 Thereafter American participants in the business of slaving shifted their interest to Cuba, the last major receiver of slaves from Africa. Finally the United States naval intervention intensified. Twenty slavers were seized en route to Cuba in 1859–1860. Nevertheless, Cuban imports of slaves reached nearly 35,000 in 1860. This was the highest toll in more than two decades, equal to African imports into Charleston, South Carolina, in 1807. By refusing to enter into a “right of search” agreement with the British government, the U.S. flag continued to provide the last best loophole in the cordon that the British had painstakingly erected against transatlantic slaving. The retreat of the United States from being the pioneer in slave trade abolition to being the last major holdout against enforcement was, of course, related to the widening breach between official American and British attitudes towards slavery itself. In February 1823, the U.S. House of Representatives overwhelmingly passed a resolution (131 to 9), requesting Anglo-American negotiations “for the effectual abolition of the African slave trade . . . [and its inscription as] piracy under the law of nations.” Only a year later, after prolonged negotiations, the Senate quietly refused to ratify the Anglo-American treaty that Congress had called for. What had intervened was the next great stage in British abolitionism. After another antislavery petition campaign that same year the British government agreed to amelioration policies that would prepare all British colonies for emancipation. The government’s resolutions were quickly echoed in the Caribbean by a slave uprising in Demerara. In his diary, John Quincy Adams noted that some U.S. sena-

42

Fehrenbacher, Slaveholding Republic, 156. Leslie Bethell, The Abolition of the Brazilian Slave Trade: Britain, Brazil and the Slave Trade Question 1807–1869 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 288–289. 43

divergent paths

279

tors had become alarmed that joint action for suppression of the Atlantic trade “should turn to a concert for the abolition of slavery.”44 In the early 1840s American diplomacy worked assiduously to sabotage Britain’s increasingly ambitious attempts to internationalize abolition. In December 1841 the British government finally obtained the signatures of the four other major European powers (Russia, Prussia, Austria, and France) to a draft treaty on the slave trade. Its signatories accepted a mutual right of search and declared slaving to be piracy. By this means Britain hoped to confront Americans with a united European front on an issue that the United States still avowedly wished to resolve. In response, the American ambassador in Paris launched a public relations campaign to subvert the ratification process. He was aided by the mood of the French legislature, still smarting over a British diplomatic humiliation of France in the Middle East. The treaty was aborted. The ratification failure also marked the last major British effort to close the “American” gap by a multinational treaty. Thereafter Britain had to be satisfied with awaiting independent American action. The rise of mass abolitionism in the American north during the following decade showed that popular abolitionism against any slave trade within the national legislature’s power would get very short shift. The District of Columbia, directly under the authority of the federal government, was always considered the most susceptible target for extending the principal of abolition within the boundaries of United States. As early as 1829 petitions and memorials from many parts of the Union and the District itself requested gradual abolition and suppression of the capital’s slave trade and even of slavery itself. The measure never reached the floor of the legislature. Until the early 1830s, however, petitions requesting abolition of the District’s slave trade and slavery were presented and received with more or less decorum and then quietly buried in oblivion. This was no longer possible by 1835, when a mass abolition petition campaign brought the issue to Congress amid growing and hostile popular reaction, both North and South, to the abolitionists. The American campaign was developed along the lines of the British one that had just successfully ended slavery in the British colonies. In 1833 nearly half a century of British petitioning culminated with 1.3 million

44

Fehrenbacher, Slaveholding Republic, 160.

280

seymour drescher

signatures reaching parliament. On the day scheduled for the introduction of the Emancipation Bill the largest single antislavery document in British history arrived at the House of Commons—“a huge featherbed of a petition.” It was “hauled into the House by four members amidst shouts of applause and laugher.” Bearing 187,000 women’s signatures, it was “one vast and universal expression of feeling from all the females of the United Kingdom.”45 The American antislavery petitions that began to pour into the House of Representatives two years later also included a large number of women signatories. The American female petitioners were accorded a much different reception than their British counterparts. Most Southern members had already been infuriated by the unending stream of abolitionist agitation in the North. In their own states, legislatures, the press and mobs had given vent to their outrage. Now they determined, in the words of John C. Calhoun, to “meet the enemy on the frontier” and “to secure that important pass—it is our Thermopylae.”46 The Senate simply decided to table all abolitionist motions. The House went further. It resolved that all petitions relating to slavery would thereafter be tabled without even being read, printed or acted upon. This action formalized the already traditional practice of silencing antislavery resolutions of any kind.47 From the mid-1840s to the early 1860s the United States and Britain followed truly distinctive paths. In lieu of a mutual ‘right to search’ the United States agreed, in the Ashburton-Washburn treaty of 1842, to launch an Anglo-American joint patrol. The results were meager. By 1850 the American patrol had captured one slaver per year compared with the British toll of more than 500 (and 38,000 rescued Africans). As noted, the British also closed down the Brazilian slave trade, which had accounted for more than 450,000 slaves in the eight years after the inauguration of the joint patrol. At least half of these captives had been carried by slavers protected by the American flag.48

45 Seymour Drescher, “Women’s Mobilization in the Era of Slave Emancipation: Some Anglo-French Comparisons,” in Kathryn Kish Sklar and James Brewer Stewart, eds., Women’s Rights and Transatlantic Antislavery in the Era of Emancipation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), 98–120; quotes on 106. 46 Fehrenbacher, Slaveholding Republic, 75. 47 William W. Freehling, The Road to Disunion (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), Ch. 17, esp. p. 311. 48 See Eltis, et al., Slave Trade Database; and Fehrenbacher, Slaveholding Republic, 179.

divergent paths

281

Finally, as the crisis over U.S. slavery moved toward its climax, some South Carolinians launched a dramatic campaign to proactively demonstrate southern distinctiveness and its citizens’ determination to uphold the institution. In 1853 they demanded the reopening of the African slave trade to the United States. South Carolina’s governor “drew national attention to the issue when he devoted much of his annual legislative message to calling for repeal of the federal anti-slave-trade laws.”49 The suggestion was, of course, abhorrent to the overwhelming majority in the upper and middle South. Those who supported the principles of the American Colonization Society, or who feared further intrusions of any blacks, slave or free, into the United States, found it equally unacceptable. The fact that such a movement gained sufficient traction to be a political issue in the United States on the eve of Southern Secession marked the moment of greatest divergence between a British national consensus and a substantial sector of the American polity in the half century between the end of the last Anglo-American war in 1815 and the end of the Civil War. Even for southerners who had no wish whatever to rescind the Anglo-American joint naval patrol agreement of 1842 or the Slave Trade Abolition Act of 1807, abolitionism remained more intolerable as a moral issue than as an economic issue. The western world’s growing consensus in condemning the slave trade loomed ever larger as a moral threat with each passing decade. To advocates of removing the prohibition, all anti-slave trade legislation after 1807 bespoke a bad conscience over a system which supported the “domestic [i.e. interstate] trade” in slaves, “but shudders at the buying and selling of the naked Africans.” By the end of the 1850s the movement to rescind abolition induced the Southern Commercial Convention to resolve that “slavery is right”; that it was “expedient and proper” to reopen the “foreign slave trade”; and that all laws “prohibiting the African slave trade ought to be repealed.”50 The significance of the moral dimension of the issue was registered in the national legislature. In 1856, Congressman Emerson Etheridge

49 Ronald T. Takaki, A Pro-Slavery Crusade: The Agitation to Reopen the African Slave Trade (New York: The Free Press, 1971), 1–22; and Fehrenbacher, Slaveholding Republic, 180. 50 Ronald Toshiyki Takaki, “A Pro-Slavery Crusade: The Movement to Reopen the African Slave Trade” (Ph. D. thesis, University of California, Berkeley, 1967), 76, 80, 130, 136–37.

282

seymour drescher

moved a resolution condemning all proposals for a revival of the slave trade as “shocking to the moral sentiment.” Any such reversal by the United States, he declared, would invite “the reproach and execration of all civilized and Christian people.”51 After a highly emotional debate the House of Representatives passed a resolution to that effect by a vote of 152 to 57. Three quarters of the Southern congressmen voted in the negative. A South Carolina Democrat immediately moved another resolution, declaring only that repeal would be “inexpedient, unwise, and contrary to the settled policy of the United States.” This resolution, stripped of the moral dimension of abolition, passed by 183 to 8. Once again the margins of 1807 and 1819 were achieved. A majority of southern representatives were opposed to both a repeal of the Act of 1807 and to any moral inference about the relation of the trade to slavery itself. As soon as Lincoln was elected president in 1860, a prominent South Carolina secessionist called upon the British Consul in Charleston to sound him out about the potential for a relationship between the United Kingdom and a new Confederacy which would account for the prosperity of one of Britain’s important cotton industry. The Consul, noting that he had been informed that the traffic in Africans “was likely to be encouraged” in the new Confederation, replied that “Great Britain would require from that Body some very distinct assurance. . . . on this subject before she could be brought to enter cordially into communications with it.” The Secessionist replied that “no Southern State of Confederacy, would ever be brought to negotiate upon such a subject; that to prohibit the Slave Trade was, virtually, to admit that the Institution of Slavery was an evil and a wrong, instead of, as the South believed it, a blessing to the African Race and a system of labour appointed of God.”52 Two months later, however, the delegates to the Constitutional Convention of the Confederacy made the prohibition of the African trade a fundamental article of that same constitution. It further required the prospective national legislature to ensure the effective enforcement of that article. The new state was in no position to provoke “the anathemas of all Europe,” and to risk having vessels sailing under an unrecognized flag searched and seized by foreign (i.e. British) warships—“equivalent to a declaration of war.” Even more importantly, the seven new con-

51 52

Fehrenbacher, Slaveholding Republic, 181. Takaki, Pro-Slavery Crusade, 198.

divergent paths

283

federate states would have increased the risk of losing the adhesion of states of the upper South, whose citizens had already been alienated by the pro-slave trade agitation.53 The transformation of Northern attitudes towards the British naval patrol after the beginning of the Civil War was equally dramatic. William Seward, Lincoln’s new Secretary of State indicated to the British a willingness to shift from America’s longstanding resistance to the mutual right of search. In 1862 the United States finally adopted a mutual right of search between the actual British African naval patrol and the virtual American one. In the absence of the new Confederate States, the U.S. Senate adopted the treaty. With America’s withdrawal from opposition to British policy, the Atlantic slave trade vanished entirely within five years.54 Trajectories What does this dual story tell us about the process of Anglo-American slave trade abolition in the century after 1770? Certain striking features stand out. It abundantly demonstrates the danger of overvaluing the historical status of ‘being first.’ The first popular and legislative initiatives for curtailing the Atlantic slave trade came from the Western side of the Atlantic in the early 1770s. The first attempt to embed slave trade abolition within the fundamental law of a nation came from the United States of America. American state legislatures were the first to legally prohibit their citizen’s participation in the broader Atlantic trade. At the national level, however, the abolitionist voice was long muted, legislative debates stifled, and enforcement a mockery. From the outset moral condemnation of the slave trade was stricken from the Declaration of Independence; then postponed by framers of the constitution; then treated as a minefield by the national legislature. For half a century after independence, agitation was carefully constrained by the small Northern abolition societies whose states first tried to limit their citizens’ participation in the Atlantic slave trade. In enforcing its own penal sanctions and in its foreign relations the nation became ever more hesitant to participate in a broadening international consensus. Actions against the slave trade, from the laws against African entry in 1803 to 53 54

Ibid., 203–204. Fehrenbacher, Slaveholding Republic, 190.

284

seymour drescher

Lincoln’s own plans for implementing the Emancipation Proclamation sixty years later, were always inflected by envisioning a reduction of the black presence in America. Even the overwhelming consensus against repealing slave trade abolition in the 1850s was inhibited by Southern sensitivity about the implications of a moral attack on the African trade for the domestic institution itself. By contrast, the British abolitionist assault on its own national slave trade before 1807 and their government’s campaign against the international trade thereafter were fundamentally grounded in a moral frame of reference. While British abolitionists developed economic, political and security reasons for ending the trade, the language of action, both out of doors and within the halls of the legislature remained embedded in the bedrock of morality. After 1807, British abolitionist policy came under real threat only once, in 1850. In that instance a coalition of frustrated taxpayers, abolitionist pacifists and rigid political economists moved to end the British patrol on grounds of its inefficacy; its toll on the lives of British seamen; and its intensification of death and misery for the tens of thousands of Africans landed in the Americas in defiance of the Royal Navy. The beleaguered government, now conceding that foreign slave-labor was cheaper than British free-labor colonials, successfully appealed to the Voice of God, moral obligation—and party discipline. In the American Congress the debate over slave trade abolition bill had to be framed in a far different context. During the previous generation there had been no general debate on the morality of the slave trade or slavery either in the public sphere or in the national legislature. During the debate over the American bill a South Carolina representative put the matter bluntly. Many Southerners did not hold slavery to be criminal at all: “I will tell the truth. A large majority of people in the Southern States do not consider slavery as even an evil.” They warned that African captives, released on Southern soil, would not be allowed to survive: “We must either get rid of them or they of us. . . . Not one of them would be left alive in a year.”55 Americans’ inability to establish a moral consensus left the door ajar for the reentry of Americans into the foreign trade just as the British were making their maximum diplomatic push for an international pro-

55

Quoted in Davis, The Problem of Slavery, 135–6.

divergent paths

285

hibition in the early 1840s. The normative divergence made a difference at the global level too. After 1825, every American action in relation to slave trade abolition had to be weighed by its potential impact upon the “domestic institution” within the United States. To the extent that this inhibited diplomatic and naval cooperation with the British, the United States reinforced its status as a slaveholding republic. In the generation after 1815, British slave trade abolitionism expanded into a dual project, for British slave emancipation, and for the eradication of the slave trades of the Indian Ocean and Mediterranean worlds and within Africa and Asia as well. In the British Empire imperial expansion after 1815 was tied to the immediate prohibition of the slave trade and the gradual or immediate death of slavery. Until the Civil War American ‘manifest destiny’ created opportunities for the territorial expansion of slavery. Only after the American Civil War did Anglo-American expansionism again converge in having imperial systems that were at once antislavery and racist. Legacies In their differing paths to and from 1807 the two variants of AngloAmerican, slave trade abolitionism appear to have cast a long shadow. Ironically, in the bicentennials of Anglo-American abolitions history may have repeated itself as commemoration. In the United Kingdom historical conferences, religious ceremonies, and legislative initiatives with major public funding helped to ensure a larger number of gatherings than in any abolitionist commemoration during the previous two hundred years. In the city of Bristol alone dozens of workshops and ceremonies marked the anniversary. Museums, universities, parliament and the monarchy itself solemnly marked the occasion. The public media, including websites, were saturated with programs and schedules. Contributions to the bicentennial ranged far beyond the retelling and analysis of the British Act itself. The two centuries of colonial slavery that preceded the Acts and the two centuries of imperial policies that followed them were integral parts of the great retrospective. On the other side of the Atlantic the contrast was clear. On the date of the bicentenary of the United States Act, on March 2, 1807, the commemoration was hardly noted. There were no extended public activities at the National Cathedral or the Houses of Congress, no reverberations in local governmental, civic or religious institutions. There were few

