Sugar Cane Capitalism and Environmental Transformation: An Archaeology of Colonial Nevis, West Indies 0817318917, 9780817318918, 9780817389109

Citation preview

Sugar Cane Capitalism and Environmental Transformation

CA R IBBE A N A RCH A EOLOGY A N D ETHNOHISTORY L. Antonio Curet, Series Editor

Sugar Cane Capital ism and Env iron mental Transfor mat ion An Archaeology of Colonial Nevis, West Indies

Marco G. Meniketti

THE UNIVERSITY OF ALA­BAMA PRESS Tuscaloosa

The University of Ala­bama Press Tuscaloosa, Ala­bama 35487-­0380 uapress.ua.edu Copyright © 2015 by the University of Ala­bama Press All rights reserved. Inquiries about reproducing material from this work should be addressed to the University of Ala­bama Press. Typeface: Bembo Manufactured in the United States of America Cover photograph: Frigate at Anchor; courtesy of Andrew Duncan Johnstone Cover design: Michele Myatt Quinn ∞ The paper on which this book is printed meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-­1984.

Cataloging-­in-­Publication data is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: 978-­0-­8173-­1891-­8 E-­ISBN: 978-­0-­8173-­8910-­9

Contents

List of Illustrations     vii Acknowledgments     xi Introduction     1 I. THEORY AND METHOD 1. The Caribbean Defined and the Scope of Archaeology     11 2. Method and Theory     24 3. Colonial Settlement and Emergent Capitalism     51 II. ARCHAEOLOGY 4. Nevis History, 1627–1833     71 5. An Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization     110 6. Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833     158 PART III. SYNTHESIS AND CONCLUSIONS 7. Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow     189 Notes     225 References Cited     231 Index     257

Illustrations

Figures 1.1. Map of Nevis in the Caribbean     12 1.2. Nevis viewed from the west, approaching from St. Kitts     13 1.3. The Alexander Burke Iles map of 1871     22 2.1. Nevis map, showing the two parishes selected for archaeological survey     36 2.2. Survey conditions in upper elevations of St. Thomas Parish     37 2.3. Quadrant maps for St. John and St. Thomas Parishes     38 2.4. Eighteenth-­century map illustrating the extensive road network linking plantations     40 2.5. St. John Parish Phase I sites     44 2.6. St. Thomas Parish Phase I sites     45 2.7. St. John Parish Phase II sites     46 2.8. St. Thomas Parish Phase II sites     47 2.9. St. John Parish Phase III sites     48 2.10. St. Thomas Parish Phase III sites     49 4.1. Mill-­complex in Lower St. John Parish     82 4.2. Montserrat volcano     85 4.3. West­ern fortifications     87 4.4. Sugar exports from Nevis, 1769-­1775     92 4.5. Muscavado sugar prices in Lon­don, 1674–1775     93 4.6. Idealized plantation from French treatise on estate management     96 4.7. Estate map from Nevis     98 4.8. Clarke Estate map depicting sugar works and slave quarters     99 4.9. Coastal erosion and decline of wells, Lower St. John Parish     108

5.1. Pembroke mill-­complex     114 5.2. Central gear and spider of a vertical tree-­roller crusher, Pembroke mill     115 5.3. Small sugar works, possibly Beaumont Estate     117 5.4. Unidentified sugar works (PW7-­30/02-­4)     118 5.5. Face of boiling house     120 5.6. Schematic of Source Trail site, St. George Parish     121 5.7. Schematic of high-­elevation “Johnson site,” St. George Parish     121 5.8. Schematic of the probable “hurricane house,” St. George Parish     122 5.9. Vista from Saddle Hill toward Ridge House, Ridge Mill, and Bush Hill Estate     123 5.10. Schematic of the Ridge House plan     124 5.11. Southwest corner of Ridge House     124 5.12. Hypothetical reconstruction of the Ridge House     126 5.13. An assortment of porcelains and pearlware tea sets, Ridge House assemblage     126 5.14. Two bottle bases from Ridge House     127 5.15. Ridge mill-­complex     128 5.16. Ridge mill-­complex west wall     129 5.17. Face of boiling house of Ridge complex     130 5.18 Cleared floor inside Ridge Mill boiling house before excavation     131 5.19. Schematic of excavated masonry trough and slanted floor in Ridge Mill boiling house     132 5.20. Open masonry trough at Montpelier     133 5.21. Cane-­hoe     134 5.22. Plan for Long Point Road site     135 5.23. Documenting the boiling table, Long Point Road     136 5.24. Artifacts of late seventeenth-­century manufacture     137 5.25. Lower St. John mill site plan     139 5.26. North elevation of boiling house and adjacent foundations, Lower St. John site     140 5.27. View west from above boiling table     141 5.28. Mill-­complex near Jamestown site     143 5.29. Arched doorway for small chapel near Pariss Garden Estate, St. Thomas Parish     144 5.30. Rawlins sugar works site plan     145 5.31. Indian Castle sugar works site plan     146

5.32. Dimensions of the south­ern wall of the facility, Port of St. George, Indian Castle     148 5.33. Eroding structures, Indian Castle     149 5.34. Enlarged section from the Bellin map of Nevis, 1758     154 5.35. Test excavation of a large warehouse, Jamestown, 2001     155 5.36. Plan of warehouse at Jamestown after surface clearing     156 6.1. Site plan for Bush Hill factory complex     164 6.2 Layers in excavation unit that contained artifacts corresponding to distinct historic periods     167 6.3. Principal cistern, Bush Hill     168 6.4. Rims of colonoware, Bush Hill     168 6.5. Interior view of curing house     169 6.6. Engine house     170 6.7. View toward Bush Hill     171 6.8. Hypothetical reconstruction of Estate House     172 6.9. Richmond Lodge industrial section     173 6.10. Site plan for small house platform adjacent to the road between Bush Hill and Montpelier estates     175 6.11. Three one-­room structures     176 6.12. Villages depicted from the Alexander Burke Iles map, 1871     179 6.13. Chimney, Phase III, Nevis     185 7.1. Population demographics, Nevis     193 7.2. Landscape on the south side of Nevis     196 7.3. Map of spread of settlement through phases     198

Tables 4.1. Continuous Conflicts among Competing European States that Disrupted Commerce and Development through­out the Caribbean, 1600–1833     103 5.1. Chronology of Sites Investigated     111

Acknowledgments

I wish to express my sincerest gratitude to the organizations and individu­als whose assistance, encouragement, and hard work made this research possible. A project of this scope requires substantial sustained assistance. Foremost I want to thank the people of Nevis who have been so gracious and helpful over the years. I wish to express special gratitude to Evelyn Henville of the Nevis His­tori­cal and Conservation Society for her continuing support of important research in our years at Bush Hill. In the early stages of research, John Guilbert, David and Nancy Rollinson, David Robinson and his dear late wife Joan, David Small, and Paul Diamond were all valuable resources and generous with their time. My work in the archives at the Horatio Nelson Museum in Charlestown was greatly facilitated by the insights and professionalism of archivist Lornette Hanley. Various individuals offered encouragement and useful advice, in particular Michelle Terrell. I want to acknowledge the valuable assistance of Cardlos Walters, Ian Hart, Clive Mitchell, Pam Berry, and Quinten Henderson (the Beeman) for countless kindnesses over several field seasons. I am grateful to the late Vince Hubbard for his generous support and his­tori­cal knowledge. I am grateful to June Goodfield for her sensitive insights. I would like to acknowledge the assistance of David Small and Chrsitine Eickelmann for their intensive research on the history of Bush Hill plantation. The faculty at Michigan Tech University enabled my first expedition to Nevis: David Landon, Susan Martin, Pat Martin, and Terry Reynolds have my utmost respect. I extend my deepest gratitude to the Hoffman family of the Montpelier Estate, Muffin, and the late Lincoln Hoffman, whose singular generosity made possible the San Jose State University Field School at Bush Hill. He is greatly missed. I would like to thank the scholars at Michigan State University whose guidance, thoughtfulness, and insights have been so valued by me, each in their own special way: Helen Pollard, William Lovis, Ken Lewis, and Laurent Dubois.

xii / Acknowledgments

Each of the members of my field crews from vari­ous seasons deserve mention for their hard work in of­ten difficult circumstances under the Caribbean sun and dense forest canopy, many of whom have moved on with careers in the field of their own: Paul White, Brown University; Meredith Martin, Florida State University; Kathryn Forgacs, University of Delaware in the pilot project. In subsequent years Kristen Ryzewski, Brown University; Kaitlin Deslatte, Northwest­ern State University, LA; Sarah Surface-­ Evans, Michigan State University; Toby Ward, Michigan State University; Bart Beecroft, Texas A&M University; Daniel Rourke, Bridgewater College, MA; Casey Hanson, Texas A&M University; Annette Doying, University of West Florida; Beth Haupt, University of Wisconsin; Jonathan Rider, Nottingham University; and Peter Lihatsh from Delaware. Field school crews also contributed in meaningful ways. 2007: Robbin Forsyth, Patrick Sattler, Tracy Thorsen, Sue Saign, Sana Mao, Joe Salazar, Star Kim Quach, Joelle Morgan, Christine Heacock, Ryan Hoyt, and Alfonso Tinoco. Jonathon Karpf and Katherine Zaretsky deserve special mention for their efforts at making our first field school a success. 2008: Delia Lorigo, Kerri Martin, Anthony Cardema, Georgette Luna, Deniz Enerova, Amanda Trujillo Moran, Amy Thickpenny, Gloria Trini­dad, David Thompson, and Kenny Helwig. 2009: Jerry Starek, Maureen Reyes, Cathy Mistley, John Schlag­heck, Guy Freshwater, Alex Varnava, Anne Newman, Daniel Chase, Tamera Price, Yamuna Sangarasivam, and Diana Gonzalez-­Tennent. 2011: Hannah Harrison, Shelby Montana Smith, (fromTexas A&M), Chris Keith, Claire Dansereau, (from South­ern Mississippi State), Lynsey Ives, Joanna ­Monaco, Diana Nixon, Leo Postovoit, Rebecca Spitzer, Ryan Sullivan, Ryan Schlater, and our terrific cook Robert Stevens. Especially warm gratitude for Valerie Morgan, Jessica Glickman, and Jillian McLaughlin for multiple years of transit work through dense forest and artifact processing. I am grateful for Assistant Directors Chris Cartellone and Ed Gonzalez-­Tennent, whose professionalism earned them the respect of all the students with whom they worked. Special thanks to Sunshine,Watusi, and Sweatpea. I extend my deep appreciation to San Jose State University and the Department of Anthropology for their encouragement and sustained support of this research. I also extend my gratitude to the reviewers of early versions of my manuscript, whose feedback and attention to detail significantly helped bring this project to satisfactory conclusion. Finally, and most importantly, I must express my deepest felt love and gratitude to my wife, Lisa, for her understanding and support over the many years necessary to complete this substantial task. She has served in many capacities during the course of my research, as field crew, surveyor, cook, editor, spiritual counselor, and so much more.

Sugar Cane Capitalism and Environmental Transformation

Introduction The overwhelming evidence for the intrusion of outside forces makes Caribbean anthropologists attentive to—if not always uncriti­cal of— world systems theory, dependency theory, or cognate approaches that allow them to read their data beyond the traditional boundaries of the colonial or national state. But once the world is acknowledged, one must deal with the “local response,” of which the Caribbean is a powerful illustration precisely because it is so colonial. —Trouillot 1992:34 . . . thus the land and labour of the country being devoted to cultivation of the sugar cane, the corn and provisions they raise are merely ­accidental . . . to the sugar cane everything is sacrificed as a trifle to the major object. —Richard Glover, 1775

From the first adventurous entrepreneurial settlement in 1627, the island of Nevis, in the east­ern Caribbean, developed unexpectedly as a colony of first importance to Britain. Its his­tori­cal trajectory offers a window into the patterning of settlement and the evolution of colonial landscape across the Caribbean during the first mercurial rise of capitalism in English, French, and Dutch controlled islands. Writing in 1841, French author Paul Daubree felt so strongly about the economic entanglement with the West Indies that he quipped: “Without sugar, no colonies. No colonies no Navy” (Barrett 1965:​ 148). Had he inserted the word slaves rather than sugar in his sardonic assertion he would have been no less correct. Colonial sugar production and slavery have been at the core and tormented heart of Caribbean history since earliest contact between Europeans and its indigenous peoples. By studying Nevis, where variables can be limited and defined—a bounded space to be sure—I sought to enhance fundamental understanding of key processes of settlement affected by agro-­industrial practices. Nevis today is a minor player on the world stage, its chief industry tourism, capitalizing on the perception of an undisturbed paradise and for some a romanticized plan-

2 / Introduction

tation ambience, but the same processes which brought it both prosperity and decline are active in the modern world, and with ever increasing complexity, are shaping modern landscapes as they invoke the past. At the invitation of the Nevis His­tori­cal and Conservation Society (NHCS) I first visited the island in 1997 to investigate several enigmatic ruins of a building complex, known as Indian Castle, standing at the edge of a sea cliff. The NHCS was urging me to determine whether this series of crumbling structures was associated with the Port of St. George, mentioned cursorily in a few surviving eighteenth-­century documents—a harbor complex that should have included a customs house and other official functions. As the survey and test excavations were carried out, I was astonished by the staggering number, and relatively sound condition, of ruins blanketing the landscape. It seemed that everywhere on Nevis one could find industrial debris from the sugar industry literally underfoot. Windmills and chimneys stood against the blue sky in the viewscape of terraced slopes. Multi-­storied great houses emerged above forest canopy on some parts of the island and artifacts from several eras of colonial settlement peeked out from the sediments. One student volunteer picked up a Spanish silver pillar-­dollar during a ­surface collection—1758 Mexico City mint—and handed it to me along with a bag containing fragments of a bellarmine jug, trailed yellow-­slipped lead-­glazed stoneware, a willow pattern plate rim, blue-­edged transfer printed plate rims, blonde French gunflints, onion bottle bases, and a piece of a post-­ Saladoid effigy figurine. Here in this one bag was the story of colonization and conflict, of trade and industry, and measures of status in a Caribbean outpost. I understood at that moment that my participation in the reconstruction of Nevisian history would last more than a single season. As I readied for the project I could not have anticipated the landscape I was about to encounter or that I would spend a dozen years in the archives and rainforest trying to unravel the colonial tableau of industry, environment, settlement, and social change. Colonial settlements are socio-­po­liti­cal landscapes and unique economic entities. Settlement in the Caribbean during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries reconfig­ured natural environments. Dependency relationships crystallized between parent nations and their far-­flung outposts during the expansion of plantation colonization. At its zenith in the middle of the eighteenth century, Nevis was a vital node in the British agro-­colonial complex situated in the Lesser Antilles, uniting several seemingly unrelated industries across the Atlantic into a growing interdependent network that scholars call the “Atlantic Economy.” Neither the island colony of Nevis nor the British were alone in the Caribbean transformation. The French, Dutch, Danish, and

Introduction / 3

even the Swedish were competing for primacy among the islands that once were the sole dominion of the Spanish Empire. Throughout this book I propose that, at first entry into the Caribbean, European nations practiced a sys­tem of economics and societal organization founded on feudal relations rooted in hierarchical social traditions imported to the Caribbean. This was the cultural baggage they brought with them. However, within two centuries the dominant economic sys­tem evolved into a quasi-­capitalist model (so-­called merchant capitalism), as social relations that governed life in European core states and on island colonies began to shift significantly toward new relations of production and conceptualizations of property. By the middle of the eighteenth century, modern capitalism was in its ascendancy. By what mechanism had these changes transpired? A probable explanation, or at least a focal point for understanding, emerged within the context of the sugar industry’s evolution. Concurrently, the natural environment was transformed with plantation development, expansion, and introduction or eradication of plant and animal species. Similar processes of plantation economy and environmental modification advanced on islands under French, Dutch, and Spanish administrations. International rivalries and nascent global economic competition both sparked and fueled expansion of overseas enterprises and set the stage for unforeseen changes in po­l iti­cal and economic systems. Nevis, as one of the mother colonies of the British Caribbean, served as a model for plantation and capitalist experimentation, and it was emulated elsewhere in the British sphere. As the environment was modified to accommodate the spread of colonial settlement, the plantation sys­tem itself evolved into an agro-­industrial macrosys­tem unimagined by the early settlers of Nevis or elsewhere in the Caribbean. Over time agricultural improvements and new land usage proved necessary simply to keep supplies at standard levels, as diminishing returns owing to degraded soils and use of marginal lands haunted planters. Adjustments at varying levels by colonists had profound as well as subtle effects on the landscape. Modification of physical space, architecture, introduced flora and fauna, and technological interaction with the natural environment all served to structure patterns of mobility and production, but also human relations. The selection of Nevis as a case study was strategic. Nevis had his­tori­ cal importance. Moreover, because a combination of factors has accidentally preserved and maintained the early colonial landscape, it seemed to be well suited for archaeological investigation. Wide-­scale emigration of population during post-­emancipation years,

4 / Introduction

abandonment by the plantocracy coupled with grow-­back of forest, and negligible commercial development until well after independence have meant substantial ruins and artifacts are abundant. The archaeology conducted over twelve seasons was focused simultaneously on specifics of the sugar industry and broadly on the landscape in terms of both use and change. On Nevis, as elsewhere in the region, these two features are inescapably intertwined. In this book I disentangle the agro-­ industrial plantation-­complex from its environment to investigate its social, economic, and technological components, but then reconnect landscapes with the plantation sys­tem to reveal features of environmental change wrought by colonial enterprises. The goal is situate the processes that influenced settlement history and the social trajectory toward capitalism in broader scope, as integrated in the larger dynamics of globalization during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. There are clearly many facets of the panorama of Caribbean history that a defined work of this nature will be forced to ignore. Readers may wonder why one subject or another was limited or avoided altogether. For example, the intriguing prehistory of the Caribbean basin is beyond the scope of this book, and the era of contact between Arawak, Carib, and Europeans must of necessity be brief. Of the more than 40 sites investigated during the years of field work, only a few can be described here.

Context for His­tori­cal Archaeology in Caribbean Research Just as His­tori­cal Archaeology has been the “archaeology of capitalism” (Payn­ ter 1989), it is also almost axiomatic for capitalism to be identified with inequity. First colonies were led primarily by “gentlemen adventurers” aided by indentured servants who, while under contract, were little more than chat­tel slaves.1 Paynter attempted to set an agenda for his­tori­cal archaeology with his forceful book, The Archaeology of Equality and Inequality (1989), tracing the literature from Service’s typology of social organization through to modern capitalist states. Yet inequalities existed before capitalism, and the earliest settlements of Europeans were hardly egalitarian enterprises. How does one archaeologically distinguish, let alone detect, the inequities of capitalism from inequalities based on any other sys­tem of hierarchical relations? One suggestion is that elements of material culture, organization of space, and display of identity offer fruitful avenues for analy­sis (Wobst 1977, 1997; Delle 1999b; Lightfoot and Martinez 1995; Kealhoffer 1999; Mangan 2000). Although islands through­out the Caribbean share a common experience of colonialism, mercantile exploitation, and general absentee governance,

Introduction / 5

the Caribbean has, nonetheless, not meant the same thing to all nations at all times (Meniketti 2009). At least two distinct geo/temporal Caribbeans can be identified by two social and po­l iti­cal spheres overlapping the study period (Crouse 1943; Lowenthal 1972; Hoffman 1980). A comparative analy­sis of the differing natures of Iberian and non-­Iberian experiences in the Caribbean raises the following question: why, within the same environment, were settlement trajectories so markedly different? As will be shown, a probable answer to this question is found in the nature of the economic relationships that linked colonies to their core state. While this book examines the economic development of a non-­Iberian colonial relationship, it can only inform on half of the question. The Caribbean has not been static as a region. Understanding how the region itself has undergone redefinition can help clarify why Iberian and non-­Iberian settlement objectives were so varied. There were several problems to be overcome, some achieved better than others. The institution of slavery is embedded in recent his­tori­cal colonial­ ism, the unequal relations of plantation society, and the emergence of institutional class distinctions defined by capitalism. In the Caribbean, slavery was not merely part of the system; it was the sys­tem (Trouillot 1992). Slavery evolved in unique ways to be as important economically to core states and colonies of the periphery as the agricultural product they produced, and it did so within the context of capitalism (Mintz 1985). Sugar transitioned from a luxury to a staple, and the staple of plantation labor was the slave trade (Williams 1944, 1970; Goveia 1965; Barrett 1965; Curtain 1969, 1998; Batie 1976; Trouillot 1992; Blackburn 1997). An examination of industrial processes then is also a study of labor. Scholarship in the region has been traditionally driven by three fundamental research concerns: reconstructing the prehistoric ecology; the Af­r i­can Diaspora, viewed through the lens of the plantation system; and particular­ istic studies of colonial material culture. Few works are explicitly theoretical, that is to say, making sense of the phenomena under study in the context of social development. Comparable surveys of archaeological research for the colonial Caribbean are rare. A recent overview of his­tori­cal archaeology in the Caribbean demonstrates the breadth and scope of research acknowl­edg­ ing landscapes as significant indicators of social change (Watts 1987; Farnsworth 2001; Hicks 2007; Armstrong 2011; Delle 2011). Studies by Hauser (2011) and Wilkie and Farnsworth (2005) have contributed fresh perspectives on pottery traditions and markets within the Af­r i­can Diaspora of the Caribbean. Analyses of colonial settlement strategies have been undertaken for the Caribbean by only a few, albeit strong analytical works (Armstrong 1982,

6 / Introduction

1990, 2011; Delle 1994, 1999b; Deagan 1995; Castillero-­Calvo 1999). Contributions from the Dutch arena have produced limited but useful studies (Keur and Keur 1960; Delle 1994; Barka 1996, 2001). These researchers have highlighted environment and colonial landscape evolution in their analyses, although not as a central thesis. Yet the vari­ous summaries do not address capitalist progression or its nexus with environmental change.

Historic Sources The first comments by Columbus and later explorers painted a picture of the Caribbean as Eden. Developments in the Caribbean during the period nestled between European contact and the immediate post-­contact era, 1492–1600, have been contested by historians and archaeologists alike. Until recently there has been limited his­tori­cal archaeology in the region. In part this is due to the incomplete nature of the historic record for this period, which problematically allowed considerable a troublesome “leeway in his­tori­cal arguments” noted by Dunn (1972:118), who considered the problem almost “paralyzing.” Higman (1985) and, most recently, Hicks (2007a:29) found the preponderance of documentation for the earliest settlement period to be weighted toward Jamaica and Barbados. The period of 1600–1700 is hardly better. This his­tori­cal “leeway” persuaded Higman (1985:29) to characterize Caribbean research as consisting of “slabs of history” devoid of social context and too dependent on documents that are “too few in number and too official in character.” Not until 1670 did authorities in England even keep any correspondence with planters of the Leeward Islands. With a lack of his­tori­cal archaeology to provide insights, Higman’s appraisal remained essentially valid until the past decade. While we are in far better circumstances today owing to a surge of interest in the Caribbean and Nevis in particular, most documents are minimal; a letter, an inspector’s report, a testimonial, or a will. In Dunn’s words, “there is a paralyzing paucity of information of English settlement in Nevis . . . and almost no seventeenth-­century records survive on any of the islands” (Dunn 1972:118). All who work on Nevis feel obligated to cite Alexander Burke Iles (1871). Having been a governor of Nevis, his narrative is of general value. Although compiled after the period covered by this book, Iles’s detailed account of plantations in operation and inventory of technologies employed by each estate is significant from an industrial development standpoint. The Burke Iles map of Nevis is an important document, despite its humorous geophysical distortions and spatial compression, for it at least ­depicts relative positions for estates, villages, and road networks—relationships lack-

Introduction / 7

ing clarity on most other maps—and for environmental data. Reconciling the modern survey map and the historic using Arch GIS was a challenging but useful exercise, confirming that at least relative locations of estates in the Iles map are correct. Historic documents and contemporary sec­ondary sources bearing directly on Nevis were consulted in the construction of history relevant to the current study. Hilton’s (1675) account of the first fifty years of Nevis, published by the Hakluyt Society; Oldmixon’s (1708) history of the British colonies with maps by geographer Hermann Moll; Sloane’s (1707) description of the island during his sojourn there in 1685; and Letters from Planters, published by Gay (1929); as well as documents from the capitulation to the French in 1782 (Watts 1929), were especially useful in establishing a chronology of significant events and for subtle clues relating to economic decline on Nevis. Various contemporary histories, such as Ligon (1657), Jeffers (1792), and Edwards (1793), among others, added details. Oddly, environmental influences are of­ten ignored altogether in histories of the region. This is ironic in that the unique environment is the chief reason there were any colonies at all. Environmental studies have recently been enlarged by the work of Goodwin (1979), Watts (1987, 1999), Murphy and Johnson (2000), and Pulsipher and Goodwin (2001). Years of drought, hurricanes, and blight were powerful factors in in­di­v idual island histories, as important and disruptive in the lives of inhabitants as invading armies (Grove 1997). These climatic elements, along with economic upheavals, are examined here together to fully grasp some of the contradictions apparent in the history of settlement. The institution of slavery poses unique challenges in archaeology. Williams (1994) asserted an economic functionalism which dovetails well with the rise of capitalism. Slave societies did not exist in a vacuum any more than Euro-­colonists, and the societies that evolved were as bound up with the mores and practices of the plantocracy as they were an amalgam of Af­r i­can cultural elements. Slaves were integral to the economic system. There are thousands of works on the subject offering a variety of perspectives on slaves: their lives, their economic importance, their resistance, and their ultimate role in shaping the modern Caribbean. However, archaeology must fill in where text-­based strong inference must leave off. It would be a trivial study of colonial capitalism to ignore the role of slavery in colonial society, and meaningless to talk of landscape without recognizing the role slavery or the enslaved played in its transformation. From the way villages were organized to the development of markets, from the cultivation of domestic staples to the trails blazed through forests between vil-

8 / Introduction

lages, slaves were in every way participating in a nuanced evolution of landscape.

Organization of This Book The book is divided into three parts. Part I, Chapter 1 introduces the issues, problems, and literature that stimulated this research and guided my interpretation of the archaeological record. Chapter 2 makes explicit the sampling methodology in the field and the bridging arguments used to link the theory described with the archaeology. Chapter 3 provides geographical context and defines the Caribbean as constructed for this book. In Part II, archaeology is moved to the forefront. Chapter 4 provides the relevant history of Nevis against a backdrop of Caribbean history, and Chapters 5 and 6 specifically describe the archaeology carried out to assess environment, settlement history, and capitalism’s penetration into sociocultural spheres as expressed and interpreted through material culture. In Part III, Chapter 7, a synthesis and conclusions are presented assessing the value of this research in terms of new knowledge gained, highlighting the criti­cal questions of the emergence and evolution of capitalism with resultant impacts on environmental change. Clearly, the complex nature of Caribbean settlement and the rise of capitalism cannot be explicated by any single avenue of inquiry or isolated case study. Therefore, through­out this work I have attempted to marshal evidence relating to the processes of settlement development from myriad sources and theoretical platforms to contrast his­tori­cal content with the archaeological.

I THEORY AND METHOD

1

The Caribbean Defined and the Scope of Archaeology A West-­India estate consists of two parts; the lands, with their adjuncts, buildings, etc., and the living stock, viz. cattle and negroes, all which are as much property of the planter as it is possible for the most authentic statutes of the British Senate and Colonial assemblies to make them. —Considerations on the Emancipation of Negroes and the Abolition of the Slave-­trade by a West India Planter (1788)

The insular Caribbean is formed by three island groups. First among these are the Greater Antilles, encompassing Cuba, Hispañola, Puerto Rico, and Jamaica. Hispañola came to be split precariously between French control at Saint Domingue (Haiti) and the Spanish at Santo Domingo (Dominican Republic). Only Jamaica passed completely from Spanish sovereignty. The Bahamas, where in 1492 Columbus made first landfall, are a sec­ond archipelago. The Lesser Antilles forms a third group, comprised of small islands gracefully arcing south from Puerto Rico toward Venezuela like a cascading string of pearls. The largest of the Lesser Antilles are Trini­dad and Guadeloupe. Trini­ dad, origi­nally a Spanish dominion, fell under British control in 1799, after brief periods of Swedish and French control (Figure 1.1). Nevis lies at the north­ern end of these small land masses (Figure 1.2). With its volcanic cone rising steeply from the center of the island to over 3,232 feet (985 m), in profile Nevis resembles a Hershey’s “candy kiss.” The island is a mere 35 square miles (56.3 km2), much of it sloped, The division of the Lesser Antilles into Leeward and Windward I­sland groups is somewhat confusing, largely arbitrary, and based on cartographic conventions of notorious inapplicability—part geographic and part possession-­ based.1 These terms are applied here in only the narrowest definition to the Leeward Group of Nevis, St. Kitts, Antigua, Barbuda, Montserrat, and farther north, the Virgin Islands. The total land mass of the Lesser Antilles is probably less than that of Puerto Rico. Indeed, the importance of the Lesser Antilles in economic and

Figure 1.1. Map of Nevis in the Caribbean showing the few major roads encircling it.

Caribbean Defined and the Scope of Archaeology / 13

Figure 1.2. Nevis viewed from the west, approaching from St. Kitts. The precipitous rise of Mt. Nevis and ever-­present rain clouds hovering above the peak give Nevis a distinctive profile.

po­l iti­cal history is completely out of proportion to its geographic scale. The Lesser Antilles rides on two separate tectonic plates dividing Nevis and islands to the north, from neighboring Montserrat and the islands south. The south­ern islands are volcanically active, the most recent eruptions occurring on Montserrat with devastating effect in 1997 and with lesser impact as recently as 2009. Although the volcanic mount that gives Nevis its distinctive shape is dormant, the island nonetheless has active hot springs. Settlers came to the Caribbean, “not to live, but to make a living,” in Lowenthal’s (1972:33) prosaically evocative analy­sis. An exception to this view can be cited, however, in the Spanish Caribbean, where work at Puerto Real, Hispañola, for example, has shed light on early settlement strategy as intent on true extension of culture (Hoffman 1980; Deegan 1995). However, the general assessment that the historic Caribbean landscape reveals a place for commerce, not for dwelling, coupled with a trend toward absenteeism among the planter class with roots in the early seventeenth century lend credence to Lowenthal’s strong synopsis. The first colonists on Nevis carved out a settlement amidst a mature climax rainforest of hardwoods. Clearing land, managing water, and adapting to climate were among their chief concerns in their

14 / Chapter 1

seemingly frantic efforts to earn quick profits and to survive. That settlements came to be permanent on most of the islands belies the fact that many of the colonies were initiated and designed to generate profits and wealth for the colonizers and the metropole; to serve as outposts, not homesteads. Of this much we can be certain: the Caribbean frontier was dominated by agro-­industrial development founded on varying models of plantations, international economic rivalries, and local adaptations of European d ­ esigns for colonization. It may be, in fact, that English settlers had a model in mind based on plantation development in Ireland (Delle 1999a; Klingelhoffer 1999). Sugar estates rose to primacy within the colonial context regardless of the market sys­tem at the core.2 The terms “plantation” and “estate” deserve some unpacking. While these terms may seem interchangeable, plantations and estates should be viewed as qualitatively different from one another in sociological and economic context. While plantations were functional economic and industrial enterprises, synonymous with farms, the concept “estate” embodied social and cultural components and must be understood equally from a human social scale. An estate included property, but also slaves, servants, and social position measured through wealth. Estates his­tori­cally were classified as big, middling, or small based on a mix of acreage and slave holdings. For instance, on Nevis in 1678, big planters were classified as having 50 slaves or more, middling as having 20–49 slaves, and small as having fewer than 20 slaves (Watts 1987:334). For the same year, only 13 of a total 301 estates were considered big, the great majority being small. On Nevis, the term estate was synonymous with sugar plantations, as opposed to any other agricultural enterprise, and implied lifestyle as much as economy. By 1685 wealth disparity among planters on Nevis was extreme, which led to social instability. This demographic would play a key role in economic development, as few rich men aspired to in­di­v idual fiefdoms.

Nevis as Periphery and Relations with the Core In a seminal work spanning three volumes, Immanuel Wallerstein (1974, 1980, 1989) developed an approach for understanding the modern phenomena of capitalism, the demise of feudalism, and the relationship between world markets. He framed his approach with the concept of a “world-­system.” An assumption foundational to this book is that capitalism could not have prevailed without the emergence of an Atlantic economy associated with a world-­system. World-­sys­tem theorizing was at the center of scholarly research and controversy long before Wallerstein, who, according to Skocpol (1977:1076), built on a “preconceived model of capitalist world economy”

Caribbean Defined and the Scope of Archaeology / 15

contrasting with the economies of empires in its functional division of labor, among other determining characteristics. Viewing this division as occupationally based in the context of empire, Wallerstein framed the world-­system labor division geographically. A criti­cal component of the world-­sys­tem was the colonial development of peripheral regions that served the interests of core states. This basic premise structures economic zones around particular activities with surplus flowing to the core. Just as each zone is differentially rewarded by the system, they also support given sorts of dominant classes oriented toward world markets. However, expansion of trade alone is insufficient to cause socioeconomic metamorphoses. The ancient world engaged in trade over vast distances for benefit of the state without arriving at capitalism as an economic base. Indeed, an emergent world-­sys­tem was well underway linking the east and west by way of the pacific Manila fleets of Spain (Schurz 1939; Abu-­Lugood 1989). The maintenance of the sys­tem as a whole is dependent on differential strength of multiple states, with strong states providing economic assistance to their emerging capitalist classes to manipulate favorable terms of trade in the world market. This clearly took different forms among the European colonizers of the Caribbean. Skocpol (1977:1078) argued that Wallerstein failed to reveal a mechanism for change from feudalism to capitalism—why it should emerge at all—and that his theory is more a description of history than an explanation of processes, especially failing to offer an adequate explication of the dynamics of capitalism, focusing mainly on market processes, commercial growth, and increased trade worldwide. Furthermore, Wallerstein sidesteps the Marxian insight of “paying attention to institutionalized relationships of producing and surplus-­appropriating classes” (Skocpol 1977:​ 1079). Wallerstein (1974) demonstrated the strength of capitalism as self-­reinforc­ ing; once the sys­tem is established, everything reinforces everything. He based many of his conclusions on the emergence of novel forms of credit out of traditional markets (Schneider 1986). Once capitalism becomes the dominant system, its structure allows it to remain dominant. But what is the impetus? How does it become established? It must be recalled that capitalism is not simply a new sys­tem of commerce, but a completely new way of structuring society and the constructed meaning of labor, restructuring time and ways of acquiring status (Wolf 1982). The discussion here focuses on the orientation of Nevis in the periphery-­ core dialectic as a periphery of the English colonial complex, embracing several islands, and with arms reaching to Africa and Asia. Its population pro-

16 / Chapter 1

duced commodities valued by England (and later Great Britain) and was a consumer of goods manufactured by the mother country. In the context of periphery, Wallerstein’s (1974) views of world-­systems have not gone unchallenged, and this criticism deserves analy­sis here, as a world-­sys­tem framework is fundamental to the present study. To reiterate, a chief criticism is that a “world-­sys­tem perspective distorts our understanding of developmental change by overemphasizing external dynamic . . . a focus on the core at the expense of the periphery” (Stein 1999:3). There is some validity in this assertion, and the periphery concept deserves further deconstruction. I make a distinction between primary peripheries, which played leading roles in the development of colonialism and capitalist development, and sec­ondary peripheries, which were marginal in both po­liti­cal and economic arenas. By examining a case within a primary peripheral region, we scaledown to reveal internal dynamics of a periphery, with the expectation that the core state will, nonetheless, dominate in specific exchanges. Trading companies with their genesis as suppliers to colonies evolved into important gears of the economic machinery stimulating growth in the metropole. At the same time, relations were established between colonial sectors that helped maintain the network. The archaeology suggests that Nevis was so embedded in these processes of development that explicating how these processes ran their course on Nevis may inform us about the process generally, whether we examine the issue through ceramics, shipping, industrial development, or economics. Modern development on Nevis began in earnest after independence in 1983, with little of the vast transformation of landscape so prevalent on other islands that have catered to the burgeoning tourist trade. This “romantic colonial landscape” is not accidental and is fostered by many with economic interests in former estates, especially those who have repurposed them into luxury hotels. In the classic sense, a “periphery” is a geographic area exploited for the benefit of the core (or center) through economic specialization, with advantage of variations in costs of labor and raw materials being taken by the core with the metropole as the net consumer. (Wallerstein 1974). The concept can be modified slightly here to mean an economic zone apart from the core, regulated by the state apparatus, but networked through socio-­economic relations binding the state to the relationship. The core state, nevertheless, benefited from production in the periphery (O’Brien 1982). While the core remains a net consumer, there is greater emphasis on dependency at the core in this conceptualization. Champion (1989:14) forcefully argued that as investment increases, the po­liti­cal structures involved “ensnare the periphery ever more firmly.” The opposite is also true; it is the core that becomes ever more ensnared, especially as socio-­economc sytems become entrenched. Heuris-

Caribbean Defined and the Scope of Archaeology / 17

tically, this model allows us to readily comprehend why European powers clung so long to failing colonies and expended so much for so long. An assumption long held, but deserving deconstruction, is that capitalism was a transplant, stowing away with settlers as they entered the New World. At the very least this posits capitalist relations as already systemic, but to date this is unsupported by any real archaeological evidence ( Johnson 1999). Indeed, recent evidence hints at the contrary, that economic exchanges between core-­metropole and colonial-­periphery were feudal in character and benefited the crown (Hoffman 1980). This has been further investigated by Wood­ward (2011:​38) for Spanish Jamaica at Sevilla la Nueva, suggesting the agrarian capitalism was strikingly feudal in character. Individuals found new avenues for economic gain and achievement, and capitalist development was not simply a linear continuation or expansion from processes already in motion. An inchoate feudal capitalism is evident. In his study of plantations on St. Kitts, Hicks (2007a:​40) found that agro-­industrial feudalism was “the hall­ mark of early development” producing an indelible impact on the s­preading colonial landscape (Hicks 2007a:​40). With the advent of the Caribbean trade in luxury commodities, however, a peripheral economic zone was born where rival states engaged in parallel development rather than systemic confrontation. First settlements transplanted familiar social relations around which initial colonial society was molded. One would expect then for the first settlements to some degree to mirror the core society in structure. In the frontier context these relations gradually changed in character. Diaries of early travelers do not describe settlements in manners fundamentally different from European villages, but do remark on the leveling of rank apparent in dwellings and labor (leaders likely engaged in manual labor alongside commoners, for example). His­tori­cal records compellingly suggest that, as soon as they could afford to, planters on Nevis returned to England and left agents in their place to run plantation affairs, lending further support to the supposition that many were there to “earn a living” in an extractive frontier (Hall 1973[1964]; Dunn 1972). Absenteeism was considered a problem. A rare few elected to remain, and these gradually formed the nucleus of a wealthy elite, with aspirations to English aristocracy, sending their children to England for education (Pares 1950). Indeed, over time, the “feudal sugar landscapes” as Mason (1993:103) terms them, changed to manors with all the trappings of classical images of power embedded in landscapes: villas, ordered plantations, and an increase in slaves (Hicks 2007a:41). Most planters who lived out their lives on Nevis, however, did so out of necessity, being either far too in debt to depart or having holdings too small to turn reasonable profits to support their desired lifestyles.

18 / Chapter 1

The Significance of Nevis in Caribbean Research: A Case Study Approach Case studies can be highly informative and useful in theory building (Vaughn 1992; Eisenhardt 1995; Rossignol 1992) as they “embody causal processes operating in microcosm” (Walton 1992:122). Cases are always hypotheses (Walton 1992:122). Nevis, with its rapid ascendancy from founding as a satellite colony of St. Kitts in 1625, its commanding position of wealth in 1700, to its near abandonment during the collapse of world sugar markets after 1833, uniquely qualifies as the location for the study of capitalism, social transformation, and impact on environment. This book describes the transformation and development of the built environment—one might say the colonization gradient as derived by Kenneth Lewis (1984), but in island context—as colonies increasingly became networked to a global economic system, modified here to emphasize the synergism arising between core states and peripheral settlements during the pivotal eras of capitalism’s ascendance. A model enabling comparison between colonies in a confined area with those on a “limitless” frontier can be constructed when combined with Hardesty’s (1985:216) conceptualization of an extractive “industrial frontier.” However, not all frontiers are limitless. Colonies in bounded areas may fall under more direct control from the core state and may come to look more like the core state as a result. Regionally, Nevis stands as an example of the British-­influenced Caribbean that can be compared to island colonies under different metropolitan control sharing similar fates during regional decline. Nevis, while at one time the most developed and best defended of the colonies under British dominion, was nonetheless a peripheral region in the sense that the colony was founded for the sole purpose of resource extraction benefiting entrepreneurs and the crown (Meniketti 2006). When the records of settlement for French, Dutch, and even the Danish are examined, we find this was a common circumstance through­out the Lesser Antilles (Batie 1976; Delle 1994; Klooster 1998; Perotin-­Dumon 1999; Meniketti 2008). Social and environmental dynamics in the Caribbean did not occur in isolation. The sea served more as a highway than a barrier for development—­ forming a corridor for feedback between core states and peripheral colonies— as well as serving as a conduit for nurturing contact and growth between peripheral areas. Records of shipping frequently cite anywhere from 50 to150 ships arriving in a single year at Charlestown roadstead (Pares 1936, 1950; Scott 1996). Trade and communication were seaborne (Scammell 2003). For example, Thomas Irving, inspector general of imports and exports, listed 153 vessels arriving from the West Indies in Lon­don alone (Accounts of Shipping

Caribbean Defined and the Scope of Archaeology / 19

1788a, 1788b, 1790). Indeed, this was little changed except for the number of ships, as reported for Nevis by Governor Stapleton in 1671, with more than 200 for the West Indies (CSP Col.Ser. [1896] v.10, 1671 #642). Nevis represented an important node in the European world-­system, part of an interconnected social sys­tem with core and periphery divisions. All levels of society within the Caribbean retained tethers to external social and economic systems through networks of communication and cultural infusion from abroad. Communication networks are easy enough to comprehend for the plantocracy, where mobility was unrestrained and officially sanctioned, but there is no reason to assume that all communication systems were explicit, official in nature, nor that parallel systems were necessarily clandestine. Communication during pre-­modern colonial periods was by sea and traveled no faster than the fastest ship (Scott 1986, 1996). Information and ideas sailed the same seas, but of­ten reached different segments of colonial society in starkly different form and with varied reception. The continual influx of newly bonded Af­ri­cans meant a steady, if erratic, absorption of Af­r i­can cultural elements into Nevis, if not the full culture. Just as European colonists were aware of the latest trends in Europe, the enslaved were cognizant of their cultural roots and of other enslaved communities, as well as the values and motives of their oppressors (Gaspar 1992; Bernhard 1996).

Defining His­tori­cal Phases: Place in Time To increase understanding of the developmental trajectory on Nevis, archaeo­ logical surveys were undertaken to document environmental modifications, settlement areas, and features of the built landscape. Assessment of these features was ultimately set within a chronological framework of settlement phases that captured historic episodes of the region.Within the designated period of study, three phases emerged based on an analy­sis of economic, demographic, and social data. Phase I signalled the entry of non-­Iberian settlement through­out the region (1624/5 on St. Christophers and 1627 on Nevis) with a focus on agronomic colonization—merging with the sec­ond phase as new technologies and a shift in agricultural intensification propelled settlement and production. This first phase was brief, spanning in essence the years 1627–1655. There was a marked upsurge in population toward the end of this phase, which witnessed an increase in the scale of agricultural production, emergence of a sugar monoculture, and environmental transformation—mainly clear-­cutting and cobble road construction. In 1655, English adventurism in the Caribbean expanded as Oliver Cromwell sought to disrupt Spanish

20 / Chapter 1

commerce. Failing in most of their efforts, the English finally captured ill-­ defended Jamaica from Spain, triggering an exodus of planters from Nevis, along with their slaves, to Jamaica (Hilton 1675; Hoffman 1980; Hubbard 1996). Phase II began after 1655 as demographics, politics, and agro-­industrial practices each underwent fundamental reconfigurations lasting several years, reflected both in settlement patterns and socioeconomic restructuring.This phase was marked by intensification and Af­r i­canization of the slave trade and Nevisian labor force (with less dependence on indentured or enslaved Irish and indigenous Carib), expansion of the plantation sys­tem to the level of industry, and extensive competition between European powers in the Lesser Antilles, as sugar colonies became important peripheries for economic stability to core states. The period was also defined by the arrival of sugar specialists—Sephardic Jews from Brazil—who effectively reconfig­ured the industry and shaped local merchant life (Merrill 1958; Terrell 2005). The process of industrial expansion and capitalist experimentation continued well into the next century, until 1782, ending finally when French expeditionary forces occupied many of the British islands, leading to subsequent failure of many estates and productive decline of others. A crisis occurred in the glutted sugar economy globally at this time, also contributing to the regional decline (Sheridan 1961; Lobdell 1972; Carrington 2002). The archaeological record is the most informative for this phase. Across the island, expansion into nearly every accessible plain or slope is evident with the construction of ever larger estates. This appears to be the pattern experienced on other islands as well, as documented by Delle (1994), Barka (1996), Watts (1999), and Delpuech (2001). The Dutch, with island holdings too small for effective agro-­industrialism, entered into other economic enterprises in support of the nascent capitalist mode, in­clud­ing slaving, banking, and transport. The Dutch at St. Eustatius supported limited sugar production but served profitably as a freeport into the 1780s. This island, so close to St. Kitts, was occasionally mentioned in official dispatches as a source for illicit (tax-­evading) goods that entered the British colonies. Phase III began with sharp declines in production and dramatic demographic change following the successful French invasion in 1782. The French took Nevis without a shot (Machling 2012:80). Again economics are used to demarcate phase transition. Also marking this period were important innovations in sugar production technology. Emancipation in the British sphere in 1833 (followed by an apprenticeship period until 1838) brought about significant demographic and economic reconfigurations, and such a distinct shift offers a logical terminal point for the current study. The trend of population decline carried into the nineteenth century, as

Caribbean Defined and the Scope of Archaeology / 21

labor structures, renewed off-­island migration, and land use patterns transformed the face of Nevis and other islands of the region. The industrial revolution reached Nevis through adoption of steam engines by a few planters, who also engaged in speculative estate consolidation and centralization of production just as others quit the island. There is, of course, overlap of vari­ous attributes defining these phases and, although not arbitrarily constructed, a degree of artificiality in these phases must be admitted. Colonists would not have viewed themselves as transitioning from phase to phase. Heuristically, these periods encapsulate criti­cal junctures wherein multiple factors of socio-­cultural, economic, and environmental praxis underwent fundamental modification and are evidenced in the archaeological as well as environmental record. Small holders, frequently referred to as middling planters in the historic literature, of­ten were in tenuous financial circumstances that could not easily recover from the unpredictable calamities brought by the weather or politics. It is obvious that plantations were beset by several environmentally related problems, in addition to economic and po­l iti­cal tumult. A sense of the urgency and despair experienced by even successful planters can be detected from an extraordinary series of letters between an absentee landowner and his agent on Nevis, excerpted below from Gay (1929) (origi­nal spelling and punctuation retained): Dec. 20, 1728 From Joseph Herbert, Nevis . . . the plantation goods are not arriv’d. The negroes are bare of cloaths and pinch’d in their belly having lost a abundance of potatos by the great rains in August and Sep­tem­ber. Aug. 3, 1730 From David Stalker, Nevis . . . The well is emptied but no water to be found. The charge is att least 60. They design to have a well digger from St Christopher. They are forc’d to go to the bath for water wich is four miles . . . May 5, 1732 From Joseph Herbert, Nevis . . . The weather favorable and your estate extremely well in all its circumstances but bent one which is the want of slaves a general complaint in all these islands, for want of that free trade from Boston which the French and Dutch have almost engrossed to themselves and must in short time inevitably ruin the British sugar colonies . . .

22 / Chapter 1

Figure 1.3. The Alexander Burke Iles map of 1871 provides locations for plantations in operation mid-­century. North at left. (Permission for use from the Archives of the Nevis His­tori­cal and Conservation Society.)

These comments, along with numerous passages of similar tenor in additional letters, argue persuasively and lamentably that environmental factors played a criti­cal role in plantation cycles affecting all classes of colonists.

Defining the Region of Study The Caribbean, socially and po­l iti­cally, is one of the most complex and problematic regions of the west­ern world to define (Meniketti 2009). The purpose for this discussion is to make the case that the cosmopolitan nature of the Caribbean was a product of the processes that supported the rise of capitalism and is best understood in a regional context. Exhibiting surprising geographic diversity, this polymorphous geoscape is as diverse as the people who inhabit it. The Caribbean is better understood as variegated quilt than as a tightly woven fabric. Thus one speaks of a Spanish Caribbean, British Caribbean, French, Dutch, and so forth, but also of the legacy of maroonage and Afro-­ Caribbean cultural elements. But these terms are relics of an economic cartography of imperial ambition. The plantation period, lasting from first Eu-

Caribbean Defined and the Scope of Archaeology / 23

ropean settlement until the early twentieth century, can logically be divided between epochs of slavery and emancipation, and by details of ­competing systems, the epochs defined by unique socio-­cultural circumstances and socio­ economic structuring. We might logically divide it as well between Iberian and non-­Iberian spheres. Although in many respects sharing a common history, especially of slavery, and plantation economy, the Caribbean is neither homogeneous po­liti­cally, culturally, or socially. Still, the threads of common history are strong and sufficiently binding to allow the Caribbean to be viewed both externally and internally as a definable region with identifiable characteristics distinguishing it both from its European and Af­ri­can roots and from its Latin Ameri­can neighbors (Lowenthal [1960]1972:26). The foregoing discussion has covered the basic his­tori­cal and archaeological underpinnings for the book and emphasized the complexity of examining any part of the Caribbean dynamic in isolation. Throughout this book it will be necessary to refer to the 1871 map created by former governor, Alexander Burke Iles, for what it details concerning settlement and environment (Figure 1.3). The developments being examined on one island can never truly be divorced from others in the region or from external interference. Yet a lack of comparative archaeological studies of similar scope makes generalization difficult. Hopefully, this study will provide a foundation for future comparative work elsewhere in the region.

2

Method and Theory Cognitive and his­tori­cal features must be added to familiar environmental analy­sis if we are to successfully model the dynamics of culture and social change. —Crumley and Marquardt (1990)

An Island as Unit of Analysis Caribbean islands on which the colonial sys­tem converged and where energy was focused are constrained spaces and environmentally discrete units. Islands are therefore suitable for the study of human actions that, for good or ill, directed the course of settlement (Whitbeck 1933). Variations that characterize islands may be isolated and identified in terms of behaviors that leave tangible traces (Stinchcombe 1995:9). Colonial societies are “not autonomous social realities; they are subject to the demands and interests of the metropolis” (Bolland 1981:593). Even those within colonial societies appearing to have complete power, namely the plantocracy, were dependent in a number of ways—economically, militarily, and above all psychologically—on the mother country. Dependency in the psychosocial realm had far-­reaching influence on the decisions made by planters and colonists. Another attribute of island landscapes with relevance to the discussion of space is distance. Distance is not a built feature so much as one that is viscerally experienced at every level of development. The distance between plantations, between villages, between plantations and commercial centers, between core state and colony, measurable between free and unfree, between households or family members are issues of scale touching on everything from social life to defense and between sources of news. News could travel no faster than the fastest ship (Scott 1986). The islands were socially and po­ liti­cally circumscribed by the ocean (Stinchcombe 1995: 9). These elements of scale become psychologically internalized, influencing choices, feeding in­ di­v idual fears, or shaping collective attitudes toward cultural stasis. The transformed natural landscape of most island colonies reflects po­l iti­

Method and Theory / 25

cal history as well as the social and industrial past. The needs of plantations and pressure applied by the plantocracy ultimately reconfig­ured other industries in the metropolis through feedback mechanisms and induced innovations in commerce that served as a mainspring for industrial capitalism (Mintz 1971; Williams 1994). Concurrently, maritime needs and constraints acted to shape patterns of far-­flung settlement as well as industrial codependence, while at the same time embedding colonies in the wider global economy developed during the sixteenth century and later. Spanish colonies in Hispañola and Cuba suffered as Iberian shipping concentrated more on mainland settlements at the expense of insular Caribbean colonies, whereas the Lesser Antilles gained importance through shipping (Davis 1962; Duffy 1987). Additionally, the growth of maritime power among vari­ous non-­Iberian European nations can be traced to the needs of colonial industry and for defense of colonial holdings—no less true in the eighteenth as in the sixteenth century. The primary objectives for the early stages of this study were locating colonial structures, assigning operational dates, and distinguishing site-­types across the variable landscape. Individual sites were documented with more fine-­grained scales of analy­sis to establish the chronology for development periods. Standard archaeological protocols for survey and site recording were followed through­out the process. Reconstruction of the landscape and natural ecology on Nevis prior to colonization was criti­cal and made reasonably possible through several channels (Merrill 1958; Williams 1963; Hall 1971; Watts 1987; CCA1991) as well as from myriad his­tori­cal sources in­clud­ing Hilton (1685), Sloane (1707), Old­m ixon (1708), Churchill and Churchill (1732), Cooke (1811), and Iles (1871), along with scattered statements made by sixteenth-­century explorers (Honey­church 1997). The nature of the historic record permits a demarcated entry point for systemic change to be proscribed and the tracking of environmental change. In addition, it is possible to compare environmental change with the transformations described by researchers on neighboring islands and coastal areas (Keur and Keur 1960; Pulsipher 1977, 2001; Goodwin 1979; Clement 1997; Barka 2001, as examples), providing a base for generating statements of regional value, revealing broader patterns systemic to capitalist development.

Space and Land Use: Methodological Considerations Field reconnaissance was strategically applied to assess settlement distribution and apparent patterns over the landscape and to provide information on local ecology and the possibility of vari­ous site-­t ype signatures, character-

26 / Chapter 2

ized as: urban, rural, residential, and so forth. Thus, direct comparisons between sites of similar types can be made for different periods. Local informants were queried where appropriate and proved helpful in locating sites. In fact, within island culture, sharing a drink helped cement relationships at several levels that were beneficial to the archaeological survey. This ethnographic approach has been highly productive. Part-­t ime shepherds on Nevis are frequently in the bush tracking down some of the 10,000 sheep that freely range parts of the island. More than one astute and gregarious in­di­v idual has informed me of finds. Local interest in archaeology is keen, and archaeologists should never ignore local knowledge. Designating sites by type allowed me to assess the associated artifactual material through­out the study. The operationalized premise was that material culture acts as a sensitive barometer of economic and social change, and if wedded to a capitalist construction of social hierarchy, can act as indicators of status and class, in addition to function (Paynter 1986; Orser 1988; ­Beaudry, Cook, and Mrozowski 1991; Deetz 1998; Miller 1994). In essence, one does not anticipate tea sets at sugar mills or porcelain in a servant’s house, and when found must be explained, not explained away. The character of sites can be misleading owing to many factors influencing deposition, ranging from refuse survival to scavenging (Needham and Spence 1997:81). The fact that many sites have been repurposed over time only complicates interpretation. Material culture, in the form of personal, domestic, industrial, and mercantile artifacts and surrounding space have been effectively used in his­tori­ cal archaeological studies to offer insights into people’s daily lives (Armstrong 1990; Martin 1994; Beaudry, Cook, and Mrowzowski 1991; Miller 1994; Orser 1996c; Beaudry 1999; Steen 1999; Loftfield 2001; and many others). This may appear in the archaeological record in the guise of architectural styles, iconographic and symbolic facades, higher concentrations of specific consumer goods in certain sectors, alterations to pub­lic space, character of construction, changes in the organization of space related to social and work behavior, increased focus on commercial loci, and where people live, or other subtle markers. Artifact cluster analy­sis in association with spatial clues is an effective tool for bringing these elements to light. Individually these may result from multiple causes, and one-­to-­one correspondence is not to be expected (Pailes and Whitecotton 1979). If present together, however, they point to systemic forces, as the work of other researchers has shown (Parsons 1972; Deetz 1977, 1998; Wiessner 1989; Fletcher 1989; King and Miller 1991; Beaudry, Cook, and Mrozowski 1991; Delle 1994; Crowell 1997; McGlade and Van der Leeuw 1997; Martin-­Fragachan 1999; Majewski and Noble 1999; Butzer and Butzer 2000; Mangan 2000).

Method and Theory / 27

Artifacts represent a subunit of analy­sis at the scale of site-­use. Domestic and industrial artifact assemblages on Nevis are not unique to the Caribbean. There is little mystery to composition of assemblages, as nearly all European ceramic types are well documented in the colonial New World and examples of vessels are known from several collections—the displays at Colonial Williamsburg a notable example. Little is to be learned by listing the standard styles of mass-­produced ceramics that is not readily available to scholars from several fine studies in the literature. To gain meaningful new insights into behavior from material culture remains, it was necessary to establish an interpretive framework in which specific hypotheses related to class behavior could be tested. What the small finds offered was the potential for enlightening us on aspects of behavior not evident in the artifacts themselves or obtainable through simple measurement of nominal variables. For example, which styles are most in evidence, and what might the owner be saying through the use of one style as opposed to another? Do assemblages simply reveal the range of choices provided by merchants and their continental trading partners to colonists or were context, social rank, and other socially meaningful factors at play in the cognitive dance of acceptance and rejection? By statistical evaluation of the material in meaningful categories, I anticipated isolating patterns that would lead to assessing vari­ous possible interpretations. Of course “meaningful” is a loaded term. What is meaningful to an archaeologist may have been only background noise to the origi­nal possessor of any material item. Style can be used as a behavior marker, but so can incorporation of functional elements. Wobst (1977:335) articulated this avenue of analy­sis when he described his work in the Balkans: “I have interpreted stylistic behavior as that of artifact form and structure which can be related to processes of information exchange. Specific stylistic form is seen to emit messages which can broadcast through­out the use life of artifacts. Depending on message content, message visibility, and social contexts to which artifacts are exposed, as well as on cultural matrix in which this communication takes place, different artifacts carry different kinds of messages and stylistic form has different meanings.” Aspects of style within colonial ceramic assemblages can be evaluated by looking at such nominal categories as decoration, or edge design, but also, and perhaps more informatively, by functional groupings, such as kitchen ware, formal ware, and everyday ware, to understand how artifacts were in use. But style is dynamic, as an element in production for a consumer society, and not statically defining the character of end-­users. From that juncture it may be possible to postulate the intended “information exchange” of the artifact. The message is not inherent to the artifact, but in the context of the sender-­

28 / Chapter 2

receiver relationship of the actors (Glassie 1975; Wobst 1977; Hodder 1989; Fletcher 1989; Deetz 1998; Butzer and Butzer 2000). Styles embed certain messages, but the messages change. There is plenty of maneuverability for actors in such fluid context. For example, status may be conjured up with objects of not only great value, but novelty, or rarity. That which is significant in the North Ameri­can colonies may not have had the same implicit value in the Caribbean and vice versa. Therefore, the small collection of items recorded for this study were subjected to groupings intended to suggest patterns of use, in addition to linking Nevis to distant manufacturing centers through purchasing practices and commercial trade. It bears repeating that, on most islands, resources are scarce and land suitable for any form of development comes at a premium. Its past use and division into specialized, socially constructed activity zones, can be analyzed relative to changing social relations, labor, requirements of status, and symbolic display, all within the context of the power structure that mediates environmental usage and commercial exploitation. By the same token, we can apply this interpretive mode to examine colonial industrial sites, such as sugar works, great houses, or the general character of lived-­in space. By extension, qualitative distinctions can be posited for industrial and social space within the same framework. Each space within a place may exhibit its own suite of attributes and associated material culture. One can also anticipate overlapping assemblages, and indeed this is the case on Nevis. For example, social adjustments and adaptation to capitalist relations appear as changes within material culture, as individuals or groups become greater consumers and agents of the capitalist sys­tem itself, perhaps forming subcultures within the whole, as Wolf (1971) insightfully suggested. At an expanded scale of analy­sis, changes reflected in pub­lic space, private space, and the focus of community wealth will also be indicators of capitalist adaptations or resistance, while providing clues to what Ortner (1990:62) described as the “developing cultural schema.”

Pilot Study The 2001 field season served as a pilot study. The objective was to determine the most efficacious spacing interval for surveys, the best size for a sample quadrat, and to learn whether or not pedestrian survey along transect lines was a feasible strategy given the dense brush to be encountered. An additional question concerning survey strategy was whether to establish random or systematic quadrats on the landscape for survey. Both approaches were tested in

Method and Theory / 29

lower St. John Parish, where a few known sites provided test cases. Another important objective of these trial surveys was to learn what could actually be found and whether any archaeological vestige of the early colonial period remained on the landscape. Transects were started from randomly selected points, with only a few specifically targeted areas. These transects were oriented on a north to south axis to facilitate compass travel and covered several elevation zones up to 1,500 feet (457 meters) above sea level. Environmental data was collected at each elevation for later analy­sis. Few were accessible by road. The principle instruments employed were the 1984 Ordnance Survey Map (OSM) produced at Independence from Britain, compass, Garmin GPS, and machete. GPS were used to locate quadrat corners or to record site locations for relocation later. The OSM is now woefully out of date and does not show many of the new developments, such as the deep-­water pier or recent roads. Transects were vari­ously conducted at intervals between surveyors of 10 to 50 meters, depending on conditions of brush cover and terrain. While visibility was of­ten a constraint, it was found that slope was a greater challenge. Intervals between surveyors of 5 to 10 meters turned out to be the most efficient strategy, despite requiring more out-­and-­back transects to fully cover the designed quadrats. Although survey at wide intervals brought results, a spacing of 10 meters between crew members acquired more data points per given period of survey time than the wider interval arrangement. Lessons learned were incorporated as refinements in techniques and data acquisition to the research design for the subsequent seasons. Crews located 12 significant sites fitting several classifications of built landscape ranging from terraces and stone cisterns to entire mills. Ten additional smaller sites, in­clud­ing house platforms were also documented. One unidentified and previously unknown mill-­complex (not on any map) with associated house foundations was found during a single upslope transect by three crew members at three separate points. The impressive two-­story structure and mill platform was completely obscured from view by vegetation, both from a higher vantage point and from 30 meters away. Drought conditions during the 2003–2004 seasons caused a severe dieback of vegetation that facilitated the production of measured drawings. The drought was decidedly over by the 2005 season, and vegetation so thoroughly enveloped the structures that several hours of cutting away overgrowth with machetes was required even to approach most sites. Drought again in 2007 and 2008 caused an additional dieback. Results from the preliminary season provided every reason for optimism that the Nevisian landscape retained criti­cal elements of the pre-­emancipation

30 / Chapter 2

character of Nevis, at several scales, but also that random quadrat survey, although difficult to execute in the overgrowth, was both a feasible and productive strategy. Ultimately, a stratified random sampling strategy was used to ensure adequate coverage at vari­ous elevation zones.

Units of Analysis The unit of analy­sis for this landscape study is the plantation. Plantation communities are large spaces, having numerous specialized activity areas as well as venues of more subtle interaction. Survey units needed to be sufficiently large to allow detection of vari­ous site-­t ypes, and at the scale of units for spatial patterning being sought (Kintigh 1990), yet not so large that households or important small-­scale settlement features would be missed in an effort to meet time and coverage constraints. Construction of survey quadrats for the 2003 season was purposeful. Rectangular quadrats measuring 250 meters by 1,000 meters in length were generated across the two parishes representing the sample universe. First, the scale was inclusive, sufficiently sized to capture plantation-­scaled features. Second, they embraced a representative sample of environment at each elevation zone. Third, they were practical. The essential question of unit size, type, and what scale is appropriate for measuring degrees of organization has perplexed archaeologists on several fronts (Hodder 1977; Kolwalewski, Blanton, Feinman, and Finsten 1983; Carr 1987; Alcock 1993; Wandsnider 1988, 1998). In a cogent outline of measurement in archaeology, Ramenoffsky and Steffan (1998) point to two criti­cal aspects of unit structuring: scale and content. Both aspects are shown to have subtle qualities influencing data acquisition, and ultimately, interpretation. Two notions of scale are defined. In the first meaning, scale encompasses inclusiveness and resolution. Interpretations must operate on a sliding scale, that is, some meanings are found in artifacts, whereas others are made at a broader scale through spatial patterns. The sec­ond meaning for scale is that of measurement content. Within this, meanings are derived from empirical and conceptual categories. While we might measure a physical structure by standardized methods, “plantation community” or “capitalism” are not measurable in the same manner. Ramenoffsky and Steffan (1998:5), following Dunnell, classify these as extensional definitions based on abstractions. Furthermore, the lack of empirical “referents for abstractions places great weight on the selection criteria and means of measurement.” The definition of plantation used here follows closely that derived by Orser (1990:115) as having a landholding deemed large within its region, so-

Method and Theory / 31

cial relations of power between labor and management, specialized agricultural production geared toward off-­plantation sale (or export), a settlement pattern that reflects centralized control, and a relatively large input of cultivating power. This operational definition was devised by Orser to assist in the study of slavery, but has useful features in a landscape definition of plantations. This is a normative definition that can, however, lead to serious difficulties if cavalierly applied. Sugar estates on Nevis do not always exhibit every attribute, but were functionally plantations. The term “estate” is used here to specify a sugar plantation and its unique economic position linked to individuals. This distinction is important. In the seventeenth century, a plantation referred to any settlement construction. Plantations operated as an industrial sys­tem within a specific economic system, while estates may have been more idiosyncratic in operational details. Furthermore, “a settlement pattern reflecting centralized control” may need greater clarity. How shall we categorize estates where landholdings were scattered, owners absent abroad, and off-­plantation sale strictly controlled for restricted markets by distant core states? Does the presence of a great house signify a central authority while its absence means a sugar complex fails to fulfill the meaning of plantation, despite meeting other criteria? And what is a “relatively large” input of cultivating power? Twenty slaves? One hundred? How were these defined his­tori­cally? General categories for artifact classification and analy­sis followed use rather than material as a primary organizational tool, the reasoning being that if artifacts can be grouped in accordance to use-­location and function, so too can loci of activity. Usage can be linked with activities having socialized context. Specialized activities are assumed to take place in specified locations. Thus artifacts as well as architecture were used to classify sites as military, religious, secular, domestic or industrial, rural or urban, on the basis of assemblages in combination with architecture. Particular artifact assemblages can be expected to aggregate within these categories of site-­t ypes, even if artifact types overlap. However, environmental features and specialized landscape modifications can also constitute signatures of site-­t ype.

Mill-­Complexes The area of most intense labor after the harvest was the mill and boiling house. While these processes required the least labor, compared to planting and harvesting, they required skilled labor. The mill-­complex is a sizable operation with a large footprint on the landscape. Men and women worked in the confines of the boiling house in two areas: the sugar boiling room and

32 / Chapter 2

the firebox room. Each area required skilled workers, and each had industrial risks. In the boiling room, a sugar master managed the process of rendering the freshly produced cane syrup through a series of boiling steps, each step necessary to remove impurities and consolidate the sugar. This process is thoroughly described in excellent sources (Ligon 1657; Labat 1724; Owens 1775; Rees 1819; Deerr 1949; Galloway 1989; Barrett 1965; Dunn 1972; Wayne 2010) and illustrated in idealized detail by Diderot (1751) in Encyclopédie Recueil de Planches sur les Sciences. It will only be summarized here in terms of the worker’s responsibilities, dangers, and the built environment. Sugar pressings or juice was channeled to a clarifier after crushing. This was a criti­cal step, as any juice allowed to sit more than an hour began to ferment and crystallize. This sugary syrup, known as the “liquor,” was heated from below, and a tempering agent was added, of­ten Bristol white-­lime, in order to neutralize the acids in the syrup. As the syrup was heated to near boiling, layers of scum containing organic compounds rose to the surface and were skimmed off with the appropriate ladle. According to Ligon (1657:129), who described the milling on Barbados, the process was conducted “by the hand of negroes that attend the work day and night shifting every four hours” with ladles that “hold a gallon at a time.” At no time was the liquor actually allowed to reach boiling during this stage as this would interfere with the process-­chemistry being carried out. The skimmings discarded, the sugar master monitored the contents of each cauldron (origi­nally made of copper, but primarily manufactured of iron after 1700) as the temperature rose and the syrup reached the appropriate color and consistency. Once this had been achieved, the sugar master ordered the condensed liquid transferred to the next smaller cauldron in the series (usually four, but five was also indicated). Ligon describes the skimmings as being brought to the still house for manufacture of low-­wines and a sec­ ond distilling producing a stronger spirit (Ligon 1657:129). During the nineteenth century, mechanisms were developed to prevent scum from being accidentally transferred from one cauldron to another, but in earlier years this was unavoidable and additional boiling steps were required. At each step the liquor became finer and thicker. Various coagulants were used in the process in­clud­ing, but not limited to, oxblood and lime-­water. The knowledge of when to make this transfer was acquired through experience, and knowing what temperature to “strike” the syrup was tested by dipping the elbow into the batch. This remained the technique until invention of the hygrometer in 1785, after which less skilled labor could be employed. After processing through three cauldrons, the very condensed fluid was

Method and Theory / 33

transferred to the last cauldron or “teache,” where it underwent final evaporation by fire. Once judged as sufficiently “boiled” by the sugar master, it was removed to a cooler. This step, known as “striking,” was criti­cal, as the entire process could be ruined by early removal or by allowing the syrup to burn. The judgment of when to strike was done by eye—observing the color and the crystal structure as seen on the back of the ladles—and by touch—drawing the hot, moist sugar grains into a thread of about a quarter inch. As described in Rees (1819) “no amount of verbal precepts will furnish any degree of skill in a matter depending wholly on constant practice.” Even Dutrone, writing in 1790 about the skills of sugar masters, stated it “is wonderful what long experience will do” (Barrett 1965:161). The earliest sugar manufacturing technology used a process referred to as a Spanish Train. The train was a table of cauldrons (coppers) of diminishing size with a fire box beneath each one. Development of the Jamaica Train represents an important technological innovation, wherein a single fire was maintained at one end of the boiling table (as opposed to a fire beneath each cauldron), and a flue drew heat under the array of cauldrons from a fire beneath the teache. This process facilitated heat and fuel management (Galloway 1989:98; see also Wayne 2010:27 for excellent diagrams of the procedure). It is very likely that the new technology was introduced into the Caribbean first on Barbados by Sephardic Jews from Brazil, and then to Nevis and Jamaica in the mid-­1600s (Dunn 1972; Galloway 1989; Terrell 2005). Hence, the appellation is somewhat misleading. Throughout the boiling process there are workers at the boiling table and stationed in the firebox room, stoking and maintaining the fire beneath each cauldron. What has just been described is hot and debilitating work. In smaller works, the fireboxes were covered by awnings. In larger complexes, the firebox room was of­ten enclosed by timber construction, meaning the workers suffered in smoky heated rooms with limited air circulation. Fires were a constant danger. In the late seventeenth century, the threat was recognized, and laws were enacted by the Nevis Council in 1671 to reduce the hazard presented by sugar production. Their concerns were warranted, considering that many sugar works were still being built of wood near the towns and many homes and businesses had thatched roofs. Whereas it hath been the Practice and Custom of many the Dwellers . . . in this island, in carless manner, not regarding the evil Consequences that may ensue thereby, to kindle and maintain Fires for boiling pots, and dressing Victuals in the streets and other places of Danger

34 / Chapter 2

very near unto Houses and likewise the Townes have been in Peril and Danger of being burned . . . it is ordered, ordained, and enacted by his Excellency Sir William Stapleton, Baronet, Captain-­general . . . for per­ sons from and after publication hereafter, shall kindle any fire in the streets for boiling . . . shall Be fined One hundred Pounds of Muscavado Sugar for every offence so committed . . . if unable to pay then compelled to work it out upon the forts according to the usual rate of Labourers, otherwise to suffer corporal Punishment not extending to death. —Acts of Assembly Passed in the Island of Nevis 1680[1740], Nevis Archives, Charlestown. Once the sugar was transferred to the coolers, it was moved to the curing house. The type of sugar produced by this method is muscavado, with high molasses content and having the color of Madeira wine, and was the principal variety produced in the English Caribbean, especially Nevis. Either barrels or red-­clay cones or sugar pots were filled with the oozing sugar and set on racks in the curing house to slowly drain. Red clay sugar cone fragments are found at the site. Fragments are easily mistaken as roofing tiles. The drippings of molasses could be collected and later distilled into the equally commercial product of rum, or the molasses itself was traded (Deerr 1949; Galloway 1989). Before the Ameri­can War of Independence, trade in rum between Nevis and the continental colonies was a significant aspect of the economy (Barrett 1965:163). The distillation process was fairly simple compared to sugar production and did not require significant investment in labor. The fire beneath a single pot still required tending, and distillate had to be monitored, yet Labat (1724:323) thought that only a single woman was required for this important task. A woman was supposedly preferred because it was believed (in Labat’s opinion) that she would be less inclined to consume any of the product. Distilleries leave their own signature footprint on the landscape and have their own material components and related industrial debris. However, small operations can successfully produce a dangerous form of rum, even today, with limited labor.