286

seymour drescher

gatherings by the descendants of the African Americans who had made the most of the Act in the wake of 1807. Some have accounted for the difference in terms of supposedly special qualities of the original abolitionist actors. Amazing Grace, a cinematic homage to Wilberforce and evangelical Christianity, highlighted the significance of ‘the Saints.’ Other commentators pointed to the ‘mysterious’ power of religion, ‘the strange Christian moment,’ a conjuncture of ‘post-American Revolutionary Moments,’ or to fortuitous religious activism, to account for the rise of British abolitionism.56 For purposes of comparative analysis, this seems to be insufficient to account for the bicentennial divergence two hundred years later. There were also potential ‘Saints’ in America. Despite his more mottled past, American bicentennialists could easily have hauled out Thomas Jefferson. As the author of the deleted denunciation of the slave trade in 1776, Jefferson scooped Wilberforce and Clarkson by a decade. As President of the United States thirty years later he took the initiative in calling on the American Congress “to withdraw the citizens of the United States from all further participation in those violations of human rights which have so long continued on the unoffending inhabitants of Africa.”57 Does the explanation lie in the continuity of British national commemoration over 200 hundred years? This too is surely insufficient, because there has been almost no continuity whatever in the commemorations of slave trade abolition—even in Britain. In truth, long before 1907 the commemoration of slave trade abolition had been subsumed in and superseded by British colonial slave emancipation. As early as the 1850s the British abolitionists chose to mark the twenty-fi fth anniversary of slave emancipation rather than the jubilee of slave trade abolition. Slave emancipation’s jubilee (1884), its centenary (1933/34), and its sesquicentenary (1983), were all well marked by commemorations, the last showing an increasing propensity to question the stature

56 For an extended scholarly analysis of moral perspectives see Brown, Moral Capital, echoed by Simon Schama, at Stanford University, in Stanford Report, November 7, 2007 “The Abolition of the Slave Trade Two Hundred Years on—America and Britain: Two Diverging Destinies?” 57 “Annals of the Congress of the United States,” 9th Congress, 2nd Session, 16–19, 151.

divergent paths

287

of Wilberforce and to expanding the role of other long neglected class actors in emancipation, especially that of the slaves.58 Why then did slave trade abolition come back into British public consciousness with a bicentennial roar that could not even been dreamt of a century or two centuries ago? I would hazard that this has been the combined result of three large movements over the past half century: decolonization; migration and globalization. Decolonization shifted scholarly attention away from the imperial parliament and the British colonial office to the lives and collective movements of the erstwhile imperial subjects. Migration made Britain itself home to a large African and Afro-Caribbean diaspora. In 2007, unlike 1807 or 1907, there were substantial Afro-Caribbean communities in the metropole who wished to use the moment to make their history, both in Britain and overseas, more relevant to the society of which they were now an integral part. At least as significant were those Britons of non-African ancestry who saw British abolition as a new turning point in history with Britain at its cutting edge. Abolition was a process which could call on histories of collective, effective and secular change, both national and imperial. Finally, globalization: Amidst the rising interest in the broad movements of people around the planet, the world’s largest intercontinental coerced migration has become the focus of intense scholarly exploration. In abolition, the UNESCO Slave Project meets the Slave Trade Database to open vast new perspectives on world history. In this sense British colonial slave emancipation came to seem a much more parochial transformation than the rise and fall of the Atlantic slave trade system and of global slavery as a whole. After 200 years, 1807 retrospectively looms larger in world historical perspective than does 1833. The British therefore brought off this massive commemoration because of fundamental conditions absent in American slave trade abolition. Before abolition British society was deeply involved in, but not dependent upon, overseas slavery. In the generation before 1807 their polity was less dependent than America’s upon the interests that supported slavery. British civil society was far more accessible to abolitionist popular mobilization at the national level. The early British consensus on the moral evil of the slave trade was established decades

58 See J.R. Oldfield, ‘Chords of Freedom’: Commemoration, Ritual and British Transatlantic Slavery (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007), 90.

288

seymour drescher

before abolition. By 1815 British abolitionism was internalized, nationalized, and internationalized. What happened after the Anglo-American abolitions is an important dimension of this bicentennial divergence. In 1807 American abolitionism rested on its oars beyond the water’s edge. British abolitionists were able to mobilize their society’s economic, commercial and naval preeminence in favor of slave trade abolition. Both within and without Britain they were recognized as a major political force (whether one deemed it heroic, Machiavellian, imperialistic or altruistic) in favor of the trade’s termination. Foreign governments knew it; foreign slaveholders and slavers knew it; British diplomats and ship captains knew it; Africans, Americans, and Asians, slave and free, knew it; Christians, Muslims and Hindus knew it; British consumers knew it; British taxpayers knew it and paid for it. No literate reader today should be unaware of the fact that Britain’s slave trade abolition was one of the most expensive international ventures in human history based upon moral premises.59 Ultimately, it seems to be the retrospective judgment of two centuries that accounts for the differential in Anglo-American commemorations in 2007. In hindsight, British slave trade abolition was a benchmark in the history of world slavery that its American counterpart was not.

59 Chaim D. Kaufmann and Robert A. Pape, “Explaining Costly International Moral Action: Britain’s Sixty-Year Campaign against the Atlantic Slaver Trade,” International Organization 53: 4 (1999), 631–668; Drescher, The Mighty Experiment (2002), Ch. 13.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE TRANSFORMATION AND DOWNFALL OF PLANTATION CULTURE IN SURINAME Ellen Klinkers The New Year’s celebrations of 1863 went by peacefully. The people were cheerful because they started the year as slaves and would end it as free people, brother Räthling wrote in his diary. According to this Moravian missionary, New Year’s Day seldom passed so quietly and smoothly. The planters’ fear that slaves would be unwilling to work after the celebrations proved to be unfounded. On the contrary, Räthling believed that the plantation owners were deliberately pessimistic. Rebellion and disorder would have played into their hands because they could have used such defiance to convince the government that the slaves were not yet ready for freedom.1 The garrison in Suriname was reinforced temporarily with a company of Marines, made up of five officers and 195 men prepared for any disorder after emancipation, which was to take effect on the first of July, 1863. The Marines would return home before the end of 1863. Their presence turned out to be unnecessary, because no disturbances occurred.2 After the example of the British, the abolition of slavery was followed by a period of apprenticeship. Emancipated slaves were obligated to work on the plantations for another ten years, although they were free to choose their employer and received pay for their work. All former slaves between the ages of fifteen and sixty had to enter into a contract.3 Compared to the four years of apprenticeship in the British Caribbean, this arrangement lasted exceptionally long in Suriname, supposedly to prevent social and economic upheaval. Piet Emmer has argued that even though many believed that the ending of both slavery and apprenticeship would cause revolutionary changes in Suriname’s economy and society, the transition was

1 2 3

Archiv der Brüder-Unität Herrnhut (ABUH): 15 Lb 15 Salem. Koloniaal Verslag 1863. Gouvernementsblad der kolonie Suriname (GB) 1962, no. 6.

290

ellen klinkers

in fact far more gradual than anticipated. As he explains, many of the plantations functioned reasonably well during the apprenticeship, even though the export of sugar dropped by 25%, and declined more afterwards. The largest plantations in particular were able to adapt to the new circumstances, although the labor costs weighed heavily on the budget. Furthermore, the economy of Suriname offered the freedmen few viable alternatives to working on a plantation, according to Emmer.4 Be this as it may, the apparent peace and quiet after emancipation conceals the social transformations brought about by the abolition of slavery. In this paper I will demonstrate the importance of changing social practices in this transformation process. It was not social and economic upheaval that affected society, but people’s daily routines and social interaction. What were the consequences for plantation culture of the changes occurring in interactions between plantation management and their emancipated slaves? What was the importance of the practices and the enactment of social hierarchy among slaves for the management of the plantation? Emancipation had different meanings in the collective symbolic schemes, plans, and intentions of planters, former slaves and local authorities. As Marshall Sahlins has argued, “acting from different perspectives, and with different social powers of objectifying their respective interpretations, people come to different conclusions and societies work out different consensuses.”5 The Apprenticeship The awareness that abolition of slavery would become inevitable grew in the course of the nineteenth century in the Netherlands and in Suriname, in particular after the outlawing of the slave trade in 1814 4 Pieter C. Emmer, “Between Slavery and Freedom: The Period of Apprenticeship in Suriname (Dutch Guiana), 1863–1873,” Slavery and Abolition 14 (1993): 87–113; Pieter C. Emmer, “The Price of Freedom: The Constraints of Change in Postemancipation America,” in idem, The Dutch in the Atlantic Economy, 1580–1880: Trade, Slavery, and Emancipation (Ashgate: Variorum, 1998), 203; Pieter Emmer, “The Dutch and the Slave Americas,” in David Eltis, Frank D. Lewis, and Kenneth L. Sokoloff, eds., Slavery in the Development of the Americas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2004), 80; Pieter C. Emmer, “The Meek Hindu: The Recruitment of Indian Labourers for Service Overseas, 1870–1916,” in P.C. Emmer, ed., Colonialism and Migration: Indentured Labour Before and After Slavery (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff, 1986), 187–207. 5 Marshall Sahlins, Islands of History (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1985), x; Sherry B. Ortner, Anthropology and Social Theory: Culture, Power and the Acting Subject (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 2006), 1–18.

the transformation and downfall of plantation

291

(albeit only observed in 1826 when the illegal trade finally stopped), and the abolition of slavery in 1834 and 1848 in the British and French colonies neighboring Suriname. In particular the British abolition movement was the driving force toward global emancipation. Colonial Secretary Edward George Stanley, pushed by British politicians, colonial administrators, pamphleteers, and scholars, saw this movement as a “mighty experiment,” which Seymour Drescher, suggests may very well have been the most expensive international policy change based on moral action in modern history.6 A public debate about the abolition of slavery did not take place in the Netherlands, but from the 1840s a Parliamentary debate was held about the costs and the organization of the upcoming emancipation. Planters and plantation management worried above all about the imminent shortage of labor and the high labor costs after the abolition of slavery. Dutch Parliament withdrew its objections when apprenticeship was proposed, a financial compensation for lost property was suggested, and indentured labor encouraged. The compensation rate paid to colonial planters was higher than that offered to British slaveholders.7 Amy Dru Stanley explains how U.S. abolitionists used their free market ideology to challenge slavery. The ideal of contract freedom was contrasted with bondage. Emancipation aff orded “freed slaves the right to own themselves and enter into voluntary relations of exchange.” This notion of freedom became eventually a disillusion for many. After the Civil War, freed slaves and others contested the ideal of contract labor based on voluntary exchange by individuals who were formally equal and free.8 In Suriname, however, there does not seem to have been much room for such free market ideas after ten years of apprenticeship in which former slaves were forced into contracts to protect the plantation economy. Slaves worried about the upcoming contracts during the weeks before emancipation, because they feared these would make them slaves again. The apprentices had hardly any room for negotiation.9

6 Seymour Drescher, The Mighty Experiment: Free Labor versus Slavery in British Emancipation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 232. 7 Ibid., 217. 8 Amy Dru Stanley, From Bondage to Contract: Wage labor, marriage, and the market in the age of slave emancipation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 9 Ellen Klinkers, Op hoop van vrijheid: Van slavensamenleving naar Creoolse gemeenschap in Suriname, 1830–1880, Bronnen voor de studie van Afro-Suriname, 18 (Utrecht: Universiteit Utrecht, Vakgroep culturele antropologie, 1997), 111. The

292

ellen klinkers

The colonial authorities tried to retain as many emancipated slaves as possible for the plantation economy. Emancipated slaves could be released from their apprenticeship if they showed to be leading a decent and industrious life. Most released apprentices, however, were servants, artisans, drivers or others not working in the fields. Plantation laborers had much greater difficulty to disentangle themselves from the apprenticeship,10 just like plantation slaves had found it hard to be manumitted during slavery.11 Besides keeping as many emancipated slaves as possible for the apprenticeship, the government limited their freedom of movement by regarding ‘unwillingness to work’ and vagrancy as offenses to be severely punished. Refusal to work as well as vagrancy could lead to imprisonment and forced labor, lasting from two months to two years. Vagrancy and refusal to work were still punishable after the ending of apprenticeship in 1873.12 Stanley argues that in the United States “under the vagrancy laws the state enforced the sale of labor—through an involuntary exchange—wherever beggars contrived to avoid the natural sanctions of hunger and cold. In an age of supposedly untrammeled freedom in the marketplace, legal coercions were resurrected to assure the supremacy of wage labor.”13 In Suriname, contract labor was encouraged as a means of protection and security for both workers and employers. On the 14th of June 1873, the Governor of Suriname addressed the freed population at the official declaration of the end to the apprenticeship.

missionary Calker wrote that slaves were discontented with the obligation to make contracts. They were willing to work, but not under contract. 10 Nationaal Archief (NA), Ministerie van Koloniën [MvK], 2.10.02 (no. 6865). See for example, February 19, 1867, when 31 persons were released from apprenticeship on the occasion of the King’s birthday. At least 23 of them were not working as plantation laborers (not counting the overseers). Nevertheless, the number of plantation workers under apprenticeship fell from 14,975 in 1864 to 12,239 in 1872: Klinkers, Op hoop van vrijheid, 121–122. 11 Rosemarijn Hoefte and Jean Jacques Vrij, “Free Black and Colored Women in Suriname,” in David Barry Gaspar and Darlene Clark Hine, eds., Beyond Bondage; Free Women of Color in the America (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2004), 149. 12 GB 1873, no. 16. During apprenticeship, between 105 and 152 emancipated slaves were yearly charged for vagrancy. After 1873, very few persons were charged for vagrancy. Refusal to work was the most frequent offense during apprenticeship, accounting for the conviction of 2,813 persons in 1867 alone, a record year. In 1874, one year after the abolition of the apprenticeship, 900 persons were still charged with this offense, but by 1878, the number was reduced to a little over 200: Klinkers, Op hoop van vrijheid, 129–134, 147, 148. 13 Stanley, From Bondage to Contract, 137.

the transformation and downfall of plantation

293

At the declaration of your freedom in 1863, you were placed under the special supervision of the state for your own protection. This supervision will soon end on the first of July. By then, you will receive the same rights as all others in this colony . . . Make good use of your time, by working for a reasonable salary, by practicing crafts or trade or by working your own land. Choose the first option—I recommend this to you in the present and future interest of yourself and your children—preferably through contracts for regular labor. These contracts aim to have mutual advantages: for the tenant, security of labor, for the worker, security of income, housing, provision ground, and free medical care in case of illness. All these advantages should not be underestimated.14

The planters’ fear of a massive defection of ex-slaves from the plantations after 1873 did not materialize immediately. Many emancipated slaves continued as contract workers on the plantations, often renting themselves out for specific jobs for a limited period of time. However, slowly but steadily, the Creole population turned its back on plantation life and employment.15 Whereas 12,000 ex-slaves still worked on the plantations in 1872—the last year of the apprenticeship—their number dropped to 6,476 in 1880.16 Vagrancy laws could not prevent emancipated slaves from rebuilding their lives outside the plantation regime as peasants, craftsmen, merchants, or gold diggers—the only alternative form of employment accessible in the colonial economy. The first jobs in civil service during apprenticeship were made available in the police force. For example, in 1868 the Attorney General wanted to appoint two apprentices as policemen. They had to be released from apprenticeship because apprentices were not allowed to work as public servants. After some hesitation, the Governor agreed.17 The authorities tried to control the rise of the peasantry as much as possible by granting public land in plantation areas. In this way, Governor Van Seypesteyn hoped to concentrate the population in the plantation zones, so that peasants could still work on the plantations. The planters, however, did not see how granting public land could be