Transects: Procedure and Results Nevis is divided into five parishes. Using the 1984 topographic Ordnance Survey Map (OSM) at a scale of 1:25,000, two parishes were divided into

Method and Theory / 35

quadrats as previously described. The number of quadrats was determined by land area and the ambitious goal of sampling 20 percent of each parish. The parishes of St. John and St. Thomas were surveyed with the unit of observation being one kilometer–long blocks of landscape. The parishes were also stratified along elevation lines to generate segregated zones for separate sampling. Elevation stratification was at arbitrary intervals of 500-­foot elevations: from sea level to 500 feet; from 500 to 1,000 feet; from 1,000 to 1,500 feet; and at 1,500 to 2,000 feet. Several considerations suggested not continuing above 2,000 feet. The first limiting factor is that sugar does not grow well above 2,000 feet in the islands, owing to cooler temperatures and moisture variables, and the sharp increase in slope above 2,000 feet on Nevis Peak would have made survey excessively dangerous and difficult. Undoubtedly, planters would have experienced this fact of topography themselves. Historic documentation does not indicate plantations above 2,000 feet due to climatic conditions. Figure 2.1 shows the two parishes selected for survey and the extent of coverage, and Figure 2.2 illustrates the conditions affecting the quality of survey. The elevation stratification was not based on prior knowledge of environmental distinctions, but to determine whether environmental distinctions could be recognized, either in plantation distribution, or as affecting chronology of development. Soil conditions, vegetation, and moisture all vary as one climbs higher in elevation. The question was, were these significant factors in plantation development history? In addition, we had an interest in how the estates were config­ured on the landscape as the slope increased. Moreover, because the survey quadrats were to be randomly generated over the landscape, this strategy ensured a broader coverage of the entire parish at different elevation. In all, 40 quadrats were designated to be surveyed: 19 in St. John and 21 in St. Thomas (Figure 2.3). Each rectangular quadrat extended one kilometer and was 250 meters wide, which entailed a repeating out-­and-­back pedestrian survey with a crew at close, 10-­meter intervals. Of these, we achieved satisfactory completion of 31 total. Nine of the quadrats could not be completed for vari­ous reasons. Therefore, we did not achieve the desired 20 percent sample, but enough to produce sufficient data for analy­sis. In addition, non-­probabilistic area-­specific surveys were carried out at additional locations of interest, which added a separate data set. We observed and recorded evidence of built or modified environments in every quadrat surveyed of each parish, particularly non-­native plant species, but also terraces, walls, and trees set in linear patterns, and house platforms. It should be noted that, in

36 / Chapter 2

Figure 2.1. Nevis. The shaded regions represent the two parishes selected for archaeological survey.

order to arrive at the starting point for any designated quadrat required that crews walk “unofficial” transects, which led to many discoveries, especially since many quadrats were not located near roads, Natural drainage channels, referred to as ghuts, cut into the volcanic bedrock on the mountainside, some 200 feet deep and frightfully sheer. It is difficult to appreciate this fact from a line on a map until confronted with the deep gulf. Planters who may have purchased estates or land sight-­unseen,

Method and Theory / 37

Figure 2.2. Survey conditions in upper elevations of St. Thomas Parish. The palms border a historic road leading to a plantation.

on arrival to Nevis would have likely experienced the same emotions we did, perhaps more intensely having invested capital in the worthless ravine. The expedient use of adjacent transects, or on occasion, checkerboard quadrats were accommodated to field conditions, thereby maintaining the total sample area. Frequently, fences were encountered, but permission to cross was easily obtained from residents or caretakers. A more serious obstacle to full-­ coverage survey is the nature of the vegetation, mainly thick vines and dense forest. Nearly every plant sported some form of spine, thorn, or barb, which slowed forward progress. Fortunately, Nevis does not harbor snakes. A result during survey was the discovery of a network of roads that ran toward the sea linked to the historic Upper Round Road named on early maps. Transportation would have been facilitated for plantations at higher elevations by first circling the mountain on the high road and then descending toward Charlestown. To follow the main road to Charlestown from St. John would have taken much longer. Such a transportation network would have influenced markedly the flow of goods and people, and helps account for the location of some now abandoned villages. In addition, several large uniden-

38 / Chapter 2

Figure 2.3. Quadrant maps for St. John (A) and St. Thomas (B) parishes. The parishes were stratified at 500-­foot elevations and randomly selected within each elevation zone.

tified estate houses were found to border the upper mountain road. A French map of 1704 indicates an extensive road network (Figure 2.4). These upper elevation quadrats offered relatively cooler, damper conditions in contrast to lower elevations. In open terrain, particularly on the lower plains of St. John, 50-­meter intervals were easily managed, with surveyors visible to one another. As previously briefly described, attention was paid to environmental modifications, or the presence of non-­native domestic fruit trees and other domestically useful plants. It was not uncommon to locate domestic artifact scatters adjacent to aloe plants (Aloe barbadensis) or beneath

Method and Theory / 39

Figure 2.3. (Continued)

tamarind trees (Tamarindus indica), both valued imports. Aloe has medicinal value, whereas tamarind is popu­lar for flavoring food. The aloe is perfectly at home in the drier soil conditions found in lower St. John. Mango trees (Mangifera indica) were found to frequently boarder old roads, particularly in St. Thomas Parish, perhaps planted to provide shade. Additional sites listed in our database from St. George were not located during our systematic survey, but were recorded during previous field work in 1997 and serendipitous discoveries in 2011. Probabilistic surveys were carried out in select areas to provide data on specific site-­types, for instance, known Af­r i­can villages or mill sites. In this and other cases, limited surveys of comparable scale were conducted to collect data on house platform density, space, and patterns of land use. Combining the pilot survey transects, the 31 total quadrats which were

Figure 2.4. Close-­up of eighteenth-­century map (shaded portion of inset) illustrating the extensive road network linking plantations.

Method and Theory / 41

surveyed, and the few probabilistic surveys provided abundant information on past land modifications and environmental alterations. Field seasons from 2007–2011 at the Bush Hill Plantation site and from three unexpected sugar factory finds at high elevation in St. George Parish also contributed significant data for our analy­sis. By 2008, most of the coastal areas surveyed in St. Thomas had subsequently been developed with luxury condominium complexes. And the pace of construction has increased as Nevis develops its real estate. Terraced slopes in St. John Parish are giving way to brightly colored concrete and cinder-­block houses of a growing Nevisian middle class. Elsewhere, plantation works have been converted into guest-­houses, refined hotels, and exclusive clubs for the affluent foreign traveler. Many current owners of these properties are direct descendants from origi­nal planter families, and still derive income from the estates, such as at Golden Rock Inn,1 in part by capitalizing on a highly romanticized view of plantation life. Montpelier Estate lies within St. John Parish. Old plantation roads extending from the property fell fortuitously within quadrats selected by random sample, linking it to other plantation works in lower St. John. One quadrat was on Montpelier Estate property. We were kindly allowed the opportunity to examine the area and invited to return for a future project. Bush Hill Estate is owned by the owners of the Montpelier Estate. The ruins of the Bush Hill Estate became the site of the San Jose State University field school from 2007–2011.

Field Results, 2003–2009 The majority of survey quadrats contained artifacts classifiable as industrial in character. Archaeological remains included mill platforms, stone boil­ing and curing houses, iron sugar mill equipment, cobble service roads, stone out buildings, terracing to level off the industrial zone, and miscellaneous foundation traces. Sites were classified by construction period, which enabled us to generate maps illustrating periods of his­tori­cal development. Early eighteenth-­century sugar works were found in three surveyed quadrats and can be added to those found during the preliminary study. These were documented in addition to sugar complexes of later vintage to generate a set of comparable mill-­complex footprints. Several known mill-­complexes fell within a few of the random quadrats. Two were known to be operating during the nineteenth century, such as Cox Heath and Dogwood Estates. However, as these were origi­nally built prior to

42 / Chapter 2

emancipation, they were recorded as components of the pre-­emancipation landscape. Plantation estates generally have industrial centers where mill tow­ ers, sugar works, and associated structures constructed from dressed stone receive most attention from scholars. Large house foundations can occasionally be identified. For a truly impressive great house, one must look to the three-­ story brick and stone Montravers Estate.2 Merchant housing is not well documented, but there is documentary and archaeological evidence suggesting merchants resided in town or in mixed-­ use structures as shop/residence, in part explaining why they are difficult to identify away from town. (Hilton [1675] 1924; Acts of Nevis 1685–1707). Dwellings belonging to the common laborer class and houses for the enslaved were of­ten built of wood propped up on a few carefully arranged stones, and were easily transportable—common even today among Nevisians —­and are easily missed. Evidence of these humble and mostly perishable dwellings most frequently was associated with particular imported trees used primarily for domestic purposes (tamarind, ginnip, mango, and agave, for example), by artifact scatters, and proximity to roadsides. Stone patterns and a cistern are commonly all that remain of entire villages that once served plantations. In part because these residential structures were small, and the climate accommodating, many household activities were conducted in the spaces around and between structures rather than indoors, a practice common in the tropics and Ameri­can South (Ferguson 2002). An example found in the modern landscape are the traditional stone bread-­ ovens built adjacent to wooden homes, most of­ten constructed from dressed stone borrowed from former plantation structures. Some homes have these in the yards. One was found isolated in lower St. Thomas, with historic foundations found nearby. One informant, now over 70 years of age, provided fairly precise dating of the stone oven, because he remembered helping construct it when he was a child—a reminder that archaeologists should never neglect to consult local residents about archaeological sites and should not discount local knowledge of any source. We might have imagined it older based on the stonework. However, the mortar finishes between stone courses distinctly set it apart from earlier masonry finishes. In fact, his­tori­cally, changing taste in mortar finishes and detailing has been a useful guide in assessing chronology and episodes of repair. The scattered domestic materials parallel patterns and practices common during the colonial plantation era. An informant commented that his father worked on plantations in the 1930s as a sharecropper. He related to us that homes could be taken down and rebuilt elsewhere as needed, perhaps on other estate grounds, delivered by mule carts. Materials were expensive, and it is

Method and Theory / 43

likely that this simple expedient saved considerable money and time for the owner. There is little documentary evidence to support this, but since transportation on Nevis was until quite recently limited to foot, animal-­drawn wagon, or donkey, it is possible that moving one’s house to a location on estate grounds was deemed a practical solution.3 Folk production of lime using eighteenth-­century kilns continues semi-­ clandestinely to be a source of construction mortar for those who cannot afford concrete (Meniketti 2008). Local charcoal makers gather wood from vari­ous sources and have established areas for production. These dense deposits can be confused with waste dumps from mills. Further complicating efforts to evaluate the landscape is the continual “reconstruction of past landscapes” and stone works by modern landscape gardeners and developers.4

Archaeological Subsurface Testing Investigations involved shovel testing for stratified deposits and site depth, environmental data, such as botanical and faunal remains, and limited selective excavation of structures to acquire data of their construction for comparison to other industrial sites. Soil samples were collected from the side walls of excavated units. Dating sugar complexes is problematic, and little has been written concerning construction techniques of chronological character for mills of the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries on the islands to guide us. Much is descriptive and of­ten attributed to Cornish engineers. Cornish engineers may be responsible for the ore separating technology at copper mines on Virgin Gorda, for instance, in the British Virgin Islands (Landon and Tumberg 1996). However, enslaved Af­r i­cans could also be masons, carpenters, and masters of these and other skills needed for construction. Afro-­Nevisians were likely responsible for much of the built environment. Changes in boiling cauldron style are poorly documented as well, although information is to a limited degree available in French treatises. Relative dating is unsatisfactory and highly idiosyncratic. The procedure generally followed on Nevis by architectural historians prior to our work or that of other archaeologists has been to compare structures of known date having well established histories, churches for instance, to other structures. At other times, “common sense” approaches to dating masonry styles are utilized. This has produced some rather curious and conflicting results. Site histories are of­ten uncertain, and estates frequently reused construction materials from failed or abandoned plantations, a practice that continues to this day. Even churches with known site histories offer misleading construction clues, many having

44 / Chapter 2

Figure 2.5. St. John Parish. Distribution of sites dated to Phase I. M: mill-­complex. As: artifact scatter. F: masonry foundations. 1: SJ14MM5/16–2. 2: SJ8KD5/22–1. 3: SJ8MM5/22–1.

been rebuilt a number of times. The Anglican Church in St. John Parish, for instance, has a stone with a date that predates when the church was built.5 At best, the approach is inconsistent and unreliable. At worst, it creates faulty chronologies that become the basis for continuously misdating buildings. To avoid the pitfall and to generate a database of site footprints and construction methods, we carefully documented every mill-­complex encountered, utilizing several discrete criteria for comparative study. There are subtle and even blatant clues to age and economics in the stone cutting, mortaring and fitting of stone, trim and finish, tool marks, and foundation footings and builders trenches. Excavation of such trenches of­ten contained tools and artifacts of personal nature possibly belonging to the builders themselves. Construction methods were documented at Indian Castle Estate (Meni­

Method and Theory / 45

Figure 2.6. St. Thomas Parish. Distribution of sites dated to Phase I. t: windmill tower. As: artifact scatter. o: house platform. F: masonry foundation. 1: Jamestown. 2: ST4MM5/29–1. 3: ST4SS5/29–1. 4: ST4KD5/29–1. 5: ST5aMM7/11–1.

ketti 1998a), at Jamestown, and at two additional sites outside Charlestown for this study during the 2003 season; at Prentis in 2004–2005; and at Bush Hill from 2007–2011. Fort Charles was also briefly visually investigated in 2005. Pipe stems fortuitously embedded in the mortar added to the certainty of the dates. The results of survey and site discovery are shown in Figures 2.5 through 2.10.

Figure 2.7. St. John Parish. Distribution of sites dated to Phase II. M: mill ­complex. T: windmill tower. V: village ruins. As: artifact scatter. W: well. C: cistern. F: masonry foundations. B: bridge. o: house platform. Vp: possible village. t: terracing. 1: J14MM5/ 16–2. 2: Douglas estate. 3: Dogwood estate. 4: Brown estate. 5: Whitehall ­estate. 6: SJ15MM5/21–1. 7: Long Point estate. 8: Richmond Lodge. 9: bath house. 10: Montpelier estate. 11: Bush Hill estate. 12: Cane Garden estate. 13: Farm estate. 14: Bath Plain estate. 15: SJ12MM5/16–1. 16: SJ12KD5/16–1. 17: SJ9KR5/22–1. 18: Coxheath. 19: Morgans estate. 20: Hermitage. 21: Zetlands estate. 22: Dunbar estate. 23: Morning Star estate. 24: Anglican church. 25: SJ14KD5/19–2. 26: PW7–30/02– 1.2.3. 27: SJ12SS6/6–1. 28: SJ19BB5/22–1. 29: SJMM8/2–9[02]. 30: SJ12KD5/16–2. 31: PW7–30/02–4. 32: SJMM5/13–1. 33: SJ8MM5/22–1,2. 34: SJ17MM7/1–1. 35: SJ10MM5/19–1.

Figure 2.8. St. Thomas Parish. Distribution of sites dated to Phase II. M: mill ­complex. T: windmill tower. As: artifact scatter. W: well. C: cistern. t: terracing. F: foundations. Vp: possible village. o: house platform. Sk: burial. 1: Jamestown. 2: Montravers. 3: Anglican church. 4: Jesup estate. 5: Paradise estate. 6: Lawrence estate. 7: Tower Hill estate. 8: Colquhouns estate. 9: Carddocks. 10: ST7aKD6/1–1. 11: ST7aKD6/1–2. 12: ST17KD528–1. 13: ST17MM5/28–1. 14: ST4altMM5/29–1. 15: ST19KD5/26–1. 16: ST19DR5/21–1. 17: ST19MM5/26–1. 18: ST19SS5/28–1. 19: ST7aKD6/1–3. 20: ST7aBB6/1–1. 21: ST7aBB6/1–2. 22: ST15DR5/21–1.

48 / Chapter 2

Figure 2.9. St. John Parish. Distribution of sites dated to Phase III. M: mill ­complex. T: windmill tower. V: village ruins. As: artifact scatter. W: well. C: cistern. F: masonry foundations. B: bridge. o: house platform. Vp: possible village. 1. Coxheath estate. 2: Douglas estate. 3: Dogwood estate. 4: Brown estate. 5: Whitehall estate. 6: Pembroke ­estate (2). 7: Long Point estate. 8: Richmond-­Lodge estate.9: Bath House. 10:Mont­ pelier. 11: Bush Hill estate. 12: Cane Gardens. 13: Farm estate. 14: Bath Plaine estate. 15: SJ12MM5/16–1. 16: SJ12KD5/16–1. 17: SJ9KR5/22–1. 18: SJ14MM5/16–2. 19: Morgan’s estate. 20: Hermitage. 21: Zetlands estate. 22: Dunbar estate. 23: Morning star.

Matching Evidence to the Model Ultimately all theory must turn on the evidence. There must be a set of criteria by which data is applied and evaluated. For elements of the industrial sector this is straightforward enough, but less obvious for household artifacts, landscape, or spatial distribution of estates. Combining quantitative with qualitative analy­sis is a tricky business if one wants to avoid tautological traps. Further, distinguishing purposeful transformation of the environ-

Method and Theory / 49

Figure 2.10. St. Thomas Parish. Distribution of sites dated to Phase III. M: mill complex. T: windmill tower. As: artifact scatter. t: terracing. o: house platform. Vp: possible village. S: smokestack. C: cistern. F: foundations. 2: Montravers. 3: Anglican church. 4: Jessup estate. 5: Paradise estate. 6: Lawrence estate. 7: Tower Hill estate. 8: Colquhouns. 9: Craddocks. 10: ST7aKD6/1–1. 11: ST7aKD6/1–2. 12: ST17KD5/28–1. 13: ST17MM5/28–1. 14: ST4aMM5/29–1. 15: ST7aKD6/1–3. 23: Vaughans Village.

ment from that which occurs in the normal process of industrialization takes extra care. The criti­cal question raised in the Introduction pondering which aspects of settlement or segments of society most reflect the integration and adaptation to social change can in part be addressed through the artifacts and their apparent distribution. The artifacts recovered in this project represent the

50 / Chapter 2

breadth and scope of colonial material culture found through­out the British colonies of the Caribbean and some from beyond. Ceramics were categorically divided for both vessel type and form. Many are distinctive to narrow manufacturing periods or producers, whereas others were produced for a considerable length of time. The ubiquitous pipe stems and bowls were also assessed using now standard statistical techniques (Harrington 1978; Noel-­Hume 1985). Dating of smoking materials was largely based on bowl forms and stem bore diameters. However, in a few cases characteristic monograms and decoration were also present, which facilitated dating as well. Glass, abundant in our sample collections, especially liquor bottle forms, was also evaluated, providing mean manufacture dates, and substantial evidence of alcohol consumption of many forms. Such mundane objects in context can tell us much (Beaudry, Cook, and Mrozowski 1991; Majewski and Noble 1999). The use of material goods in frontier contexts has been suggested as a means of indicating rank and status (especially among the military), as a signal of ethnicity, and as a tool to psychologically sof­ten the frontier (Lewis 1984; Adams and Boling 1991; Martin 1994). Yet this understanding of European ceramics and behavior cannot be immediately transferred to slave society. Slave societies likely maintained vastly different constellations of meanings associated with such goods. We cannot assume that interpretations of hierarchical relations among slaves in plantation society as presented by the plantocracy are accurate (Orser 1991; Wilkie and Farnsworth 2005). Ceramics of local production as found in several contexts on Nevis might contain more significance among enslaved populations (Meniketti 2011b). As no households of enslaved Af­r i­cans or Af­r i­can villages on Nevis had yet been systematically studied at the time of this book, it would be inappropriate to speculate on this point. What the assemblage reflects, nevertheless, is the desire among colonists to have what those in the economic core had, and from the steady stream of consumer goods arriving in Nevis, as revealed by shipping manifests and archaeological remains, we can infer there was a ready market among Nevisian colonists and enslaved alike. The results of analy­sis are taken up in the next chapter.

3

Colonial Settlement and Emergent Capitalism Nieves, sometimes Mevis or Meves . . . It consists of one mountain of about four miles height to the top, whence it is an easy decent to all parts of the island, but steepest toward the town where there is a road. They have neither springs nor rivers, but have what water they make use of in cisterns receiving the rain. The ground is cleared almost to the top of the hill, where yet remains some woods and where runaway Negroes harbor themselves in it . . . The town or road is well fortified with batteries and fort . . . They have little money but buy and pay with sugars which are blackish. — Hans Sloane, A Voyage to the Islands of Madera, Barbados, Nieves, S. Christophers and Jamaica, with the Natural History of the Herbs and Trees, Four-­footed Beasts, Fishes, Birds, Insects, and Reptiles of the last of those Islands. (Lon­don) 1707:42.

The passage from England to the West Indies is rarely uneventful. This was especially true during the eighteenth century when piracy and intermittent conflict between Europe’s imperial rivals could make travel by sea an even greater hazard than usual. For Hans Sloane, the voyage was disrupted neither by storm nor pirates. However, Sloane devotes several paragraphs to the affects of seasickness. Sloane’s memorable Caribbean journey to study the natural history of the region, recorded in journal and later published in book form, is today reverently displayed at the British Library in Lon­don and rightfully so. Contained in his vividly descriptive accounts can be found commentaries both his­tori­cally intriguing and hauntingly disturbing regarding early colonial settlement and the scale of environmental modifications that resulted. With careful reading one can also glean between the lines profound elements of the systems governing the social behavior of colonists and the agro-­ industrial entrepreneurs whose actions reshaped social and ­environmental landscapes as they combined and institutionalized slavery with financial innovation in the agro-­industrial frontier.

52 / Chapter 3

Frontiers are important arenas for the study of environmental intera­ctions with industrial enterprises (Hardesty 1980, 1985). Frontiers represent “high risk” boundary zones, according to Hardesty (1985:211), which contain distinctive environments and ecological relationships. Caribbean frontiers were of central importance in the evolution of colonial expansion during the genesis of European po­l iti­cal and economic domination of the New World. The islands through­out the Caribbean, and even more so than the mainland, were sites of capitalist agro-­industrial experimentation and criti­cal zones in which the social relations of the modern world were forged (Wolf 1971; Mintz 1971, 1985; Lowenthal 1972; Williams 1994; Trouillott 1992). Between 1600 and 1800, the Caribbean constituted a microcosm of the emerging global economy and Euro-­colonial aspirations where competing imperial powers pressed outward from European shores to vie with Spanish dominion through­out the region. To some degree the non-­Iberian states were simply picking up the crumbs left behind by the shifting priorities and transferred focus of Spanish policies regarding Caribbean settlement. As Spain’s interest turned toward the mainland, the islands of the Lesser Antilles became fair game to be exploited by other opportunistic European nations. During this period, capitalism developed as integrated social and economic systems, transitioning from feudal roots (Braudel 1972; Wallenstein 1974; DuPlessis 1977; Mintz 1977; Wolf 1982). However, how that transition occurred and, indeed, why it transpired has yet to be fully explicated. Exploring the hidden dimensions of causality for capitalism’s global ascendancy can significantly strengthen our current understanding of colonization processes and assist his­tori­cal archaeologists with interpretations of global processes acting at local scales. Indeed, as articulated by Paynter (1989:372), any archaeology of capitalism must be global in scope. Until recently, however, most arguments about capitalism have stubbornly adhered to Smith’s (1961[1776]) Wealth of Nations or Marx’s (1977[1867]) Capital. Of all the landscapes wrought by capitalism, few are as subtly powerful as that arising from agro-­industrialism, wherein both land and human relations are config­ured to support production, and over time contribute fundamentally to increased social inequalities. Landscapes are shaped physically in the open environment and are experienced both physically and psychologically (Hardesty 1985; Yate 1989; Hood 1996). Cultural praxis provides meaning to landscapes as people interact in time and space (Rubertone 1989; Hood 1996; Zedeño 1997, 2000; Butzer and Butzer 2000). Lightfoot (2005) exposed the nature of these interactions among Russian fur companies, landscape, and indigenous peoples in the rugged frontier of early nineteenth-­century California. Crowell (1999) examined similar issues in Alaska, also from a perspective of developed capitalism and Russian expansion.

Colonial Settlement and Emergent Capitalism / 53

How space itself is utilized varies among different societies and socioeconomic systems. This concept was further distilled by Lefebvre (1979; 1993) through an analy­sis of space in the modern capitalist social order, suggesting that “even though the use of space has limits imposed by the environment, every mode of production in history has produced a particular kind of space,” and that space is both social and a means of production mediated through a network of exchanges and division of labor (Lefebvre 1979: 286). We might profitably also explore the cognitive mapping of space by vari­ ous cultures and probe how experience influences our interpretation of environment (Tuan 1971:49). Accordingly, analy­sis should add “cognitive and his­tori­cal features to familiar environmental analy­sis if we are to successfully model the dynamics of culture/social change” (Crumley and Marquardt 1990:​79). A key issue in the relationship of landscape and society was articulated by Hood (1996:130), who stated that “the physical landscape was very much a part of people’s understanding of economy, legal rights, and acceptable social order.” Understanding of the earliest phases of colonial settlement in the Caribbean, its spatial organization, and how capitalism came to dominate the social and economic spheres has been vague and, until recently, has been based on unsystematic study. This has been in part due to a lack of analy­sis of colonial landscapes in the Caribbean structured by any strong theoretical frameworks or guiding principles (Leonard 1993; Trouillot 1992). It is ironic that this should be the case. It is there that we find inchoate capitalism and nascent globalism, from its inception, and as it gained momentum (Williams 1994). A few recent studies have begun to fill in the gaps, such as Woodward’s (2011) cogent examination of Spanish Jamaica’s form of agrarian feudalism, or that of Hicks’s (2007a) landscape approach applied to plantations on St. Kitts. The English colony of Nevis was once at the center of this his­tori­cal development. Sloane’s observations concerning the landscape of Nevis stand in stark contrast to the wooded, wild place encountered by Columbus during his sec­ond voyage in 1493 (Morrison 1974). It contrasts with greater harshness with descriptions made by adventurers, in the wake of Columbus, such as Sir Francis Drake (Harlow 1925; Honeychurch 1997) en route to raid Spanish ports, or Captain John Smith making his way to Virginia (Churchill and Churchill 1732:364). In the 60 years between first settlements on Nevis in 1627 and Sloane’s sojourn to the island, aggressive land clearing and planting by English colonizers radically changed the tropical climax rainforest into an agro-­industrial outpost on the margins of the emergent global marketplace. As this book illustrates, the evolution of the colonial landscape on Nevis, and the processes of socioeconomic development which unfolded there, did so, not simply against the backdrop of capitalism’s emergence in Europe, but in-

54 / Chapter 3

tegrated and in resonance with its ascendancy, perhaps contributing fundamentally to its eventual dominance. Landscape plays an important role in constituting human society. Hood’s carefully considered examination of colonial landscapes led him to conclude that “ideals about landscape are not directly translated into the physical world, but are used as parts of social strategies that result in landscapes containing complex multivocal layers of meaning” (Hood 1996:125). In the industrialized landscape that became manifest on the colonial sugar islands, these layers of meaning can be interpreted through the lens of capitalism. This book has as its central theme the contextualizing of developmental episodes, processes, and attendant consequences of colonial capitalism within the panorama of Caribbean history—filled as it is with warring nations, slavery, and environmental transformation. Hardesty (1985:221) suggests that change in industrial frontiers in the context of environmental fluctuations would have correlated episodic structure. Although Hardesty was drawing on analy­sis of mining communities, his insights have applicability if we conceive of sugar plantations as an extractive industry. The parallels are evident. Plantations, with their imported labor force and dependence on outside support, are akin to company towns or mining stations. The commodity produced is exported and capital invested in sustained production. Growing cane and extracting sugar is no less an extractive and mechanized process than mining ore, requiring both skilled and unskilled workers and managerial oversight.

A Model for Capitalist Colonial Enterprise and Environmental Change The natural environment, once modified to suit the requirements of production, the transport of commodity, and explicit control over mobility and agency of labor, can be summed up as a landscape of capitalism. These separate elements are networked within a sys­tem designed to maximize surveillance over labor, production, profit, and management of both product and labor. From the perspective of his­tori­cal archaeology, modified landscapes serve many purposes as notably shown by Leone (1984, 1985, 1999), John­son (1993), and Leone and Potter (1988) within the context of capitalism. The relevant interpretation emerging from these studies being that, beyond a “reflection of culture or a functional arrangement of artifacts . . . landscape itself plays an important role in constituting human society” (Hood 1996:125). Landscapes modified from natural environments do not order themselves— they are generated by people vis-­a-­vis cultural traditions. Hardesty postu-

Colonial Settlement and Emergent Capitalism / 55

lated that late nineteenth-­century “Victorian cultural traditions were carried into industrial environments” (Hardesty 1985:221). Can we find in the early settlements of Nevis evidence of a post-­Elizabethan mind set? If there is such a thing as the Georgian landscape, then can we find prior formulations of landscapes exhibiting attributes of quasi-­capitalist mentalities manifested in environmental interactions? In his cogent and detailed study, Philip Curtin (1998) asserted that early Brazilian economics contained institutional elements from feudal Mediterranean systems. Building on his earlier examination of the Atlantic slave trade, Curtain (1969) postulated that early capitalism was transplanted to Brazil by the Portuguese. Although a useful model, this definition of early capitalism is exceedingly broad and scarcely distinguishable from mercantilism. At odds with this definition are scholars who view the encomienda sys­ tem of the Spanish as inhibiting systemic development of capitalism (Ferry 1997). Both schools of thought presuppose a stage of proto-­capitalism originating in European cores, perhaps as early as the fourteenth century or certainly by the latter half of the fifteenth century. Writing of the Spanish Caribbean after 1560, Sued-­Badillo asserts that the Caribbean was the primary axis of capital production and the “first economic enclave of proto-­capitalist Europe” (Sued-­Badillo 1992:601). In a recent examination of early Spanish sugar production on Jamaica, Woodward (2011) suggests further that a feudal sys­tem was operational during the first quarter of the sixteenth century, while Mintz (1985:55) has persuasively argued that, even during the seventeenth century, planters in the Caribbean were pre-­capitalist and agro-­industry was feudal in character. Merrill (1958: 81) examined the evolution of a white peasant society in the Lesser Antilles, Nevis in particular. This “peasantry” added to the feudal character of early settlement. Such feudal landscapes were recognized by Hicks (2007a) on St. Kitts. Expansion of trade alone is insufficient to cause socioeconomic metamorphoses. The ancient world engaged in trade over vast distances for benefit of the state without arriving at capitalism as an economic base. An impetus for change can be derived from the dynamics of colonialism in the frontier through the creation of a concept for an extractive periphery. This model represents a minor modification of the cosmopolitan frontier concept advanced by Steffan (1980), neither isolated nor fully independent and marked by trade and industry. Caribbean colonies were neither isolated nor self-­sufficient— straddling somewhat the definitions of insular and cosmopolitan frontiers— falling in line to a degree with Hardesty’s (1985:211) conception of an ecological industrial frontier. The essence of this conceptualization is that specific

56 / Chapter 3

colonies were created principally for resource development and only de facto was cultural expansion an outcome. Indeed, whether driven by mercantile or capitalist mentality, a significant percentage of Europeans considered Caribbean ventures temporary, even among those who did not become wealthy and by circumstance lived out their lives on colonial islands. By postulating that European expansion into the Caribbean basin was initially extractive in scope, this study is grounded in economic terms following Hardesty’s approach toward mining districts, mining communities, and their resulting landscapes (Hardesty 1980). Even from a cursory glance significant parallels are evident between the sugar industry on a colonial outpost and remote mining operations. Each recruits or imports a labor force, exports profits, and invests little on social infrastructure, with wealth accruing to the few. Both capitalism and feudalism represent more than contrasting economic systems or hierarchical land ownership, but also systematized social and labor relations, the foundation of which is control over labor and the fruits of labor. Feudalism defines not only land rights but also flow and means of production in a hierarchical framework. Such “natural order” is sustained through custom, courts, and ideological-­religious institutions (DuPlessis 1977:4). At the core is an aristocracy of landlords who rule over a mass of peasants. Because the peasantry owned the means of production, and had limited but measurable control over surplus, only through coercion could it be extracted by the landlords. However, under capitalism, everything is altered and the ownership of the means of production is in the hands of the dominant class of capitalists (Duplessis 1977:5). There develops a separation of consumption and production and labor from tools (Mintz 1985:52). In the Caribbean colonies there is initially a hybrid of these systems. Entrepreneurial members of the aristocracy (not always the wealthiest of their class) ventured to the islands, bringing with them recruited workers and indentured servants (French engagès), who sought to eventually have land of their own—if they survived—with hopes of perhaps rising within a mercantile class. However, this meant there would always be a labor shortage as the indentured exited the sys­tem to become landholders themselves in need of labor. As island colonies began to acquire enslaved Af­ ri­cans, a mixed sys­tem of smallholders, indentured laborers, and Af­r i­can and Indian slaves emerged (Mintz 1985:53). On Nevis, the his­tori­cal record suggests that the circumstances and rules changed very quickly as the under-­capitalized found it difficult to compete. An important step was the shift from tobacco and ginger to more technologically complex and capital driven sugar production (Dunn 1972:121). It is criti­cal to note that, while tobacco or indigo production can be success-

Colonial Settlement and Emergent Capitalism / 57

fully managed by few hands, sugar is labor intensive and requires greater infrastructure. In his landmark study of the role of sugar in colonial economies, Sidney Mintz (1985) argued that the rise in capitalism involved destruction of the sys­tem that preceded it—namely feudalism—and creation of a sys­tem of world trade. This transformation took several steps, and the plantation sys­ tem was an “oddity” that nonetheless was an important precursor to capitalism (Mintz 1985:55). Yet capitalism is, as Johnson (1993:330) states, “not a single thing.” Archaeology carried out for this study sought to illuminate the shadowy period of early colonization and nascent capitalist development at the dawn of the seventeenth century, as the economic machinery and labor relations that became hallmarks of mature capitalism were in their infancy. One inescapable attribute of the region is that its “history” coincides with a period of dramatic expansion and reach of European nations as well as economic proto-­globalization, into which the region was rapidly absorbed. This fact in itself justifies the Caribbean as a criti­cal locus for study and an important data source for analyzing the rise of capitalism as an institution and its relationships vis-­a-­vis environment before it became embedded in the fabric of the modern world. While Wallerstein (1974) perceived this period as the infancy of the first true world system, this study views the Caribbean as the nursery. For his­tori­cal archaeology this period represents a consequential juncture in which many of the economic behaviors and institutions of the modern world had their genesis, in the Caribbean, North America, and through­out the enlarging Euro-­colonial sphere of influence. Each set of relationships can be viewed as creating dependent and self-­ sustaining interest groups, intersecting with built landscape. Appropriation of labor is an outcome, and not only a precondition, of capitalism’s ascendancy. This model nevertheless recognizes and preserves the importance of production relations as perceived by Wolf and others. While basic economic structures enabling capitalism were in place in select regions of Europe in the sixteenth and seventeenthcenturies, a shift toward capitalist relations was not. Nor was it inevitable. The bounded hierarchical sys­tem that emerged in the earliest phases of colonial island development retained elements of what Hodges describes as “traditional feudal society where power is based on landed wealth” (Hodges 1987:123). As capitalism was institutionalized, it became more than a way of economics; it became a way of thinking, structuring life as effectively and potently as feudalism ordered society before it. Space itself developed as a commodity, as cognitive space evolved as a manifestation of economic ideology

58 / Chapter 3

(Lefebvre 1979:287). There also occurred a fundamental shift in thinking about property and how wealth could be derived from property, an issue even Marx struggled to explain (Bender 1986; DuPlessis 1977:5). Another issue under consideration is how the plantation sys­tem impacted the landscape, and with it the natural environment, as new conceptions of space evolved. Studies at plantation sites on Antigua have shown that an environmental approach is an effective tool to interpret colonial landscapes (Fox 2013). The first consideration in this study is that the “capitalist system” influenced cultural interaction with the environment in ways measurably different from those of feudalism, and grew to dominate the socio-­po­l iti­cal “culturescape.” Second, the plantation sys­tem as practiced on Nevis, as elsewhere through­out the Caribbean, reveals environmental interactions driven by production. On St. Kitts, for example, Hicks (2007a, 2007b) found that landscapes were “improved” in the eighteenth century as part of a broader organizing principle. Improved sugar landscapes, as designed spaces, “removed earlier landscapes and config­ured landscapes as places of production and consumption of material culture” (Hicks 2007:67). Earlier feudalisms and concepts of nature were replaced with new concepts of control over natural environments (Hicks 2007:67). Such change was facilitated, in part, by new economic realities to which the sugar plantations were intimately linked. Subsequently, settlement patterns will be affected as vari­ous communities adjust to accommodate new “rules” of operation. The link between social systems and landscape formation is assumed. Its form, however, requires clarification. What I anticipated from archaeological survey was to isolate places first settled while the colony principally operated under a feudalist mode, comparing these to identified spatial organization with places on the island operating at later periods when capitalism was the dominant socioeconomic system.