14

GB 1873, no. 19. Creoles are the descendants of Africans and African-Americans in Suriname. 16 Ellen Klinkers, “De strijd gaat door: Creools verzet na de afschaffing van de slavernij,” in Peter Meel and Hans Ramsoedh, eds., Ik ben een haan met een kroon op mijn hoofd: Pacificatie en verzet in koloniaal en postkoloniaal Suriname (Amsterdam: Bert Bakker, 2007), 148, 149. 17 NA, MvK, 2.10.02 (no. 6870), May 15 and 30, 1868. The police corps Inlandse Politie (Native Police) was founded in 1868, manned by free Creoles (no apprentices). 15

294

ellen klinkers

to their advantage. In the newspaper De West Indiër, they ventilated their dissatisfaction: “The peasantry, encouraged by our administration, holds the cancer which gradually destroys the plantations, the sheet anchor of our colonial prosperity.” The papers spread stereotypes about the Creole workers as heathen and lazy, wandering around while jeopardizing the plantation economy with their high wage claims.18 Like in other post-emancipation societies, these prejudices were also common among former slave owners desperately trying to hold on to the deteriorating plantation economy. Thomas Holt writes in relation to British Emancipation about “racial justifications for the retreat from the more optimistic hopes of the British emancipation experiment and the subsequent discursive justifications of imperialism.”19 Emmer proposes the challenging conclusion that planters were able to adapt to a new economic system in which the supply of labor depended on the conditions of the labor market. According to Emmer, this adaptation was much more difficult for the ex-slaves. The freedmen seemed resolved to offer only as much labor to the plantations as was necessary to satisfy their basic needs. Emmer argues that the introduction of a labor market did not change their pre-capitalist attitudes and that emancipation did not cause the freedmen to maximize their potential.20 True, the emancipated slaves often worked in precarious industries, not always resulting in the improvement of their incomes. However, they exploited various opportunities in the margins of the plantation economy.21 The search for alternative employment during apprenticeship and thereafter marked the transition process from slave to free worker. As Klein and Vinson argue, the struggle between planters and emancipated slaves for control over land and labor would dominate the rural areas from the time of abolition until the first decades

18

De West-Indiër, January 1, 1878; Suriname 1872–1876. Thomas C. Holt, “The Essence of the Contract: The Articulation of Race, Gender, and Political Economy in British Emancipation Policy,” in Frederick Cooper, Thomas C. Holt, and Rebecca J. Scott, eds., Beyond Slavery: Explorations of Race, Labor, and Citizenship in Postemancipation Societies (Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina Press, 2000), 54–56. 20 Emmer, “Between Slavery and abolition,” 100; Emmer, “The Price of Freedom,” 203–226. 21 Nigel O. Bolland, “The Politics of Freedom in the British Caribbean,” in Frank McGlynn and Seymour Drescher, eds., The Meaning of Freedom: Economics, Politics, and Culture after Slavery (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1992), 115. 19

the transformation and downfall of plantation

295

of the twentieth century.22 More research covering a longer period of time needs to be done to demonstrate how this process developed in Suriname. Furthermore, we cannot understand the transformation of Surinamese society after emancipation without also exploring changes in social organization. Not only economic intentions but also deeprooted social practices defined how planters interacted with their former slaves and vice versa. Beyond Emancipation Planters and slaves had largely led separate lives during slavery. Most plantations—about two thirds—had absentee owners by the end of slavery. The owners living in Europe left the supervision of their estates to directors and administrators.23 For planters, keeping a distance between the overseer and the slaves was a way of controlling the slave force. Becoming too familiar with their slaves was considered risking a loss of power.24 The extreme numerical imbalance between whites and slaves gave an important impetus to this strategy.25 This does not imply, of course, that slaves were powerless, as has been shown extensively in the literature.26 After all, an obedient and subordinate demeanor hid the reality behind this conduct.27 Besides, as Emmer has emphasized in his work, the living conditions of slaves improved thanks to the policy of amelioration which regulated the rights and duties of both slaves and plantation management. The slave laws instituted certain minimum standards of food, housing, medical care, and clothing. The

22 Herbert S. Klein and Ben Vinson III, African Slavery in Latin America and the Caribbean (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 236–237. 23 Alex van Stipriaan, Surinaams contrast: Roofbouw en overleven in een Caraïbische plantagekolonie, 1750–1863, Caribbean Series 13 (Leiden: KITLV, 1993), 193–195. 24 Ibid., 285–286. 25 For example in 1791, there were forty-five thousand plantation slaves in Suriname against 1,360 white plantation residents: Hoefte and Vrij, “Free Black and Colored Women in Suriname,” 146, n. 14. 26 Gert Oostindie, Roosenburg en Mon Bijou; Twee Surinaamse plantages, 1720–1870 (Dordrecht: Foris Publications, 1989), 176–180; Gert Oostindie, Het paradijs oversee: De ‘Nederlandse’ Caraiben en Nederland (Amsterdam: Bert Bakker, 1997), 95–97; Van Stipriaan, Surinaams contrast, 385–402. 27 James Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990). Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1982), 11.

296

ellen klinkers

punishment of slaves was also restricted by these regulations.28 Their opportunity to express dissatisfaction in public increased because slaves could report plantation managers to the local authorities when they broke the rules. Still, public interaction between plantation managers and slaves was characterized by distance and dominance until the end of slavery. This can be illustrated by an incident recorded by a Moravian missionary only a few weeks before emancipation. The planter was visiting his plantation in the district of Coronie. Disgruntled about the upcoming emancipation, he confronted his slaves almost immediately upon arrival. As usual, the slaves greeted him at the entrance of the house and asked him how he was doing. His answer was bitter. He said they would receive some kind of freedom (a letter with their family names had recently been handed out to the slaves), but were not free yet. They should not believe his power had evaporated. Those who violated the rules would receive severe punishments. These threats provoked strong reactions among the slaves. Some said: non o masra, fonfon kaba noja (no master, the beatings come to an end). Although the planter wanted to mete out instant punishment to the rebellious slaves, they succeeded in stopping him. The slaves declared that they would continue to work for him, but he had to pay them and stop beating them. Several days later, the slaves gathered again in front of the planter’s house. Their provocative attitude had given way to a defensive and humble demeanor. As the slaves’ spokesman said: “masra, we have come to ask you to forget about the past and forgive us all we did wrong. We were not always good and we have often given you reason for disappointment. We ask you again to forgive us. We want to start all over again and behave to your contentment.”29 The response of the slaves, shifting between self-confidence and humbleness, illustrates the confusion about the coming changes in which social relationships took on a new meaning. This transformation evolved not in the same way for all parties concerned. After emancipation, the plantation managers held on to their practice of keeping

28 Emmer, “Between Slavery and Freedom,” 88; Ernst van den Boogaart and Pieter C. Emmer, “Plantation Slavery in Surinam in the Last Decades before Emancipation: The Case of Catharina Sophia,” in Vera Rubin and Arthur Tuden, eds., Comparative Perspectives on Slavery in New World Plantation Societies (New York: Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, 1977). 29 ABUH: 15 Lb 15 Salem 1863.

the transformation and downfall of plantation

297

distance and maintaining dominance, as suitable to their interests and traditions. Mr. Bijlaart, the owner of plantation De Resolutie, did not want to speak with his emancipated slaves when they came to talk to him about their wages. He became wrathful, jeered at them and sent them away, wrote Governor Van Lansberge. The governor was annoyed by the way in which the plantation owners and managers approached their workers. Some planters could not bear losing the right to punish their laborers themselves. For example, when the laborers delivered poor work on plantation Stamptoncourt, the manager was convinced he could not do anything about it without using his whip, so he let things go. Only after the appointment of a new manager, things went well again. Van Lansberge nevertheless sympathized with the planters and managers: “The manager cannot suddenly forget that he is no longer facing slaves, he has always treated them as such and cannot resign himself to considering these people as free people.”30 Still, things did not always change for the better with the passage of time. For example, in 1867 the attorney-general reported to the Governor that the slaves on plantation Sardan were living under poor conditions. For ten weeks, the workers had not received their wages, apart from some money up front and provisions. They all complained about hunger and want. The governor decided that the owner, Mr. Nielson, had to pay his laborers within one week. If not, they were free to enter into contracts on other plantations, but at the expense of losing their back pay.31 Despite this conduct that harked back to the old times, change was inevitable. Most emancipated slaves did live according to the rules and honored their contracts during apprenticeship, though they criticized the rules of the apprenticeship. Besides, symbolic expressions of freedom marked the beginning of a social transformation in which mundane practices changed the social system.32 For example, by wearing shoes and stockings, which was forbidden for slaves, the emancipated slaves showed their freedom. After abolition of the apprenticeship, the emancipated slaves and planters or plantation managers drifted further apart. The Moravian missionaries, working since the 1830s among Suriname’s slaves, sensed the alienation. Missionary Braukmann noted with

30

NA, MvK 1370. NA, MvK, 2.10.02, no. 6865. This case was no exception. Frequently, the governor was informed about default, as in the first three months of 1867, when three cases of default were reported to him. 32 Ortner, Anthropology and Social Theory. 31

298

ellen klinkers

disappointment what he saw as conceit on the part of the emancipated slaves. On plantation Bersaba, they celebrated the abolition of the apprenticeship with rifle shots. In the afternoon, several men went to the house of the manager, pretending to thank him, but in actual fact to be congratulated in triumph, and perhaps, the missionary assumed, to drink a customary glass of brandy. After a week of celebrations, changes began to occur. Braukmann saw three of his former slaves leave because the wages were higher elsewhere.33 Braukmann’s colleague Meissel wrote that freedom made the people slower, licentious, proud, and unbridled. The freedmen called each other masra (master), misi (mistress), and bakra (white man). Whenever a plantation manager disciplined an emancipated slave, he could expect as a response: a mi wan friman leki joe? (Am I not a free person, just like you?)34 Increasingly, planters put their hopes on Asian contract labor, but not all planters could afford this. Owners of grounds that were not very profitable sold their properties or simply abandoned them and left Suriname. On occasion, emancipated slaves were able to buy the land they had lived on as slaves. Several owners of wood plantations, a less profitable sector than sugar plantations, adapted to the new circumstances by renting their plantations to emancipated slaves. These men and women lived in the former slave houses, sawed planks, grew crops, and sold the harvest. Some plantation owners asked money for rent, others demanded to be delivered wood instead of money.35 Paradoxically, cultural freedom was more limited after emancipation than before. The abolition of slavery involved more than the transition from slave to free labor, it also implied the creation of a single social and cultural community. Emancipated slaves preserved the Creole language Sranan Tongo, despite these politics of assimilation, as well as traditional medical and religious practices. Compulsory education in Dutch was introduced in 1876, but could not replace Sranan. The advancement of Christianity, which had been an integral part of the government’s politics of assimilation since the 1830s, was even reinforced after emancipation. Participation in ‘heathen practices’ was criminalized but hardly prosecuted, and the Afro-Caribbean religion was practiced

33 34 35

ABUH: 15 Lb 11a, Bersaba 1873. ABUH: 15 LB 11b, Catharina-Sophia. Ibid.

the transformation and downfall of plantation

299

openly.36 Creole culture became an accepted part of Surinamese society by the turn of the nineteenth century, as happened in other former slave societies in the Caribbean and Latin America.37 The authorities showed a particular interest in stimulating marriages and nuclear family households according to European ideals.38 Slaves gained the right to enter into legal or church marriage after emancipation. Married women were obliged to work four days a week on plantations, which was supposed to give them time to support their families and do domestic chores.39 When a woman married a man who was not under apprenticeship, she was released from apprenticeship too.40 Marriage was, however, not popular during apprenticeship and the years thereafter. Missionaries complained about the unwillingness to marry. Although some showed understanding, because women were better protected against abuse when couples lived together unmarried. According to the missionary Häfner maltreatment of women was not exceptional and marriage made it harder for women to leave their husbands. Official records do neither confirm nor contradict these accusations of abuse. The colonial records reported that increasingly more women with children got into trouble after having been abandoned by their husbands. These women were living in poverty or became involved in prostitution.41 On the other hand, in times of need, family ties provided a safety net for men and women, as had been the case during slavery. Women and children were not solely dependent on their husbands, but could count on the help of family and community members.42

36 The highest annual number of charges against practicing the Afro-Caribbean religion was recorded in 1872, when 22 people were accused of heathen practices. Klinkers, Op hoop van vrijheid, 69–105; Ellen Klinkers, “Moravian Missions in Times of Emancipation,” in Michelle Gillespie and Robert Beachy, eds., Pious Pursuits: German Moravians in the Atlantic World (New York: Berghahn Books, 2007), 216, 217. See also Diane J. Austin-Broos, “Redefining the Moral Order: Interpretations of Christianity in Postemancipation Jamaica,” in McGlynn and Drescher, The Meaning of Freedom, 221–224 37 Klein and Vinson, African Slavery in Latin America and the Caribbean, 244– 246. 38 Gert Oostndie, “Kerstening en familieleven: Herrnhutters, slaven en vrijgemaakten in de Boven-Commewijne, 1852–1878,” in Meel and Ramsoedh, Ik ben een haan met een kroon op mijn hoofd (Amsterdam: Bert Bakker, 2007). 39 Apprentices had to work 300 days per year: GB 1862, no. 6. 40 Emmer, “Between Slavery and Freedom,” 112. 41 Klinkers, Op Hoop van Vrijheid, 171–178. 42 Ibid., 69–105, 178.