Operationalized Definitions The Caribbean in this study is conceived of as not only the leading edge of European cultural expansion, but as a capitalist frontier, where we find both the economic machinery and symbols of the new order by which people understand their society in flux. Capitalism, as used in the context of this research, represents a unique constellation of economic dependency relations; the ideological structuring of consumption and hierarchical social ordering and a suite of specialized institutions reifying the social framework. More to the point, the control

Colonial Settlement and Emergent Capitalism / 59

over production and surplus—a separation of laborer from the products and tools of labor—by a managerial class, sustains a hierarchical division. Production is viewed here as fundamentally an environmental issue, as land was commodified and consumed as forests were cleared to expand cane planting. Economic stability, however, can only be temporary in a sys­tem where one trades independence for short-­term gain. From this reasoning derives a criti­ cal question: did the observable settlement patterns across the landscape from the plantation sys­tem stem from the systemic requirements of capitalist dynamics, or were colonialists active change-­agents, consciously restructuring settlement—­willing architects of an emergent capitalist cultural schema and its reifying ideology? The processes that help us answer this question are observable in colonial settlements and especially evident in island colonies where bounded space served to magnify the results of both economic and environmental developments. This issue may also have been fundamental of colonial society, where in­di­v idual efforts were made to preserve identity— a form of nostalgia for the home country—against the backdrop of colonial outposts. If Europeans, as Lowenthal (1972:33) suggests, “were always doubly European in the West Indies,” this might manifest itself in material ways accessible to archaeological scrutiny. A peripheral region as applied in this book is one that is involved in commodity production for the benefit of the metropole, participates in economic relations in colonial context, and is dependent on the core for defense, social, and economic maintenance. The definition is restricted to avoid the ambiguity of assessing types of periphery, such as outposts carved out of sovereign states compared to those under home control, or exploitation of indigenous people as opposed to exploitation of social sectors of a core state’s own population. However, I am not suggesting peripheries were powerless to assert varying degrees of self-­governance or develop internally, only that they functioned in relationship to the dominance of the core state. Autochthonous social development can be discerned in the conflicts that arose between core and peripheral colony as capitalism was differentially assimilated. Broad his­tori­cal patterns, it has been suggested, are of­ten most visible, and most active, in peripheries of social systems (Green and Pearlman 1985), suggesting that investigating cases of peripheral development can lead to broader understanding of the forces shaping social systems. What many scholars recognize, but do not articulate explicitly, is that sys­tem reinforcement is a functional networked interdependency. Because Nevis is surrounded by water, it constitutes a bounded space, wherein variables relevant to development and decision-­making can be more readily recognized and isolated (Whitbeck 1933:199). Land is not limit-

60 / Chapter 3

less, resources are always scarce (especially water) and over time space becomes scarce as well. Rules and mechanisms governing economies of scale, which ordinarily increase efficiency, may not operate. Under such conditions agency among planters can, to a limited degree, be quantified. It is possible, for instance, to assign values to specific resource variables and measure which played greater or lesser roles in operational decision-­making of colonists. These variable loads changed over time as the landscape filled with plantations. Variable load is defined here as the degree to which any given variable carried priority or importance within the context of development—for example, water availability versus soil quality, local versus global economics, sources of credit, land for food versus commodity production, labor costs and so forth. The importance of distinguishing and assessing these variables is related to comparing the physical landscape of Nevis under different socioeconomic systems, and at different times. Site settlement distribution, land acquisition, and even type of mill employed can be linked resource variables in a semi-­quantifiable manner. Insularity, too, can influence societal interactions and may also be magnified (Lowenthal [1960]1973:197). Variables external to the island, but also necessary for colonial functions, such as transportation, importation of raw materials, or po­l iti­cal decisions made in the metropole can be brought to light and quantified through causal connection for analy­sis in his­tori­cal context. As an example, we can consider deforestation, which on an island eliminates a vital resource so that new trade relations and business opportunities emerge to supply this scarce resource, and indeed, Nevis found itself importing timber. Colonial exchange networks with mainland settlement not only act to provide the island with timber (as was the case on Nevis), but also reduce incentives to reforest the island or for new enterprises to set aside forest land, in contradiction to what several period treatises on plantation management recommended. One outcome of deforestation is the need to import timber, not only for construction of houses but for fuel. Very early in the settlement trajectory, planters were using bagase, the crushed and dried sugar cane, as fuel (Britt 2010). This necessitated building storage facilities, which added to the industrial footprint.

Essential Questions Several essential questions guided this study focused on comprehensive understanding of the settlement trajectory of Nevis and its altered envi­ronment. First, how did the colonial landscape on Nevis emerge and change be­ tween the period of initial settlement in 1627 and emancipation in 1833? Based on the historic record, we assumed that first settlement transpired within

Colonial Settlement and Emergent Capitalism / 61

a recognizably feudal socioeconomic system, as mature capitalism had not yet developed. By emancipation within the British sphere in 1833, however, the plantation sys­tem on Nevis was unquestionably capitalist in character. This transformation clearly occurred between these temporal markers and therefore helps demarcate the boundaries for this study. The period following emancipation represents a new industrial phase deserving its own study.What variables, and in what combinations, influenced this profound development trajectory? How did variable load affect development over time? While it is possible to project a number of variables onto the systems that logically had influence, unexpected variables were anticipated to arise from this study that did not have an immediately obvious or logical basis. This indeed proved to be the case as, for instance, some structures and estates were found in locations that appeared irrational—until we discerned the temporal social and economic logic. Within these parameters, an effort was made to quantify the relative importance of variables at different his­tori­cal phases. A subordinate group of questions concerned the rates and scope of landscape change. It was hypothesized that identifiable developments in the landscape would provide indicators of accelerated or countervailing resistance to changes attributable to capitalism through elements of spatial organization, adoption of new technologies, and the relations of production. A related question is, are the environmental changes observed in the landscape inevitable aspects of colonization or contextually specific to the plantation sys­tem that emerged in the framework of capitalism? Third, what does the archaeological record reveal regarding which aspects of settlement or sectors of society most reflect the integration of capitalism and adaptation to social change? Landscape features that reflect ideological shifts can be interpreted from the observed modifications to the natural landscape, many of which bring about new spatial ordering (Hicks 2007a:67). Because a related theme of this study is the role of agency in economic and environmental change, it is vital that the archaeological record be investigated for landscape features or material culture correlates that could be related to the ideologies of capitalism. In the context of material culture, artifacts can be assessed in terms of embedded ideologies (Beaudry, Cook, and Mrozowski 1991; Miller 1994; Deetz 1977, 1998; Delle 1994; Majewski and Noble 1999; Beaudry 1999), and architectural iconography and spatial grammar can be examined to elicit clues to social relations or concepts that reinforce capitalism’s ideological underpinnings. Such a framework exists (Glassie 1975; Butzer and Butzer 2000). Industrial sites, too, can be interpreted at several scales in terms of technological change, correspondence to economic trends, or relative to environmental modification. These questions facilitated the combining of archaeologically derived data,

62 / Chapter 3

landscape mapping with environmental data, and independent lines of evidence from his­tori­cal sources, bearing in mind of course that one of­ten derives from the other. Each data set informs on the processes influencing colonial development and its effect on societies in a Caribbean context. One result of this synthesis has been a set of definable phases in the history of Nevis correlated with landscape modifications. The his­tori­cal record, although substantially incomplete, nevertheless suggested three broad phases of development on Nevis bearing rough correspondence to seminal events having broad influence across the Caribbean. Therefore, these phases have significance beyond Nevis and help situate the study in the wider Caribbean context.

Landscape Theory and Social Complexity Settlement and space are tightly woven together in human culture and highly revealing of social relations. One means of bridging the vari­ous levels of social complexity found in colonial contexts is by interpreting the phenomena of alteration of the natural environment by humans resulting from colonial enterprises. According to Rubertone (1989:50), landscapes are active, and space in context is an artifact. These processes can be accessed and interpreted methodologically through procedures grounded in a landscape approach, incorporating elements of ecology, geography, anthropology, and social history (Aston and Rowely 1974; Fox 1981; Adams 1990; Crumley and Marquardt 1990; Mugerauer 1995; Kealhoffer 1999; Butzer and Butzer 2000; Hood 1996; Zedeño 1997, 2000; Winthrop 2001). Approaches to environmental and landscape studies in his­tori­cal archaeology have been substantively strengthened in recent years by many scholars demonstrating the way space and social relations intersect, in addition to exploring this nexus in terms of environment (Lukezic 1990; Adams 1990; Joseph 1992; Delle 1998; Crowell 1999). The strategy of landscape analy­sis applied by Armstrong (1990), Delle (1998), Paynter (1986), Lukezic (1994), and Lewis (1984, 1999) offer adaptable, foundational methodologies for assessing settlement and economic adjustment in the Caribbean context. Significant theoretical advances linking vernacular architecture and ideology have been contributed the field by Glassie (1975), who sought a “grammar” of building in historic contexts, and Leone (1984, 1985), whose work in Annapolis fuses ideology with space. Others have peeled back the veneer of social action to expose the manner in which landscapes are consciously manipulated to reinforce received ideology. Ortner (1990:90) attempts, for instance, to describe mechanisms by which social restructuring proceeds, wherein a social schema has naturalness for actors and hence an

Colonial Settlement and Emergent Capitalism / 63

embedded “coersiveness” over time. Although Ortner’s study focused on Sherpa societal obligations toward the Temple, it has implications for understanding the penetration of capitalist ideology into societies in the midst of economic transformation and provides a lens for the study of processes at work on Nevis. In terms of how space can be used to resist imposed dictums, Zedeño (2000) cogently illustrates how interaction-­spheres encapsulated within landscapes pattern life or how different worldviews structure how landscapes are perceived. This conceptualization is necessary for interpreting evidence that landscapes are not the product of stochastic processes, but are purposeful human constructs. Settlements are tangible expressions of material culture. Because empiri­cal properties of artifacts or features and their arrangement in the archaeological record “will exhibit attributes which can inform on different phases of the artifact’s life” (Binford 1968), it follows that settlements will contain traces of their developmental phases accessible at different scales through archaeology. Core beliefs of colonists are fundamental in settlement systems—and represent functional relationships between sites and cultures (Parsons 1972; Wandsnider 1988, 1998). Settlement and built landscape are not only relics but “the physical manifestations of systemic beliefs inextricably linked to received ideology—the dialectic between humanity and nature, and between sectors of society—serving in subtle ways to reinforce core beliefs” (Deagan 1996:24). In Wallerstein’s analy­sis, the vari­ous aspects of capitalism are mutually reinforcing. Here we see that landscape features can be interpreted as contributing to the reinforcement of ideological constructs of capitalism. The concept of landscape is a powerful heuristic tool. As applied through­ out this study, landscapes represent the built or modified natural environments constituting the footprint of settlement. They are uniquely human constructs. We cannot separate anthropic motivations from landscape alteration. In addition, there are several variables acting independently on settlement as it impacts local environments. Keeping in mind that Nevis was agro-­ industrial in scope, variables affecting the colony most would be different from those impacting a colony of self-­sufficient farmers. While we may not fully understand what meanings vari­ous viewsheds had for observers and different corporate groups in the past, we can reconstruct past viewsheds and infer contextual meanings relevant to our study to arrive at a semi-­emic understanding of what might influence decision making in context—the variable load. For example, during one period planters built their grand homes at considerable distance from the sugar factories and in another time built adjacent to or within the industrial sector, such as the New River Estate or Richmond-­Lodge Estate on Nevis. I sought to reconstruct

64 / Chapter 3

organization of space, and symbolic attributes of the environment reflecting processes of cultural and social interaction to compare how these footprints differ. The variables may be similar, but their prioritization can be expected to differ. Categories include: 1) natural resources: water, soil, weather, land availability, wind, topography; 2) po­liti­cal and economic systems [in­clud­ing forms of investment or sources of credit]; 3) transportation: roads, distance to shipping, distance to markets; 4) conflict: external, internal; 5) technology and expertise; 6) labor and management systems and cost; and 7) prior development and land division. Combined, these categories represent a variable load, or the priorities and contexts in which decisions must be made by planters at any given time. Features of agency incorporated in this model are practical realizations that cultural landscapes do not order themselves, but are relics of human ecology and human decisions—decisions made within social boundaries and against a backdrop of economic and environmental variables. Modern (present and visible) landscapes are not accidental, and even if inadvertent, are not random. They are products of planning, design, competing interests and attitudes toward development, as well as the result of unintended consequences or neglect, forming a series of nested relationships. In this framework, settlement analy­sis is essentially a study of relationships that generate and transform landscapes. From this perspective, landscape combines quantitative data derived from spatial analy­sis, archaeology, and environmental studies with qualitative data drawn from ethnohis­tori­cal sources, semiotics, and his­tori­ cal documentation. Landscape as a concept is a potent metaphor, and instinctively felt by humans within each cultural tradition. Hood (1996:122) described this phenomenon with a litany of human categories for landscape that have strong psychological pull, writing that “landscapes are perceived and categorized into culturally relevant entities, even if these are the ‘edge of the earth,’ ‘unexplored,’ ‘enemy territory,’ or ‘virgin’ land” among others that convey a sense of spaces unknown. Unknown space may suggest wildness, and therefore a place in need of taming. “Such categorizations can have tangible consequences for how that space is utilized or understood, which in turn affects the behavior of those perceiving the landscape in a particular way.” These cognitive constructs influence interactions with nature. Thus, a strong link exists between the ideo­logi­cal underpinnings of capitalism and the physical world expressed in settlement patterning, hence the utility of archaeology. Passive in response, nature is nonetheless active in scope, constraining or delimiting modification, in concert with or in conflict with human will (Meniketti 2006).

Colonial Settlement and Emergent Capitalism / 65

Assumptions and Observed Landscape Colonial landscapes since the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries can certainly be construed as landscapes of capitalism because their genesis and evolution were, in Wallerstein’s (1995:13–18) assessment, “embedded in the socio-­ economics of the capitalist process.” However, can it be stated that capitalism was a sys­tem prior to the eighteenth century? As capitalism begins to emerge from its mercantilist foundation during the seventeenth century, fundamental restructuring of Euro-­social relations proceeded as an unanticipated consequence. Feudal relations prevailed in the Caribbean colonies for a long period, sustained by an agricultural foundation (Hicks 2007a:67; Woodward 2011:39). Capitalism has been labeled rightly a “total system” embracing lifeways, conceptions of self, and the in­di­v idual ( Johnson 1999:345). Humans have always modified their environment, either through simple resource extraction and exploitation, or through aggregation of population in familial units, villages, towns, and particularly through processes of urbanization and agricultural development. For this reason, humans have always been agents of change within the natural environment, and in part, the degree of impact a product of their scale of presence. This is the essence of human ecology: that there exists a “dynamic interplay between cultural and natural processes over time” and “environmental interactions necessarily influence interactions that follow” (Winthrop 2001:206). Unquestionably indigenous Caribbean populations altered their environments for purposes of settlement or food procurement (Rouse 1977, 1986; Keegan 1994; Wilson 2006). However, the scale and rapidity with which modifications transpired in the mid–seventeenth century, as European colonization took root, are magnitudes greater in impact. Furthermore, the extractive character of landscape change and the degree of change brought about by introduced species was more damaging to local ecologies than what the relatively small indigenous populations of Nevis perpetrated. However, humans also perceive the resulting landscape through the filter of culture, in terms mediated by social constraints and potentials. Territorial and property boundaries, sacred places, and distinct spaces reserved by meaning and function are hallmarks of human landscape interaction. These may be apparent on a map but betray no visible distinction on the landscape the way a road or stone walls make evident. Some may exist only temporally or solely in the minds of the beholder, a realm where archaeologists may reasonably fear to tread. A given resource might be avoided for example, despite its availability or

66 / Chapter 3

applicability, purely for cultural reasons. Another resource may come to be exhausted against the best and recognized economic interests of a society. Just as likely, environmental exploitation of one resource may prove detrimental to another. Space may be left untouched for no apparent reason at all, owing perhaps to notions of sanctity unspoiled by a monument. As a result, a built landscape or modified environment can have economic, cultural, and social repercussions, which may resonate for generations. Cultural interaction with the environment is not a closed system, as external forces can penetrate that may give impetus to change in the physical landscape. However, the external forces are of cultural and social origin (Ortner 1990:77) and not as completely external as the term may imply. At times, land-­use decisions have unintended consequences that influence settlement long after implementation. A simple example is the transportation corridors built during early colonial periods that continue to influence mobility patterns and where people choose to live.

Research Hypotheses Capitalism is hypothesized here as not operative at the time of first colonization on Nevis, but as derived from the agro-­industrial enterprise. Furthermore, initial colonists reproduced social systems they knew (late feudalism). We can expect the earliest phases of commodity production on the island colonies to exhibit a structure based on models of land use familiar to colonists and for spatial dimensions of later periods to differ. These patterns should be expressed in spatial arrangements of plantations, dwellings, and non-­plantation features, artifact classes associated with status, construction details, and in the scale of production. If this were the case, we expected settlement patterns would be characterized by practices embedded in feudal relations as previously outlined. As capitalism came to dominate the economic and social arenas, changes in settlement in response to new social demands systemic to capitalism would manifest in settlement, in­clud­ing estate distribution, and be visible in the archaeological landscape. Social relations within capitalism are inherently unequal (Orser 1996b; Wylie 1999). Indeed this concept has become axiomatic in his­tori­cal archaeology for describing capitalism. Yet social relations predating capitalism were also unequal. How then to distinguish inequalities? If Nevis was linked to a capitalist world-­system, one should expect evidence of participation in the market exchange of goods and ideas, with evidence of class distinctions and power relations uniquely defined by capitalist context and relations. It should

Colonial Settlement and Emergent Capitalism / 67

be expressed at several levels in the archaeological landscape reflecting new priorities among discrete variables. Of course, stratified social relations existed before capitalism, and therefore it is necessary to make explicit how hierarchical relations of capitalism can be archaeologically distinguished from those that are feudal-­based. As this issue will be addressed more completely in the chapter covering methodology, it is sufficient here simply to state that in a peripheral colony these relations were anticipated to appear in status-­associated artifacts, mobility behavior, and degrees of access to imported commodities. One of the most salient arguments regarding the relationship between social phenomena and its expression in the built environment was made by Delle, who stated, “While many forms of material culture were certainly involved in the negotiation of class, ethnic, race, and gender hierarchies, few have played as ubiquitous a role as space” (Delle 1998:8). The use of space, too, is an “artifact” of social constructs and negotiated relations. Human interaction with the environment at both macro-­and micro-­scales has been shown to exhibit distinct patterns observable in the archaeological record (Binford 1968, Butzer 1982). This too is axiomatic to the discipline. These patterns can be shown to derive from specific activities, modes of production, and cultural exchange. The primary database of archaeological studies has been characterized by Charlton (1981:129) as the remnants of past cultures “within their spatial and environmental contexts” (emphasis mine). As capitalism is a distinct mode of production, we can expect a distinct “changeable spatial character” (Orser 1991, 1996a:136). Despite the insightful work by Delle (1998), the “spatial character” of capitalism has not yet been adequately examined for the earliest colonial periods, where it would likely yield substantive data of the process— if in fact it is a process, as opposed to a relic of other variables of agency. This spatial character should be definable and testable archaeologically. Finally, a third hypothesis derived for the work on Nevis was that we should be able to discern increasing exploitation of environment to satisfy the systemic needs of production, either to make space for production or through commodification of space. As the colony expanded to increase production, land itself (and land quality) became an important variable in success of in­ di­v idual estates. Historic records imply that less capital was required during the early phases of settlement than was the case during subsequent periods (Sheridan 1969, 1974; Lobdell 1972; Batie 1976). However, the technology of extraction and production was little changed. This suggests that increased costs were related to land acquisition, and possibly the requirement of larger tracts in the case of marginal lands, if profits were to be realized (Galloway

68 / Chapter 3

1989). We should expect then that larger estates will be an indicator on the landscape of sec­ondary settlement phases, with smaller estates fading away. Human behavior has significant impact on environment directly and landscape indirectly. Humans are affected in turn by each element through feedback loops that are both physical and psychological. The instrument of mediation is technology acting on a culturally bound environment/­landscape. The archaeology conducted for this study sought evidence for this mediated colonial experience.

II ARCHAEOLOGY

4

Nevis History, 1627–1833 And in their voyage from ye Downes landed att ye Barbadoes which they did not like, nor of Antegoa nor Mount Serratt. They came downe to Nevis ye 22th of July 1628, which Island they thought fittest for their settlement being next to Christophers, from whence they might be better supplied. —John Hilton, storekeeper and first gunner of Nevis, 1675

The time spanning the first settlement in 1627 until emancipation through­ out the British Caribbean in 1833 frames this narrative. The colonial history of Nevis before the ending of slavery is divisible into three distinct phases which heuristically structure the criti­cal stages of capitalism’s rise and the changes visible across the archaeological landscape. These developmental phases are defined by social and demographic, technological, and economic upheavals that left their traces in the historic and archaeological records. Phase I represents early settlement and spans from 1627 to 1655. Phase II lasted from 1655 to 1782 as the Atlantic economy took form. Phase III was the brief period from 1782 to 1833 when invasion, global economic factors, and social change brought about decline. Just as the history of the United States can be parsed into specific periods defined by momentous events and trends, for instance, as “since the Civil War” or from the time of the “Depression to the years following World War II,” so too can periods be recognized on Nevis where the nexus of economic fluctuation, population demographics, and con­ flict converged with such force that effects were experienced through­out all levels of society. This chapter examines the his­tori­cal trajectory of Nevis and the economic and po­liti­cal forces that influenced the character of the colony in its vari­ous phases. Instead of a full history, the criti­cal events and junctures affecting capitalism’s emergence are highlighted here.

Prelude, 1492–1627 European awareness of the Caribbean begins with the 1492 voyage of Christopher Columbus. Spanish encounters with the Lucayan Taìno of the

72 / Chapter 4

Bahamas, and crude mapping of Hispañola introduced both a “New World” and a New People to the “Old.” which touched on Central and South America, and established the route to the West Indies that would thereafter be followed by privateers, colonists, slavers, and nearly every other traveler until invention of the steamship. Ellffrytht’s 1631 Guide to the Caribbean clearly charts the same routes along the Lesser Antilles (Pargellis and Butler 1944). Following currents and wind patterns originating south of the Azores, the route enters the Caribbean near Dominica, where ships pass to the leeward side of the Lesser Antilles as they enter the insular Caribbean. Here, constant, predictable winds—“the trades”—steadily push vessels northward along the island chain. These winds also provide the islands with cooling breezes along their Atlantic side—breezes that may have played a role in settlement and windmill location and offered momentary relief for those who labored under the sun The dynamic prehistory of the Lesser Antilles is beyond the scope of this book; however, some aspects are fundamental for understanding the region Columbus labeled as paradise, and the realm into which European sensibilities clashed. The Prehistoric migration patterns of indigenous populations through­out the Caribbean can be traced either to Amazonia or the Yucatan dating back 7,000 years (Rouse 1948, 1964, 1977, 1986; Wilson 1989, 2006; Keegan 1994). Precontact Nevis has been extensively studied (Wilson 2006). Preceramic Arawakian populations originating in the Orinoco region migrated north along the Lesser Antilles chain, island hopping over the centuries and coming to inhabit each of the islands until terminating this migration in Puerto Rico, where they likely encountered peoples who had previously migrated by sea from the Yucatan and Cuba to Hispañola, although this issue is far from resolved (Rouse 1986, 1992; Wilson 1989; Keegan 1994, 1996). This first migration episode has been dated to ca. 3000 BC (Wilson 1989, 2006). These “classic Taìno” cultures established themselves in the Greater Antilles with a mixture of adaptations enabling them to exploit different environments (Davis 1982; Rouse 1992:15). A sec­ond wave of migrations during the last centuries BC, originating in South America, was undertaken by sedentary horticulturalists who brought distinctive ceramic traditions with them, in what has been termed the “Saladoid” series. These red and white or red and black buff earthenwares are distributed along the coastal regions of east­ ern Nevis as well among other Caribbean islands (Wilson 1989; Morris et al. 2000). These ethnically distinct peoples defined the character of the Caribbean basin for more than 4,000 years. Inter-­island trade is well documented (Olsen 1974; Allaire 1996; Haviser 1997; Watters 1997; Keegan 2000) during the Saladoid period (2000 BC–600 AD). Island hopping by canoe enabled indigenous peoples to colonize islands with specific ecologies and trade

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 73

in raw materials (Rouse 1992). Communication between islands was also by sea (Rouse 1986, 2001; Keegan 1996, 2000). The patterns of current and wind that prehistoric peoples followed among the islands were perhaps the most important factors in networks of transportation, communication, trade, and strategies governing seaborne conflict for the historic period (Whitehead 1999). The route from Europe to the Caribbean established by Columbus served those who followed in his wake. Sir Francis Drake, for instance, followed the route via Dominica on entering the region to harass Spanish shipping in the years before being knighted (Honeychurch 1997). One sketchy document suggests Drake sailed passed Nevis but did not anchor or come ashore. Drake certainly provides one of the earliest descriptions of the “fierce Carib” on Dominica, contributing to the notion of indigenous “warlike tribes” and “canibals”[sic] in European consciousness (Hakluyt [1595] 1965; Honeychurch 1997). We might instead view ­Caribs through an anthropological lens as valiantly resisting European invasion. Owing to Carib resistance, European attempts at island colonization failed at St. Lucia in 1605 and Grenada in 1609, and not until late in the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries were these indigenous strongholds brought into submission to the European yoke. Little evidence exists that the indigenous culture groups called themselves “Carib,” the term arising from the imagination of Columbus (Allaire 1996). Drake’s reference suggests the term “Carib” was in wide use by Europeans in the sixteenth century. Based on the work of Rouse, Wilson (1989:434) identified three specific indigenous cultural phases on Nevis, “aceramic, Saladoid and Ostinoid.” Nearly all sites associated with the ceramic phases are coastal, and deposits reflect an adaptation to marine resources (Wilson 1989; Morris et al. 2000). The south­ern coastal settlements are areas with cooling breezes in contrast to the other side of the island and may also account for the sparse distribution of sites Wilson identified in those zones. Erosion today has revealed vast areas of settlement with Salodoid and later Ostinoid ceramics exposed along the elevated land fronting the beaches. Conch shell middens are also hallmarks of these ancient dwelling sites. Work by Wilson (1989, 2006) and teams from Southampton University (Morris, et al. 2000) confirms large village sites in the area of colonial plantations at Hickman’s and Coconut Walk. European settlement of the Caribbean was not haphazard, with Spain’s initial base of operations on Hispañola a sophisticated strategic choice proxi­ mate to the principal maritime routes in and out of the region and defensible. These routes also gave privateers and pirates, sailing from secluded island harbors, the opportunity to ambush their prey (Higham 1921; Hoffman 1980; Esquemeling 1987; Skowronek and Ewen 2006).

74 / Chapter 4

Provincial development by Spanish colonies in the Caribbean was buoyed by creation of the encomienda system, a form of tribute labor, or grant of Indians by the Crown to in­d i­v idual colonists to work on plantations (Ferry 1997). In theory, Indians labored only part time, but in practice the sys­tem amounted to slavery. Encomiendas were common through­out Spanish America (Ferry 1997; Woodward 2011) resulting in the drastic decline in native populations through forced resettlement and overwork, but principally through disease (Kiple and Ornelas 1996; Diamond 1997; Desowitz 1997). The encomienda reflects a vestige of feudalism transplanted to the agronomics of the Americas as Spanish entrepreneurs developed agricultural estates (Woodward 2011). Although slavery was without doubt a major factor, disease may have been the single greatest cause of Amerindian population decline, during both the early Spanish phase and later north­ern European incursion. It has also been conjectured with a degree of epidemiological support by Kiple and Ornelas (1996) that an additional vector for pathogens was from Africa during the increased intensity of the slave trade of the late seventeenth century, and perhaps earlier. Influenza, smallpox, measles, and possibly yellow fever all contributed to the crippling decline in native populations, as well as to European deaths (Whitehead 1999). A significant consequence for non-­Iberian colonists was that the Lesser Antilles were depopulated to such an extent that settlement was possible without significant resistance from indigenous peoples, with the exception of Dominica and St. Vincent. These two islands have their own complex and tragic histories and retain the only vestiges of indigenous populations. Owing to these forces, the most of the islands were settled during the historic period as “virtually uninhabited” (Lowenthal 1972:31). The islands were not completely vacant, however, and Indian populations were among the first to be enslaved (Ligon 1657). The traditional story behind the naming of Nevis—the version cherished by writers of tourist brochures—tells how Columbus, upon observing the clouds shrouding the island’s mountainous peak, was thereby inspired to name the island in commemoration of a miraculous summer snowstorm that purportedly occurred in Spain during the fifteenth century, hence Nieves1 (snows). This account was cited by Hilton (1675) as “common knowledge,” repeated in Oldmixon (1708), by Edwards (1793:435), who added that life in the Caribbean was “living in eternal spring,” and offered again by Iles (1871), based largely on the two previous accounts. Each of the authors parrots some earlier vague source. The story is, however, more apocryphal than true. There is no substantive evidence supporting the legend. On the contrary, there is much to refute it. Columbus’s own physician, Dr. Chanca, accompanying the

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 75

admiral on his sec­ond voyage, writes that after leaving the island, which they named Mont Serrat (Montserrat), they “encountered a smallish rock island, which they christened ‘Nuestra de Retonda’ [today Redonda], sighting at nightfall the high peak of another. The next morning, St Martin’s Day, the Admiral arrived at an island with a high peak” (Hubbard 1931:590). The island was given the name San Martin. Each of these islands is visible, one from the other, with Antigua much further to the east and rarely visible due to clouds, even from a high vantage point, although Nevis is of­ten visible from Antigua owing to its greater height on the horizon. It was a common pattern for Columbus to name islands for the Virgin Mary, his patron saint, or for the namesake of the Saint’s day on which discovery was made (Morrison 1974). Chanca further mentions that native people appeared hostile and no landing was made. Montseratt, Redonda, and Nevis are in sequential order when sailing from the south, and Antigua boasts no high mountain to match Nevis. The island that bears the name St. Martin today does not have a high peak. Adding to the mystery, no early Spanish map, in­clud­ing the La Cosa map, designates the island as Nieves. This appellation appears first on a French map and on a few early seventeenth-­century English maps.Wills from Nevis between 1630 and 1640 frequently refer to the island as Dulcina and Dulcinea, or Meavis, suggesting several monikers in common usage simultaneously (Caribbeana v. 2, 1919). From the last voyage of Sir Francis Drake, we learn that the islands were named from south to north “Montserta, Redonda, Estanzia, S. Christopher, and Saba” (Hakluyt [1595] 1963:481). Was Estanzia Nevis? Saba would be St. Eustatius, with the island today known as Saba just beyond. Nevertheless, “Nevis” was in use at the time of English settlement in 1627 and can be found on documents in concert with other names, such as a will dated 1630: “this island Dulcina als Neves” (Caribbeana v. 2, 1919:5), and even as ­Nevise during the 1700s ( Journal of a Lady of Quality 1921:120). The existence of an island in the Grenadines named Le Petit Nieves may point after all to a French origin. Continuing the northward voyage, a brief encounter between i­ ndigenous warriors and the Spaniards is the first documentation of the indigenous people of Nevis (Hubbard 1931:591). They sailed on to the next larger island, which they also did not stop at, and which Columbus named for his patron saint, San Cristobal (Saint Christopher). Because the Lesser Antilles are poor in gold and silver, these islands served Spanish interests mostly as a source of Indian slaves. The current version has an undeniable emotional appeal for travelers who view the island landscape through a lens of romanticism, imagining an “un-

76 / Chapter 4

spoiled and pristine” tropical paradise—a vision sustained through marketing. The story has attained the status of truth among most Nevisians, and the “paradise” metaphor is satisfying to tourists.

Historic Phase I: 1627–1655 With a warrant from the King, Captain Thomas Warner (1575–1649) set sail for St. Christopher (hereafter St. Kitts) in 1623 to establish a colony for growing tobacco. Along with 20 “gentlemen adventurers,” he founded the first permanent English settlement in the Caribbean (Hilton [1675]1924:5). St. Kitts was also colonized by the French in 1625 while Warner was away in England seeking additional support. The English were there purposefully and the French owing to shipwreck (Hilton 1675). Within a few years a dis­ affected splinter group arrived on the shores of the neighboring island of Nevis in 1627 ([1675]1924:7). The first settlement must have been small, indeed, as there were only 20 men in the origi­nal group, followed two years later by 80.2 Full settlement was established in 1628 by Mr. Thomas Littleton, with a commission from the Earl of Carlile. Although Littleton origi­ nally intended to settle at Barbados, Nevis was more to his liking. Sir Henry Holt came ashore in 1631 and reported the island “full of woods” (Harlow 1925:84). The principal document informing us of this period is a detailed chronicle by John Hilton, descendant of Anthony Hilton, an early governor of Nevis. Anthony Hilton had been to Virginia and had been instrumental in convincing Warner that St. Kitts was a better place than Virginia for a settlement (Hilton [1675]1924:5). Although the Carib population of St. Kitts and the Europeans briefly, if suspiciously, accommodated one another, mutual mistrust led to conflict. Hilton ([1675]1924) informs us that the only time the French and English ever collaborated was to attack and kill the Carib villagers. The rather brief but volatile period between first English settlement on Nevis in 1627 and the year 1655, when Jamaica was captured from Spain by the English—an occasion which set off a significant and harmful migration by planters, their servants, and enslaved Af­r i­cans from Nevis—represents a time of rapid colonization, agricultural experimentation, and abrupt environ­mental modification (Merrill 1958; Dunn 1972; Appleby 1996; Hubbard 1996). The first defined period of development can be temporally bookended by initial settlement and later dramatic demographic shifts. Spanish officials reported in 1621 that Nevis and Virgin Gorda are “the enemy’s safe place and

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 77

anchorages” (Perotin-­Dumon 1999:121). Here they sometimes repaired or careened ships. Such incursions threatened Spanish sovereignty in the region. A provocative suggestion by Perotin-­Dumon (1999), that without Dutch privateers through­out the Caribbean it is doubtful that French and English settlements would have survived, is supported by the fact that Dutch offensives against Spanish commerce kept the Spanish occupied until 1609, after which Spain sought to reassert control. However, aside from salt deposits, Spain found little of value in the Lesser Antilles and it was probably cost-­ effective to let these island possessions go. St. Kitts, however, became a springboard for French settlement of Guadeloupe and for the English to Nevis, Barbados, and Antigua (Perotin-­Dumon 1999:124). It is reasonable to conjecture that early settlement was more focused on production than on infrastructure, and dwellings were likely constructed of readily available timber close to areas of production or built with dray stacked masonry foundations of local stone, which is plentiful on these volcanic islands. It can be gleaned from vari­ous documentary sources, such as the 1629 account by Captain John Smith, that tobacco was the principal commodity, with indigo, sugar, ginger, and cotton also under intense cultivation, although cotton was less successful (Churchill and Churchill 1732 v.II:364; Hilton 1675; Sloane 1707; Oldmixon 1708; Iles 1871). On neighboring St. Kitts, the fragile truce between French and English colonists gave way to a negotiated division of the long narrow island, leaving the English in the middle and the French in possession of both ends. This arrangement, which must have made sense to colonizers at the time, would ultimately work to the benefit of no one. The first settlement on Nevis may have been at a place called Morton’s Bay, not far from modern Cades Bay (Klingelhoffer 2005). The place is named on a very early map, but soon was replaced in importance by the two larger town settlements of Jamestown and Charlestown, both founded during the first decade. These towns served as centers of shipping and commerce (Hilton [1675]1924). Yields of tobacco and other commodities returned handsome profits to investors, and tobacco plantations were the principal estates for at least twenty years (Batie 1976). Nevis planters shifted very slowly to sugar with several continuing to “stick doggedly to tobacco” until the late 1640s (Dunn 1972:​ 121). By 1655, however, sugar had virtually eclipsed all other agricultural production, so important had it become to the economy. Nonetheless, indigo continued to be a profitable product from the island for many more years. Nevis was the first of the Leeward Island colonies to shift from tobacco to sugar (Dunn 1972:122).

78 / Chapter 4

The early years of agricultural development required intensive labor, and much of the work was carried out by enslaved Irish and other indentured servants of the English settlers (Hubbard 1996). Po­l iti­cal prisoners comprised a significant number of bonded servants sent to Barbados and Nevis in the first decades of development. According to Higham (1921:4), Barbados is estimated to have absorbed 12,000 such prisoners. However, labor was always in short supply and as more plantations were developed, Af­r i­can slavery was introduced. A few Indians on Nevis were also enslaved. For example, in a list of stock and goods left by Captain John Rodney for sale of his plantation to satisfy a debt in 1672 are: “33 negroes and Indians, great and small, four white servants, 9 cattle, 2 sugar mills, 7 coppers” (CSP Col. Ser. [1893] v.7, 1669 #430). As the populations dwindled, fewer and fewer Indians were added to the work force. For a period Af­r i­cans, indentured Europeans, and even Indians could be found working alongside one another (Beckles 1998). Even as late as 1675 there are accounts of enslaved Indians on Nevis in the labor force of Deputy Governor Russell, and Captain Warner was reported to have Indian slaves and to have fathered children from Indian slaves (CSP Col. Ser. [1893] v.9, 1675 #320). A reference to the “old indian” appears on Nevis slave rolls (CSP Col Ser. [1893] v.9, 1675 #748). A few native peoples remained in servitude until at least 1720 (Williams 1963; Handler 1968:39). Archaeological evidence suggest that, despite clear distinctions in status or rank of the early colonists, living conditions during this first period of settlement were similarly hard for all. Work levels may have differed significantly. So harsh were working conditions for bonded labor that when Spain briefly attempted to reassert sovereignty in 1630, by attacking the colony, Irish laborers were seen to swim out to the Spanish ships with cries of, “joyfull ­l iberty . . . we are saved,” (Hilton 1675 [1924]:11; Dunn 1972). Such mistrust that existed between the English and the Irish on Nevis deepened so that in subsequent attacks by the French, enslaved Af­r i­cans were armed in defense of the colony, but not the Irish. The rationale evidently was that Catholic affiliation was sufficient to warrant serious concern. In 1678, Irish Catholics made up 25 percent of the white population on Nevis (Shaw 2013:61). Lord Willoughby wrote that, “we have more than a good many Irish among us, therefore I am for the down right Scott, who I am certain will fight without a crucifix about his neck” ( Jeaffreson. MSS, I, 259, cited in Higham 1921:170). Indeed, in 1689, when word arrived that William of Orange had invaded England, there was fear in the islands. The pro-­Catholic reign of King James was in jeopardy. On St. Kitts, 130 armed Irish servants rose in rebellion in the name of King James and attacked English plantations (Dunn 1972:134).

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 79

Although the Spanish captured most of the English adventurers and shipped them back to Spain for ransom, where many were imprisoned for years, the colony of Nevis was not ruined and was resettled within a year. A few colonists had hidden themselves in caves, emerging after the Spanish departed; a few had “gott boats and got upon islands not inhabited, and there stayed till ye Spaniards was gone and came downe agiane to theire settlements” (Hilton [1675]1924:13). Meanwhile, new colonists were recruited in England and Ireland by Hilton. The Spanish would never return. Klingelhoffer (1999:164) has examined early plantation settlement by English colonial efforts in Ireland dating to the Elizabethan period. This might have provided a model for English settlement in the Caribbean. If so, they had a ready supply of labor and a settlement conception grounded in late feudalism. The Spanish incursion on Nevis likely contributed to a sense of insecurity in a profound way, and by the 1650s a fort or redoubt was constructed at the north end of the island (Morris et al. 1999; Machling, Lawrence, and Morris 2005; Machling 2000, 2012). Standing until 1996, the structure was investigated by a team from Southampton University, providing valuable information about early colonial military architecture. The redoubt was bulldozed in 1996 when the airport expanded its runway, ironically at the same time there was an official effort to increase heritage-­tourism Warner and Hilton had been in England at the time of the attack and returned to St. Kitts and Nevis with new colonists and supplies only to find po­l iti­cal turmoil. From these rough and tumble beginnings, settlers and their unnamed servants began to carve out plantations for tobacco and ginger. Despite sugar monoculture and the seemingly endless profits to be reaped, at no time were profits ever as significant as the early years of tobacco production (Batie 1976; Galloway 1989). “Sugar is a rich man’s crop” according to Lowenthal (1972:27) and no wonder. Whereas tobacco could be grown by small holders with a minimum of labor and overhead, sugar estates were by contrast labor intensive, costly, and technologically complex. Sugar factories were only truly profitable if managed on large scale and with considerable investment in built landscape (Galloway 1989). Tobacco did not require the same steep investment either in years or capital outlay that sugar plantations needed to establish a viable crop. It was possible even for a small holder or intrepid entrepreneur to accrue substantial profit (Batie 1976). Nevertheless, sugar held the greater promise in Europe as tea and coffee were also being introduced at this juncture in history, and the by-­ products of sugar production were equally marketable. Two criti­cal factors enabled Nevis to rise above its shortcomings during this early phase: 1) extensive fortifications in defense of plantation development, and 2) his­tori­cally rich, high-­quality volcanic soils. Both advantages

80 / Chapter 4

would eventually be eroded for much the same reason: neglect and failure to invest in maintenance. The lack of expanses of flat land did not deter development as terracing was used to make even marginal zones productive. Just as important, despite almost continuous conflict in the seventeenth century, Nevisians did not experience the calamitous effects of war suffered by the other colonies until 1706. Raids, destruction of plantations, and the transshipment of slaves through­out the 1600s cursed any reasonable development among the other colonies. Shortly after English colonizers came ashore on Nevis in 1627, the island was parceled into five wedge-­shaped parishes (Hilton [1675]:1924; Leech 2008). These partitions radiated from Nevis Peak like bent spokes of a wheel. This was but the first of many landscape schemas imposed by settlement, as others, such as roads and ports config­ured production and mobility. As a result of this sectioning, each parish came to encompass multiple environmental zones with increasing elevation, stretching from sea level upward to steep mountainsides. A similar pattern of plantation design partitioned the St. Kitts landscape as well (Pares 1950:66; Hicks 2007a:35). This arrangement, however, did not mean that each parish was equally endowed with terrain suited for agriculture or settlement, nor was each parish similarly suited for occupation. While some parishes were disproportionately comprised of mountainous slopes and deep ravines, others were home to vast tracts of fertile yet rocky flats. As in the past, shoreline cliffs mark the east­ern side of the island, while the west­ern side is marshy. Windward and leeward sides of the island also exhibit stark environmental variation, and disparate ecosystems, in­clud­ing desert-­l ike conditions. The general climate on Nevis is consistent with Caribbean norms, but localized weather varies broadly. Nevis, in fact, harbors seven distinct biomes based on exposure, annual moisture, and elevation. The east­ern and south­ern sides receive the full force of the trade winds and are first to be buffeted by the force of hurricanes, yet this is the dry side of Nevis. Moisture-­laden clouds continuously enshroud Nevis Peak, where the air is cooled, condenses, and rains to a greater degree on the west­ern and north­ern slopes. However, wind is dramatically diminished in these regions. These variables played subtle yet important roles, certainly in agricultural productivity, but also in the dynamics of settlement and the decisions made, differentially affecting colonists over time. The first colonial settlements were nearly all located on the leeward side of the island, which facilitated maritime priorities, communications with St. Kitts, and had an influential role in subsequent road construction. Consider this quotation from a letter written in 1681 by Sir Christopher Jeaffreson, planter on St. Kitts, relating the aftermath of a storm: “it was a de-

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 81

plorable sight to see the spoyle that was done in the canes and provisions, in comparison of which the loose of all our house and works is nothing” ( Jeaf­ freson 1878 vol.1: 274). The weather patterns also allowed year round growing and the capacity to produce crops of sugar in rotation more than once annually (Galloway 1989:91). Investigating the ecology on neighboring Montserrat, Pulsi­pher (1977) found similar circumstances. Ironically, these same weather patterns carried the seeds of vast destruction in the form of hurricanes, periodic droughts, and astonishingly torrential rains. Nevis exhibits ecological characteristics in its higher elevations of both jungle and rainforest, with more than 100 inches (234 cm) of rainfall annually on average, and an extremely dense forest of tangled vegetation. Highly evolved symbiotic relationships exist between certain trees, birds, and insects. Although on a different tectonic plate than the volcanically alive islands to the south, beginning with Montserrat, Nevis nonetheless has thermal hot springs (noted by early explorers) and is seismically active. Periodic drought, which ruined crop yields, caused planters to fall into debt, colonists to suffer, and the enslaved to die of starvation, as evidenced in the letters of plantation agents (Gay 1929). Provision grounds tended by slaves may have provided substantial portions of their sustenance. Losses of even a small degree of this important source of nutrition during drought or as a result of storms could be disastrous. The physical landscape was profoundly changed during the earliest settlement phase as plantation operations expanded and gradually burned and clear-­ cut their way around the entire island (Sloane 1707). With numerous small mill operations established and new investors arriving, the emerging colonial landscape came to be constituted by a patchwork of estates stretching north and south along the coast and penetrating the interior. Fortifications also were constructed to take advantage of terrestrial and marine environments (Machling 2012:54). These landscape modifications, however, were not a simple predictable response to increasing numbers of plantation enterprises. The archaeological evidence suggests the spread followed decisions driven by a combination of environmental constraints and mobility factors, with gradual intrusion into marginal areas in later years, as new would-­be planters arrived (Figure 4.1). Investment focused foremost on factory production. Planters, as a class, were rational men with steep investments of capital, and should be expected to behave rationally (Galloway 1989:94). However, as Hodges spells out in his criti­cal analy­sis of spatial models in archaeology, the “maximization of benefit and minimization of cost simply does not determine economic behavior in many ethnographic contexts” (Hodges 1987:120). The essence of this insight

82 / Chapter 4

Figure 4.1. Unidentified mill-­complex in Lower St. John Parish. Dated after 1700, one of many encountered during survey transects.

is clear as human desires and agency of­ten intrude or impede on what otherwise would be simple formulaic analy­sis of how economies function. Such analy­sis highlights the degree to which settlement and environment are interdependent, and illustrates how an island ecosys­tem may magnify the effects of rational or seemingly irrational decisions, where even small perturbations due to cultural practices may have dramatic and far reaching impact. Hood expands further on how cultural landscapes are woven together. As new functions and meanings come to be “attached to a landscape . . . physical constancy from the past can lend apparent social continuity through time” (Hood 1996:124). The built landscape generates a materiality that sustains “conservatism to the spatial organization of society” and to the “process of production and social relations” (Hood 1996:124). In confined spaces such as islands, the constant and visible material landscape is a daily reminder of the social order, as Delle (1998, 1999) persuasively demonstrated on Jamaica. Estate houses of square-­cut masonry contrast with dwellings of humble construction. Churches on high ground juxtaposed with estate houses signal subtle but unmistakable messages of hierarchical social order.

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 83

On Nevis, numerous estates were visible, one to another, across the landscape. Using ArcView GIS software permitted sightlines to be mapped for several estates, revealing that in most cases at least two were in view from any given plantation. While this composition of the viewscape may not have been intentional, it nonetheless offered the same structure as if it had been. Thoroughfares also introduced order to the landscape by connecting plantations and commercial centers. By 1648, Barbadians had the reins on sufficient po­liti­cal power to proclaim allegiance to Charles II as King of England, and they attempted to sway all the island colonies away from their positions of neutrality. Once again the Caribbean became the scene of po­liti­cal and economic upheaval. Passage of an Act by the Commonwealth of England in 1650 provocatively forbade trade with Barbados, Antigua, Virginia, and Sommers Island because of rebellion. Barbados was the chief economic rival of Nevis, and Nevisian planters, regardless of po­l iti­cal sentiments, must have briefly enjoyed a trade windfall. By 1652, Barbados was forced into surrender, and Nevis continued to enjoy prosperity in comparison (Dunn 1972:123).

Historic Phase II: 1655–1782 Conditions on Nevis in 1655 were far from secure. With the rise of Oliver Cromwell a few years before, many Royalists fled England to resettle on Caribbean colonies. Barbados in particular experienced a rush of aristocrats and an influx of capital (Sheridan 1974; Games 1996). An English attack on Spanish San Domingo—a chief target of Crom­well’s West­ern Design—failed to capture the island. In consolation, and so as not to return empty-­handed, Jamaica was taken by English forces in 1655. The small Spanish garrison stationed at Puerto de Caguaga offered only token resistance. The port was quickly renamed Port Royal, and in a few short years an unsavory mercantile freeport grew up on the unstable, sandy spit, mixing pirates, planters, and opportunistic merchants in a laissez-­faire environment, creating a privateering entrepot, and opening vast new territories for planters (Mayes 1972; Hubbard 1996; Hamilton 2006). Since Jamaica seemingly offering better prospects for expansion than did Nevis, planters seeking new opportunities resettled there, transplanting their slaves with them. A minimum of 1,500 persons, more than half the population at the time, migrated from Nevis to Jamaica. Additional ships from England arrived at Nevis, and we are informed in a contemporary complaint that they were there to “induce people to transplant themselves [to Jamaica] and to St. Christophers [sic] to draw what people . . . [they] can from thence” (Oldmixon

84 / Chapter 4

1708). Nevis underwent a period of brief and substantial decline in production. An English guide book to the Americas published in 1655 describes Montserrat and Nevis as “of so little consideration . . . that it would seem but tedious to mention them further” (Dunn 1972:122). Thus begins an economically unsettled Phase II for the colony. Two individuals whose names are repeatedly associated with shaping the po­liti­cal and economic landscape of Nevis during this period are Governor William Stapleton and Colonel James Russell. Both had holdings on Nevis and other islands and served vari­ous roles as military and po­liti­cal leaders with influence over everything from defense to taxation of estates. The years 1660–1690 were especially eventful on the colony, and not always in a good way. Constant war in the Leeward Islands rendered shipping uncertain and continually drew men off to fight on other islands. Hurricanes regularly ravaged the island, with the most severe coming in 1667. Several ships were sunk in the harbor, although the English fleet, under command of Sir John Berry, managed to get away and rode out the storm at sea, fortunately for Nevis, as Berry would later provide the only defense of the colony against a combined Dutch and French attack. Between intermittent periods of calm and cooperation, Dutch and English conflict lasted until the end of the century. Disease ravaged the island in 1689 and greatly reduced the population (Oldmixon 1708:204). Some estimates suggest the loss of 1,500 whites to the disease and an uncounted number of blacks (Oldmixon 1708:204). A regi­ment was sent over from Antigua to protect the island from attack by the French, which “every day was expected” (Oldmixon 1708:204). In 1690, Colonel Christopher Codrington was commanded by King William and Queen Mary to muster forces on Nevis for an expedition against the French on St. Kitts. Two regiments totaling 600 men were formed, which reduced the European work force. Before they could depart, Nevis experienced a violent earthquake and rumbling from the dormant volcano (Figure 4.2). According to historic accounts, the earthquake shook with such violence that “all buildings of stone or brick were leveled with the ground, and those of timber greatly shook . . . water in the deepest cisterns was thrown 15 to 20 feet in the air,” and the quake was also “experienced at sea by several ships as far away as Barbados” (Oldmixon 1708:215). A tsunami followed. According to local tradition, Jamestown was completely destroyed and swallowed by the earth. Survey and excavations at Jamestown have provided evidence of destruction, but also of recovery and continuance for some years, albeit in a reduced state (Meniketti 2003; Klingelhoffer 2005). Throughout the Jamaican colony’s first century, piracy was as much a prob­ lem for sustaining plantation production, as was rivalry among the European

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 85

Figure 4.2. The Lesser Antilles south of Nevis is seismically and volcanically active. The 1997 eruption of the volcano on neighboring Montserrat displaced thousands of people—some to Nevis—and buried the capital, Plymouth, in mudflow.

powers. Pirates at this time were officially sanctioned by vari­ous governments as proxy agents of foreign policy. Between 1660–1680, Port Royal grew to a small metropolis based on privateering—a form of legal piracy—that had strategic as well as economic objectives, and on sugar (Hamilton 1991, 2006). More than 100 sugar works were operating by 1687 (Barrett 1965). Piracy also developed on Nevis as an alternative career for a few who sought riches through plunder rather than sugar. With the Treaty of Madrid in 1671, which established peace between England and Spain, privateers at Port Royal were rendered obsolete and were rebranded as pirates (Mayes 1972). No longer focused solely on enemies of the Crown, pirates sought prey of all nations (Perotin-­Dumon 1999). Piracy continued as an expensive problem well into the eighteenth century. In 1703, William Burt of the Nevis Council complained that “privateers are so thick amongst these islands, that we can’t sail from island to island but with more hazard than between England and this place; hardly a vessel in three ­escapes . . . so that everything has risen to extravagant prices . . . Here are some vessels loaded with sugar and durst not stir for fear of privateers” (CSP Col Ser. v. 21. 1702 #849). In 1674 Governor Stapleton petitioned the King for a frigate or two to be

86 / Chapter 4

stationed at Nevis to reduce loss of shipping, using a strong economic argument as an incentive by suggesting that piracy reduced collection of customs: “the Dutch privateers from Curacoa are very thick here abouts and lately chased two merchantmen ashore” (CSP Col. Ser [1889] v.9. 1674 #1237). Piracy was a problem, but official hostilities were a greater plague to prosperity. During the Nine Years War (1689–1698) Nevis was doubly beset by fear of invasion and the plague of piracy. In a long and bitter diatribe, Governor Christopher Codrington wrote in 1695, complaining of French privateers, “Our islands are daily infested by our enemies privateers almost to the ruin of our trade and the daily harassing of our poor inhabitants by watching and guarding to prevent enemy landing and stealing off negroes which they frequently do” (CSP Col.Ser. [1908] v.14, 1695 #1934). Those pirates who could be caught and convicted usually were hung in picturesquely named Gallows Bay, fronting Charlestown. In 1686, Governor Russell ordered Captain George St. Loe of the frigate HMS Dartmouth, stationed at Nevis, to hunt down pirate Bartholomew Sharpe for harassing shipping. Nevis’s own pirate, John Evans, who started his career as captain of a Bermuda sloop, took several ships of all sizes until he was eventually killed by a disaffected member of his own crew. Complaints about piracy continued into the early eighteenth century, in particular that “slaves are taken at night” (CSP Col. Ser. [1916] v.23, 1706 #654). Even if piracy was a constant worry, the threat of war loomed greater and had a more immediate impact on the colony, largely through the draining off of able-­bodied laborers and colonists. It is evident from communications contained in the Calendar of States Papers (Colonial Series) that during the sec­ond Anglo-­Dutch war, from 1664–1667, Nevis was the English stronghold (Machling 2012). The perception that Nevis was a fortress helped keep the colony safe until 1706, and again through much of the eighteenthcentury. However, Nevis had very few forts before 1700 (Machling 2012:52). A French map of Nevis from 1703 (Bibliotheque Nationale de France) depicts an extensive road sys­ tem and fort locations. The Bellin map of 1758 (see Figure 5.34) shows nearly the entire west­ern shores of Nevis protected by walls, forts, and batteries. Much was bluff, however, as the Inspector General sent out to assess fortification reported that they were largely good for nothing (Machling 2000:49, 2013:116). Fieldwork carried out by teams from Southampton University between 2000–2002 documented several small gun emplacements and several submerged cannon (Machling 2012). The surprising fact is that identification of specific fort structures support the interpretation that more than 100 meters

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 87

Figure 4.3. West­ern fortifications dating to the first quarter of the eighteenth century exposed by hurricane wave action on Piney Beach. In 2005, this ruin was completely covered by sand. These were buried again in 2007, exposed by Hurricane Omar in 2008, and reburied six months later in 2009.

of coastal beachfront has eroded away since the early 1700s. Three natural agents sculpt the coastline. Two are the prevailing winds and near shore current, which runs northward toward the channel called “The Narrows,” separating Nevis from St. Kitts. The third force is hurricanes (CCA 1991; UNESCO 1996). The coast is regularly scoured by these powerful natural forces. While the first pair act slowly, the third can be swift and violent. Coastal erosion and land loss exposed a burial in 2003 in an area once several hundred feet inland (Figure 4.3). By 2005, the area where burials had been exposed was completely buried by sand, highlighting just how dynamic the shoreline can be. Hurricane Omar repeated this scouring again in 2008, revealing coastal fortifications for a third time in a decade. A local beachcomber recovered scores of musket balls and an intact colonoware bowl (see Meniketti 2011b). Several cannon were exposed in eight feet of water some one hundred yards off shore as a result (Machling 2000; 2012). These were inspected during a brief dive. The state of the cannon is revealing; the lack of significant corrosion and marine growth are indicators of intermittent exposure and re-

88 / Chapter 4

burial, a result of shifting sands. Three additional cannon were located during a near-­shore survey in only five feet (1.5m) of water in 2009 (see Machling 2012 for a comprehensive assessment of ordnance on Nevis). Nevis became headquarters of the slave trade in the Leewards for the Royal Af­r i­can Company in 1675. The average number of enslaved Af­r i­cans passing through Nevis was 6,000–7,000 each year, and the trade became a cornerstone of Nevisian prosperity. The planters on Nevis had first choice of slaves, about which there were bitter complaints and jealousy from other colonies (Higham 1921:151–52). On Antigua an Act of the Assembly made this grievance clear: “Whereas it hath pleased the Royal Af­r i­can Company in England to appoint the island of Nevis to be the Mart or Place for delivery of negroes for his Majesty’s Leeward Charibee islands in America, whereof this is one, as also for the payment of the goods contracted for the same, which happens to be very prejudicial to his majesty’s subjects the inhabitants of this Island, in regards this is the Windermost of his Majesty’s Islands, so that the Negroes that are brought to Nevis are sold And disposed of, before any notic can be given us . . . it is a matter very disadvantageous to the inhabitants here . . . altogether disappointed of the Common Advantage and Conveniencies of his Majesty’s Gracious Intentions towards them in his Royal charter or grant to the said Royal Company” (Acts of the Leeward Islands, 49–50 [as cited by Higham 1921]). The animosity in Antigua is apparent, as is the advantage to Nevis. Despite the complaints that Nevis had first pick, letters from Nevis suggest the Af­r i­cans who had survived the middle crossing were in dire condition, with many sick and others dying on arrival (Higham 1921:160). In a comprehensive analy­sis of Nevis before 1700, Higham used agents’ records to underscore the deplorable nature of the trade, citing the following examples: for 1681, the ship George and Betty brought a cargo of 415, out of which 80 were children along with many women. The Swallow brought in “not 10 choiyce men . . . the rest little boys and dying negroes” (Higham 1921:160). The company lost its monopoly in 1692, yet the trade continued unabated and even increased in the first quarter of the eighteenthcentury. Smuggling was also an issue of serious contention on Nevis. Merchant complaints addressed to the Crown point fingers at the Dutch colony at St. Eustatius as the source of trouble. “Statia” sugar was a cant phrase for smuggled goods (Higham 1921:37). In fact, it was the planters on Nevis who were taking advantage of the willingness of Dutch merchants to assist Nevisian planters in avoiding duties on imports or taxes on sugar exports (Merrill 1958:63). One complaint makes clear the method: “There are generally several great ships lying at Statia any two of them enough to cary [sic] a year’s

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 89

produce of that island. At Jamestown on Way from Holland they generally touch at all our islands on pretext of watering, they generally stay a week, when all the planters go aboard and not only agree for what is on board but watch their opportunity to get it ashore, to the loss of the revenue and of the merchants, who having paid duty can-­not sell so cheaply. Having disposed of their cargoes the ships go to Statia where they wait for the planters to send their sugar which they punctually do, though the English merchants and creditors for some thousands can-­not get a pound of sugar from them” Report from an investigating officer (CSP Col. Ser. v. 12. 1687). The complaint goes on to point out that in the process they do not pay a penny of duty to the King. Illegal brandy and wine were also smuggled to the islands in this fashion. French military and naval successes in the final decade of the eighteenth century were humiliating for the English. Nevis alone had not been invaded or taken. In 1706, the French successfully landed a strong force and in a “particularly savage assault” destroyed sugar works, carried away slaves, burned fields, and poisoned freshwater springs (CSP Col Ser. [1893] v.23,1706 #328; Watts 1987:248). Writing about the defense of the settlement in the aftermath of the French invasion, one colonist testified with dismay that the planters were cowardly and hid themselves while “the blacks bravely made a stand for King and country against French invaders” (Hubbard 1996:92; Machling 2012). If we deconstruct these events from the perspective of the enslaved Af­r i­ cans, we can view their actions instead as protecting their homes and families, not to save the property of English settlers as the English plantocracy imagined, for although enslaved, they had nonetheless carved out a life and society of their own worth protecting. Undoubtedly, they were also aware of what their fate would be if the French were successful: removal to French colonies as spoils of war and the disintegration of their families. This did in fact occur as the French removed more than half the slave population to their own colonies, in­clud­ing Louisiana. The bravery of the enslaved Af­r i­cans became legend—so much so that the governor in 1757 suggested they be let into the militia (Hubbard 1996:92). The problem of defense for Nevis hinged on a combination of factors, not the least of which being that the troops sent out to Nevis were of “the poorer sort” and that the “gentry enjoyed the titles and trappings of military position, but not the duty” (Machling 2012:86). Despite all the turmoil, Nevis planters continued to import slaves at a rate of 1,000 per year—less than Barbados or Jamaica, but more than they had imported during the years of peace (Dunn 1972:140). Those familiar with the

90 / Chapter 4

destruction of Port Royal, Jamaica, in 1692, will recognize several parallels between the stories of its sinking and that of Jamestown on Nevis. While neither town was completely destroyed, each suffered decline in significance. On Nevis, priority of place shifted to Charlestown, just as on Jamaica, Kingston eventually rose to prominence with the reduction of Port Royal. In 1707, Nevis again experienced a devastating hurricane. Disease again ravaged the population. In appeals to Parliament, there is mention of the combination of hurricane followed by drought, all coming on the heels of war. In the petition, The Case of the poor distressed planters and other inhabitants of the islands of Nevis and St Christophers, in America, we learn that: “The French invaded and burnt and destroyed all the dwelling-­houses, sugar works, and other buildings, carried away the greatest part of the negroes, coppers, stills, merchandizes & c., which reduced the inhabitants to the utmost extremity” (Case of the Sufferers, Acts of Nevis Counsil, 1710. Nevis Archives, Hamilton Museum, Charlestown). During the sec­ond invasion of 1782, the French restrained themselves from total destruction, electing instead to levy taxes. By 1782, the forts were in decay and the invasion a “mere formality” (Machling 2012:80). Frustratingly for researchers, many official documents were again destroyed. Fortunately, correspondence concerning the negotiations and capitulation between the French military tribunal, under Admiral Count De Grasse, and members of the Nevis Council have survived and offer highly revealing details of the economic condition of the colony. These remarkable documents surfaced in the 1920s in an unlikely place and were published unaltered by Arthur Watts in 1929. In addition to new requirements for shipping and trade under French authority, we learn that a hogshead of sugar on Nevis no longer had the value or esteem as that of St. Kitts. Letters to De Grasse from the president of the Nevis Council in 1782– 1784 deserve quoting at length (origi­nal spelling retained), because there is so much of interest contained within them concerning the fading sugar colonies, about the occupations of Af­r i­cans, and about the dependence on foreign imports of food. Nevis, Janry 20th, 1782 I had this morning the honor to receive your Excellency’s very ­polite letter of the 18th . . . in a year or two I make no doubt but this island will be able to raise much more provisions towards supporting its own slaves, but hitherto it has been our invariable custom to depend almost entirely on America, and since the war in that quarter—on our imports from Great Britain and Ireland alone: and trust me, Sir! I do

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 91

not exaggerate when I most solemnly aver that to my certain knowledge many plantations in this island are at present without a single day’s provision for their slaves and are obliged to grind their canes before they are ripe in order to feed their negroes with molasses. —(Watts 1929:45). Nevis [date unknown] . . . As to the cattle we beg leave to observe that we depend almost entirely on them to work our estates in grinding our canes and carting our property, and that ’tis therefore highly distressing to us to part with them at this very time when they are most wanted . . . the sugars of St Christopher are in general at least worth four or five shillings per hundred more than those of Nevis at any market . . . the lands of St Kitts are much richer and more easily worked . . . by calculation St Kitts averages crops of sixteen thousand hogsheads for about twenty five thousand negroes while they allow Nevis makes only four thousand hogsheads (which are smaller) with a little above eight thousand negroes . . . —(Watts 1929:69). Nevis, 3rd June, 1782 . . . If the boat which was brought down from Antigua will serve the purpose of the harbor master, I will endeavor to procure Sailor ­negores for her . . . four dollars from every Drogher . . . is a heavy tax that must ultimately fall on every planter . . . —(Watts 1929:101). From these letters and many others expressing similar sentiments, we gain a sense of desperation and that Nevisians were already experiencing steep recession before abolition of the slave trade—an argument against the premise that emancipation brought down the sugar industry. Planters were well aware of soil loss and diminishing sugar yields, knowledgeable of their dependency on North America, and uncertain of succor from England. The French successfully dismantled the military landscape, already decayed, leaving many on Nevis feeling especially vulnerable to change. It should be noted from these same documents that a portion of the enslaved population were capable mari­ ners, accustom to inter-­island commerce. Some of these plantation-­based sailors may have been vital vectors of communications between islands, and the French authorities make such an assertion (Scott 1986, 1996; see also Meni­ ketti 2012).

92 / Chapter 4

Figure 4.4. Sugar exports, in hogsheads, from Nevis, 1769 to 1775. (Data from Pares 1950; Sheridan 1961.)

We also learn from a plea before the Lords Commissioners of Trade that the estimated value of destruction was 150,000 pounds sterling and that, while they formerly shipped 12,000 hogsheads of sugar annually, they now could barely ship 2,000. Planters sought relief and financial support with the plea. Further mention was made of the impact on the shipping trade as fewer were now employed in carrying sugar from the island. Even with departure of the French, Nevis faced the realities of social changes abroad. Global trends and changing world markets influenced colonial development in surprising ways. The moral argument against slavery having moved slowly, abolitionists invoked a new tactic—economic in scope— that was more efficacious in a new capitalist-­driven social framework. Sugar manufactured in East India was reaching Lon­don in competition with West Indian sugar (Lobdell 1972). Indian sugar was ostensibly not a product of slave labor, and so attempts to have the pub­l ic assuage their conscience, while still having their sweetener, emerged from pub­lic campaigns encouraging the purchase of non-­slave sugar. Sugar from Mauritius entered the British markets in 1825, and ten years later sugar from East Indian colonies was admitted (Lobdell 1972). Restructuring of the tariffs on sugar from elsewhere in the empire by the British government initiated an economic crisis in the Caribbean. Between 1700 and 1800, there were barely thirty years in which England was not engaged in conflict—the cost of imperial ambition paid for with sugar-­based wealth. Freight rates and insurance during this century of war

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 93

Figure 4.5. Muscavado sugar prices in cwt in Lon­don for 1674 to 1775 (no data for 1701 to 1731). Fluctuations were caused by numerous factors, in­clud­ing overproduction, poor production, loss during war, industry expansion, and changes in policy toward competition. (Data from Duffy 1987; Galloway 1989; Pares 1936, 1950; Sheridan 1961; Williams 1963, 1970.)

maintained many planters in perpetual debt. Credit was not only a requirement to operate estates, but a necessity to maintain a planter’s lifestyle, particularly as consumer capitalism took firm root (Lobdell 1972; Batie 1976). Payment to creditors most of­ten took the form of sugar on arrival in English ports, and advances were made through agents and brokers. Planters on Nevis might never see actual currency (Sheridan 1961; Lobdell 1972; Batie 1976). In most cases, fines or debts were paid in pounds of sugar (Oldmixon 1708:197). When currency was available it usually took the form of Spanish reals or pillar dollars, minted in Mexico. These pieces-­of-­eight, as they were commonly called, had wide circulation beyond the Spanish Caribbean. These details of economic machinery meant that banking interests and houses of exchange were vested in plantation successes or failures, an aspect of capitalism’s reifying internal structure. The value of one’s currency then fluctuated with the fortunes of the market and ones’ ability to get it and the product to market in timely manner, or in the face of piracy or war, to reach any markets at all. Shipping accounts and letters reveal that planters’ agents of­ten followed a prudent course of packing sugar on several vessels rather than risking all to one. While safeguarding his shipment, the trader gambled that market prices would remain stable until all his sugar was transported. Figures 4.4 and 4.5 illustrate price exports in sugar from Nevis and price fluctuations in Lon­don.