300

ellen klinkers

The policy to morally, socially, and intellectually edify emancipated slaves was prevalent in post-emancipation societies. British politicians, Holt writes, “saw material prosperity and moral progress as mutually interactive and inseparable.”43 Stanley links post-emancipation wage labor and marriage bonds in the United States. She argues that the ideological conflict over chattel slavery made marriage and property rights of free men as important as labor for the understanding of contract freedom. Black women demanded self-ownership within the marriage contract. “The contract freedom afforded wives was not that of either former slaves or other hirelings. Rather, it was hedged by the bonds of marriage. Because the wife lacked unqualified rights of self-ownership, the law narrowly founded her claims to her wages on her title to separate property of her estrangement from her husband.”44 Former slaves did not cling to old forms of social organization. Striking was the break-up of former slave communities in the face of solid plantation communities and family ties, as well as the trauma of forced removals following slave sales before 1863. Still, there were communities that remained together, forming a stable basis for peasant communities after the end of apprenticeship.45 The social hierarchy among slaves, introduced by plantation managers into these communities, disappeared with their disintegration. Basyas, the black overseers, had also been religious leaders during slavery, and their religious authority confirmed their secular power in the slave communities. They used these two prominent positions to legitimate and expand their influence in the community. This double status seems to have lost its significance after emancipation, and the basya does not appear in archival sources as a leader of the free Creole peasant communities. On the plantations, Creole overseers were still under contract, but their position weakened, in particular vis-à-vis Asian contract workers who preferred to work under white overseers.46 Members of the Colonial Board (Koloniale Raad) suggested, in anticipation of abolition, to appoint black overseers as assistant policemen (hulpbeambten van politie), because, as

43

Holt, “The Essence of the Contract,” 50. Stanley, From Bondage to Contract, xiii, 31 217. 45 Van Stipriaan, Surinaams contrast, 389–392; Sidney Mintz, Caribbean Transformations, and “Slavery and the Rise of Peasantries,” Historical Reflections 6 (1979), 213–243; Klinkers, Op hoop van Vrijheid, 164–171 and “De strijd gaat door,” 146–150. 46 Rosemarijn Hoefte, In Place of Slavery: A Social History of British Indian and Javanese Laborers in Suriname (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1998), 99. 44

the transformation and downfall of plantation

301

one member put it, they were already policing the plantations.47 The proposal was, however, not put into practice. The Moravians appointed helpers in the slave communities, men as well as women, who looked after the religious affairs during their absence. The helpers had considerable prestige, and it was an honor to be appointed. At the same time, their position was difficult and contentious, because these helpers had to inform the missionaries about the sinful lives of others. It became hard, therefore, to find loyal helpers after emancipation. The position lost prestige, and helpers had to endure mockery and criticism.48 When Moravian brother Menze suggested appointing someone as a kind of mayor in his Creole peasant community, he was told: yes leriman (teacher), that would be nice and good if we were white men, but we blacks are no servants of each other. Everyone wants to be his own master.49 Resistance or Agency? Should we understand the urge of emancipated slaves to live a free and independent life as resistance? The local authorities and Moravian missionaries did indeed consider the conduct of emancipated slaves who moved from one plantation to another during the apprenticeship as resistance. Brother Khün explained that the former slaves liked to move on to other plantations even if there was no reason to leave: “Often, by leaving he makes clear to his master that his master is dependent on him after emancipation. At best, he gives his permission to make a new contract after hesitating for a while.”50 According to Governor Van Lansberge, the emancipated slaves were proud to be free people and wanted to shed everything that reminded them of slavery. Afraid to show submissiveness, he saw them as choosing the other extreme.51

47

NA, Koloniale Raad, 1.05.11.02. Ellen Klinkers, “Moravian Missions in Times of Emancipation,” 207–222. Maria Lenders, Strijders voor het lam: leven en werk van Herrnhutter-broeder en -zusters in Suriname, 1735–1900 (Leiden: KITLV uitgeverij, 1996). Gert Oostindie, “Kerstening en familieleven; Herrnhutters, slaven en vrijgemaakten in de Boven-Commewijne, 1852–1878,” in Meel and Ramsoedh, Ik ben een haan met een kroon op mijn hoofd, 109–132. 49 Nachrichten aus der Brüdergemeine 1877, 368–369. 50 ABUH: 15 La 9c (2) Khün: Vistationsbericht u. beilagen I–XXXIII 1870–1871, Einige bemerkungen über die Zukunft die Neger. 51 NA, MvK, no. 1370. 48

302

ellen klinkers

The emancipated slaves, however, also had economic reasons to move, attracted by some plantation owners who offered more money than the required wage. Good provision grounds or a location near the town of Paramaribo were also appealing to laborers.52 Although hardly any serious acts of rebellion occurred, the tension was present at the plantations after the abolition of slavery. Apprentices expressed their discontent mostly in hidden forms of resistance, like malingering, loitering or delivering poor work. Planters and authorities were constantly on the alert about threats of rebellion or resistance.53 These forms of hidden resistance were also effectively used during slavery. As Glen Richards points out in an essay on St. Kitts and Nevis, continuities in protest were not the “result of some consciously-held tradition of resistance maintained by the plantation workers,” but it reflected the “structural continuities in the plantation system.” 54 Overt confrontation between planters and apprentices in Suriname was suppressed immediately.55 According to Holt, the most militant resistance to the apprenticeship regime in Jamaica came from women workers.56 Although women in Suriname were involved in resistance to the apprenticeship, their role was not as prominent as in Jamaica.57 For example, women tried to prevent their children from entering into apprenticeship contracts when they reached the age of fifteen.58 Studies published after the 1970s also emphasize resistance when it comes to the daily practices of the emancipated slaves. They consider the urge to build a life outside the plantation regime an act of resistance. The argument is that the emancipated slaves freed themselves from plantation labor. Both political strife and the struggle for the means of existence are said to have begun after emancipation.59 The 52

Klinkers, “De strijd gaat door,” 122, 123. Ibid., 136–144. 54 Glen Richards, “The Pursuits of ‘Higher Wages’ & ‘perfect Personal Freedom’ St Kitts-Nevis 1836–1956,” in Mary Turner, ed., From Chattel Slaves to Wage Slaves: The Dynamics of Labour Bargaining in the Americas (London: James Currey, 1995), 296. 55 Klinkers, “De strijd gaat door,” 136–144. 56 Thomas Holt, The Problem of Freedom: Race, labor, and politics in Jamaica and Britain, 1832–1938 (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1992), 64. 57 Klinkers, “De strijd gaat door,” 138. 58 NA: MvK, 2.10.02 (no. 6865). 59 Bolland, “The Politics of Freedom”; Klinkers, Op hoop van vrijheid; Klinkers, “De strijd gaat door,” 133–152; Sidney W. Mintz, Caribbean Transformations (Chicago: Aldine, 1974). Besson argued that the withdrawal from plantation labor was a transformation of marronage. Maroons were considered a model of resistance and 53

the transformation and downfall of plantation

303

singular emphasis on resistance takes away agency from the ex-slaves by interpreting their actions only as reactions to dominant structures. The choiced of emancipated slaves did not just constitute resistance against exploitative relations and structures of the past. Sherry Ortner provides an illuminating insight by shifting the focus from resistance to the related question of how practices may actually transform structures.60 In other words, should the response of former slaves be identified as resistance to dominant structures or should we understand their practices as sources of change in themselves? The emancipated slaves made effective use of the niche left for them and were much more focused on the future than the perspective of resistance suggests. They were attracted by new opportunities in the peasant economy, gold mining, rubber tapping, and jobs in the town of Paramaribo. A focus on practice instead of resistance also provides a better understanding of the transformations from slave to free society and the new culture. Cultural meanings change, in former slave societies like in any other society. As Ortner writes, “For what social transformation in a deep sense means is not only the transformation of institutions. It involves the transformation of ‘culture.’ Culture is dynamic instead of static, and self-reproducing instead of a consequence of socioeconomic structures.61 Conclusion According to Ortner’s interpretation of Sahlins’ work, historical change is an outcome of the articulation of local and translocal power dynamics.62 This multilevel approach demonstrates that the transformation from slave to free society came about in the interaction among emancipated slaves, their former owners, and the colonial authorities. Their sometimes conflicting practices eventually changed the structure of society. The colonial government was loyal to the planters and tried to persuade former slaves to work on the plantations, while restricting their spiritual and economic freedom with laws and regulations. On the

independence. Jean Besson, “Freedom and Community: The British West Indies,” in McGlynn and Drescher, The Meaning of Freedom, 187–191. 60 Ortner, Anthropology and Social Theory, 8. 61 Ibid., 11–18. 62 Ibid., 10.

304

ellen klinkers

other hand, the colonial authorities embraced the abolition of slavery and sanctioned planters who did not conform to the new reality. Planters and managers tried to continue old habits as much as possible, both economically and in their interaction with former slaves. Ex-slaves headed for change, working outside the plantation economy and breaking with traditional social practices. Emancipation, therefore, had its impact on the collective symbolic scheme, which implied different conduct by former slaves and planters. The fact that the emancipated slaves worked and lived in the margins of the plantation economy was not so much a sign of their pre-capitalist attitude, but marked the beginning of the transformation of Suriname’s culture and economy. Suriname society changed fundamentally, despite the absence of serious disorder and economic upheaval after emancipation, Research about the aftermath of slavery in Suriname should therefore not be limited to economic circumstances alone, but should also include social organization and cover a longer period of time.

CHAPTER TWELVE

HISTORY BROUGHT HOME: POSTCOLONIAL MIGRATIONS AND THE DUTCH REDISCOVERY OF SLAVERY Gert Oostindie Slavery and slave resistance have been core issues in the post-war historiography of the Caribbean.1 At the same time, massive migration from the British, Dutch and French Caribbean to Europe has literally brought the legacies of colonialism and hence slavery home to the former metropolitan countries. Virtually all Caribbean nations moreover are thoroughly transnational today. One of the consequences of this postcolonial condition has been the emergence of what is now generally known as the ‘Black Atlantic,’ a concept coined by Paul Gilroy.2 The shared history of enslavement provides a central point of reference within this Black Atlantic. It also provides inspiration for narratives of history which gloss over fundamental differences within the history of Atlantic slavery. This paper addresses the recent Dutch rediscovery of the Netherlands’ long history of slave trading and slavery in relation to the impact of the post-war migration from the Dutch Caribbean. A first issue is the overall impact of postcolonial migration—from Indonesia and the Caribbean—on the way Dutch history is canonized. The next sections provide a succinct analysis of the importance of slave trading and slavery in the various realms of the Dutch colonial empire, followed by an analysis of the recent and relatively successful impact of the Caribbean demand to accept African slavery as an integral part of Dutch national history. The final sections discuss the contested issue of legacies, question whether “Black Atlantic” interpretations indeed help us seeing New World slavery and its legacies with fresh eyes, and offer some reflections on the position of historians. 1 An earlier version of this paper was presented at conferences of the Association of Caribbean Historians (Paramaribo, 12–16 May 2008) and MESEA—The Society for the Multi-Ethnic Studies (Leiden, 25–28 June 2008). Pieter Emmer and Alex van Stipriaan provided much-appreciated comments on this earlier version. 2 Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (London: Verso, 1993).

306

gert oostindie

A word regarding the background to this paper is appropriate. Three Dutch historians of slavery have been particular vocal on these issues in the Netherlands and have therefore become voluntary or reluctant actors in the field at the same time. Pieter Emmer and Alex van Stipriaan, both highly respected for their scholarly work, have represented some strongly opposing views on these matters. A third historian engaged in these debates is the present author, who should probably be located somewhere between the other two. A good deal of this paper therefore derives from publications by these authors as well as from the present author’s ongoing engagement with these issues. A good outsider’s analysis is provided by Joke Kardux.3 A Historical Canon for a Postcolonial Metropolis World War Two sparked the decolonization of the Dutch empire and, even more unexpectedly to the Dutch, the first of a series of postcolonial migrations. The total number of immigrants from Indonesia in the 1945–1962 period is estimated at around 300,000. This figure is negligible in comparison to an Indonesian population of roughly one hundred million in the late 1940s, but involved the overwhelming majority from the circles where most of these immigrants originated from, i.e. Dutch colonials and Eurasians. Today, over half a million Dutch citizens have some Indonesian roots.

3 Pieter C. Emmer, The Dutch and the Atlantic Slave Trade, 1600–1850 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2006). Johanna Kardux, “Monuments of the Black Atlantic: Slavery Memorials in the United States and the Netherlands,” in Heike Raphael-Hernandez, ed., Blackening Europe: The African American presence (New York: Routledge, 2004), 87–105. Gert Oostindie, “Squaring the Circle; Commemorating the VOC after 400 Years,” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 159 (2003), 135–61. Gert Oostindie, “The Slippery Paths of Commemoration and Heritage Tourism. The Netherlands, Ghana, and the Rediscovery of Atlantic Slavery,” New West Indian Guide 79 (2005), 55–77. Gert Oostindie, ed., Facing Up to the Past: Perspectives on the Commemoration of Slavery from Africa, the Americas and Europe (Kingston: Ian Randle/The Hague: Prince Claus Fund, 2001). Alex van Stipriaan, “The Long Road to a Monument,” in Oostindie, Facing Up, 118–22. Alex van Stipriaan, “July 1: Emancipation Day in Suriname, A Contested lieu de mémoire, 1863–2003,” New West Indian Guide 78 (2004), 269–304. Alex van Stipriaan, “Between Diaspora, (Trans)Nationalism, and American Globalization: A History of Afro-Surinamese Emancipation Day,” in Ruben Gowricharn, ed., Caribbean Transnationalism: Migration, Pluralization, and Social Cohesion (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2006), 155–78. Much more is written on this issue, but the references here are to contributions available in English.

history brought home

307

Whereas this first chapter of decolonization thus caused unrepresentative and comparatively insignificant migration, the 1975 transfer of sovereignty to Suriname sparked an exodus involving colonial citizens of all classes, ethnicities and generations, a cross-section of the entire population. Over the next decades, the demographic growth of the Surinamese community would be a largely Dutch affair. Today, the country houses some 475,000 inhabitants, as against a Surinamese community of some 335,000 in the Netherlands. According to the 2004 census, roughly half of the Surinamese population has African roots. Large-scale Antillean migration to the Netherlands, mainly from Curaçao, dates from the late 1980s and beyond. Again, the numerical significance of the migration lies primarily on the islands itself. This Antillean migration is not representative by origins, as the overwhelming majority hails from one island only. But again, in other dimensions the migrants form a cross-section of the insular population. The total population of the six islands is estimated at 280,000. The Antillean community in the Netherlands now stands at 130,000. The great majority of the Antillean community in the Netherlands is of African origins. With an estimated one million taken together, the share of Dutch citizens with (post)colonial roots in the total population is considerable. The number of Dutch with ‘roots’ in Indonesia is estimated at just over half a million, the number with Caribbean origins at just under half a million; the number of Dutch citizens whose presence in the Netherlands has a prehistory going back to the Atlantic slave trade is some 300,000—probably half of the Surinamese Dutch are of Asian origins.4 Colonial history has literally come home with these successive waves of postcolonial migration. The postcolonial presence became immediately evident in demographics, but more recently also in debates on Dutch identity and culture. Just as in other countries of the ‘old’ Europe, progressive European unification and large-scale immigration have provoked new, often fierce debates on national identity and the extent to which immigrants can and should adhere to ‘national’ traditions

4 The 2004 Census presents ambiguous figures. The proportion of Surinamese of Asian origins is 42 (Hindustani, 27.4 and Javanese, 14.6). With 32.4 per cent (17.7 urban Creoles and 14.7 Maroons), the proportion of Surinamese of African roots seems much lower, but probably the ‘Mixed’ category (12.5) is mainly African. The other census categories are ‘other’ (6.5, including Amerindians, Brazilians, Chinese and Europeans) and ‘unknown’ (6.6).

308

gert oostindie

and values. By conventional Dutch standards, these debates have been unusually heated, hovering between the two extremes of conservative essentialism and unconditional praise of multiculturalism. The rise of a postcolonial community of one million in the Netherlands has had an unmistakable and in some ways salutary impact on the Dutch debates on national identity. The colonial antecedents of Dutch history have been more strongly and critically incorporated in the national narrative than ever before. Postcolonial identity politics certainly played a role here. ‘History,’ implying an imputed Dutch collective guilt handed down through the generations, was used as a strong argument particularly by leaders of postcolonial migrant communities. The Dutch government reacted accordingly in the past decades, supporting and subsidizing commemorations, statues and museums, research projects and the like for postcolonial migrant communities. In all of this, we witness present governments acknowledging responsibility for—from a contemporary perspective—morally dubious or outright immoral state actions going back decades and even centuries. Perhaps seeking some kind of moral redemption, but also trying to enhance social cohesion, the state answers to the urges of its postcolonial citizenry. This does not necessarily lead to consistent re-writings of the past. The Dutch East India Company (VOC) is celebrated while shame and remorse dominate the memory of the Dutch West India Company (WIC). This contrast has something to do with the different trajectories of the two companies, but arguably as much or more with the willingness to respond to postcolonial migrants’ divergent ideas about these pasts. Whatever the inconsistencies and moral challenges, the ‘repatriation’ of postcolonial migrants has had the effect of bringing colonial history back into the canonical version of national history. This is best illustrated in the recently presented canonical version of Dutch history defined by a government commission and subsequently accepted as the model for primary and early secondary school history education. The new canon testifies to an enhanced awareness of the significance of colonialism in and for Dutch history. Of the fifty ‘windows’ making up Dutch history according to this canon, five are exclusively about colonial history, while several other windows have a colonial dimension. Nowhere do we come across glorification of colonialism, the perspectives varying from neutral to explicitly critical.5

5

http://www.entoen.nu/

history brought home

309

Once we move to renderings of colonialism outside of academia, the picture becomes more blurred and one encounters more self-congratulatory perspectives on colonialism. Dutch colonialism in Asia evokes mixed memories, while the Dutch Caribbean history is mainly equated with slavery and therefore shame. This lack of balance reflects the contemporary framework in which colonial history is reinserted in the national narrative. There is a geopolitical context in which the Netherlands prides itself of having been among the pioneers of globalization, but expresses embarrassment regarding colonialism as such and in particular as to its excesses. This intermingles with a domestic context in which postcolonial migrant communities demand that their voices be heard in the new narrative of Dutch national history. In all of these debates, we may observe that leaders of postcolonial migrant communities have successfully capitalized on shared history. This need not necessarily mean claiming older and priority rights to full citizenship over and above the other ethnic minorities in the country, but at times precisely that implication is voiced. Cultural affinity then becomes an addition argument. In order words, as a late vengeance, references to colonialism become forceful arguments for full and undisputed contemporary citizenship. The Atlantic slave trade and slavery in the Caribbean colonies are increasingly singled out as the nadir of colonial history. In 2000, seven per cent of a representative sample of Dutch citizens indicated that among all episodes of Dutch history commending shame, the Dutch participation in the slave trade was at the top of their list of embarrassment. Four years later, this proportion had increased to sixteen percent. By 2008, this was up to twenty-four, making the Dutch participation in the slave trade the answer most frequently given to this question. No other episode in Dutch history elicits more embarrassment.6 The pendulum continues to swing though. The VOC celebrations continued in spite of widespread irritation in countries implicated with the company such as Indonesia, India or South Africa, and well-publicized criticism by Dutch scholars. A backlash regarding official Dutch remorse about the WIC and Atlantic slave trading is not altogether unthinkable either. There has been no shortage of radical xenophobic websites denouncing monuments and remorse for slavery as nonsensical. Shortly before he was murdered in 2002, populist right-wing political leader Pim Fortuyn accepted the facts of Dutch involvement in the

6

De Geschiedeniskrant, March 26, 2008.

310

gert oostindie

Atlantic slave trade but ridiculed inherited guilt and reparation claims. In 2005, one of his epigones, Rita Verdonk, then a member of cabinet, made a highly disputed official representation at the annual Emancipation Day celebrations in Amsterdam. But by 2008, launching her new political movement ‘Trots op Nederland’ (Pride in the Netherlands), she complained that “everywhere in the Netherlands, monuments for slavery are erected [that] depict our culture as awful.” One may well assume she anticipated many potential Dutch voters would support this firm stance.7 Slave Trade and Slavery in the West and East Indies We may well assume that the respondents’ shame about the Dutch involvement in slave trade and slavery was exclusively linked to the Atlantic system. The Dutch involvement in slave trading in the Indian Ocean and with colonial slavery in the territory covered by the Dutch East India Company has received only slight scholarly interest and no public interest at all. This is actually one of the reasons why the quadricentennial of the establishment of the VOC could be extensively celebrated in the Netherlands, an act unthinkable for the West India Company.8 Slave trades and slavery in the Dutch East and West Indies were two circuits that functioned virtually independent of one another but lend themselves very well for comparison. This includes the scale and organization of the slave trade, number and origin of the slaves, their economic importance to the colonies, contrasts between indigenous and foreign slavery, slavery regimes, inter-ethnic relations, creolization and local cultural formation and, finally, abolition and emancipation. Several conclusions may be drawn from recent tentative research.9 First, the numbers game. The Dutch role in the Atlantic slave trade has long been established. Over the centuries, Dutch slavers were minor

7 Pim Fortuyn, De puinhopen van acht jaar Paars (Uithoorn: Karakter, 2002), 158. The argument in 2005 had not been on Verdonk’s opinions about slavery and commemoration—she had no record in this respect—but on her tough anti-migration policies. Speech Rita Verdonk, Amsterdam, April 3, 2008. 8 Oostindie, “Commemorating the VOC,” 153. 9 See the overview provided by Rik van Welie, “Slave Trades and Slavery, 1596–1863,” in Gert Oostindie, ed., Migrations and Cultural Heritage in the Dutch Colonial World (Leiden: KITLV Press, 2008), 155–259.

history brought home

311

players, embarking some 555,000 or five per cent of the 12.5 million enslaved Africans destined for the ‘Middle Passage’ across the Atlantic. In the seventeenth and early eighteenth century, however, the share of the Dutch was more prominent and they were also instrumental in exporting the sugar-and-slavery model from Brazil to the Caribbean. Whereas the Dutch slave trade is mostly thought of as an Atlantic phenomenon, historians have long known that the VOC also engaged in slave trade. In a pioneering article, Marcus Vink has suggested that the Dutch Indian Ocean slave trade was actually more voluminous than it was in the Atlantic. Rik van Welie’s discussion of the literature and evidence makes it clear that the methodological and conceptual issues are far more complicated for the Asian slave trades than for the Atlantic area. Even short of satisfactory quantitative series, we may confidently say that in the East too, the Dutch were active and unscrupulous buyers of slaves—in the realm of the VOC, enslaved Asians and to a lesser degree Africans supplied by local traders. The Dutch partners in oceanic trade were Asians, particularly Chinese, and also Africans.10 Up to the abolition of slavery (1863 in the Dutch case), slave labor formed the backbone of the colonies in the Americas—slave-produced tropical produce was the raison d’être of these colonies. Dutch Brazil and even more the Guyanas were typical plantation economies, with enslaved Africans making up a massive majority of the population. Conversely, in most of the Asian settlements and colonies, slave labor was mainly urban and incidental to other forms of locally procured labor, whether bonded or not. Slaves formed a tiny minority in the overall population of the Asian colonies. Only in places such as Batavia, Banda or Ambon did they make up half the population by the late seventeenth century and hence had a more significant impact. Much has been written on the absence of a serious abolitionist movement in the Netherlands regarding the Atlantic slave trade and slavery. Seymour Drescher presented the classic analysis of the Dutch paradox fifteen years ago.11 Clearly this lack of abolitionist fervor is not that atypical in a European, let alone global context, but contrasts strongly with the exceptional British case and also with nationally cherished ideas

10 Marcus Vink, “ ‘The World’s Oldest Trade’: Dutch Slavery and Slave Trade in the Indian Ocean in the Seventeenth Century”, Journal of World History 14: 2 (2003), 131–77. Van Welie, “Slave Trades.” 11 Seymour Drescher, “The Long Goodbye. Dutch Capitalism and Antislavery in a Comparative Perspective,”American Historical Review 99 (1994), 44–69.

312

gert oostindie

about Dutch progressiveness and humanitarianism. Studies on slave owners’ attitudes in the Dutch Caribbean only confirm this sobering observation. Again, the study of Dutch attitudes towards enslavement in Asia is only in its infancy. There is no indication, however, that Dutch colonialism has a more commendable record here. Perhaps it was even easier to conceive of slavery as self-evident in Asia than in the Americas. In Asia, the Dutch like other Europeans simply participated in pre-colonial networks of slave-trading and Europeans were certainly not exceptional in their deployment of slaves.12 Historians are generally weary about generalizations regarding ‘mild’ versus ‘harsh’ variants of slavery, and even more so when such variations are explained by reference to criteria such as the national or cultural backgrounds of slave owners. Wherever there is slavery, abuse is endemic; and so is slave resistance. Nonetheless, we may possibly discern some contrasts between the practice of slavery in the Dutch Atlantic and Dutch Asia. For all we know, for most enslaved, slavery in Asia would imply urban and domestic rather than agro-industrial labour, was more gender-balanced and implied lesser racial and ethnic distinctions. As a consequence, manumission was far more common, as was the likeliness that the descendants of manumitted slaves would be fully incorporated into the wider society, not necessarily in the lower classes. For most Asian slaves, there was no such thing as the dreaded middle passage, and probably lesser racial stigmatization and alienation. While this hypothesis awaits scholarly scrutiny, it is useful for present purposes to highlight another dimension of the history of slavery. Throughout the Americas as well as in the Afro-Caribbean diaspora in Europa, the Atlantic slave trade and New World slavery are crucial to the way descendants of these enslaved Africans think of themselves, colonial history, and contemporary issues ranging from racism to achievement. Conversely, their visible African ancestry makes them victims of this history identifiable to all. Slavery, in a sense, has remained, or has become a central feature in Afro-American identity. Nothing of this sort applies to the former Dutch colonies in Asia. Remember that slavery was not nearly as dominant in the Asian ter12

See Gert Oostindie, ed., Fifty Years Later: Antislavery, Capitalism and Modernity in the Dutch Orbit (Leiden: KITLV Press, 1995/Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1996) for a reprint of the Drescher paper and a dozen comments providing a comparative perspective on Dutch abolition and Emancipation.

history brought home

313

ritories as it was in the Americas. Moreover, it is difficult to point at legacies of slavery or at descendants of slaves—and where this is possible, in Indonesia, one would more likely be dealing with traces of the indigenous slavery that both preceded and outlasted colonial slavery. In other words, whereas colonial history itself does not have the contemporary weight in Asia it has in the Caribbean, slavery evokes even less living memories.13 Commemorating Atlantic Slavery: Gestures and Dissonance For all practical purposes, the ‘Dutch’ memory of slavery is narrowed down to—in this order—Suriname, the Antilles, and perhaps Africa, symbolized by the Elmina fortress in Ghana. The Dutch involvement with slavery in the domain of the East India Company has been largely forgotten. The same, incidentally, applies to enslavement of Dutch citizens in Northern Africa in the early modern period. The rediscovery of slavery in Dutch history is therefore partial and corresponds to a particular demand in Dutch society expressed mainly by the AfroCaribbean community. Since the late 1990s, Dutch government and institutions in the public arena have been forthcoming in financing and otherwise supporting initiatives to commemorate Atlantic slavery. In the presence of the Dutch queen and prime minister, a national commemorative monument was inaugurated in Amsterdam, 1 July (Emancipation Day) 2002. A national institute (NiNsee) for the study and documentation of slavery and public outreach was established one year later in Amsterdam. Zeeland, once the major slave trading province, followed suit in 2005 with its own monument, in Middelburg. In 2006, a plaque was attached to the beautiful, early 17th-century mansion of the mayor of Amsterdam indicating that one of its first inhabitants had been an official of the West India Company with a special assignment for the Atlantic slave trade. Invariably, such inaugurations went accompanied with solemn declarations. Members of the Dutch cabinet expressed “deep remorse,” as did the future Dutch king on a visit to Ghana. Cultural institutions

13 For reasons of space, the practice and memory of slavery in the former Dutch colonies in Africa is not discussed here. See Oostindie, “Slippery Paths,” and Migrations and Cultural Heritage.

314

gert oostindie

financed by the Dutch state embarked on a wide variety of initiatives, ranging from the publication of books through the opening of genealogical databases at the National Archives and restoration projects to a series of permanent or travelling exhibitions in various museums and school television documentaries. Media coverage was extensive and helped raising public awareness on the issue—possibly triggering the later chauvinistic backlash as well. There is irony, perhaps bitter irony in the fact that the initiative in all of this was definitely metropolitan, with Suriname and the Antilles obtaining second servings most of the time. The successful Caribbean lobby in the Netherlands to ‘unsilence’ the slavery past has inadvertently served to strengthen the metropolitan hold on the digestion of colonial history. Of course ‘metropolitan’ now includes views and players from the Caribbean community, but even so, the historical asymmetry continues to be reproduced. Within the Netherlands, the urge to accept Atlantic slavery as part and parcel of Dutch history may have been spectacularly successful, but this does not mean that there is no dissonance. There is, and at times heated debate at that. In a recent analysis of the debates, Dutch historian Alex van Stipriaan has made a telling distinction between ‘white’ and ‘black’ perspectives. His argument is well worth quoting at some length. He characterizes the ‘black’ discourse as subaltern, Afro-centric, anti-colonial, and inspired by U.S. debates on slavery as the Black Holocaust and hence the claim to reparations. The ‘white’ discourse, in his perspective, is “not white of an intrinsically racist character” and actually even anti-racist, but top-down, paternalistic, a product of the political, cultural and scholarly establishment. Van Stipriaan, himself a white and well-established historian with strong links to the Caribbean communities, thinks of himself as one of the few ‘(desperately?) trying to build bridges between the two [discourses].’14 There is a point in this distinction. At the turn of the millennium, the Dutch establishment engaged with a certain eagerness to the challenge to “do good,” to speak out against moral flaws of the nation in a distant past, to present conciliatory gestures. The new-found consistency was often summarized in affirmations to the effect that there was a hideous inconsistency in thinking of the Dutch Golden Age of economic and political ascendancy, religious and philosophical tolera-

14

Van Stipriaan, “Between Diaspora,” 169.

history brought home

315

tion and Rembrandt without acknowledging this period also as the starting period of the nation’s involvement in the Atlantic slave trade. So initially, there was something of a ‘feel good’ dimension to all of this, coupled to political considerations akin to the multiculturalism paradigm and the accompanying commitment to inclusionary politics, as in the broadening of the narrative of the nation. It soon turned out that there were more radical expectations within the Caribbean community. Anyone engaged in debates on the issue of slavery and its contemporary legacies was soon bound to be caught in heated debates on legitimacy, black versus white perspectives, and eventually the question of apologies and reparations. Liberal white historians, operating within a reconciliatory mode, could easily find themselves exposed to criticism of high-jacking a ‘black’ issue or, at best, of realising that their contributions were met with distrust and at times overt hostility by radical Afro-Caribbean protagonists. Van Stipriaan encapsulates this well—if perhaps not particularly encouraging to the present author—in his comments on two books edited for the Prince Claus Fund in 1999 and 2001. The first, in Dutch, made a paper case for commemoration and a monument in the Netherlands, while the second, in English, provided a broader comparative context. “These books have certainly influenced debates within the white discourse. Within the Black discourse they have played no role whatsoever in the Netherlands, with the exception that the editor of both books, Oostindie, is considered as belonging to ‘them.’ ”15 This probably correct observation begs many questions. The first issue seems of a conceptual nature, but has a wider epistemological significance. Much of Van Stipriaan’s ‘white discourse’ actually refers to the field of academia, the terrain of white as well as, indeed, a minority of black historians. Much of his ‘black discourse,’ in contrast, is about grass-roots feelings, memories, and wisdoms that operate at an altogether different level. Within academia, there is by definition room for dissonance based on argumentation. In the field of the humanities, there is also a growing awareness of the significance and inevitability of multivocality. Yet it seems a risky, and to the present writer in the end untenable, position to juxtapose two fundamentally different types

15 Van Stipriaan, “Between Diaspora,” 168. The books are Gert Oostindie, ed., Het verleden onder ogen: Herdenking van de slavernij (Amsterdam: Arena/Den Haag: Prins Claus Fonds voor Cultuur en Ontwikkeling, 1999) and Oostindie, Facing Up.