94 / Chapter 4

Sugar Trade The sugar colonies would become important considerations to imperial strategy (Barrett 1965:147). There is some debate over primogeniture of the English sugar trade. Dunn (1972:122) asserts that Nevis was the first of the Leeward Islands to convert to sugar. However, credit for this distinction is given to Barbados by Batie (1976:2). Whichever is the case, there is no denying that sugar gained major significance after 1640. The importance of sugar as a trade commodity between the years 1655 and 1700 cannot be overemphasized. Demand for sugar increased dramatically and continuously, outstripping the available labor capacity and leading inexorably to a significant increase in slavery (Mintz 1985:54). While the English and French carried on extensive production, the Dutch sought to capitalize on trends by equipping plantations and competing for commodity transport (Galloway 1989; Emmer 1996, 1998; Klooster 1998; Edel 1969). Even when England was at war with the Dutch, planters might still ship sugar in Dutch vessels in violation of English Navigation Laws (Duffy1987; Klooster 1998). Nevis, also a preeminent node of slave trading, prospered greatly from this deplorable traffic in human cargo (Pares 1950; Dunn 1972; Hubbard 1996). Claims found in agents’ letters that enslaved Af­ ri­cans were in constant short supply derived in part from the shortened life span of many Af­r i­cans, owing to hard labor and well-­documented ill treatment (Hubbard 1996). Nevertheless, the numbers of enslaved on Nevis grew from 3,849 in 1678 to over 10,000 by 1788 (Edwards 1793; Dunn 1972; Wright 1991). A similar pattern is true for contemporary Barbados (Higham 1921; Galloway 1989). Experimentation yielded to market forces around 1650, as planters narrowed production to a virtual sugar monoculture. This does not appear to have been the approach followed by the French, where other commodities continued to be produced in significant amounts, but it must be recalled that French colonies were established on much larger islands. Nearly the entire network of roads on Nevis—which largely serves into the present—had been completed by 1675. Oldmixon’s (1708) history of Nevis cites the fertility of the valleys as a significant factor in the prosperity of plantations, but that mountain land was also cultivated. The mountain land “was much cheaper than the vale, being coraser and not easily cultivated. Tis the same with us in England and for the same reasons . . . “ (Oldmixon 1708:196). Mill operators employing animals principally chose horses, mules, or donkeys. Windmills were not yet common. Cattle were infrequently used. Most of the mill-­complexes we surveyed had animal mills even when windmills

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 95

were also present. Eventually the mule became the most important animal for such work in the Leeward Islands (Merrill 1955). Horses were brought from Lon­don, but also from Rhode Island. John Pinney, owner of Montravers Estate, imported camels for his mills in 1767, in an effort to find substitutes for horses. According to Pares (1950), the experiment was unsuccessful, yet the record reveals that camels were used for at least 23 years and at more than one estate (Pinney Papers; Nevis Journal 1780–90). In fact, camels were used on Barbados even earlier and are reported by Ligon in 1647 as carrying sugar to Bridgetown and bringing back “hogsheads of wine, beer and vineger” (Watts 1987:198). Some of the wealthier planters were said to have as many as five camels, so we may interpret this to mean the idea had merit. Although letters from agents on Nevis mention camels, it remains to find them listed in ship’s manifests. The Miscellaneous Lists and Deeds and Papers of Nevis 1783 (pp. 46– 47) inventoried “2 pairs of camel crooks and 3 camel breakers.” Other documents mention provisions for camels specifically (Nevis Journal 1780–90). Pinney was a rarity for Nevis; he had come as an indentured servant and left a wealthy man (Pares 1950). The Pinney story is not representative of all Nevi­ sian planters and must be used cautiously. There appears to have never have been enough cattle on the island to afford adequate manuring of any plantation, and planters were loath to set aside land for grazing. Ash from boiling houses was more commonly used as fertilizer. Even a large estate on Nevis of over two hundred acres in 1775 had only “4 bulls, 9 steers, 12 cows, 4 heifers, and 6 calves, along with 28 mules” (Pares 1950). Complicating the archaeological record, kiln waste was apparently shipped over as ballast to use as fertilizer as well. The historic record does not provide much evidence for the use of plows. The rocky soil would have made this tough going. With slave labor available in large supply after 1730, it is likely all turning of soil was through backbreaking labor with a hoe. Five complete wrought iron hoes and two fragmentary hoes have been unearthed during this study. Two were recovered from shovel tests, two as surface finds, and three from excavation units. For the would-­be planter during the eighteenth century, a number of treatises on estates and plantation operations were available. Most are of French origin and depict idealized plantations designed by la mèthode scientifique, intended to yield maximum harvests through efficient layout and labor management (Diderot 1751). These idealized layouts were possible in areas of flat land with contiguous rectangular estates (see for instance the estate layout by Ligon on Barbados [1673] or Avalle [1799]) (Figure 4.6). Layouts illustrated by Diderot (1751) suggest wide open spaces. Optimization of space and efficiency were the goals, while keeping en-

Figure 4.6. Idealized plantation from French treatise on estate management. Fixed boundaries for cane pieces are designated by Roman numerals. Various industrial works are ordered to one side of the great house, and slave dwellings are ordered in rows to the side. (From Avelle, Tableau Comparatif, Paris, 1799.)

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 97

slaved labor and servants under constant surveillance through careful space planning and at centralized locations relative to cane fields. Great house and overseers’ houses were situated relative to labor quarters such that all com­ings and goings passed under the watchful eyes of plantation authorities. Such arrangements contrast with contemporary literature praising the virtues of efficient plantation design. To a degree, surveyed sites confirmed the departure from idealized estates and support, in generalizable terms, an estate layout that isolated labor from the constant view of the owner/planter, at least until the early nineteenth century and the infiltration of mature capitalism. For the enslaved this would have had an unintended benefit by creating periods in which they would be outside direct supervision, sheltered from the viewshed of the planter’s estate house. Within such shadows of opportunity, enslaved Af­r i­cans might create a social structure and personal relationships among one another independent of control by the plantocracy. In part the observed spatial arrangements may have been necessitated by the linear nature of the estates of which we have information, yet there was still sufficient space on plantations to have followed contemporary planning models. In practical terms, the archaeological record suggests planters were permitting labor housing only on marginal lands, while maintaining social distance through physical separation. Marginal lands were those areas considered unsuitable for agriculture, either owing to rocky outcrops, steepness, or proximity to ravines with the likelihood of suffering from the occasional torrential runoff from storms. In the case of St. Kitts, Hicks (2007a:35) suggests estates were in long strips from coast to mountain, as on Nevis, and that some aspects of the landscape reveal a tension between old agro-­industrial feudalism and an emerging “aristocratic capitalism” (Hicks 2007a:40). The few extant Nevisian estate maps from the eighteenth century illustrate sugar works concentrated into a tight block with slave housing at some distance, and planters’ homes isolated further (Figure 4.7). The Clarke Estate map (undated) (Figure 4.8), for instance, illustrates “negroe houses” at considerable distance from the estate house. Furrowed farm plots alongside the houses suggest household-­scale provisioning. As for pasture, very little exists on the island, and planters used all reasonable pasture land for cane. Natural topography also meant that it would be unusual for any two plantations to have identical layouts even when coterminous or of similar size. As Gaspar (1992:133) suggests in his analy­sis of subtly negotiated “cracks in the [slave] system” on Antigua, “selective or measured compromise and concession could be less counterproductive than vengeful punishment.” Enslaved Af­r i­cans can be assumed to have recognized these gaps in surveillance also, and to have constructed lives to some degree independent of an all-­

Figure 4.7. Estate map from Nevis. Note the rectangularity of the estate lands and incorporation of differing environments from seashore to highlands. The estate also exists in detached parcels, signifying that labor had to move across the landscape. (From Caribbeana vol. VI, 2000, the Archives of the Nevis His­tori­cal and Conservation Society.)

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 99

Figures 4.8 Clarke Estate map depicting sugar works (left) and slave quarters (right), late eighteenth century. Note the works immediately adjacent to road. Slave quarters between two ravines. Original map rendered in watercolors. Estate house shown in another section of the map. (Permission for use from the Archives of the Nevis His­tori­cal and Conservation Society.)

smothering Euro-­colonial hegemony. Whether cultivating crops in competition with planters provoking legislation to prohibit the practice, as was the case on Barbados (Beckles and Watson 1987:281), carving paths through the forest to adjacent estates, as on Nevis, or appropriating and transforming imposed religious services to their own ends (Olwig 1992; Meniketti 2000), the enslaved found ways to work the liminal niches physically and materially. Sugar estates were not merely economically dominant, but dominating features of landscape. The criti­cal element for analy­sis of this new Phase II landscape was its scale, in terms of both size and vastly increased number of estates, underscoring the capitalist investment in factory production. Structures during this period were built fortresses-­like, with a sense of permanence. The thick walls functioned to insulate interiors from oppressive heat. It also served to trap heat. The smaller mills gave way to large complexes, and many small operations were reconfig­ured with new technology to be more productive. Such configurations suggest that those who settled during the last quarter of the seventeenth century with an eye toward becoming a “West India Planter” followed a different economic strategy from their predecessors in part because prime land was unavailable, but more notably because a great deal of investment capital was required, greater than previously necessary. Larger estates and acquisition of existing plantations provided the easiest ave­nue, if not

100 / Chapter 4

the only practical way, for entrepreneurs to insert themselves into the already surging and profitable sugar market. Such an approach was not practiced before the late seventeenth century and is indicative of important changes occurring in financing and investment practices in banking institutions. Entry into the plantocracy was no longer open to all.

Plantations Colonists were attempting to replicate their familiar diet in every way and imported nearly all foodstuffs from mutton to fish (Dunn 1972:208). The butter was said to be “bad and the cheese worse” ( Jeffers 1772b:524). The lack of setting aside land for domestic food production was no accident, as is clear from testimony from “A West India Planter,” as he called himself, speaking on the need for continued imports of foodstuffs from continental colonies and subsidies from Parliament: “thus the land and labour of the country being devoted to cultivation of the sugar cane, the corn and provisions they raise are merely accidental . . . to the sugar cane everything is sacrificed as a trifle to the major object” (Richard Glover, 1775). A plantation required at least four different land components: fields for cane (cane pieces), forest reserves for fuel, pasture for stock, and provision grounds for slaves (Owens 1755; Rees 1819; Batie 1976; Galloway 1989). The latter two were thought of in much the same way. Stone walls were used regularly to delimit boundaries. Provision grounds were plotted adjacent to Af­r i­can houses. As for pasture, very little existed on the island, and planters used nearly all reasonable pasture land for cane, as is evidenced by terracing. The layout of milling, boiling, and curing facilities began to achieve standardization in the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century, but not its placement within the estate. Rather, proximity to roads and needs of transportation are the variables of most importance to estates. A different conceptualization of efficiency and a greater accommodation to natural environmental constraints than the idealized plans would accommodate is evident in the archaeological landscape for this development period (Meniketti 2006). Many of the sugar works and factory buildings documented in the field support instead this interpretation, that land contours were carefully considered and integrated into construction design. None conform to cardinal compass directions, as was found to be the case for nineteenth-­century sites surveyed, and all nestle comfortably into hillsides or other topographic features. While the agricultural landscape was devoted to sugar cane, at least some patches were set aside for food crops, and numerous non-­native species of food and sport animals were introduced by the English. Writing of Nevis in

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 101

1772, Thomas Jeffers described the hogs as feeding on Indian corn, Spanish potatoes, and sugar cane (essentially the same diet as slaves). Guinea fowl and turkey, both imported, were fed much the same. These game animals were reserved for the planter’s sport. Grazing animals such as cattle and goats devastated the under-­story and stripped shrubs of bark. English sheep had been tried on the island but were ill adapted to the climate. West Af­r i­can goats and some Mediterranean species were introduced (Watts 1987:164). All these animals are present on Nevis today. Native plants stood little chance against the onslaught and voracious habits of non-­native animals. But native plants were also not a suitable fodder, and colonial stock, always underfed, grew smaller over time. According to Labat (1742), green vervet monkeys (Chlorocebus aethiops) were first introduced to the Caribbean as pets, some escaped, and now these old world species have permanent residence. Although there is little supporting evidence, the story may nevertheless be true. What matters is that the environment was altered appreciably by their presence, and they continue to plague Nevisians, stealing ripe mangos and other fruit. Mongoose (Herpestidae javanicus) were also introduced in the 1800s as a means of controlling another insidious stowaway—rats—in the cane fields. As the species name indicates, this is an Indian species. Lizard, frog, and bird populations suffered most. Mongoose and rats seem to have arrived at a mutually beneficial truce. The untenable practices of human colonists, however, were of equal or greater impact. Nevis was famous for the variety and size of lizard species, noted by the first settlers as an important food for native Carib populations. One variety grew to five feet in length (head to tail extremity) and about one foot in girth. Called Ouaymaca, these behemoths were soon eradicated from Nevis through hunting. Oldmixon (1708:198) relates that natives showed the first settlers how to eat them. Indigenous people as far as the Greater Antilles exploited the iguanas (and their eggs) for protein (Watts 1987:63). They were apparently hard to kill. Three shots from a gun was said to fail in dispatching the animal. Carib natives showed that a stick thrust up the nostril was all it took. They were supposedly delicious but not to everyone’s taste (Smith 1720:​ 86). One early colonist on St. Kitts wrote that the lizards “made a very good soup” (Watts 1987:164). By 1700 there were none left on Nevis. Several species of lizard, crab, bird, and snail—elements of the natural ecology—are no longer present. Oldmixon warns his readers that if they travel to Nevis and do not find these fauna, it is because “the creatures having been eliminated by the industry of their predecessors” (Oldmixon v. 2, 1708:200). These accounts all serve as indicators of a landscape evolving during settle-

102 / Chapter 4

ment. This early recognition of the impact humans have on the natural environment presages the environmental consciousness that would emerge during the Age of Enlightenment, which would be made manifest in planned landscapes and gardens. In all, biologists believe some 87 species have become extinct in the Caribbean during historic times (Merrill 1958; Watts 1987; Barlow 1993). Early explorers such as Captain John Smith (Churchill and Churchill 1732[1629]:​ 334) and Sir Henry Holt (Harlow 1925:84) were greatly impressed by the forests and hardwoods, the latter of which were rapidly exported. The forests were burned to clear land for planting (Merrill 1958). Thus begins the end of the “paradise” described by Columbus. Landscape changes and development appear to keep apace with historic and economic indicators for change. With new capital came new entrepreneurs, and as would-­be planters expanded into marginal lands or to higher elevations, clear-­cutting produced erosion. Such erosion would, over time, contribute to topsoil loss. Such changes are also reported for Barbados (Watts 1987; Galloway 1989). Communication between the colony and England was maintained through constant maritime exchange. Some 50–60 ships arrived at Nevis annually (Davis 1962; Dunn 1972; Duffy 1987). This number includes only known commercial vessels and slavers, but does not account for smaller vessels or inter-­island traffic. Nevis was by no means isolated or on the economic margins, despite being a peripheral outpost. Ships were not only vehicle for commerce, but instruments of colonial and imperial policy as well. The years encompassed by Phase II (1655–1782) were also a period of almost constant conflict within the Caribbean. As can be seen in Table 4.1, scarcely 30 years during this long century enjoyed a fragile peace. In Whitbeck’s opinion, the Caribbean was the cradle of British sea power (Whitbeck 1933:22). It was in these waters that the navy matured and “in no waters have European nations fought more doggedly for supremacy than they fought for their islands in the Caribbean” (Whitbeck 1933:22). In part this was driven by an increasing interest in control over the colonies by the crown (Hicks 2007:29). Caribbean conflicts were based in the imperial economy of sugar.

Phase III, 1782–1833 A dispatch in the Columbian Centinel (1795), a Boston newspaper, reported that privateers (pirates) from Nevis attacked shipping from the United States. No longer colonies, relations between the states in North America and the island colonies became strained, even though many in the Caribbean were

Table 4.1. Overview of the Continuous Conflicts among Competing European States that Disrupted Commerce and Development throughout the Caribbean, 1600–1833 Seventeenth Century 1600

Eighteenth Century 1700 1702 1706

Nineteenth Century 1800

War of Spanish Succession France invades Nevis

1805 1812

Napoleonic wars cont. War with United States

1833

Emancipation

1713 1618 1627 1629 1630 1640

Thirty Years War *Nevis Settled *Spanish attack Nevis English Civil War

1648 1652 1654 1655

First Dutch war *War with Spain Cromwell’s Western Design 1756 1763

1665 1667

Second Dutch War

Continued on the next page

Seven Years War

Table 4.1. Continued Seventeenth Century 1672 1674

1688

Eighteenth Century

Third Dutch War

War of Grand Alliance vs. French and Dutch

1776

War of American Independence

1782

France invades Nevis

1789

Haitian Revolution

1792 1793 1697

Nineteenth Century

French Revolution & Napoleonic wars

Sources: Data based on Merrill 1958; Pares 1936; Newton 1967; Hubbard 1996; Davis 1962; Williams 1970.

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 105

sympathetic to the Ameri­can cause. The outcome of Ameri­can merchants had as much impact on economic well-­being as the French invasion. Nevis imported building materials and manufactured goods from Ameri­can colonies and traded in rum. The North Ameri­can colonies had been ­important trading partners and criti­cal for maintaining infrastructure (Davis 1962; Dunn 1972; Carrington 2002). Some Nevis planters also owned estates in North America. To stymie continuing trade, Captain (later Admiral) Horatio Nelson was sent to Nevis aboard HMS Boreas to reassert British authority. His stay was brief, barely six months, but eventful. Nelson oversaw improvements to several decaying fortifications and met Francis (Fanny) Nesbit, of the Mont­ pelier Estate. In letters recently found in the British Library, Nelson referred to Nevisians as “a bunch of Ameri­cans” for their disrespect of British representatives and himself (Small and Eickelmann 2007). Writing in 1775, Nel­ son complained that “the residents of these islands are Ameri­cans by conne­ xion (sic) and interests . . . are as great rebels as ever were in America, had they the power to show it” (Hubbard 1996:107). Pragmatic and unlikely to find better prospects on a remote colony, Fanny consented to marriage with the up and coming Captain Nelson. Few would disagree that sweeping social reforms and accelerating technological innovations were influencing the sugar industry as the nineteenth century dawned. The first use of steam powered mills occurred in Cuba in 1797. Eventually, long after emancipation and the close of Phase III, nearly thirty mills on Nevis employed steam engines, yet this is far less than half the number of estates that might have employed them and seriously late into the nineteenth century. It is significant that, in Governor Iles’s detailed inventory of estates as late as 1871, only nine out of thirteen estates (70 percent) in St. Thomas Parish are listed as having steam mills, whereas in St. John, only five out of twenty-­four (21 percent) are so listed. St. Thomas Parish generally does not experience the powerful wind that is common in St. John. The majority of mills inventoried by Governor Iles during the nineteenth century were operating with wind, animal, or tandem combinations of power systems. The new steam-­driven technology was only slowly being adopted, particularly in regions where wind was constant. In St. George Parish, which directly fronts the trade winds on the southeast­ern side, only three of thirty-­ three estates (9 percent) had steam engines. Despite rapid advancements in the technology of steam power and evidence that numerous mills were exported to the West Indies by English engineering companies, adoption was slow (Deerr 1949). This pattern was also evident on Antigua, where by 1842 only six out of 125 mills used steam, and on St. Kitts only one was working

106 / Chapter 4

in 1833 (Lobdell 1972). However, a handful continued in use until the 1950s. Many of the estates on Nevis were in decline economically, and the addition of steam power might have been perceived as unfeasible, too expensive, or requiring too much change. Credit to invest also might have been in short supply for the smaller estates that made up the majority of plantations on Nevis. Furthermore, some planters might have envisioned the end of the sugar trade and simply refused to upgrade or believed they would not see return on investment. A more important factor may be social. There was a new dependency on external technocrats that may have caused traditionalists among planters to conservatively retrench. Perhaps social rather than technophobic resistance was at the heart of the matter. Planters had numerous financing opportunities and new instruments of support in the 1830s; yet, as the sugar industry continued to decline, only the most robust operations could secure credit. As cogently described by Lobdell (1972), lifestyle was an important element in the sugar colonies. Many estates had been operated by a “curious combination of sentiment and family pride” (Lobdell 1972:45). Banks were loath to extend credit to planters who frequently used large portions of loans intended as capital investments in infrastructure to support instead the lifestyle to which they felt entitled. Yet, it was better for banks to help an estate limp along, so long as bills were being paid, rather than to acquire a failed estate and its debts (Lobdell 1972). Phase III (1782–1833) in the history of Nevis ends as the formerly enslaved began to earn modest amounts of money though agriculturally based wage labor, till soil for their own needs on their own schedules, and sell their la­ bor within new economic structures imposed by restrictive laws. With emancipation came reconfiguration of the relations of production associated with sugar manufacture (Williams 1944; Mintz 1985).3 It has been argued that emancipation was to blame for the fall of plantations and crises in sugar markets, and for Nevis’s decline in the sugar trade. Lobdell (1972:33) cites contemporary concerns that rising costs in the sugar industry between 1835–1846 resulted from emancipation. We can only accept these arguments by ignoring the fact that, by the 1790s, sugar markets were already declining sharply worldwide (Lobdell 1972:32) and that production through­out the world was in transition. Sugar produced in India sold more cheaply in English markets than Caribbean-­produced sugar as a result of changes in tariff laws (Sheridan 1961: Mintz 1985; Galloway 1989; Carrington 2002). In truth, emancipation had less effect on production than did the development of free trade or the introduction of beet-­sugar. Steam engines seemed an answer for declining labor (the slave trade had

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 107

ended in 1807, but not slavery) and for the uncertainty of winds. But the cost for some was prohibitive, for in addition to the credit required to purchase engines, there was the cost of constructing new facilities for housing the engine, storing fuel and spare parts, not to mention the price of fuel itself, which of­ten had to be imported if bagasse was depleted. The technological transition on Nevis reflects the larger industrialization revolution underway in Europe and America, both in terms of the a­ lterations in landscape it wrought, new labor arrangements, and the varied resistances it met. A new industrial landscape took form as chimneys appeared alongside windmill towers. What the steam engine allowed was relative liberation from environmental dictates and whims, while new spatial arrangements became disconnected from patterns of conforming to the contours of terrain so common in previous phases of construction. Today, iron engine parts manufactured in Glas­ gow, Scotland, Ireland, or Derby, England, litter Nevisian estate grounds, rust­ing evidence of plantation industrial changes. Ironically, in the midst of technological innovation this period also was the beginning of a major de­cline from which there was no recovery. Another revolutionary technological innovation, the curing centrifuge, which reduced curing time from months to weeks, had equally profound impact on production (Scientific Ameri­can 1850). The plantocracy continued to view former bondsmen as “their workers.” The formerly enslaved, now termed “Labor” in a broader sense, had acquired new leverage, however, which could be exercised at harvest time (­ Beckles and Watson 1987; Gaspar 1985, 1992). Fighting to diminish this leverage, planters attempted numerous legal maneuvers and enacted legislation aimed at curtailing liberties. The French and English systems can briefly be contrasted to illustrate a basic inequity. Throughout the French islands there existed social strata in which free blacks to some degree could insert themselves—niches they could fill—whether in skilled trades or colonial service, despite the Code Noir (Dubois 2004). For instance, on Saint Domingue, “free-­coloreds” could become planters themselves or officers in the military. Conditions were generally quite different within the English system, which structurally denied entry into colonial society to most former enslaved. Although there were exceptions, the general expectations were that agricultural workers would remain agricultural workers. Planters and formerly enslaved laborers each viewed the concept of free­ dom and wage labor in a different light. Many laborers began immigrating to other colonies, where work was more plentiful or where Crown land was

108 / Chapter 4

Figure 4.9. Coastal ­erosion and decline of wells evident in Lower St. John Parish. This well is situated along the original Lower Round Road dating to the early ­eighteenth century.

more readily available for settlement, remitting earnings to family and initiating a pattern that continues to this day (Olwig 1993). These new demographic, economic, and social transitions signal the end of Phase III, and a new chapter in Nevisian history begins, one in which decay of infrastructure and decline are most evident. Even wells began to degrade (Figure 4.9). In summary, from first settlement of the island until the period of emancipation, the efforts of colonists were focused on agricultural development of luxury commodities. Such commodities as inidgo and tobacco, despite early success, were supplanted by sugar production. The goal of most settlers, achieved by only a few, was quick wealth and a return to their homeland. That any Europeans stayed was more an outcome of the economic and po­liti­cal realities than from desire. The basic social structure on Nevis during Phase I can be viewed as essentially similar to St. Kitts—a system having characteristics of feudalism linked to a changing economic base. Nevis was largely untouched by the conflicts between European states that played out

Nevis History, 1627–1833 / 109

in Caribbean waters until the 1700s. As a result, Nevis enjoyed a prosperity and productivity out of proportion to its size among the sugar colonies. Through the 1700s, slavery remained a powerful institution alongside sugar production that sustained an emerging capitalist economic system. As sugar transitioned from a luxury to a staple, planters introduced new technologies to boost production and new managerial structures that would be the harbingers of change and a capitalist framework. The French made serious inroads in British territories through the 1770s and again threatened in 1780 to take complete control of the Caribbean. So strange are the tides of politics in this era the nascent United States Navy would engage the French (previously an ally) in their first ever action at sea. The Constellation would defeat the French ship L’Insurgente in the waters of Nevis in 1799. France was itself involved in revolution, and soon Saint Domingue (later renamed Haiti) would stage its own revolution inspired by the Rights of Man promulgated both by Ameri­can and French revolutionaries (Dubois 2004). With economic upheaval following the French capture of Nevis 1782, Nevis entered a new phase and a decline to insignificance. It was not emancipation or lack of enterprise that brought about decline, however. Global factors, such as East Indian sugar, new competitors in an emerging capitalist market, and a damaged environment all contributed to worsening conditions. A few planters, however, engaged in strikingly modern capitalist behaviors, consolidating estates, introduced new technologies and modified labor management practices to continue their productive capacities into the late nineteenth century, all the while continuing to manipulate and modify the landscape within a new paradigm of order and conformity to industrial needs.

5

An Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization Nevis ships a great deal of sugar and indigo every year, which would all be sold for the growth and manufacture of England, if the English merchants would do their part, but great part is bartered for beef from Ireland and fish from New England; but salt salmon and other fish for the north of England would beat out the New England trade if quantity enough were brought for the negroes, and people would rather give 4 lb sugar for good English beef than 2 lb for Irish. Though 40 ships have come and gone [yearly], nor has one blak or slave been brought these past five years, the injustice of which I will have further discourse. —Sir Charles Wheler, Governor of the Leeward Islands, 1671 to the Council for Foreign Plantations (CSP Coll Ser v.7. 1671 #680)

The results of archaeological surveys discussed here are framed in terms of the elevation zones in which sites were situated and built or modified landscape. A chronology of sites is provided in Table 5.1. Evidence of plantations was always found during surveys, but little direct evidence of the enslaved Af­r i­cans who labored on them. This was not altogether unexpected considering the transient, perishable, and portable nature of slave housing.

St. John Parish The lower elevations of St. John Parish are sun-­baked and parched, characterized by scrub, acacia (Acacia nilotica), century plant (Agave caribaeicola) or aloe (Aloe barbadensis), vari­ous cactus in­clud­ing prickly pear (Opauntia dilleni), Turk’s caps (Melocactus intortus), organ pipes (Cephalocereus royenii), and other plant varieties adapted to poor soils needing little annual rainfall. The ground is rocky and barren of grasses. Except around residential areas, trees

Table 5.1. Chronology of Sites Investigated Site Number

Site Name

Parish

STKD5/29-1 JT[7-01] Indian Castle Rawlins SJ14MM5/16-2 SJMM8-29[02] no# STMM5/29-1 ST17aKD6/1-2 ST17aKD5/28-1 ST4aMM5/29-1 ST7aDR5/21-1 ST19KD5/26-1 ST19MM5-26-1 ST17MM5/28-1 SJ9KR5/22-1 SJ14KD5/19-1 SJ15MM5/21-1 SJ14(RD)5/19-1 no# no# no# no# no#

None Jamestown Port St. George Rawlins Lower SJ None ST Anglican Ch. None Tower Pariss Garden None None Rosingtons? None Pariss Garden Long Pt Road None Pembroke Richmond Dogwood Coxheath SJ Anglican Ch. Ft Charles Bush Hill

St. Thomas St. Thomas St. George St. George St. John St. Thomas St. Thomas St. Thomas St. Thomas St. Thomas St. Thomas St. Thomas St. Thomas St. Thomas St. Thomas St. John St. John St. John St. John St. John St. John St. John St. John St. John

Continued on the next page

Zone D D D B D C D D D B D C C C B D D D D D D D D C

Estimated date range

Category

Type

Phase

1625–1700 1625–1710 1650–1800 1650? –1800? 1650–1800 1700–1800 1675–current 1750–1900 1700–1950 1750–1875 1700–? 1750–1800 1700–1875 1700–? 1750–1875? 1650–1750 1675–1750 1700–1875 1785–1875? 1750–1875? 1700–1875 1675–present 1671–1785 1750–1900

rural urban industrial industrial industrial industrial religious industrial industrial rural industrial rural industrial rural rural industrial industrial industrial industrial industrial industrial religious military industrial

residential foundations mill complex mill complex mill complex mill complex church mill complex mill complex residential mill complex residential mill complex foundations residential mill complex boiling train mill complex mill complex mill complex mill complex church fort mill complex

I I II–III II–III I II II–III II–III II–III II–III II II II–III II II–III II–III II–III II–III II–III II–III II–III II–III II II–III

Table 5.1. Continued Site Number

Site Name

Parish

SJ12MM5/16-2 SJ12SS6/6-1 PW7-30/02-1 PW7-30/02-2 PW7-30/02-3 PW7-30/02-4 SJ12KD5/16-2 no# Village ST7aBB6/1-1 ST7aBB6/1-2 Village Village no# MM8/9-02-1

Prentis? Ridge Ridge Kitchen None None None None Ridge House Douglas Vaughan’s None None Harpie’s None Morgan’s None

St. John St. John St. John St. John St. John St. John St. John St. John St. Thomas St. Thomas St. Thomas St. Paul St. John St. John St. John

Zone

Estimated date range

Category

Type

Phase

C C C C C C C D D C C D D C C

1675–1875 1725–1875? 1750–? 1750–? 1750–? 1750–1800 1750–1875 1700–1875 1833–1900 1800–? 1800–? 1800–19?? 1830–? 1850–19?? 1850–19??

industrial rural/indst ? ? ? industrial rural/indst industrial rural ? ? urban industrial rural rural

mill complex residential foundations foundations foundations boiling train residential mill complex village foundations foundations village mill complex village residential

II–III II–III II II II II II–III II–III III– III– III– III– III– III– n/a

Note: Sites described in this study arranged relevant to phases. Only sites with structural components are listed. Because artifact scatters were assessed in the field solely to provide phase data, but were not collected and counted, valid statistical date ranges cannot be made for the purposes of this table. Sites with multiple data sets, such as architecture, artifacts, and any documentary information, were incorporated into this chronology.

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 113

were ­limited to isolated stands of Logwood (Haematoxylum campechianum). This tree species is an import from Mexico. Indeed, nearly all of the trees mentioned are imports, many from Africa. Aloe was most extensive in areas of abandoned domestic structures from which it seems to have spread. Aloe thrives on the slopes of deep ravines, which jaggedly scar the landscape. In the gentle sloping terrain, terracing was common but widely spaced. Military aerial photos of one stretch of lower St. John dating to the 1940s clearly show the extensive use of terracing. The fields are relatively level at less than 5 percent grade and today are either covered in acacia or lie barren and desolate. At a time when these fields were blanketed in sugar cane, it would have been possible to view the operations of at least two other mills from any of the mill-­complexes. In a comprehensive study of Jamaican coffee plantations, James Delle (1998, 1999b) suggested that such line of sight configurations on the landscape may have been intentional as a means increasing surveillance over laborers. This is entirely possible, but on Nevis it may also be an accident of topography in the lower elevation zones. GIS viewshed analy­ sis conducted for this study suggests that the topography was sufficiently flat to have presented no obstacles between estates and therefore immediate adjacency would have allowed such sightlines unintentionally. At higher elevations, however, the issue is far from settled. Five sugar works were encountered with windmill towers in poor condition. Two of these are identified on the 1984 OSM as Brown Estate and Pembroke. The other works could not be identified, and their poor condition and lack of artifacts made it difficult to assign a reliable date. Each of these five estates were connected to a historic road via spur roads, and three were linked along a road which ran in a line from the sea up to higher elevations. The estates located closest to the coast were connected by the historic Lower Round Road, shown on early maps. Much of the Lower Round Road disappears at the shoreline cliff, a further reminder of the dynamic environment and relentless coastline erosion. The picture that emerges from landscape analy­sis is one of interconnectedness—estates linked to other estates by networked roads.

Pembroke Estate The Pembroke sugar works located adjacent to Brown Hill Village was recorded during this study as an example of a reasonably intact sugar works. This village is at a criti­cal juncture on the historic landscape, between several plantations and joined to them by roads which radiate into a vast network. A crusher with gear and center spindle was found on the edge of the

Figure 5.1. Pembroke mill-­complex. SJ5MM5–21–1. May 2003. The animal mill is ­irregularly shaped. The structure was built on a bluff overlooking terraced fields. The north side of the mound supporting the mill may be artificial. Feature F is built over flat bedrock that appears to have been incorporated in the design as a floor surface. A: cistern: B: distillery. C: boiling train (fireboxes). D: animal mill platform. E: curing house. F: storage facility? G: residence, brick flooring. H: cistern. K: foundation. pv: paving stone. br: brick.

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 115

Figure 5.2. Central gear and spider of a vertical tree-­roller crusher extant at the Pembroke mill.

animal mill platform at Pembroke (Figures 5.1 and 5.2). This machine assemblage known as a “spider” was nearly complete. These industrial components are more of­ten found separately. All other industrial artifacts had been salvaged his­tori­cally, apparently from the boiling train, which had been torn asunder to access the coppers. Situated on a bluff to the west of Brown Hill Village, Pembroke exhibited features not found at other mill works, but exhibited the same spatial orientation attempting to fit the vari­ous functions of the complex into the extant topographic contours. Although alignment of these structures did not coincide with cardinal compass points, the layout took advantage of stone slab outcrops for flooring in a staging area, as well as high ground for placement of the animal mill. The engineers of the factory complex had made use of natural topography in the construction to save on materials and labor. The juice retention vats and boiling house were each on lower ground, artificially set lower by means of excavation during its construction, to allow gravity feed to the vats for crushed cane juice. The mill platform was artificially raised above surrounding works, but was nonetheless built on the highest ground, perhaps reducing the need to build it very high. Measurements of the mill taken at several diameters suggest it was not symmetrically round, giving it a slight distortion in plan view. How-

116 / Chapter 5

ever, this may be due to slumping, as the platform was artificially raised on its north­ern side with stonework. Additional structures on the site are each aligned along a north/south axis and demonstrably dateable to the nineteenth century.

Beaumont Estate A rather curious mill complex, disassociated from the other survey quadrats, but visible below project headquarters, adds to the overall picture of linkage. The sugar works stand at the juncture of roads leading between Montpelier Estate and Village Cox (Figures 5.3). Village Cox is the upper terminus for the historic road linking the coastal estates described above. It consisted of a raised animal mill five feet high (1.52m) and adjacent boiling house with three fireboxes (there may have been four based on spacing, but the possible fourth was obscured by a tree growing out of the structure). The mill was 30 feet (9.12m) across, which was small compared with most mills encountered during survey. The boiling house measured approximately 27 feet by 42 feet ( 8.2m x 12.8m) and is aligned on cardinal points north-­ south. Interestingly, with masterful construction, the boiling house is sunk into the ground below the mill, which gives the mill greater relative height. Two other small masonry structures stood nearby. There was no sign of any curing facility. Iron mill components were present on the mound and in the surrounding brush. This complex has tentatively been identified as the Beaumont Estate shown on the Burke Iles 1871 map, bearing in mind the distortions inherent to that map. This site is included here as an example of the modest-­scale mills that characterized many estates on Nevis through­out much of its history. The complex is not visible from any other estate in the area because it is situated in a low-­lying flat between two hills. It makes sense to have an animal mill in this location where the wind scarcely is felt, but the location is also economically sensible for a middling planter. The owner of a home adjacent to the mill explained that he was the caretaker of the site and that his family had been caring for it since at least 1900. It has all the construction hallmarks of an eighteenth-­century mill. Further along the road are additional sugar works, many of which are carved out of the surrounding hillside and thickly overgrown, surrounded by extensive terracing (Figure 5.4).

Coxheath and Dogwood Estates Also within this cluster of estates are two mill-­complexes that were in operation from the late seventeenth to early nineteenth centuries, judging from construction details (such as type of cut stone and mortar finishes) and sur-

Figure 5.3. Small sugar works, possibly Beaumont Estate. Sandwiched beneath Saddle Hill and Cole Hill, the location is poor for a windmill. Instead, an animal mill was used.