316

gert oostindie

of discourse as somehow of a same nature. After all, scholarship has higher claims than providing ‘just another perspective’ on, say, the origins of mankind, the treatment of cancer, quantum mechanics, or the historical phenomenon of slavery. For that reason, we may well accept that fact that some feel there is a ‘white discourse’ out there that does not answer their needs in remembering slavery and pondering its legacies. But accepting that fact does not imply that scholarship needs to apologize for its own methods and epistemological claims. While this argument leads to a rejection of the scholarly validity of the black-and-white dichotomy, there is also a sobering strategic concern. The same representative sample of Dutch who ranked Dutch slave trading and slavery as the most shameful episode in national history demonstrated little sympathy for reparations.16 More broadly, the growing popularity of right-wing populism in Dutch society and politics suggests that the room for a radical ‘black discourse’ to reach any broad backing seems slight. Wide disenchantment with the multiculturalism paradigm actually means that the liberal ‘white discourse’ itself is at the defence. It might be wise therefore to think again about considering the differences between these two perspectives as crucial—there is another white world out there with little patience with either of Van Stipriaan’s perspectives. This, incidentally, is one reason why some influential African-American intellectuals will not have anything to do with the reparations claim, feeling that it will only backfire on more moderate accomplishments of the civil rights movement.17 Next, there are the questions to what extent a professional historian should engage in this type of considerations in the first place, and how a historian can relate to the fashionable cultural studies’ concept of multivocality in this context. Both questions will be addressed below. But first some of the contents of the black versus white controversy in Dutch politics should be discussed. From this short survey, it will become clear that, as Van Stipriaan rightly observes, the ‘white’ perspective defines a good deal of the Caribbean participants as well—which again raises the question whether this bipolar terminology is analytically helpful rather than confusing.

16

De Geschiedeniskrant, March 26, 2008. John Torpey, Making Whole What Has Been Smashed. On Reparations Politics (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006), 122–3, 127. 17

history brought home

317

What have been the issues at stake? A good introduction is provided in a book co-authored by four authors—Alex van Stipriaan, Waldo Heilbron, Aspha Bijnaar and Valika Smeulders—all linked in some way to the Dutch National Slavery Institute NiNsee, Op zoek naar de stilte (“In search of the silence”). As the title indicates, the assumption of the authors—three of them of Caribbean origins—is that the Dutch involvement in the Atlantic slave trade and slavery itself has been intentionally put to rest ever since Emancipation. The book intends to disclose hidden or forgotten legacies of this history in the Netherlands itself. Their tour brings us to museums who never before gave the black servants in their master paintings much thought; to archives and libraries containing a wealth of data, interpretations, ideals and prejudice; to associations and institutions claiming to operate from a genuine African diaspora perspective; to specialists in oral history and oral traditions referring to the slavery period; to participants in debates about legacies and trauma, and so on.18 Op zoek naar de stilte offers many perspectives and certainly provides the first ever attempt to present a broader perspective on the ways slavery is remembered (or not) in the Netherlands. The book confirms the perhaps sad, but after all rather obvious conclusion that the slavery past has far more significance to descendants of once enslaved Africans than to white Dutch citizens and makes the normative point that this history should be accepted as a shared past for all Dutch—this is of course fully in line with the liberal progressive politics that led the Dutch government to establish a national monument and the NiNsee in the first place. New, refreshing but at times also worrying is the extensive discussion of the wide divergence in the way Dutch of various backgrounds think about slavery and its legacies. Not surprisingly, much of what Op zoek naar de stilte details here concurs with Van Stipriaan’s analysis of a divide between white and black discourse. Extreme Afro-centric positions are cited, e.g. the affirmation that white historians cannot possibly write a reliable history of slavery: “You don’t ask Nazis to write the history of the concentration camps either!”19 But perhaps the more important observation is that within the Afro-Caribbean community 18

Alex van Stipriaan, Waldo Heilbron, Aspha Bijnaar and Valika Smeulders, Op zoek naar de stilte. Sporen van het slavernijverleden in Nederland (Leiden: KITLV Uitgeverij, 2007). 19 E.g., Van Stipriaan et al., Op zoek, 121.

318

gert oostindie

in the Netherlands too, there is a wide variety of ideas about slavery and its legacies. Where are these contestations all about? To start with, there are disputes about the legitimacy of intellectual and organizational leadership. Since the 1990s, a series of grass-roots groups has been involved in the debate about slavery and the urge to recognize this past as integral to Dutch history. Dutch government recognition of the validity of these claims resulted in institutionalization and a long series of projects entailing black and white cooperation and bridging. What transpires from Op zoek naar de stilte is that most participants value the results so far with a mix of satisfaction and uneasiness, but equally that there is dissonance within the Afro-Caribbean community. Thus some radical grassroots organizations perceive of the national institutions now put in place, in particular the NiNsee, as too moderate. What then is moderation, what approaches generally banned from the ‘white discourse’ seem to be eschewed by NiNsee as well? Basically, these refer to concepts and approaches derived from radical AfricanAmerican discourse, such as the terminology of ‘the Black Holocaust,’ the discourse of dehumanization and cultural trauma, the insistence on formal Dutch apologies and next reparations, and so on. Anyone following NiNsee over its first five years of its existence will have perceived a delicate balancing act between responding to the claims of the more radical elements in its Afro-constituency and fulfilling its bridging mission towards the wider, after all predominantly white society. That act was not always consistent and successful, but bearing in mind the conflictive orientations of NiNsee, it could hardly have been otherwise. Black Atlantic Orientations and the Concept of Cultural Trauma The Dutch ‘rediscovery’ of Atlantic slavery is part of a wider trend in Europe and the Americas and testifies to the impact of the Black Atlantic. Not all countries with a slavery past have responded in the same way to claims for recognition. Within Europe, France, the Netherlands and the United Kingdom have been more responsive and self-critical than Portugal or Spain, a difference which may be accounted for by divergent cultural and political traditions but certainly by reference to the dissimilar volume and political clout of the metropolitan Afrocommunities.

history brought home

319

Debates and claims regarding slavery and its legacies have increasingly become framed in a seemingly delocalized transnational discourse which at the end of the day discloses a heavy orientation on radical African-American perspectives grounded in U.S. realities. At times, then, supposedly broad African diasporic conceptualizations might well be a mere transplanting of American ideas and realities to other contexts. This skipping over past and present differences in time and place is not necessarily useful to understand either the realities of slavery or to weigh its contemporary legacies. Again, some examples from the Dutch debates may illustrate this point. Terminology is an obvious illustration of American derivation, as in the use of the conceptually disputable and politically provocative notion of ‘Black Holocaust.’ The claim of ‘reparations’ is another idea inspired by U.S. debates. These are appropriations one can appreciate or not, but there is no reason to propose these American concepts are less (or more) appropriate in a European—or for that matter Caribbean or Latin American—context. But once we read about ‘black’ versus ‘white’ perspectives, about a white ‘silencing’ of the past, or about generalized legacies of slavery, historians should make amends. American interpretations of slavery and its legacies are rooted in a unique historical experience with unique implications for race relations. Perhaps inevitably, the stark racial divide characterizing U.S. society both during and after slavery translated in strongly oppositional understandings of slavery and its legacies. Hence the emergence and popularity of the idea of mutually irreconcilable perspectives, grounded in a long history of brutal suppression and cultural resistance, proudly celebrated by the civil rights’ movement and given new credential by cultural studies’ insistence on the inevitability and indeed legitimacy of partial truths and emic discourse. Yet any historian of the Americas will appreciate that the U.S. record of (post-)slavery and race relations is only one out of many models, a uniquely grim bipolar model at that. Throughout Latin America and even in the non-Spanish Caribbean, society and race relations during slavery and certainly after Emancipation were not necessarily less violent, but certainly more fluid and ended up producing societies that defy the notion of bipolarity. To be sure, there was and has remained a class-cum-color social hierarchy, racism persists, and so on. But it simply does not make sense to think of these societies and the way its citizens think of themselves primarily in terms of ‘race’ and a black versus white polarity.

320

gert oostindie

Narrowing understandings of slavery and its legacies to a simple division in white versus black discourse therefore misses much of the complexities of the wider Afro-American experience. This should worry not just historians, but anyone engaged in the debate on the contemporary relevance of slavery. How, for instance, are we to understand the concept of ‘silencing the past’ itself? The idea gained currency with Michel-Rolph Trouillot’s seminal book, Silencing the Past. Trouillot’s argument is straightforward. There are hegemonic versions of history that tend to actively silence subaltern voices. He applies this paradigm specifically to the (un)remembering of the Haitian Revolution and the quincentenary of Columbus’ ‘discovery’ of the New World.20 Seen from this perspective, one understands the popularity of the recurring trope of ‘unsilencing’ the slavery past—and indeed the title of the book quoted above, Op zoek naar de stilte (“In search of the silence”). The big question, however, is whether it really makes sense to always think of this kind of silence as engineered, as actively imposed by hegemonic forces. If one after another plantation mansion converted into a plantation museum in the U.S. manages to tell a wondrous story about the antebellum Deep South skipping over the harsh realities of slavery, yes, than the conclusion of silencing seems astute.21 But how much credence can we give to the idea of a determined political project of silencing the Dutch slavery past without taking into account that, in contrast to the Americas, there were hardly any slaves in the metropolis during slavery or Afro-Caribbean migrants afterwards, so hardly any exposure to (the migratory aftermath of ) this grim and shameful history before the 1970s? Or, taken from another angle, should we then also conclude that the persistent neglect of the Dutch participation in Asian slave trading and slavery is another instance of deliberate silencing—and if so, by what hegemonic power and why? In the Dutch debates as elsewhere, dehumanization and cultural trauma are recurrent concepts in the debate about slavery. Anyone familiar with travelogues, planters’ manuals and abolitionist writings from the slavery period will recognize the idea of dehumanization.22 20 Michel-Rolph Trouillot, Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History (Boston: Beacon Press, 1995). 21 Jennifer L. Eichstedt and Stephan Small, Representations of Slavery: Race and Ideology in Southern Plantation Museums (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2002). 22 Cf. David Brion Davis, Inhuman Bondage. The Rise and Fall of Slavery in the New World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).

history brought home

321

This idea of dehumanization has found its contemporary translation in the idea of cultural trauma.23 This trauma, in turn, is sometimes advanced to explain psychological problems such as low self-esteem, underachievement and deviance. The very idea of cultural trauma and its consequences is fiercely debated and it makes little sense to discern between a black (trauma) versus a white discourse in this respect—if only because another, often overlapping black discourse emphasizes precisely the agency and resistance of enslaved Africans and their descendants. Yet is may be worthwhile to consider again how this trauma metaphor works out in the Dutch debates, and how the arguments relate to empirical research.24 First, the concept of cultural trauma itself, which refers to a collective memory of a shocking formative period transmitted over several generations to the point that this memory becomes crucial to group identity. Cultural trauma in this context refers not only, and perhaps not even primarily, to the dehumanizing experience of slavery itself, but also and perhaps more to the internalization of racism and to the deep disillusions of the post-slavery period. Trauma, the argument runs, inhibited the descendants to fully use the chances presented by freedom and initiated a vicious and as yet unbroken circle of feelings of inferiority, lack of initiative and irresponsible behavior. The reasoning is not new. Contemporaries observed that European colonial slavery dehumanized the enslaved (as well the enslavers). This reasoning found its way to modern historiography in concepts such as ‘dehumanization’ and ‘traumatization.’ In political debates this way of thinking is expressed in the thesis of internalized racism and selfvictimization. One line of argumentation emphasizes the narrow limits of post-Emancipation freedom and hence the imposition of marginality. The other, not necessarily opposing perspective stresses internalization of racism, resulting in low self-esteem and unconsciously chosen victimhood and hence irresponsible behavior. This approach is also discernable in debates on the legacies of slavery in the Dutch orbit, emic as well as etic. Such debates require 23 E.g., Jeffrey C.Alexander, “Towards a Theory of Cultural Trauma,” in Jeffrey C. Alexander et al., Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 1–3, and Ron Eyerman, Cultural Trauma: Slavery and the Formation of African American Identity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001). 24 For a more extensive discussion, see Gert Oostindie, “Slavernij, canon en trauma: debatten en dilemma’s,” Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 121 (2008), 4–21, especially 14–8.

322

gert oostindie

precision, empathy and among the descendants also the courage to speak out about delicate emotions. Yet it remains problematic that the references to trauma remain speculative and ill-defined. We have no way of establishing what proportion of the descendants of enslaved Africans feels victimized in which ways and degrees, conscious or unconscious—individual suffering does not equal collective trauma. Moreover the possible relation between ‘trauma’ and real-life behavior is speculative. One should also wonder whether possible feelings of victimhood are eventually rooted in the period of slavery or rather in the subsequent period. Such objections need to be taken serious. The contemporary template of Caribbean—and to a lesser extent Latin American—slavery bears the strong imprint of the U.S. hegemony in Atlantic studies. Local specificity is often absent. But New World slavery was not uniform and neither was post-Emancipation history, so we should not expect similar contemporary outcomes. Historical scrutiny, therefore, is crucial. Indeed, recent historiography undermines the idea of collective trauma under slavery and emphasizes the vitality and agency of the enslaved, ranging from open and covert resistance to cultural creativity. The more or less hegemonic contemporary paradigm holds that no matter how repressive and alienating slavery in the Americas may have been, it did not really de-humanize its victims. Moreover, there were significant regional and longitudinal variants in Atlantic slavery. The lives of New World slaves were enacted between the extremes of subjugation and resistance. The seemingly outdated concept of ‘accommodation,’ utilized in the study of foreign occupations, prisons and even concentration camps, is still a useful analytical tool. One crucial contrast is that Caribbean slaves over time struggled to obtain more degrees of freedom, more autonomy within enslavement. Two more comments on the idea of slavery trauma seem appropriate. The first relates to identity politics and political opportunity structures. Recent research on collective or cultural trauma stresses the processes in which past occurrences are transformed into collective contemporary trauma—or not. The emphasis on distinction is crucial. Not all communities define past suffering as traumatic, not all societies tolerate and/or support signifying institutions. This implies that not only the recognition, but the very existence of collective trauma depends to a large extent on choice, both by descendants of past victims and the societies they inhabit.

history brought home

323

A second comment refers to the issue of trans-generational transmission of trauma. Recent research of victims of traumatic events, in particular survivors of the holocaust, suggests a remarkable and successful determination among the majority to shield their children from their own trauma.25 There seems to be no good reason to assume that Africans and their descendants, many generations away from the traumas of the middle passage and slavery, would think and act otherwise—perhaps the frustrations which led to the cultural trauma paradigm lie primarily in the present? It is exceedingly difficult to answer such questions. Suffice it here to conclude that there is no scholarly substantiation—or refutation for that matter—of the idea of trans-generationally transmitted slavery trauma, and that explanations for contemporary behavior referring to cultural trauma lack empirical substantiation and precision. Slavery Trauma in the Dutch Orbit The above should be understood as a plea for analytical transparency and nuance rather than as an a priori refutation of the idea of slavery trauma. What we need is rigour alongside empathy, as well as an understanding of local specificities, than and now. This point may be illustrated by a brief discussion of three ‘Dutch Caribbean’ debates in which trauma is often evoked. The concept of internalized racism is neither new nor far-fetched. Centuries of exposure to racism left deep scars among the descendants of enslaved Africans, no matter how often white Dutch might have ridiculed or denied this. The challenge of mental redemption has been expressed by countless Afro-American leaders, intellectuals and artists. Inspired by the Haitian Revolution, the enslaved African Tula led a major slave revolt on Curaçao in 1795, arguing that all men are equal and entitled to live as such. Some seventy years ago the Surinamese activist and writer Anton de Kom criticized the ‘slave mentality’ of his compatriots. Decades after the minting of the concept of ‘Black 25 Abraham Sagi-Schwartz et al., “Attachment and Traumatic Stress in Female Holocaust Child Survivors and their Daughters,” American Journal of Psychiatry 160 (2003), 1086–92. Marinus H. van IJzendoorn, Marian J. Bakermans-Kranenburg, and Abraham Sagi-Schwartz, “Are Children of Holocaust Survivors Less Well-adapted? A Meta-analytic Investigation of Secondary Traumatization,” Journal of Traumatic Stress 16 (2003), 459–69.

324

gert oostindie

is beautiful’ and Bob Marley’s famous “Redemption Song”—“Emancipate yourself from mental slavery/None but ourselves can free our minds”—one still finds obsessions about blackness and ‘improving’ your color throughout the Black Atlantic. Ignoring such cultural legacies is at once pointless and demonstrates a lack of respect. But it remains an altogether different question whether such individual frustrations and pain should really be understood as collective trauma. Perhaps historians cannot bring much light to this debate. But serious historical research will underline once more the crucial distinctions of time and place. Just as New World slavery had many variants, so had race relations during and after slavery. This much is confirmed by decades of comparative research. Hence the hypothesis that the evident historical variation resulted in divergent contemporary psychological legacies of slavery in the African diaspora. The historically unique case of U.S. race relations should not be taken as a generalized Atlantic model for either history or its contemporary political and psychological legacies. Next, the oft-cited causal relation between slavery, trauma and deviant behavior. Over the past decades, some forty per cent of the total Curaçaoan population has settled in the Netherlands. A small but disproportional share of this group engages in often violent criminal behavior. Frequently this deviant behavior is explained by reference to slavery—as it was before in debates about high rates of deviance of lower-class Afro-Surinamese or indeed of youth on Curaçao itself. Key words are low self-esteem, poor social and linguistic skills, macho behavior, a culture of shame, failing socialization and in particular matrifocality, with the related images of teenage mothers, absent fathers, and the like. The link to slavery is easily made. Again, this ‘explanation’ lacks precision. There was and is a broad variety of practices in kinship and upbringing, both during and after slavery, in different parts of Afro-America. Dutch Caribbean slavery respected the integrity of slave families far more than was the case in the U.S. Moreover, matrifocality need not result in a deficient childhood and education. Part of the contemporary problems with Curaçaoan youth derive not from the distant past but from recent developments: the exodus to the Netherlands and the resulting destruction of previously functioning family networks. In addition, the external factors of geography and globalization dictated the emergence of narcotrafficking as a hugely profitable crime-generating sector on the island, and in the

history brought home

325

Netherlands. Curaçaoans are indeed disproportionately active in this sector, but slavery trauma provides no hard explanation in this respect, and matrifocality based in slavery at best a remotely partial one. Finally, what about the relevance of slavery and its legacies in contemporary debates about decolonization and politics? Surely the determination to part with a metropolis once responsible for slavery has been a strong element in Caribbean nationalist discourse—indeed, Surinamese political nationalism is a point in case. Yet the use of ‘slavery’ in debates about politics, and in particular about the present constitutional status of the Dutch Antillean islands, seems unproductive. Unlike Suriname, the six Dutch Antillean islands have adamantly refused the Dutch ‘gift’ of sovereignty. The Hague’s policy of bringing the federation of six to an early independence failed on both accounts: sovereignty is refused and cannot be imposed, and the six have managed to convince the Dutch to allow for the dismantlement of the Antillesof-six. In different forms, all will end up having separate constitutional and governance links to the metropolis. The Hague has embarked on a course of strong involvement in local governance leading to Antillean resentment against ‘recolonization,’ but also internal dissent. In the fiery debates on these issues, some protagonists at times invoke the issue of slavery. This seems not particularly helpful. The debates on the constitutional future needs another type of argument, an awareness of geopolitical context and small scale. Antilleans have good reasons to hold on to the metropolitan lifeline. Some feel this testifies to a slave mentality. It seems more appropriate to underline that this policy to minimize risk characterises all non-sovereign territories, wherever in the world and whether or not their past is scarred by slavery. This is the crucial point in the Antillean debates as well. Support for independence is negligible. The bone of contention is really how much Dutch involvement is acceptable. In these debates one finds much anti-colonial rhetoric and references to slavery, but the political choices will remain pragmatic. As the Dutch will not find themselves able to withdraw from the Caribbean, Antilleans will continue to pick the fruits of the victimization of their enslaved African forebears: materially sweet fruits, psychologically perhaps more bitter ones. No doubt bitterness will continue to inspire postcolonial anger and understandable but not very productive references to the horrors of slavery.

326

gert oostindie Historians and the Legacies of Slavery

In their highly entertaining book Why Truth Matters (2006), philosophers Ophelia Benson and Jeremy Stangroom advocate scholarly rigor and intersubjectivity against postmodernist, cultural studies’ and other paradigms’ questioning the epistemological legitimacy of scholarly claims to uncover ‘truth.’ One argument against relativism exposed in the opening pages of the book is worth quoting in full. “There are true facts about, for instance, how many people were murdered in horrible terrifying degrading circumstances in any one of history’s many instances of massacres, war crimes and ethnic cleansings.”26 No serious scholar of slavery could object to this statement, but it is as legitimate to engage in debates about the total volume of the Atlantic slave trade as it is to wonder aloud whether or how this particular trade is unique in world history, whether it should be classified among ‘massacres, war crimes and ethnic cleansings,’ perhaps even as a Black Holocaust, or rather as something altogether different. Scholars should feel free to ask these and many other sensitive questions and should not be unduly concerned by questions of ‘black’ versus ‘white’ perspectives. And yet, in dealing with the issues of slavery, legacies and racism, no historian can ignore ethical and political sensitivities. In this context, it is useful to shortly return to Van Stipriaan’s reviews of the debate in the Netherlands and particularly the problematic distinction between ‘white’ and ‘black’ discourse. These two ‘discourses’ may cover much of the debate in Dutch Caribbean circles, but certainly not the entire spectrum in Dutch society, where leading populist politicians state that even the liberal ‘white’ discourse suffers from political correctness and unwarranted antinationalist sentiment. For historians, the more pressing question is how to prevent the study of slavery and its legacies from becoming divided in such closed compartments. Serious scholarship can and should defend itself against the idea of being ‘just another discourse.’ Much has been made in recent decades about ‘multivocality’—yet while every serious scholar should allow for the fact that people experience and remember all sort of things differently today as in the past, a radical reduction of interpretations to a priori

26 Ophelia Benson and Jeremy Stangroom, Why Truth Matters (London, Continuum: 2006), 1.

history brought home

327

positions or perspectives is no serious scholarly alternative to the comparative historical method. What may and should be done is to respect sensitivities in this field—one conviction of the present author that has elicited friendly disagreement with Pieter Emmer over the past years. In his oeuvre as well as in many public appearances, Professor Emmer reminded us and demonstrated himself that the refusal to take anything for granted, and hence also a touch of provocation, lies at the heart of scholarly enquiry and progress. Yet one may adhere to this conviction while at the same time demonstrating some sensitivity and empathy with regard to issues of existential significance to specific communities one writes about. Perhaps Pieter Emmer’s excellent work as a historian would have had a wider public acclaim beyond his scholarly and social peer groups had he been more accommodating here. But then again, as he has claimed time and again, that was not his concern—nor will it be, one assumes, in his post-retirement writings.

INDEX abolition, abolitionism, 31, 227–257, 259–288, 290–291, 301, 304, 311 Aborigines, 27 abusua, 154n31, 156, 159, 161 Abyssinia, 181 Accra, 144, 154, 157 Acosta, José de, 167, 199–200 Adams, John Quincy, 278 Addington, Henry, 271 Admiralty of Amsterdam, 77, 94 Afutu, 144 Aja, 151 Akan people, 89, 154, 162 Akan states, 144 Akanni, 154 Akwamu, 154 Alaska, 32 Albreda, 153 Algarve, 132–133 Algeria, 61 Allada, 151 Almagro, Diego de, 170 American Abolitionist Convention, 270 American Colonization Society, 277, 281 American Revolution, 262 Amsterdam, 76, 80, 100, 121, 129, 130, 220, 313 Andalusia, 52 Anglo-Dutch War, fourth, 106 Angola, 80, 87, 125, 126, 128, 130, 174, 202, 209 Ankobra River, 144 Anomabu, 154, 155, 159 Antwerp, 126, 128–129 Anzicans, 182 Aquitaine, 62–63 Asante, 154, 155, 161 asafo, 156, 158–160 Asebu, 77 Ashburton-Washburn treaty, 280 Ashworth, John, 228 Assin, 154 Assyria, 20, 27 Australia, 254 Axim, 144, 157 Aztec Empire, 10 Aztecs, 170–171, 184

Babylon, 20 Bahia, 126, 128, 236 Bailyn, Bernard, 68 Bali, 179, 180 Bamba, 175 Banana Islands, 245 Banda Islands, 179, 180 Banten, 179, 180 Barbados, 63, 218–220 Barbary corsairs, 10, 231, 244 Barbot, Jean, 148 Batavia, 101, 104, 106, 109, 110, 111, 113, 114 Benezet, Anthony, 263 Bengal, 103, 104, 257 Benin, 144 Benson, Ophelia, 326 Bentham, Jeremy, 33 Bentinck, Willem, 103–104 Benzoni, Girolamo, 167–171 Berbice, 271 Benya, 157 Biafada, 143 Biet, Antoine, 204 Bight of Benin, 149, 157 Bight of Biafra, 150, 250 Black Atlantic, 305, 318, 324 Blanquesel, Andrés de, 134 Bodin, Jean, 233 Boers, Frederik, 108 Boyajian, James, 129 Bonny, 149, 150 Bordeaux, 61 Boston, 273–274 Brazil, 32, 47, 57–58, 86, 97, 130, 145, 201, 278, 280, 311 Brelsford, John, 252 Breton, Raymond, 200, 203–204, 207, 209 Bristol, 150, 238, 250 Brittany, 62 Brown, Christopher, 256 Brun, Samuel, 94 Brunswick, Duke of, 102, 104 Bry, Johan-Israël de, 167, 170 Bry, Johan-Theodor de, 167, 170 Bry, Theodor de, 166–170, 183, 199 buccaneers, 49

330

index

Buenos Aires, 128 Bullom/Sherbro, 143 Burke, Edmund, 33, 269 Byzantium, 21 Cacheu, 152 Cadiz, 131 Calhoun, John C., 280 Calice, Pedro de, 169 Cameroon, 143, 239 Canada, 24, 45, 67 Canary Islands, 53, 131 Canny, Nicholas, 67, 68 canon of Dutch history, 308 Cape Coast, 155 Cape Colony, 60, 107–108 Cape Lahoe, 148 Cape Town, 109 Cape Verde, 76, 125, 130–132, 136, 148, 152, 202, 209, 220 Caribbean, 27, 49, 57, 97, 134, 167–170, 197–224, 228, 251, 257, 261, 276, 289, 299, 305, 307, 311, 319, 322–326 Cartagena de Indias, 130–132, 134–135 Casa de Contratación, 133 Casamance River, 143 Castile, 52, 133. See also Spain Celebes, 179 Ceylon, 104, 109 Charente, 62 Charleston, 246, 271–273, 278, 282 Chauveton, Urbain de, 168 Chevalier, Louis, 61 China, 10, 17, 178 Christianization, 170, 175–176, 201, 205, 207, 209, 213, 298 Christians, 169, 170, 172, 173, 216, 288 Civil War, United States, 283, 285, 291 civility, 174–176, 178–180, 183–185, 203, 213 Clarence, Duke of, 234 Clarkson, Thomas, 270, 273, 286 Colbert, Jean-Baptiste, 57, 65 Collingwood, Luke, 252 Colonial Board (Suriname), 300 Colonial Debt Act, 69 Columbus, Christopher, 10, 198, 320 Commenda, 144 Compagnie van Guinea, 94 Congress, United States, 265, 268, 273, 277–279, 284, 285 Constitutional Convention, 267