118 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.4. Unidentified sugar works (PW7–30/ 02–4). Probable late Phase I or early Phase II boiling structure located on the outskirts of Cox village in an 800-­feet elevation.

face artifacts. Both are shown on the Burke Iles 1871 map and known to be operating into the nineteenth century. These were easily identified as Coxheath and Dogwood Estates. To date, neither works has been fully documented, but each has attributes worth noting. Both had animal mills and windmills, which dovetails with the overall pattern for this lowest elevation zone below 500 feet (152.4m). Dogwood is listed by Iles as having a steam engine in 1871, but we found no clear evidence to support this.1 Both are impressive factory-­scale facilities with adjacent residential components. Dogwood Estate has several cisterns, one measuring an immense 41 feet (approx. 12.5 m) in diameter. With vaulted cellars, expansive staircase, and multiple rooms, the residence at Coxheath was substantial enough to warrant the title of “great house.” The imposing structure overlooked the boiling house and mill. This pattern, whereby the planter’s residence is in close proximity to the factory, is

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 119

one which appears frequently in the Nevisian landscape from the late seventeenth through nineteenth century. The animal mill at Coxheath measured 52 feet (15.85 m) in diameter and is close to being the largest on Nevis. The vaulted windmill tower was smaller. Many of the wooden components of the mill superstructure rest against the interior walls. The road linking the village of Cox with Coxheath Estate parallels the Grandee Ghut, a major drainage trench. At several locations along the ghut, artifact scatters of primarily domestic materials were recorded. Stone house platforms, small plastered cisterns, and features of nineteenth-­century construction are indicators of a modest-­scale laborers’ hamlet or village, consistent with finds elsewhere on Nevis. The Coxheath Estate was eventually absorbed into the holdings of the Bush Hill Estate (Small and Eickelmann 2007). The Parish of St. John slopes gradually, but continuously upward from the sea and is characterized by narrow valleys and hills as one approaches 1,000 feet (305m) elevation. Terracing was found in every quadrat, and as might be expected, is more distinct in hilly areas. Stacked dry stone walls used to create the steps of flat land were measured to range from two to four feet (.6–1.3m) in height, depending on slope, and as great as 15–18 feet (4.5–5.4m) broad. Most of the population of St. John Parish today is concentrated in villages along the entire length of the island’s principal road. Survey evidence, however, strongly indicates a more diffuse population in the past, with numerous now abandoned house clusters close to sugar mills. Unfortunately, the site histories of house clusters could not be determined from surface scatters. Flat irons (household irons for pressing clothes) were so frequently found among the stones that survey crews came to refer to the corridor as “iron alley”— clearly a nineteenth-­to early twentieth-­century occupation episode. Two fragments of a pictorial plate commemorating the coronation of Edward VII of England in 1901 were located in a midden surrounded by stones, possibly a house platform.

High-­elevation works In St. John Parish the Morgan’s Estate is at 1,000 feet (305m) elevation. The ruins border an open cattle-­grazing field and are bisected by remnants of a ­cobble road that links with the Upper Round Road. It has a windmill and attached vaulted storage structures of mid-­eighteenth century construction. The mill stands like a sentinel above the village that descends along the slope below, beginning from the opposite, west side of the road. The road cuts through the grounds, and foundations exposed in the roadbed suggest that this part

120 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.5. Face of boiling house. High-­elevation Source Trail site. This recently discovered sugar works exhibits several components of Phase I and II in its construction. Structure had built-­in distillery.

of the road is not contemporary with the origi­nal mill operations. Associated with the complex is the site of Morgan’s village (investigated archaeologically in 2013). The upper elevation zone within St. John from 1,000–1,500 feet (305m– 457.2m) has very little modern habitation. Historic sugar complexes and great houses, however, were built even within this increasingly steep terrain. In two locations deposits of seventeenth-­and eighteenth-­century material culture were exposed in fresh road cut grading. These artifacts suggest that, even before 1700, clearing of the slopes was widespread and that upper elevations were exploited for agricultural production and residences. In St. George Parish, two additional previously unknown mill-­complexes were discovered at this elevation zone close to 1,500 feet independently by local mountain guide Jim Johnson (Figures 5.5 through 5.8). Neither one has been identified yet from historic records, but both can be dated to the seventeenth century on the basis of construction details and artifacts. Both complexes have animal mills, and the barely discernible cobble road extends precipitously downslope to connect with the historic main island road and upslope to connect with a historic route to the island’s main water source.

Figure 5.6. Schematic of Source Trail site, St. George Parish.

Figure 5.7. Schematic of high-­elevation “Johnson site,” St. George Parish.

122 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.8. Schematic of the probable “hurricane house,” St. George Parish.

A third, enigmatic find on the mountain just below the Source Trail above 1,500 feet (457.2m) may be a rare example of a hurricane house. The Source Trail is named after a spring that is the historic “source” of all reservoir water on the island, located high on Mt. Nevis. These finds corroborate historic maps to some degree, but maps are not indicative of ownership. Hurricane houses were robust, low-­aspect structures, intended as refuge during hurricanes. As described by Rev. Robert Robertson (1733) of Nevis in a letter to England, these structures were more common seventy to eighty years before (around 1650), were 14 to 16 feet (4.2m–4.9m) square, from three to four feet (.9m–1.2m) from the ground to the wall-­plate, with arched hardwood timber roofs. He describes seeing such buildings for this purpose on Martinique and other French islands as well. The walls are very thick, and the single room “capacious enough to hold all the white and black family,” along with furniture of value and food stores, and perhaps poorer neighbors. The structure found, although slightly larger than described by Robertson, is fundamentally such a construction with rounded corners, three-­foot thick walls, and mortises for stout timbers (eight inches sided) at three feet above the ground. An internal cistern three feet square was built into one wall. No other structures were associated with this structure.

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 123

Figure 5.9. Vista from Saddle Hill toward Ridge House (A), Ridge Mill (B), and Bush Hill Estate (C). Tentatively identified the Ridge House and mill-­complex as Prentis Estate.

Investigations at higher elevations in St. John Parish demonstrate not only that steep ridges and seemingly marginal lands were exploited for planting and mill operations, but that even in difficult terrain the desire to conform to natural topography remained compelling. Two upper elevation sites were examined thoroughly during 2004–2007. These structures were given the name Ridge House and Ridge Mill-­complex. The Ridge Mill-­complex is situated on the side of a bluff immediately below Saddle Hill, with an expansive view of terraced slopes (Figure 5.9). Both the mill and residential structures provide a glimpse into the operations of a moderate-­scale settlement. The residential structure associated with this site was built just downslope of the associated mill-­complex. Based again on the 1871 Iles map, these features have tentatively been identified the site as the Prentis Estate. Additional documentation will be necessary to confirm this beyond a reasonable doubt owing to the presence of three other estates in the immediate vicinity. The Burke Isles 1871 map depicts only one estate in this area. The parish by parish listing of estates and plantations included in Governor Iles’s appendices does not mention or describe Prentis. In such a case, it must be assumed that the estate was not active during the governor’s tenure.

Figure 5.10. Schematic of the Ridge House plan.

Figure 5.11. Southwest corner of Ridge House.

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 125

Ridge House and Ridge Mill The structures were found in 2002 but could not be systematically documented at that time. Their proximity to a mill-­complex and modest scale house point to their being an agent’s residence or home of a planter of modest means and limited holdings The Ridge House had a single threshold centered on the north side wall with remnants of imported slate flooring and fine masonry (Figures 5.10 and 5.11). Walls were two feet (.6m) thick, and foundation stones were particularly massive, suggestive of a sec­ond story support. A complete recording of the site was carried out in 2004. The north side opened onto a leveled area demarcated by a stacked stone dry masonry wall. This area had been artfully leveled and packed to produce a court or garden with light square paving. Traditional multistoried structures on Nevis generally have a stone ground floor serving as both foundation for a sec­ond floor and as storage cellar, with entry on the sec­ond floor usually constructed of wood. A few such structures can still be seen in Charlestown. An eighteenth-­century structure in Charlestown, currently occupied, also has a stone first floor with ground level entry stepping down, just as the Ridge House exhibits, and might serve as model. Our reconstruction is based on measured drawings of the standing architecture and extant structures on Nevis, and follows Buisseret (1980). This multistoried building had a sec­ond level entry facing south and a ground level threshold opening onto the “garden” at the back. The house was perched on the very edge of the ridge, and the view from the leveled area was unobstructed toward Montpelier and Bush Hill Estates, with clear views of St. Kitts and St. Eustatius, and any approaching ships. The Ridge House structure faced southward, likely to take advantage of cooling breezes, but also views of the terraced fields below. Such a vantage point suggests the location of the house was a strategic decision (Figure 5.12). Downslope from the house, in a poor state of preservation, was the feature identified as the kitchen building. Maintaining the cooking separate from the main house was not uncommon, as it isolated fires away from the house, preventing accidental burning and reducing heat in the dwelling. The masonry structure measured 14 feet 9 inches by 22 feet (4.2m x 6.7m) with chimney rubble at its south wall and a refuse deposit of household ceramics. Wall thickness averaged 24 inches (.7m). Immediately west and south of the structure, the slopes are terraced at surprisingly close spacing, averaging 12 feet (3.6m) across. Artifacts on the terraces were characterized by eighteenth-­ century domestic wares, ubiquitous pipe stem and bowl fragments, and bottle glass, coarse earthenwares, and a scatter of porcelain (Figures 5.13 and 5.14).

Figure 5.12. Hypothetical reconstruction of the Ridge House based on extant masonry and artifacts. All shaded stonework in this illustration is in situ. Stairway off from side is suggested by terrain; however, a stairway directly in front of the door is also possible. Both styles have examples on Nevis.

Figure 5.13. An assortment of the many blue on white porcelains and pearlware tea sets from the Ridge House assemblage. In all, there were 166 porcelain and 59 pearlware shards.

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 127

Figure 5.14. Two bottle bases from Ridge House of distinctive type, late eighteenth or early nineteenth century.

The stout walls would have served the dual purpose of supporting a sec­ ond story and keeping the first floor interior cool. The foundation itself is supported by rough cut blocks ranging from 18 x 9 x 6 inches to 24 x 9 x 9 inches. Rubble fill and white mortar constitute the wall’s core. There is ample evidence the exterior walls had been thickly plastered, as it both clings to some of the stones and was found in excavation units. Excavated units reveal that the structure was built on a raised and leveled platform. An outcrop of rocks located immediately uphill from the Ridge House contained discarded bottle glass sufficient to suggest this has been a popu­lar drinking spot for at least two hundred years. A full range of types were recovered from the crevices. The mill-­complex has one of the largest animal mill platforms documented. The platform is built upslope above the boiling facility. It is similar to nearly all works and conforms to the footprint for sugar works across the island (Figure 5.15). The mill platform rose just above an adjacent cobble road and was accessed by a short earthen ramp. The west side of the platform stood six feet (2m) above the floors of adjacent structures and was finished in cut stone masonry. Although the location would seem ideal for a windmill, there was no trace

128 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.15. Ridge mill-­complex (SJ4MM5/16–1), July 2003. Possibly Prentis Estate. A: animal mill platform. B: curing facility. C: boiling house. D: add on room (unknown function). E: leveled platform with foundation. F: fireboxes. G: historic cobble road. 1–6: datum points. T1: trench across room.

of such a structure. We did not find the boiling caldrons (coppers) in situ, but this complex was not as badly robbed of stone as are less naturally camouflaged mills. Its west­ern wall, however, had been torn down to access the iron works. Based on its dimensions, the boiling room would have housed four or five coppers. A sec­ond, raftered clearstory supporting a hipped roof is suggested by extant architectural elements and timbering insets in the masonry. Similar construction can be found in contemporary illustrations.

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 129

Figure 5.16. Ridge mill-­complex west wall. The intriguing feature of room additions covering existing fireboxes is evident in this elevation drawing. A: fireboxes on external wall. B: walls (cut-­away) of the room addition. C: area of robbed stone on west wall. D: window and firebox aligned with trench T1.

Plastered flooring with a pronounced convex or canted interior relief was still evident. The complex had undergone several episodes of modification, suggesting repurposing. Most curious was the addition of a room to the exterior, which completely blocked one of the ovens. The stonework of the room addition butted against the existing exterior west wall. Construction was exceptionally well crafted in all other regards, with finely styled window and door frames, carefully dressed facing stones, and precise masonry at corners. However, other alterations were of far less quality or even crudely executed. Upper courses of stone work, especially on the north side, did not exhibit the same craftsmanship as the foundation and lower courses, and some walls were little better than stacks of borrowed stone. These were likely a much later addition. Significantly, all upper courses were “cheated” by use of extra mortar and filler stones rather than the close fitting masonry that typifies better construction and greater cost. In part, this was an answer to the lack of quality cut stone available to the masons making these additions. Lacking uniformity of size and shape, the stones were stacked into excess mortar or gaps were filled with irregularly shaped stones serving as wedges. This manner of construction may also indicate absence of master craftsmen as much as economic hard times. South of the complex a wrought iron shaft for a vertical crusher roller protruded from the ground. A clean-­out chamber on the north side was butted against the wall with mortar and therefore was not integral to the origi­nal structure, as it would have been if constructed at the same time and made integral to the building (Figures 5.16 and 5.17). Fieldwork at the site provided several anomalies. Clearing of the large central room in preparation of trenching across the floor was hampered by heavy

130 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.17. Face of boiling house of Ridge complex. The fireboxes have been filled in to support the reconfig­ured floor on the other side of the wall.

vegetation, but nonetheless exposed evidence of an interior wall not previously recognized. A mortared channel sloping toward the south and centered in the room suggested a sluice or collection vat in the room. Clearing the floor revealed it had been brought to its present level by filling. Artifacts recovered during this phase of work included iron hooks, chain, a wrought iron cane hoe, and numerous nineteenth-­century undecorated whitewares. However, the layer from which these artifacts came consisted of fill, therefore they cannot directly be associated with the history of the structure. Removal of the dirt exposed a cobble and mortar floor with traces of plaster. The floor sloped downward toward the center of the room from both west and east interior walls. The floors stopped at a cut stone and mortared edge, which formed a flush lip along the same axis as the room (Figure 5.18). The masonry lip was followed downward on each side until a cobble and mortar floor was reached. The rectangular chamber or vat and immediate area above it had been filled with large rocks and dressed stone, some requiring two persons to lift. Smaller stones and cobbles had been used to fill the internecine spaces. A masonry chamber on three sides was also exposed (Figure 5.19)

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 131

Figure 5.18. Cleared floor inside Ridge Mill boiling house before excavation. Lip of trough is exposed.

Curiously, there was no opening or avenue to the firebox that penetrated the underside of this floor from the exterior wall, despite being in alignment and below its position on the exterior wall. It can only surmised that the industrial uses of the building had changed in dramatic fashion. Rather than evidence of coppers and use of the room as a boiling house, instead a rectangular masonry vault was located that did not correspond to any port of the exterior elements of the building. The fill that had produced a level floor above the trough contained artifacts of late eighteenth-­through twentieth-­ century manufacture and almost certainly represent an attempt to recon­fig­ ure the room for a working storage area, if not a drafty residence. No industrial artifacts were found during excavation of the trough, which, considering it was comprised of fill, is not surprising. The masonry trough has striking similarities, in depth and configuration, to a structure located at Montpelier House known to have been used for processing cotton (Figure 5.20). Local

132 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.19. Schematic of excavated masonry trough and slanted floor in former sugar boiling facility exposed. Ridge Mill boiling house, July 2005.

informants mention cotton storage facilities in the ridge area even as late as the 1950s, so it is possible the sugar factory found new life repurposed for cotton after sugar production ceased to be viable or profitable. The artifacts from the Ridge House help illuminate site purpose, certainly, but also offer a glimpse into everyday social behaviors, and in particular, consumer behaviors associated with status and rank. By sorting the ceramic assemblage according to use arena (i.e., kitchen, storage, dayware, fine table­ware) as opposed to vessel type, allowed patterns related to household behavior emerge. Colonoware and other earthenwares, which were categorized as storage vessels, comprised 13 percent of the assemblage. Daywares, or unrefined whitewares, totaled 68 percent of the assemblage. Fine ceramics totaled 18 percent and, of these, the majority was represented by vari­ous tea services (saucers, cups, and teapots). In social contexts, serving tea acquires a specialized utility that is associated with a specific act. Hospitality also carried its own suite of behaviors and messages. One message announced that the user/server was among a social group for which tea is a hallmark and the message could be further enhanced or influenced through the objects used. The finer the ceramic, the

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 133

Figure 5.20. Open masonry trough at Mont­pelier. This structure once housed cotton ginning equipment, some of which remains in the trough.

stronger the message conveyed about rank and access to privileged material culture. Although the Ridge House was modest in size, the household assemblage reflects conscious efforts at status display, linking the residents to both the perceived culture of the elite, but also linking broadly to the culture of the core state from which the objects were obtained. Plantation society as a corporate unit was sensitive to status. A tangible indicator was adoption of new patterns of consumption during Phase II (1655–1782), as exemplified in the artifact assemblages. While this process involved myriad categories of material culture and suites of behaviors, the archaeological record preserves this transition best in ceramics because of durability and the ubiquitous nature of this commodity. Tools of agro-­industrial activity remained on the site and included mill parts as well as a stamped-­numbered and lettered cane hoe (Figure 5.21). The stamped number 5 may have served as an inventory code. A typology of hoe blade types from Kingsmill Plantation assembled by Kelso (1984:193) suggests a type III broad hoe ca. 1775.

134 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.21. One of the several cane-­hoes found during survey.

Long Point Road Site Two complexes described here have been grouped together for com­para­ bility—­the “Lower St John” (LSJ) and “Long Point Road” (LPR) complexes —as they represent two distinct eras and scales of operation within the lower elevation zone. By good fortune, the LPR complex was located just off the new Long Point Road, on government land. Permission was obtained to investigate the site archaeologically. A new government housing project was encroaching on the site, and the nature of this threat justified thorough documentation. The LPR (Figures 5.22 and 5.23) complex is comprised of five immediately apparent industrial features: a boiling facility, associated foundations for a curing house, a mound that proved to be an animal mill, an adjacent cistern, and an enclosure fronting the boiling structure. An animal pen in association and linked by a stacked dry stone enclosure wall surrounding the entire complex is a recent addition unrelated to the pre-­emancipation period. All iron industrial components were absent, and the boiling facility had been demolished to gain access to the cauldrons—a common practice. In fact,

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 135

Figure 5.22. Plan for Long Point Road site (SJ9KR5/22–1), June 2003. Boiling table and probable curing house. A: boiling table. B: curing house. C: foundations leading to mill platform. D: steps down to adjacent building.

much iron was removed from the estates during First World War by colonial authorities, although it cannot be certain if this is the reason these are missing here. Initial impressions from artifact scatters, construction details, and fragments of cauldrons picked up during surface collection suggest a mid-­ eighteenth century date for the mill-­complex. Several test excavations were conducted at the Long Point Road site to determine construction episodes. In addition to these test units, the entire enclosure was systematically shovel tested along a standardized three-­meter grid. Surface collection of artifacts was also conducted within the site enclosure. Collection of artifacts was not limited to diagnostic specimen. A grid of fifty 3m x 3m squares was laid over the site. A random 10 percent sample

136 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.23. Documenting the boiling table at Long Point Road site.

of the entire site was surface collected, with 100 percent of artifacts within the sample squares collected. The objective of this approach was to provide an unbiased sample of artifact material sufficient for characterizing the use of the site, as well as to give a framework for relative dating to be compared to dating of the site through architectural analy­sis. It is worth noting here that artifacts were of a typical domestic character, in contrast to the obvious industrial nature of the architecture (Figure 5.24). Two possibilities are likely: that the area was converted to residential use for a period after the mill stopped operating or that laborers were housed directly at the site during its period of operation. While the site exhibits recognizable, characteristic late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-­century industrial components, the artifacts constitute a late eighteenth-­and early nineteenth-­century assemblage. Based on this evidence, the survey was widened, revealing two adjacent areas of possible domestic occupations, as indicated by stone house platforms and charcoal scatters. People were living on the factory site during its period of operation. Shovel testing revealed deep charcoal deposits. Rather than pointing to household activity, this may be a relic of traditional small-­scale charcoal production or be associated with industrial waste.

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 137

Figure 5.24. Artifacts of late seventeenth-­century manufacture were found in this unit. Several hand-­painted types, sponge-­decorated wares, polychromes, and deeply incised blue shell-­edged plate forms.

When compared to other sugar works, the Long Point mill is among the smaller platforms recorded. It is likely that the entire area of the works was artificially raised above the surrounding fields. The adjacent boiling train measured 17 feet by 4 feet (5.1m x 1.2m) and is comparable to trains found elsewhere during the survey The sugar complex stands in a broad plain sloped slightly downslope toward the sea. The deep Sulfur Ghut runs to the sea not far to the north. Like the Ridge complex, a wall of stacked stones also encloses this site, but whether the two constructions are contemporary remains open to interpretation. Unlike the other complexes encountered, the LPR site has an associated stacked stone animal pen for holding livestock. The pen is adjacent to the mill platform. Foundations were surface-­cleared for recording. A broad threshold was centered on the east wall with the doorframe chiseled into massive cut stones, with average measurements of 24 inches (.7m). Evidence for stone flooring remained with clear signs of robbing. The curing house displayed a marked depression where its interior space had been gutted, perhaps to gain access to vats and other industrial material. Likewise, the boiling table had been de-

138 / Chapter 5

stroyed on its west­ern side to remove the cauldrons. This left the east side intact up to its mortared and dressed top course. The feature is referred to as a boiling table rather than a boiling house because it is raised above floor level and does not indicate it was enclosed by more than a wooden roof or awning, much as shown in sketches by Labat (1724). The feature fronting the boiling structure was of indeterminate function. Stacked stone walls lacked any mortar or evidence of similar construction and may be from a later period of use on the site. A plaster-­l ined cistern was adjacent to the animal pen. From the substantial footing revealed by excavation and the quality of construction, it can be inferred that the structure was multistoried and built by master masons, or at least a master managed the construction. Artifacts from within lower levels of the unit were few but informative, corroborating an assessment of late seventeenth-­century construction. The train once supported four coppers. Iron cauldron fragments were found during surface collection, possibly broken off during salvage. Destruction of the train made it difficult to determine its technological period, but evidence that it had been a Spanish train was found in traces of in­di­v idual fire boxes. Little to no trace of modification was indicated, but this may be misleading due to the nature of destruction. The associated cauldron fragments included a prop for a straight-­sided cauldron. There is some pictorial evidence suggesting this is a seventeenth-­century style that later gave way to curved and rounded forms. Unfortunately, no study of cauldron forms or chronologies has ever been published that would help confirm this.

Lower St. John Site One gets the false impression in the modern landscape that the Lower St. John site was extremely remote. Acacia and machineel trees block views in all directions, and time consuming clearing with machetes to reach the site only adds to the perception of greater distance. In fact, it would have been in clear view of other coastal complexes when the surrounding fields were planted in cane. Remnants of the former coast road are not far to the west and would have afforded easy transportation to Charlestown. A cobble plantation road was discovered less than 150 yards (137m) to the south directly bordering on the precipice of the Grandee Ghut adjacent to the site. Although this complex may have been in use during Phase I (1627–1655), the evidence supports a Phase II (1655–1782) period of operation with more certainty, so it has been grouped accordingly. No artifacts associated with Phase I were found (Figures 5.25 and 5.26).2 The complex is quite similar in spatial organization to the Long Point Road site, with an important distinction. The boiling house was more sub-

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 139

Figure 5.25. Lower St. John mill site plan (SJ14MM5/16–2), May 2003. The mill has striking similarity to the Long Point road site; however, this boiling table was enclosed by a masonry structure. A: boiling house. B: curing facility. C: mill platform. D: fireboxes and building addition enclosing the fireboxes.

stantially intact and was enclosed with a stone wall that once supported a hipped roof. The table no longer had cauldrons, but a remarkably intact boiling table remained (Figure 5.27). In contrast to the LPR site, the LSJ complex had a broad masonry wall on its west­ern side that gave the boiling house a sec­ond level clear-­story and would have supported an enclosing hipped roof over the narrow train. The boiling facility had undergone modification during its use-­l ife, being converted from a Spanish Train to a Jamaica Train. Its fireboxes were completely sealed off with carefully fitted stone. The train measured 24.5 feet (7.5m) of length by just less than five feet (1.5m) in breadth. Like the LPR

Figure 5.26. North elevation of boiling house and adjacent foundations of Lower St. John site. Nearly all of the dressed stone has been removed. The structure most likely supported a hipped roof covered in tiles. Number 1 indicates position of excavation unit. The unit reached a depth of one meter to fully expose filled firebox to origi­nal floor level.

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 141

Figure 5.27. View west from above boiling table. The circular opening for the smallest of the coppers is shown, and the inset for the lip of the copper is visible in the circular stonework and is cut into the masonry.

site, it once housed four cauldrons of diminishing size, but with the boiling table in such good condition it was possible to measure diameters from the cavities left behind. By comparison, many late eighteenth-­and nineteenth-­ century complexes had as many as six coppers. The platform of the animal mill was little more than a raised earthen mound. No channel or masonry was found to indicate a means of gravity feeding juice to the works, with barely a two percent grade, yet this may have been sufficient for juice to flow. Whatever mound had been present was now nearly flattened. A wide area search found dense artifact scatters of eighteenth-­ century domestic ceramics, bottle glass, and colonoware fragments among stone piles about 200 yards (182m) away on the edge of the ravine. In 2005, the surface of the mill platform was cleared, revealing a flat, rectangular stone platform, faced with a single row of roughly dressed stone. This was the foundation for the mill superstructure or perhaps remnants of an overseer’s/agent’s house. If the latter, there is still the puzzle of where

142 / Chapter 5

the mill was located. The former explanation seems more reasonable based on the topography. Excavations were carried out along the exterior west wall of the boiling house and along the interior at the juncture of the barely exposed firebox arch and the corner of the west wall. The aperture had been filled in with stone and crudely mortared. Mortar samples were taken for future analy­sis, along with samples of charcoal found in small pockets of the matrix. Two definite layers of floor construction were evident, each a blend of small 2–4 inch (6–10cm) cobble and mortar. At the base of the arch a floor of mortar and cobble/­gravel was encountered, which likely was the origi­nal floor, 56 cm below the current ground level. Above that there was rubble fill consisting of large stones, some cut/dressed stone, mortar, and cobbles, indicating a single fill episode producing a new elevated floor level. Raising the floor completely covered the firebox.

St. Thomas Parish Survey No sites within St. Thomas Parish were excavated. While St. John’s seashore was rocky, and marked by short precipitous cliffs, and active surf, St. Thomas, by contrast, has most of the island’s beaches and quiet marshes. Owing to the wedge shape of the parish, much of this survey region extends northward from Charlestown, ending at Hurricane Hill in the north. Historic French maps made in preparation of invasions depict defensive works and shore batteries running the entire length of the coast in St. Thomas. Early English maps also indicate defensive walls, as well as several small forts. The Belin map of 1758 was prepared by the French to indicate the defensive works of Nevis in anticipation of future conflicts. Between Fort Charles, built in 1675, and Newcastle to the north, Nevis was a fortress (Machling 2012). Three survey quadrats extended from the sea eastward, crossed the grounds of St. Thomas Anglican Church, and passed directly through its adjacent cemetery, where intricately carved mausoleums mark the graves of the island’s elite from the middle to late seventeenth century. The church stands prominently on the highest coastal ground between Charlestown and Hurricane Hill. Churches are an important aspect of the visual landscape, which, like estate houses, provide material reinforcement of the social relations that structured everyday life, wherein landscape and spatial elements are another form of material culture (Delle1999b:137). Among thorny acacia fields, a sugar mill-­complex was found comprising an animal mill, boiling house, fully intact cistern, and foundations for several associated structures. The mill-­complex has one of the best preserved mill platforms on Nevis (Figure 5.28). The mill-­complex had components from

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 143

Figure 5.28. Mill-­complex near Jamestown site (ST7altMM5/29–1). The much-­ collapsed and degraded structures A (boiling house), B (boiling table), and E (foundations) are of construction type suggesting Phase I and II, whereas the remainder of the facilities indicate modifications and improvements in Phase III, or even later. The animal platform was in excellent condition and is raised above the surrounding structures that are all situated on flat, swampy land. C: cisterns. D: storage building. F: mill platform. G: well and platform.

several eras and architecturally straddles multiple historic phases. Because this structure is in the immediate area of Jamestown of legend, it suggests that Jamestown was not entirely destroyed, but recovered sufficiently from the natural disaster that befell it such that some planters continued to operate. The complex also had remnants of a multi-­still distillery.

Other finds Two villas or townhouses, overgrown with vines, were discovered just below Upper Round Road. This was astonishing as one villa was set among the remains of formal walled gardens. Its west­ern facade stood two stories, with arched windows, remnants of slate flooring, and wide staircases of finely dressed stone. There were several associated structures and vaulted livery cham­ bers beneath the main house. This structure has been tentatively identified by Southampton University researchers as Pariss Garden (shown on the 1871

144 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.29. Arched doorway for small chapel building near Pariss Garden Estate, St. Thomas Parish.

map) and was a country house on the scale of townhouses enjoyed by coun­ try gentlemen in England to display one’s social position among peers (Fig­ ure 5.29). The other villa is less grand and has not been identified by name. The smaller structure is nearly square and had small terrace walls associated with it on either of its sides as well as an artificial pond. One structure appears to be a private chapel. Both villas faced seaward and would undoubtedly have had splendid panoramic views.

St. George Parish Four sites in the Parish of St. George merit discussion owing to their locations.

Rawlins Estate The Rawlins Estate was the highest mill-­complex examined prior to the 2009 season. The complex was investigated to obtain comparative informa­ tion for the database for seventeenth-­and early eighteenth-­century sugar

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 145

Figure 5.30. Rawlins sugar works site plan. A: mill tower. B: boiling table. C: cistern. D: probable curing house. E: platform raised eight feet. F: unknown, possible cane prep. G: masonry wall. H: stacked stone wall. I: earthen mounds. J: masonry wall. K: surface scatter of ceramics.

works, and as an example of works built at high elevation. The complex is built on steep slopes and straddles a road with windmill, cistern, and curing facilities on high ground, with the boiling house across the road at slightly lower elevation. The spatial arrangement suggests that the road is origi­nal, and its width is consistent with other historic roads on Nevis. There is indication of nearby housing, and several enticing mounds of construction debris are surrounded by a crumbling stone wall. The complex is set on a north-­ south axis, indicating that the road was established prior to the works being built (Figure 5.30).

Indian Castle Estate Indian Castle Estate is the counterpart to the high mountain sites, its ruins standing on the coastal cliff of St. George Parish. Documents of the Nevis Council (1705) suggest an early operation on the south-­east coast of the island (Figure 5.31). In 1706, an Act of the Nevis Council sought to encourage expansion by petitioning the Crown for resources to open another port for the transship-

Figure 5.31. Indian Castle sugar works site plan. Inset map shows position of works relative to Port of St. George facility on the coast.

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 147

ment of goods. The result was the construction of a harbor complex at Indian Castle, on the south­ern side of Nevis. The new shipping port in St. George Parish presumably facilitated sugar transportation for plantations on the east­ ern and south­ern side of Nevis to Charlestown (Meniketti 1998b, 1999). The passage below shows how criti­cal shipping was to development. The principal phrases from the Act are: “Whereas a great part of your Majesty’s Island of Nevis remains still unmanured, especially in and towards the parish of St Georges’, Gingerland, and foreasmuch [sic] as several of your Majesty’s subjects, inhabitants of these part, have quitted and do so daily quit the same, which principally is to be attributed to the want of a free shipping-­place, whereby the inhabitants may with greater ease transport the product of their plantations by water to Charles Town . . . your majesty’s revenues will be augmented [by a] . . . lawful place to ship cotton, sugars, indigo and other goods” (An Act for making Indian Castle a Shipping-­place, Acts of the assembly of Nevis 1704–05 [1740]). The outcome of a desire to increase shipping was the eventual construction of a “shipping-­place” in the south­ern lower reaches of St. George Parish. Fortifications were also increased on the south­ern coast (hind-­sight from the 1706 French invasion). Vertical stratigraphy is lacking owing to extreme erosion in the area, and artifact layers are conflated, yet distributions of the artifacts revealed intensive occupation from at least as early as 1675 (Meni­ ketti 1998a). However, the scale of these early operations is indeterminate (Figure 5.32).

Industrial Landscape and Technological Artifacts Artifacts from industrial sugar mill-­complexes include large iron machinery parts, as well as material cultural remains, such as ceramics, glass, and personal objects. Sites could be identified by architecture, and the presence of milling equipment served to confirm the assessment. Although by no means common, vertical crusher rollers, mill center axles, boiling cauldrons (coppers) or fragments of these, and other equipment associated with milling were recorded at several locations. Several sites have been looted of these items and the architectural remains suffered from deliberate destruction to get at the coppers. Coppers are found through­out the island in use as rusty cisterns, wash tubs, as troughs for watering goats, and as quaint antiques in front yards.3 At Indian Castle several boiling cauldrons were discovered in situ, the only ones from the earlier industrial phases ever found on Nevis. Many steam engines are still in situ

148 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.32. Recording dimensions of the south­ ern wall of the facility at Port of St. George, ­Indian Castle.

around the island and parts can be found strewn about industrial locations. Of note is that when fieldwork began on Nevis in 1997, erosion was a noticeable problem. A series of rebar indicators was implanted into the cliff for future reference on the rate of erosion, which has been calculated at a loss of two feet annually through 2011 (Figure 5.33).

Site-­Types across the Landscape Residential Sites Four forms of residences were documented that underscore the hierarchical structure of society on Nevis and the increasing display of status and wealth by the plantocracy during Phase II (1655–1706). These residences can be divided further as industrial and rural. No urban residences were investigated. Industrial residences were of­ten associated with mill-­complexes and were in-

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 149

Figure 5.33. The eroding structures at ­Indian Castle. The exterior wall has collapsed, and the floor is exposed and undercut. Cauldrons were in situ within the floor in 1997. All had vanished by 2005, no doubt repurposed for local use.

tended for agents, overseers, or the owner of the plantation or labor. Owners might be male or female, but women who ran plantations were a rarity.4 Between the late seventeenth and the middle of the eighteenth century, prosperity for some led to the construction of impressive residences. The juxta­ position of luxury townhouse and laborers’ housing in villages would have been a stark contrast visually, perhaps reifying the social order for both sectors of society as they passed on their way to the fields or town. The term “great house” is functionally overused. Only in three instances can it be said that we found a residence on a scale where such a term has valid application. Planter’s houses were certainly on a grander scale than that of labor, but when compared to stately manors they frequently seem humble. However, the fact that a random sample yielded two such residences is significant. These industrial residences had stone foundations and multiple rooms at ground level. A sec­ond story is implicated by the thickness of the walls and

150 / Chapter 5

inset beam notches, which would have supported floor joists for the sec­ond story. Thick walls also served to keep interiors cool. Each had ancillary structures associated, in­clud­ing a separate kitchen building and walled enclosures. Residential villas could be taken to extremes, as the kitchen from the Montravers Estate exemplifies. The kitchen house is a two-­story affair larger than many of the industrial residences examined at other estates. Montravers great house itself is a three-­story brick and stone edifice with a vaulted wine cellar5 and extravagant grounds—a testimony to the success experienced by a few elite families in the sugar trade. By contrast, the Montravers kitchen-­ house dwarfs the Ridge House. Whether modest or massive, the focus of the residential edifice was on distinguishing the occupant from everyone else, most especially among peers within the plantocracy. More humble residential structures belonging to less fortunate classes of colonists included those with narrow masonry foundations and others with stacked stone as a base. Wooden homes would have been erected above the stone or masonry platforms (Buisseret 1980) and were more common on Nevis. The structures found during survey always had artifact assemblages that included a wide assortment of domestic refuse and contained material from a wide range of mean manufacturing dates, suggesting either continuous occupation straddling pre-­and post-­emancipation or episodic occupation. Many of these isolated and clustered houses were bordered by tamarind, ginnip, aloe, and mango trees having household value. None of the house finds resembled the clusters shown on estate maps. At least one earthfast wooden structure at the Hermatige Inn, dating to the earliest phases on Nevis, has been recorded, as has evidence of timber construction on the early Charlestown waterfront (Leech 2005).