Continental Congress, 263, 264, 266 Coronie, 296 Council of the Indies (Dutch East Indies), 113 Cross River, 149 Cuba, 14, 32, 271, 276, 278 Cugoano, Ottobah, 239 Cunha, Francisco da, 132 Curaçao, 213, 307, 323–325 Curtin, Philip, 46 Dahomey, 151–152 Davies, John, 217 Davis, David Brion, 229, 233, 256 De Bry. See Bry Declaration of Independence (United States), 263 Delft, 100, 111, 112 Demerara, 271, 278 Denkyra, 154 Denmark, 32, 59, 254, 275 Despard, Edward Marcus, 249 Dieppe, 62, 205 Diola, 152 Dolben’s Act, 253 Drago, Manuel, 128 Drake, Francis, 133 Drescher, Seymour, 134, 137, 185, 311 Dundas, Henry, 262 Dutch Guiana, 271, 311 Dutch Republic, 13, 23, 51, 56–61, 70, 73–77, 96, 102, 130, 166, 178–179, 200 East India Company, Dutch. See VOC East India Company, English, 22, 103, 257 East Indies, 99–116 Edina, 155–157 Edo, 144 Efik, 149 Egypt, 20 Elmina, 89n28, 90, 144, 145, 147, 151, 152, 155, 157–162, 313 Emmer, Pieter, 1–4, 57–60, 130, 138, 139, 197, 289–290, 294, 295, 306, 327 England, 13–14, 51, 61, 67–70, 166, 220, 249, 318. See also Great Britain English Treason Act, 249 Enkhuizen, 100, 111, 112 Equiano, Olaudah, 239 Etemad, Bouda, 47, 50 Etheridge, Emerson, 281

index European expansion, first system, 3, 58, 122–125; second system, 3, 58 Evelyn, John, 249 Extremadura, 52 Fante, Fanteen, 155, 162, 237 Faria, Teodózio Rodrigues de, 236 Fernandes, Duarte, 129–130 Fernández de Oviedo, Gonzalo, 168 Finland, 21 Flemings, 100 Florida, 271, 277 Flushing, 109, 112 Fort Nassau, 77, 80, 89, 94, 96 Fortuyn, Pim, 309 Fox, Charles James, 235, 269 France, 13, 15, 28–29, 51, 61–67, 70, 166, 203, 275, 279, 318 Frankfurt, 165 Franklin, Benjamin, 267 Ga, 89, 144 Galicia, 53 Gama, Vasco da, 10 Gambia River, 143, 153 Garonne, 62 Gascony, 62 Gascoyne, Isaac, 274 Geba estuary, 143 Genghis Khan, 17, 21 George III, King of Great Britain, 249, 269 Georgia, 261, 265, 267 Germany, 33 Ghana, 313 Gilroy, Paul, 305 Goa, 178, 181, 182–183, 185 Gold Coast, 77, 80, 81, 86–87, 89, 95–96, 144, 148, 152, 154, 160, 167, 175–177, 184, 185, 237, 250 Gomes, Luís Barreto, 134 Gordon, Robert, 109 Gorée, 80, 153 Grain Coast, 143, 144 Gramaxo, Álvaro, 131 Gramaxo, Antonio Nunes, 131, 132 Gramaxo, Francisco Nunes, 131 Gramaxo, Jorge Fernandes, 130–136 Gramaxo, Leonor, 132 Gramaxo, Luís Fernandes, 130–132 Grand Conspiracy, 135 Great Britain, 12, 15–16, 18–19, 27–31, 227–257, 259, 262, 265, 266, 268–280, 283–288. See also England

331

Greece, 11, 17, 20 Grenada, 205 Guadeloupe, 204, 206 Guam, 32 Guiana, 97. See also Dutch Guiana Guinea, 125, 131, 132, 143, 152, 171, 202, 209, 222 Gulf of Guinea, 76, 80, 90, 96, 97 Gulf of Mexico, 277 Gutieres, Leonor, 137 Guyenne, 62 Haiti, 69, 274. See also St. Domingue Hakluyt, Richard, 199 Hamburg, 126 Hariot, Thomas, 199 Haskell, Thomas, 256 Hasselaar, Gerard, 102 Havana, 240 Hawaii, 25, 29, 32 Henriques, Duarte Dias, 126–130 Henriques, Manuel Dias, 128–129, 137 Herodotus, 198 Hindus, 180, 288 Hispaniola, 171–172, 182–185 Hobson, John, 28, 33 Holt, Thomas, 294, 302 Honduras, 271 Honfleur, 62 Höniger, Nicolaus, 168 Hoorn, 100, 111, 112 House of Commons, 259, 265, 269, 270, 274, 280 House of Lords, 269, 270 House of Representatives, 259, 282. See also Congress, United States Hueda, 151 Hunt, Lynn, 256 Ibibio, 150 Igbo, 150, 230 Ijaw, 149 Imhoff, Gustaaf van, 102 Inca Empire, 10 Inchquin, Earl of, 231 India, 10, 17, 103, 179, 181 Industrial Revolution, 228–229, 256 Inquisition, Portuguese, 129; tribunal of Cartagena de Indias, 135; tribunal of Lima, 135n60 Ireland, 220 Irving, James, 231

332

index

Italy, 166 Ivory Coast, 144, 148 Iwebo, 144 Jagas, 182 Jamaica, 63, 221, 222, 231 Java, 113, 179 Jefferson, Thomas, 263, 286 Jews, 76, 119–140 Jonge, J.K.J. de, 78 Judaism, 129, 135, 136 Kandy, 104, 180 Kardux, Joke, 306 Kimber, John, 252 Klerk, Reynier de, 104 Knight decision, 262 Kom, Anton de, 323 Kongo, 167, 173–176, 180, 182, 184 Kormantin, 81n20, 161 La Rochelle, 62 Labat, Jean Baptiste, 204, 211–216, 219, 223 Laet, Johannes de, 81, 199 Lansberge, Reinhart Frans Cornelis van, 297, 301 Las Casas, Bartolomé de, 169 Le Havre, 62 Leiden, 220 Leipzig, 220 Lenin, Vladimir Ilyich, 33 Léon, 52 Léry, Jean de, 199–201 Liberia, 143, 147 Ligon, Richard, 217–220, 224 Lima, 135 Lincoln, Abraham, 282, 284 Linschoten, Jan Huygen van, 167, 178–179, 182 Lisbon, 126, 128, 129, 131, 132, 137 Little Popo, 152 Liverpool, 150, 274 Loango, 126 Loire, 62 London, 241 Lopez, Odoardo, 167, 173, 177 López de Gómara, Francisco, 168 Louisiana, 272–273 Louisiana Purchase, 28, 272–273 Lower Guinea Coast, 143 Luanda, 96, 128 Lübelfing, Johann von, 94 Lucassen, Jan, 94

Luque, Hernando de, 170 Luxembourg regiment, 108–109 Madeira, 126, 220 Madras, 257 Madrid, 126 Magelhães-Godinho, Vitorino, 56n27 Malaguetta Coast, 143 Manchester, 268, 274 Mande, 143 Mander, Karel van, 168, 178 Mandinka, 143 Mansfield, William Murray, Lord, 262 Maoris, 27 Maracaibo, 131 Marees, Pieter de, 167 Marley, Bob, 324 Martinique, 206 Maryland, 261, 263 Massachusetts, 236, 263 Mexico, 185 Meyer, Jean, 64 Middelburg, 76, 80, 112 Middle East, 166, 181, 279 migration, Asian to Americas, 298; Asian to Europe, 306; Caribbean to Europe, 287, 305; European to Africa, 75–97; European to Americas, 20–33, 45–71; European to Asia, 99 Moluccas, 167, 178–180 Mongol Empire, 17, 21 Monroe, James, 277 Montpellier, 221 Moravian missionaries, 289, 297–299, 301 Mori, 145. See also Fort Nassau Morris, Henry C., 28 Morse, Jedediah, 274 Mozambique, 178, 181 mulattoes, 46, 91, 94 Muslims, 9, 180, 288 Nantes, 61, 62 Napoleon, 260, 272, 274 Native Americans, 24, 26, 31, 32, 170 Netherlands, the, 275, 290, 305–327. See also Dutch Republic New Amsterdam, 27 New Christians, 119–140 New England, 234, 261, 265 New Hampshire, 261 New Jersey, 264 New Netherland, 95 New Orleans, 271

index New York, colony, 261, 264 New Zealand, 27 Nicaragua, 173 Niger Delta, 149 NiNsee, 313, 317–318 Niumi, 153 Normandy, 61, 62 North, Frederick, Lord, 265 North America, 97 Ntonna, 157 Offra, 151 Old Calabar, 149, 238 Olinda, 126 Onyankonpon, 156 Ortner, Sherry, 303 Ottoman Empire, 9, 17, 21, 22 Ouidah, 81n20, 151, 152, 244n44 Oviedo, Gonzalo Fernández de, 168 Pacific Ocean, 20, 25 Palma Hurtado, Gregorio, 130 Panama, 32 Panama Canal, 32 Papel, 152 Paramaribo, 303 Parquet, Jacques Dyel du, 208 Paris, 109, 201, 211 Pas, Miguel de, 129 Patterson, Orlando, 229 Pax Britannica, 13, 18–19 Pennsylvania, 267 Pennsylvania Abolition Society, 267–268 Perre, Paulus van der, 108 Persia, 21 Peru, 168, 201 Petite Côte, 153 Philadelphia, 263, 264, 265 Philip II, King of Spain, 173 Philip III, King of Spain, 134 Philippines, 32 Pigafetta, Filippo, 167, 173, 177 Pitt the Younger, William, 265, 268 Pizarro, Francisco, 170 Plettenberg, Baron van, 107–108 Pliny, 198 Poincy, Philippe de Lonvilliers, chevalier de, 210 Poitou, 62 Poland, 94 Popayán, 134 Portimão, 131 Porto, 126

333

Portugal, 11, 51–56, 71n60, 123, 166, 178, 318 Postlethwayt, Malachy, 15 Puerto Rico, 32 Purchas, Samuel, 199 Quakers, 233, 263, 265, 266, 267 Québec, 28 Raynal, abbé Guillaume Thomas Français, 20 Rhode Island, 245 Ribeiro, Fernão Soares, 130, 132 Richards, Glen, 302 Richelieu, Cardinal Armand Jean du Plessis, 203 Rio de Janeiro, 236, 278 Rochefort, Charles de, 200–203, 209 Roman Empire, 11, 17, 20 Rosenberg, Philippe, 232 Rotterdam, 76, 100, 111, 112 Roy, Jacques le, 212 Royal Navy, 284 Russia, 32, 260 Sahlins, Marshall, 290 Saint Anthony, 157 Saint-Domingue. See St. Domingue Saint-Malo, 62 São Salvador, 174 Sánchez-Albornoz, Nicolás, 52–53 Santa Fé, 134 Santiago, Miguel Dias, 128, 129, 137 São Tomé, 80, 87, 125, 145 Scandinavia, 94 Schumpeter, Joseph, 12 Schwartz, Stuart, 128 Scotland, 249, 257, 262 Senegal, 153, 209, 237 Senegal River, 143, 153 Senegambia, 76, 80, 243 Sephardim, 121, 139–140 Seville, 126, 131 Sewall, Samuel, 235 Seward, William, 283 Seypesteyn, Cornelis van, 293 Shama, 144 Sharp, Granville, 264–265 Sherbro Island, 149 Siberg, Johannes, 113 Siberia, 21 Sierra Leone, 143, 149, 231, 240, 243, 245 Silva, Dionísio da, 236

334

index

Sino River, 147 Slauter, Eric, 246 Slave Coast, 144, 151 slave trade, Atlantic, 55, 119–140, 167, 176–177, 197, 209, 214, 216, 220, 222, 224, 233–248, 259, 261–262, 265, 271–272, 275–278, 280, 283–285, 290–291, 307, 309–311; Indian Ocean, 88, 167, 285, 311; Mediterranean, 285 Slave Trade Abolition Act, 281 slavery, Asia, 167, 178–183, 312; Aztecs, 167; Caribbean, 197–224, 311–312; Europe, 166; North Africa, 10, 166, 244; sub-Saharan Africa, 86–89, 167, 173–178; Middle East, 166; Spanish America, 55–56, 167, 169–173 Sloane, Hans, 220–223 Smith, Adam, 15, 20 Soares, Beatriz, 133 Soares, Duarte Brandão, 135 Soares, Luís Fernandes, 132–133 Somerset case, 262, 264 South Carolina, 261, 265, 267, 272, 281–282, 284 Southern Commercial Convention, 281 Spain, 9, 11, 13–14, 51–56, 126, 166, 318 Spanish America, 31, 47, 55, 242 Sranan Tongo, 298 Sri Lanka, 179, 180 St. Bartholomew, 32 St. Christopher, 205 St. Domingue, 15, 28, 30, 49, 62, 65, 66, 244, 251, 255, 272, 274, 320, 323 St. John, 245. See also Virgin Islands Stangroom, Jeremy, 326 Stanley, Amy Dru, 291–292 Stanley, Edward George, 291 States General, 77–78, 96, 102, 103 Stipriaan, Alex van, 306, 314–317 Stradanus, Johannes, 184 Stuart Mill, John, 228 Studnicki-Gizbert, Daviken, 137 Stuyvesant, Peter, 95 Sumatra, 179 Suriname, 60, 289–304, 307 Sweden, 21 Switzerland, 94 Ternate, 180 Tertre, Jean Baptiste du, 204–214, 216, 219

Texel, 106, 107 Thevet, André, 199 Thirteen Colonies, 47 Tortuga, 49 trade, European with Africa, 76–77, 89–91, 97, 145–162. See also slave trade, Atlantic; European with the Americas, 57–58, 62–63, 69, 125; European with Asia, 33 Trinidad, 271 Trouillot, Michel-Rolph, 320 Tryon, Thomas, 233 Tula, 323 Tunja Valley, 170 Tupinamba, 201 Udemans, Willem, 106 Ughoton, 144 Ulsheimer, Andreas Josua, 94 United Provinces. See Dutch Republic United States of America, 19, 30, 259–265, 267, 270–274, 276–286, 319–320, 324 Upper Guinea, 143, 146, 152, 243 Uppsala, 220 Uruguay, 26 Venezuela, 53, 167 Venice, 126 Verdonk, Rita, 310 Vink, Marcus, 88, 311 Vinland, 21 Virgin Islands, 32 Virginia, 263 VOC (Dutch East India Company), 22, 60, 78, 99–116, 308, 309 Volta River, 144 Vrijman, Jan, 147 Vrij Temminck, Egbert de, 102 Wachtel, Nathan, 121 Waldner von Freundstein, Freiherr Christian, 109, 110 Watson, Francis, 221 Wedgwood, Josiah, 259 Welie, Rik van, 311 Wesley, John, 264 West-Central Africa, 76, 80, 97 West India Company, 75–97, 145, 157, 159–162, 308, 313 Wilberforce, William, 268, 274, 286 William V, stadholder, 104, 112 Williams, Eric, 228

index Windward Coast, 144, 146, 147, 243 Württemburg, Karl Eugen von, 110 Yorke, Joseph, 104 Yorkshire, 274

335

Yoruba, 144, 230 Yorubaland, 231 Young, Arthur, 15 Zeeland, 80, 100, 105–106, 112, 113, 313

European Expansion and Indigenous Response Edited by Glenn J. Ames ISSN 1873-8974 European Expansion and Indigenous Response is a peer-reviewed book series that examines the process of European expansion, interchange and connectivity in a global context in the early modern and modern period. Its volumes seek to analyze and understand this transformative process and period in cultural, economic, social, and ideological terms in Africa, the Indian Ocean, Central and East Asia and the Pacific Rim. This series provides a forum for varied scholarly work - original monographs, article collections, editions of primary sources translations - on these exciting global mixtures and their impact on culture, politics and society in the period from the Portuguese navigators of the late fifteenth century until the period of de-colonization following World War II.

1. Carter, M. and J. Ng Foong Kwong. Abacus and Mah Jong. Sino-Mauritian Settlement and Economic Consolidation. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17572 3 2. Klooster, W. (Ed.). Migration, Trade, and Slavery in an Expanding World. Essays in Honor of Pieter Emmer. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17620 1 3. Barendse, R.J. Arabian Seas 1700 – 1763. Vol. 1-4. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17658 4 (set) 4. Ames, G.J. (Tr. and Ed.). En nome de Deus. The Journal of the First Voyage of Vasco da Gama to India, 1497-1499. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17643 0 5. Freitag, J. Serving Empire, Serving Nation. James Tod and the Rajputs of Rajasthan. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17594 5