Environment and Social Change In the eighteenth century, two novel socioeconomic factors appear to have influenced landscape development. The first was the rise of a planter aristocracy founded on the successes of the sugar industry. The sec­ond was the near-­institutional practice of the absentee landlord (Pares 1936, 1950; Lobdell 1972: Dunn 1972; Williams 1973; Mintz 1985; Hicks 2007). The first led to the construction of large residences, the other to estate neglect. The Leeward Island Legislature complained in 1744 that nearly half of the properties on Nevis were owned by absentees (Hall 1973[1964]; Lowenthal 1972). Williams (1973:6) cites an example of a Nevis planter amassing considerable wealth in 1680, then departing for England, leaving his estates unde-

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 151

veloped. Yet, this same period saw the construction of mansions and great houses on a scale never before undertaken in the colony. In 1722, the Pinney family built Montravers, a multistoried mansion with numerous rooms (Pares 1950). Similar manor houses modeled after those found in England were constructed on St. Kitts also in not-­so-­subtle displays of wealth and power (Hicks 2007a:41). Luxury villas from this period, complete with formal gardens of Georgian style, were located in St. Thomas Parish at elevations nearing 1,000 feet (305m). The Tower Estate in St. Thomas Parish was built on a high ridge overlooking the sea, surrounded by gardens and artificial ponds. These structures highlight a criti­cal aspect of the colonial landscape. Successful planters on Nevis were as likely to engage in displays of wealth and attainment to which they aspired as aristocrats on other colonial islands or in the fashion accepted in the “mother country,” by modifying natural landscapes into idealized naturescapes. Within these idealized natures, some in the form of formal gardens and others as open landscapes, ideologies were embedded and made manifest (Leone 1984; Kryder-­Reid 1994). The ostentation of the aristocracy in England was apparently being adopted on Nevis during Phase II (1655–1706) and reached extremes during Phase III (1706–1782), highlighting a fundamental social reality—Nevisian aristocracy thought of themselves as British rather than creole or West Indian. Most who could afford to sent their children to England for education, and most desired a return to England. Indeed, Lowenthal (1972:34) suggested that the British “were even more British in the colonies.” One can conjecture that this attitude is at the root of why island infrastructure was never fully developed. While most structures on the colony were built of locally quarried volcanic stone, imported materials were also used. The Ridge House investigated in St. John Parish was humble in scale yet, nonetheless, boasted slate flooring, just as the Pariss Garden townhouse and Bush Hill Estate house had slate steps, gated entries, and impressive multistoried layouts with finely finished masonry. Some perimeter walls at Indian Castle display basic security measures, such as broken bottles embedded in the plastered tops with jagged edges foremost (which helped with confirming dates). But what of the Af­r i­cans imported to the islands? How was their identity constructed? They were forbidden from displaying Af­r i­can identity, at least openly, and were encouraged to accept or acquiesce to a social framework that included adoption of material culture having European origins, so to what extent did these commodities play a role in their own social exchanges? Commodities within a social setting have been described by Orser (1996c:238) as having a “dyadic relationship” and as having at least two dis-

152 / Chapter 5

tinct but related attributes of “exchange value and use value.” This was almost certainly true on Nevis as available commercial goods found their way into Af­r i­can households.

Religious Landscape When walking the roads of Nevis, one quickly realizes the significance and dominant place churches hold on the landscape. Imposing and carefully situated on high ground along main roads, the Anglican churches built in Phase II are visible from considerable distance. The principal churches, Anglican and Methodist, generally stand near the center of each Parish at key intersections of plantation roads. St. Thomas Lowland Anglican Church, built in 1675, and St. John Figtree Anglican Church are both situated on the main island road linking the capital to major estates, as if colonizing spiritual space, and were places of worship for the island’s elite. As with other English colonies, anti-­Papist and anti-­Quaker legislation had been enacted early in the colony’s history. In 1661, a ship’s captain knowingly landing Quakers at Nevis could be fined 5,000 pounds of sugar. Anyone seen wearing a Quaker hat could be fined 500 pounds of sugar. Although laws against Quakers were repealed in 1705, no Quakers remained on Nevis, nor settled there for the next century (Hubbard 1996:36). Sephardic Jews, originating in Brazil, however, were welcomed during the later half of the seventeenth century, and a synagogue briefly served a small but thriving community of Jewish merchants and sugar specialists. A Jewish cemetery in Charlestown, with grave markers dating between 1670 and 1758, underscores a stable, although brief, occupation (Terrell 1998, 2005). An Anglican priest estimated that one-­quarter of the white population in St. Paul’s Parish, Charlestown, was Jewish (Hubbard 1996). This suggests a significant demographic to be contrasted to the nearly 25 percent of the white population in 1678 who were Irish (Shaw 2013:61). This was a period of adoption of new technologies in sugar manufacture and overlaps the period of greatest prosperity on Nevis. The gradual expulsion of the Jewish community came during the first major sugar crises of the eighteenth century.

Military Sites Before 1800 the only facilities that rivaled the plantation complexes, both in scale and labor requirements, were the churches and fortifications. Only two elements of the island’s defenses were surveyed in regards to this study. One

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 153

was a shore defense and the other was Fort Charles. Fortifications were an important feature of the total landscape and represent efforts by the Crown to safeguard the colony and the agricultural enterprise. This may be interpreted as less for the protection of the populace than to protect the property and investment in the sugar industry of the plantocracy. The objective of military action in the Caribbean more of­ten was economic disruption, not territorial gain. Plantation islands were frequently held hostage or estates destroyed as if they were military sites as a matter of policy. Although to immure the island, fortifications nonetheless served to remind planters inadvertently of their precarious situation in world affairs. The sugar colonies were “intrinsically frontier in nature” (Machling 2012:80). Between the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, over 15 forts, batteries, and gun platforms were constructed on Nevis (Machling 2012). Local stone was used in all cases. Construction of Fort Charles was begun in 1671, at the site of an earlier wood and earth palisade, and was finished in 1675. The guns overlooked the harbor of Charlestown from a promontory. Based on comments in narratives by Thomas Warner, it may have been bold bluff, as cannon are described as “good for nothing” (CSP Col. Ser. [1893] v.9, 1675 #367). The collapse into the sea of this once imposing edifice along its south­ern wall has already begun. Fort Charles was typical among fortifications of its day and exhibited the latest design features of military science (Mackling 2001, 2012). Forts created zones of separation between military and plantation sectors, and the roads served to define the limits of civilian and military activity (Machling 2012:84). The soldiers made up another segment of society in Nevis but were poorly treated and of­ten required to build their own huts (Machling 2012:85). The new lieutenant governor of Nevis initiated a program in 1703 to fortify the island and improve its defenses. Plans of the vari­ous forts survive. With its many cannon, Fort Charles had presented a formidable deterrent to invasion until 1706. The French strategy was inspired. Dividing their forces and feigning an attack on the west­ern side of Nevis, they landed troops in the south, marched overland, and took the fort from the landward side, which lacked cannon (Hubbard 1996; Machling 2012). The sec­ond military construction encountered during survey was a wall and platform of the old coastal defense. The location is north of Jamestown in the Cades Bay area. Cades Bay (shown of­ten as Kades Bay on historic maps) is a small inlet that may have served as a harbor in the earliest phases of settlement. Several batteries and smaller forts were documented by Machling (2012) in this area.

154 / Chapter 5

Figure 5.34. Enlarged section from the Bellin map of Nevis, 1758. West­ern coastal defenses from Charlestown northward to Jamestown area are illustrated. Charlestown is depicted at the bottom (L). Petit Bourg shown at top (D). This town is shown as Little Borrough on the Jefferys Map. What town this actually was is uncertain, although it is possibly in the vicinity of Cotton Ground. The cartographer indicated cannon installations with capital ­letters. The numbers refer to depth soundings in fathoms. (Permission for use from the ­A rchives of the Nevis His­tori­cal and Conservation Society.)

The entire west­ern shore was designed with defensive batteries and walls (Figure 5.34), most of which is today eroded away. An underwater survey of the bay we conducted in 2003 found no maritime artifacts, but hurricane debris was observed. Depths were adequate for the shallower draft vessels of the seventeenth century. Cades Bay could easily have served for shipping from Jamestown. Artifacts, ranging from pipes and ceramics to gun flints, and site features, such as foundations, provide evidence that despite suffering a terrible natural disaster of unprecedented scale in the colony’s history, recovery soon followed. However, by the time Jamestown was again a viable town, it had been eclipsed in

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 155

Figure 5.35. Test excavation of a large warehouse structure at Jamestown, 2001. A cobble road bed fronted the structure. Seawater infiltrated the unit at 1.3m below surface.

importance by Charlestown. According to Klingelhoffer (2005), Jamestown limped along in a reduced state following an earthquake (Figures 5.35 and 5.36). The site of Jamestown of legend is today covered by the remnants of a nineteenth-­century coconut plantation and the equestrian center across the main island road. Construction was begun on a fortress on Saddle Hill, at the border of St. John and St. George Parishes, in 1740. At 1,000 feet (305m) above sea level, this fort was intended to provide a safe haven and final redoubt for the popu­ lace in the event of future invasions, rumors of which seemed to arrive with every ship. The construction was costly despite being built by slave labor. Planters resented vociferously having to supply slaves, whom they preferred to have working the plantations, despite the fact the defensive works were for their own protection (Acts of Nevis Council; Machling 2012). Dry stone walls extend 1,600 feet (487m) and in places, stand 30 feet (9m) tall. Because all attacks on the island came by ships driven by the trade winds, the fortress was built to command a view of the predictable south­ern path of invaders. The site was meant as a last refuge and certainly not as a defensive works (Machling 2012).

Figure 5.36. Plan of warehouse at Jamestown after surface clearing. The structure paralleled the modern road, as do other structures on the opposite side of the road, suggesting that the modern throughway is superimposed on the seventeenth-­century roadbed.

Archaeology of Plantation Industrialization / 157

Following invasions by the French in 1782, the English colonies began a slow decline, especially on Nevis. More significant than military incursions, global market forces disrupted the tenuous grasp on economic stability. The British lost their North Ameri­can colonies, and trade was in turmoil. With emancipation on the horizon and environmental degradation a reality, Nevisian colonials faced a new reality and a new social order with an uncertain economic future, even as enslaved populations could look forward with some measure of hope.

6

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 I rode entirely round this island, with the exception of a mile or two on the windward side, and found it uniformly rich and verdant, and beautiful. The roads are tolerable, though liable, in the lowlands on the north to be injured by floods. However, you may go whither you please in a gig, which certainly must allow to be a great sign of civilization. —Henry Coleridge, 1825

Travel diaries were popu­lar reading at beginning of the nineteenth century. One such diary offers observations of the Nevisian landscape that appear bucolic and inviting. The romantic and optimistic account by Bishop Henry Coleridge quoted describes pine forests and “old planters houses of superior styles and churches peeping out in the most picturesque situations imaginable” (Coleridge 1825:179). These pines, probably Norfolk island pine, or indigenous pine, Araucuria heterophilla (Barlow 1993:79), were of­ten used for local boat building and an important commodity for construction of traditional sailing lighters—a craft unique to Nevis (Merrill 1958; Hackett 1999; Meniketti 2010). Coleridge’s remarks are of a tourist, but not so wistful as to miss the industrial debitage that burnished the landscape. He noted that “there are two steam engines employed in grinding canes, a thing I had not seen anywhere else except Trini­dad. Surely where water and coals may be commanded, the certainty and rapidity of making sugar would in the long run be worth the additional expense” (Coleridge 1825:179). Coleridge’s observation of the two earliest engines on Nevis mark the first indication the powerful influence of the industrial revolution had extended its reach to Nevis. Yet, planters on Nevis appear to have been mostly unresponsive to industrialization. As emancipation loomed on the horizon, there were only three or possibly four engines in place. Nevis faced the unsettling realities of social changes abroad at the end of the eighteenth century. Global trends and changing world markets influenced

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 159

colonial development in surprising ways. Abolitionist complaints concerning the morality of slavery were gradually replaced with economic arguments. Pamphlets and debates pointed to the cost of slavery and slave-made sugar to the consumer and preached vehemently against protectionist policies. For an engaging argument for an economic rationalization against using slave-­ made sugar, one need look no further than Zachary Macauley’s pamphlet refuting price protections for West India sugar (Macauley 1823). Attempts to have the pub­lic assuage their conscience, while still having their sweetener, emerged from these pub­lic campaigns. Clearly, while the moral and ethical concerns against the institution of slavery were profound, the economic arguments carried more weight.

Industrial Landscape Many of the agro-­industrial complexes located during surveys saw their first operation in Phase II (1655–1792), but continued operating under new labor arrangements into the nineteenth century, with a handful operating into the twentieth. The pentimento effect of ruins and modified landscapes of different eras merging and surfacing through one another requires careful archaeological interpretations. Construction details were used to suggest dating where artifacts were missing. An example of a long-­term operation can be found at Coconut Walk.1 Purchased by the Huggins family in 1815, it operated until the 1950s, transitioning from wind and animal power to steam along the way. The Huggins were a new breed of capitalist on Nevis, consolidating estates around the island under one family ownership and leasing land and profiting from other planter’s needs for milling. Elsewhere on the island, mill-­complexes complemented animal or windmills with steam engines. Nevertheless, large complexes with steam were not the rule on Nevis, and wind power continued to be the favored technology.

Bush Hill Estate At least one estate can be documented to have prepared for the changes anticipated by the cessation of the slave trade and the implementation of the “apprenticeship” period. Documents pertaining to the history of the Bush Hill Estate also hint darkly of highly suspect practices at acquiring slaves after the end of the slave trade. Four field seasons of excavations from 2007 to 2011 have provided data concerning industrial processes, spatial and environmental engineering, and

160 / Chapter 6

insights regarding labor adjustments (to be published separately). The site offers a case study of an estate that transitioned through the vari­ous phases of capitalist development.2 Although much of the documentary records concerning Bush Hill date after Phase III, there are relevant elements on the landscape of earlier production periods accessible archaeologically. New management practices are also evident for this period in the realignment of the factory operations, addition of overseer’s residence, and the incorporation in the 1870s of that hallmark of the industrial revolution—a steam engine from Fletcher Company, Lon­don. The engine is connected to a horizontal three-­roller crusher bolted to a masonry foundation. A strangling fig (Ficus aurea), with more than fifty years of growth penetrating the horizontal crusher, hints at the period of discontinued use. The Bush Hill Estate in the upper reaches of St. John Parish is one of the most complete sugar works on Nevis. Better examples of windmills or boiling houses can be found on the landscape, for instance at New River-­Coconut Walk, yet nowhere else is the history of industrial development exhibited so thoroughly, with an extant windmill, steam engines, boiling and curing houses, distillery, warehouses, and numerous structures all dating to separate periods of operation. Both the industrial and residential components, while in obvious decay and heavily overgrown, could be mapped in detail, facilitating analy­sis of industrial layout and operation. The works are located approximately a mile (1.5km) west of Saddle Hill and along a historic road no more than half mile from Montpelier Estate. This same road leads down slope along Grandee Ghut toward the Richmond-­ Lodge Estate. Early maps, such as the Bellen map of 1758, do not specifically indicate the plantation, and the only certain reference of the site in the documentary record dates to 1848 in an island survey carried out by Captain Edward Barnett of HMS Thunder (Small and Eickelmann 2007:1). No plan has been located either on Nevis or in England, and the only description with boundary information dates to 1919 (Small and Eickelmann 2007). The Bush Hill property currently belongs to the Hoffman family, present owners of the Montpelier Estate Inn, who embraced the concept of historic preservation and generously agreed to allow archaeological investigations. It is of note that local knowledge of the site was very limited, and those few who knew it even existed believed its history dated back no further than 1800 or 1790. This view largely reflected the available documentary record, and much of the standing architecture tended to support this conclusion. Artifacts collected during a tentative pedestrian survey in 2006 tantaliz-

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 161

ingly suggested a date of activity early in the 1700s or possibly earlier. Pipe stem analy­sis after the first three seasons yielded a mean date of 1740, but with many dated closer to 1800. Mean ceramic dates of 1750 were in alignment, but again a wide range was evident. Architectural features point to old and new industrial zones representing adaptation to changing economic climates and compensating industrial strategies over time. A reference from the 1820s indicating that Bush Hill was owned by George Clarke Forbes helped establish ownership in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. It was common in the period for middle names to be taken from the mother’s family name, so a maternal link to the Clarke family was suspected. The Clarke papers in the Lon­don Metropolitan Archives cover 1696–1810. The papers reveal that in 1700, John Clarke surrendered copyhold of the estate near Lon­don called Bush Hill. Additional references in the family papers trace ownership of this English Estate through the Clarke family to 1785. It was not uncommon for estates in the colonies to be named after estates in England. It is likely not a coincidence that there is a New River Estate on Nevis just as there is a New River in the Lon­don area. The papers do not mention Nevis. Unfortunately, the name Clarke is quite common through­out the region and it is easy to follow the wrong lead. Further complications on Nevis are caused by the fact that his­tori­cally there were two Clarke’s Estates. Earlier still, the 1707 census of Nevis indicates two Samuel Clarkes, and that a Joseph Clarke was granted 125 acres in 1684 by Governor Sir William Stapleton (Small and Eickelmann 2007:3). There is a single reference to Bush Hill made by Captain (later Lord Admiral) Nelson dated 1787, written while aboard his ship Boreas, which connects Montpelier/Stapleton and Bush Hill as two distinct estates. A letter from Forbes connected to a land swap and settlement of accounts in 1789 references an annual rent of £300 for “the base land” and mentions that the land belongs to his wife. A letter dated May 1787 states, “I shall have all my buildings in thorough order by Christmas.” A follow-­up letter in April 1789 informs a financial backer that “I shall put the last hand to the finishing of the estate by building a Stone windmill which I am now about” (Small and Eickelmann 2007:8). These are the only references to the building of the estate to be found, but do provide a firm date for the windmill.

The Enslaved Laborers at Bush Hill Another important source of information has been the slave roles of Nevis and the associated tax records. Contained in the Pinney papers dated to 1755

162 / Chapter 6

are tax records of planters paying the “General tax” on slaves. Records show Samuel Clarke and the orphans of Samuel Clarke and J. H. Clarke paying tax on 64 slaves. Of greater interest is the listing of enslaved Af­r i­cans who may have accompanied this transaction of Bush Hill (Small and Eickelmann 2007:8). The list provides names for 67 slaves, 35 men and 32 women mortgaged by Forbes in August 1786. All had been purchased between February and August. A further letter indicates the numbers “near 90” and intent to acquire at least 10 more. The complete list of enslaved Af­r i­cans owned by George Forbes at Bush Hill in 1786 is revealing. What is immediately clear is that there are few young among the register, and most were intended to work the fields. Very few skilled or highly skilled are numbered among the enslaved. Forbes was clearly intending to be self-­sufficient, with a mason, carpenter, cooper, and millwright. Obviously these were not skills held by the newly arrived; therefore, these individuals must have been purchased from other estates. Only one person is named associated with actual milling operations (head boiler), and no one is described with the skills required in the sugar factory proper. One person, presumably male, is named Boatswain— a name and occupation fused. It appears Forbes was planning on building a profitable concern. In the years following the register, Forbes acquired even more slaves for the Bush Hill Estate, in­clud­ing several obtained later than 1807, after the slave trade had been abolished. Forbes acquired 29 Af­r i­cans in 1814. Some of the ages, in­clud­ing infants under one year of age, suggests an illegal trade in slaves. In 1817, the estate counted 96 individuals with 37 identified as Af­r i­can (signifying newly arrived in the islands). Additions to the labor pool were made in 1822, 1825, 1828, 1831, and 1834 totaling 34 individuals. These newly acquired Af­r i­cans were described as “apprentices” in keeping with British government rules proscribing the training and preparation of enslaved Af­r i­cans for final emancipation. Where was Forbes obtaining new labor? One clue comes from a Parliament-­appointed commission sent to Nevis in 1823 to investigate conditions on the estate and to check on the conditions of apprentices (Small and Eickelmann 2007:14). The 1807 Act of the Abolition of the Slave Trade allowed seizure of ships caught trading in slaves. The slaves or “natives of Africa” were considered contraband, handed over to civil authorities (not sent back to Africa), and enlisted into the military forces or apprenticed for a term not to exceed 14 years. They were, in effect, to be treated as indentured with similar rights as a free person who might apprentice to a master. What this unique record reveals is that Forbes had a direct connection to the Collector of Tortola and was being supplied with a steady flow of apprentices.

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 163

Industrial Archaeology at Bush Hill The Bush Hill site can be divided with some certainty into three sectors and possibly another (Figure 6.1). Zone 1 comprises the new factory constructions and operations dating from approximately 1790 until the early twentieth century. This zone retains standing architecture of the windmill, boiling house, curing facility, appended distillery, a series of storage warehouses, and a blacksmith shop. Two exceptionally well-­constructed cisterns and sec­ ondary mill complete the factory assembly. The principal cistern is 17 feet (5.2m) deep, with the sec­ondary cistern attached to the curing house adjacent to the distillery. Shoehorned between the windmill and the boiling house is a raised engine platform for the steam engine that replaced the windmill about 1870, based on the date of the engine. The boiler and steam pipes remain in situ within the boiling house proper. In the old factory sector, Zone 2, are the remains of an earlier boiling house and adjacent foundations for a curing facility. This structure was repurposed after the new factory was constructed, as the boiling table was filled-­in, fireboxes filled, and a paved stone floor added. An additional room with rectangular windows was appended to the east wing. While some stones from the structure were likely used in the construction of other buildings, there would not have been enough for all the buildings added to the site. Furthermore, the cut stone used in the new factory is markedly different in both size and finish. This indicates strongly that reuse may have been limited to smaller, less significant buildings. Directly in front of the old factory is an expansive paved area and smaller buildings indicated by foundations only. Unlike the newer factory, the old works were only a story and a half. Associated with these structures is a small elevated cistern. It still retains a plastered interior and stone flooring. Mean dates for clay tobacco pipe stems from several excavation units in this zone were 1725. This contrasts with mean dates in the newer factory zone, which averaged a hundred years later. In a third zone, designated as the residential sector, are the remains of the great house, a separate kitchen/servants’ house, a cistern for household use, and walkways linking the kitchen house to stone storage units. Adjacent to the great house are remnants of a carriage house and the traces of a road that once led past entry gates marked by circular cut stone pillars. Here, iron fragments, bottles, and a musket ball were recovered from test units. Behind the great house and upslope stands a house from the middle of the nineteenth century. This has been locally referred as the “overseer’s house” and was in fact occupied by a local recluse until the 1980s, when the wooden

Figure 6.1. Site plan for Bush Hill factory complex after three seasons of mapping, shovel testing, and excavation. Three zones can be identified. Zone 1 to the left of the plan is the post-­1800 complex. Zone 2 to the right is the pre-­1800 complex. Zone 3 in the upper right is the Estate House and residential area.

R / 165

interior floors collapsed. The great house is substantial, with a grand stone staircase leading to the first level above a stone ground floor. The twelve steps had at one time been covered in imported slate slabs, and masonry bases to support columns stand at the foot of the staircase. Footings for a support pillar and a sec­ond staircase leading from the first floor to a sec­ond are evident in an adjacent quarter of the house. The rear of the building had been built semi-­subterranean, inserted into the top of hill, which no doubt aided with insulation of the lower floor, and allowed a back entrance at ground level. Systematic beam notches in the stone work of the lower level cellar indicate the construction of wooden upper floors, which most likely supported a timbered additional story and a half. Wooden shingle remnants and a multitude of roofing nails suggest a shingled roof. Beyond these three sectors are two potential residential areas for laborers. These two sectors were subjected to rigorous systematic shovel testing and surface collection in a subsequent field season. In both areas artifact assemblages reflect the wide range of typical domestic wares exported to the colonial Caribbean, but also fragments of iron pots, a shoe buckle, a fragment of ruled slate, buttons of vari­ous types, bottle shards, and colonoware fragments representing both bowls and plate forms. Each item offers a glimpse into the lives of those who toiled on the plantation. While it is no longer considered surprising to find imported wares in dwellings of slaves, it might be unexpected to find planters using large numbers of locally produced wares. Although a few fragments of porcelain turned up in the screens during excavation, the composition of the imported ceramic assemblage consists predominately of common whitewares and a variety of lower quality transfer printed types, and numerous Afro-­Nevisian wares. The house may have been “great,” but the tablewares suggest a house that was economically stressed. While it is possible the greater number of ware types reflects the tastes and times of the new owners after 1800, it also suggests a new economic reality. Every item in a household has an equal chance of ending up in the archaeological record, but there are numerous intervening factors that affect the final nature of the assemblage. Not all wares were kept in equal numbers, some are curated or were possibly only used when social occasions warranted. In other words, some ceramics were more for display purposes than for practical use. Yet, if these circumstances are seen as a norm, it is still of interest that the middling planter at the Ridge House had more examples of finer ware types, which found their way into deposits than was the case at Bush Hill, and by a substantial margin; more than 225 porcelain fragments were recovered at Ridge House, for instance, compared to only 46 at Bush Hill.

166 / Chapter 6

The same pattern holds for a variety of quality wares such as creamware, pearlware, and specialty designs, whereas the counts for more common, less expensive imports follows a reverse pattern. Owing to the fragmentary nature of the ceramics found at each site, accurate minimum vessel counts is not possible, so caution must be followed in analy­sis of household practices. Nevertheless, the ware types categorized by use and quality do offer insights to behavior and economic standing of the owners. The kitchen house had paved stone floors through­out the three rooms and ample windows to admit light. A few medicinal bottles dating from the early 1900s found in one room suggest an infirmary, if not simply household medicinal storage. One intact bottle was embossed Northrop & Lyman Co., Toronto, Canada. The company was founded in 1856 but operated into 1950s, making this difficult to date; however, the addition of “limited” came af­ ter 1883. One local resident shared with us that Bush Hill was where laborers went for a hospital. This is not indicated in historic documents or adequately supported by archaeology, but it is possible that the kitchen house was repurposed during the late nineteenth century, after the house was vacated. No domestic artifacts in the area of the great house date past the late 1880s, in contrast to artifacts from the hypothetical laborers’ residential area, which extend to the 1950s. Scattered across the site are industrial artifacts in­clud­ing gear assemblies for the mill, parts for the steam engine, iron wrenches for the steam engine, and hardware. Directly in front of the house, a series of excavations units brought to light a number of architectural and domestic artifacts reflecting personal apparel and leisure time, in­clud­ing glass and clay ­marbles; a pewter thimble; bone, pewter, shell, and brass buttons; a brass hook and eyelet fastener (see White 2005:75); two comb-­teeth; and a fan pivot made of brass. In all, 44 units were excavated at Bush Hill (Figure 6.2). A rectangular structure built in the architectural style of the old factory, with narrow walls and course masonry, was located at the extreme south­ern side of the new factory zone. It was identified as a blacksmithy, but it also exhibited a residential character. Standing architecture was limited to two walls less than a three feet (1m) in height and 18 inches (.5m) width, and a third wall of ground-­level foundations. It can be interpreted that the building was part of the origi­nal factory positioned a considerable distance from the factory and planter’s residence. Only after the new owners in 1790 began adding buildings did this structure come to be incorporated into the new factory, and indeed, the principal adjacent cistern appears to have been built to accommodate the existing building (Figure 6.3). In addition to charcoal and ash, slag and iron staves in the de-

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 167

Figure 6.2 Distinct layers are visible in this excavation unit that contained artifacts corresponding to distinct historic periods. The light-­color strata from the surface to 20cm contained post-­1800 ceramics and pipe stems. The darker layers contained a majority of pre-­1800 artifacts, in­clud­ing distinctive pipe stems and bowls, and charcoal, which may reflect the fact that this unit is very near the “old factory.” The ash may be material cleaned out from fireboxes.

posits were recovered. The greater percentage of Afro-­Nevisian bowl and jar forms in the assemblage were recovered from the structure (Figure 6.4). Additional common stoneware vessels were also in the assemblage. A subfloor array of heavy stones might have supported a small forge, and circular foundations in one corner of the building along its east­ern wall could easily have supported a hoist. A lateral trench and five excavation units yielded pipe stems, pipe bowl fragments, slip-­decorated wares, sponge decorated annular wares, and a cast iron meat grinder ca. 1900. The building might also have served for a cooper. A sugar estate would have needed skilled coopers, smiths, and carpenters, and these occupations have been documented to be roles of­ten carried out by skilled enslaved Af­r i­cans. At this location we may have the work place/residence of one of the many enslaved Af­r i­cans at Bush Hill, perhaps even the in­di­v idual named on slave rolls for Bush Hill. The structure was not built with the same eye toward permanence as those in the new factory zone nor with the same quality of masonry, and indica-

Figure 6.3. The principal cistern at Bush Hill. Water contained here was primarily for the boiler.

Figure 6.4. Fragments (rims) of colonoware (Afro-­Nevisian pottery) from Bush Hill. Typical blackened and buff-­red bowl forms.

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 169

Figure 6.5. Interior view of curing house that had been modified in its working life to accommodate distillery operations. The floor beams and flooring for the sec­ond floor are missing, but the stepped wall and beam notches make clear the origi­nal construction.

tions are that it ceased functioning as a smithy before the mid-­1800s. Such operations might have been moved into the new facility connecting the boiling house and curing building. Industrial discards in the form of mill gears, a horse engine, iron lintels for fire boxes, and assorted crusher rollers litter the industrial zones, although a few gears also were located adjacent to the residence. Factory structures are illustrated in Figures 6.5 and 6.6. Eighteenth-­century constructions at Bush Hill were built of cut dressed stone, with the roof of timber and wooden shingle. Doors and window shutters hung on pintle and gudgeon style iron fastenings, the latter set deeply into the masonry. In this manner they were kept in place under their own weight. The boiling house and adjacent building were entered through wide-­arched doorways facing the mill. The narrow passage between the engine and the chimney allowed access to the firebox room. Here, as elsewhere, the architects took advantage of slope and natural terrain to minimize construction problems. The windmill stands on the highest ground of the factory zone and is given additional height with a raised platform. Storage areas were built into the platform. After crushing, juice would have been able to flow downslope

170 / Chapter 6

Figure 6.6. The engine house, which powered a three-­roller horizontal crusher.

to the clarifying vat with the help of gravity. A plastered masonry clari­f y­ ing tank was built adjacent to the engine and in line with a sec­ond clari­fier housed within the boiling train further downslope a distance of 12 feet. West of the Bush Hill factory is a flat rise ideally situated for keeping labor close to the site of production and for facilitating mobility to the cane fields or the factory. From the sec­ond floor of the “overseer’s house,” the fields in three directions and the village would have been in view. The grounds are rocky and of marginal quality and therefore housing labor at the site would not waste agricultural land (Figure 6.7). Eleven possible stone house platforms and one collapsed stone structure were identified, and each was associated with the surface artifacts. All artifacts were of domestic materials. With the exception of colonoware, the ceramics in the assemblage were dominated by simple undecorated whitewares or transfer printed styles of plates. A few fragments of salt-­glazed stoneware storage containers were likely for household use. Unlike the house platforms documented on the north side of Bush Hill, there were no tools or iron objects of any kind. Although the picture of life and industrial production is far from complete at Bush Hill, artifact types and their distribution across the site in concert with architectural history and the extant documentary sources can provide

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 171

Figure 6.7. View southeast toward Bush Hill complex from the slope that may have been a laborers village. Systematic shovel testing here revealed significant numbers of ceramics and bottle glass, but nearly all are post-­emancipation in manufacture. The collapsing windmill tower and chimney of the boiling house are evident on the skyline.

insights into daily life at Bush Hill. The land may have passed from Stapelton to Clarke in the late 1600s, most probably around 1680, and operated with an animal mill and modest boiling facility until around 1750. During this time a single-­story estate house was constructed slightly uphill and upwind of the factory buildings, and the spur road that linked the mill to the principal thoroughfare between Montpelier and the lower reaches of St. John Parish was widened and extended to serve the house in addition to the factory. The house was enlarged with addition of a new wing complete with stone-­ paved patio, suggesting a period of prosperity. Large flagging stones demarcate a special area to the west­ern side of the house as these are found nowhere else around the estate. Following Buisseret (1980) a conjectural reconstruction is possible (Figure 6.8). The entire complex likely fell into disuse sometime following 1782. The property transferred again, and in 1785, the windmill was constructed along with a new boiling house and curing facility. The new owners of Bush Hill almost certainly were acquiring a run-­down estate with the intention of developing a profitable business, adding to the enslaved labor pool. This intensification of investment took place at a time when other planters were quitting the business and the market abroad was be-

172 / Chapter 6

Figure 6.8. Hypothetical reconstruction of the Estate House based on extant architectural features and construction details. (Following Buisseret, 1980.)

ing disrupted by conflict. Records show Forbes also consolidated land holdings in St. John Parish by taking over failed or failing operations, becoming one of the elite landowners. By 1800, the estate diversified again, adding a large-­scale, single-­pot distillery, and remodeling the curing house by closing off the sec­ond story and adding an additional cistern. The assemblage of household artifacts suggests that the Forbeses enjoyed a wide range of imported consumer goods, although finer ceramics did not generally find their way into the archaeological deposits. Either these materials were carefully curated or were present in limited quantity. Major economic changes in the mid-­1800s saw Bush Hill gain more land and the strategic installation of a steam engine around 1875. The engine was housed between the windmill and the boiling house. There is no substantive evidence that anyone was living in the great house after 1900; however, Bush Hill continued as a working plantation until 1950, about the same time the associated villages were abandoned.

Additional Estates Following a rough cobble road fronting the Bush Hill Estate for several minutes leads to the remains of the Richmond-­Lodge Estate complex, an example of a sugar works straddling the boundary of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (Figure 6.9). This estate also fully transitioned to steam. However, the complex exhibits a completely different spatial orientation and conceptualization of efficiency compared to Bush Hill. Located at the intersection of roads linking it to other mills, the Richmond-­Lodge Estate house

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 173

Figure 6.9. Richmond Lodge industrial section, Area 2. A: stone boundary wall. B: storage building. C: refining/boiling house. D: clarifying room. E: engine house (steam ­engine in situ). F: possible fuel storage. G: boiler. H: iron cauldron. J: clarifying vat. K: channel. AS: domestic artifact scatters. The road to Area 3 traverses upslope to a great house elevated just above the industrial sector.

commanded broad vistas over lower St. John Parish. Surface artifacts on the estates were a mix of nineteenth-­century and modern domestic materials, mostly ceramics. Situated on the road between Brown Hill Village and Bush Hill mill, the complex represents a new landscape configuration in an era of mature capitalism. The road through Brown Hill village appears to end at Richmond-­Lodge, but a branch continues in a deteriorated and overgrown state toward Bush Hill Estate. Between are the remnants of other masonry structures and stone entry gates for residences. The Richmond-­Lodge complex is placed on modern maps. The mill-­ complex displays highly significant features relevant to the discussion of social and technological transition. Two, and possibly three, construction phases are evident at the site, marked by differences from other mills in construction techniques, particularly the use of imported brick, other exotic materials, and its spatial orientation. Structures are evenly spaced and set to a grid of 45 degrees of north. The rigidly aligned structures housed a steam mill, and the usual complement of buildings. All were level and aligned with one another. Sugar juice was sluiced

174 / Chapter 6

down a channel to vats engineered to provide shallow gravity feed. Late in the nineteenth century, the estate’s name appears as Douglas-­Richmond-­Lodge, having acquired a new partner. The present ruins contain a steam engine manufactured by the Fletchers Company of Derby, England, in 1873, contemporary with the engine at Bush Hill. There are two clarifiers present. The stately, multistoried, stone masonry residence with sweeping front staircase stands on a hill above the mill works and provided its occupants expansive vistas from its west facing front porch. However, this view would have been completely obscured from smoke during periods of mill operation. The linear alignment of the complex on a road corner and its axis are consistent with nineteenth-­century industrial practices trained assiduously on efficiency and space management. Three principle activity zones were identified. Area 1 consisted of large cisterns and storage facilities overlooking fields gently sloping toward the sea. Area 2 was the industrial center. Area 3 boasted the multistoried great house situated above the mill-­complex on a bluff less than 100 feet east of the mill. A massive cistern, measuring 18 feet by 16 feet (5.48m x 4.87m) and 14 feet (4.26m) deep, was built adjacent and integral to the house and likely served household needs. Several other cisterns close by served the mill’s engine. The house is mid-­n ineteenth-­century architectural style, with a sweeping front staircase and archway with a possible carriage house. Front porches and the stone rear patio are overgrown but intact. Three grand rooms are raised above surrounding terrain creating a lower “basement space.” An additional level is suggested by wall thickness and center pillars. The next floor level may have been wood, as there was insufficient debris to hint at a masonry upper level. The overall area for the house and associated structures measured 145 feet by 64 feet (44.2m x 19.5m). In 2005 we found that the south­ern corner wall and much of structure B had been bulldozed to recover (recycle) building materials. Of particular interest is the way in which this estate represents a new era of spatial alignment. These new arrangements made it possible to implement new management practices. The road fronting the estate brings labor from Brown Village to the fields visible from the estate porch. Laborers traveling to the Bush Hill Estate upslope from Richmond-­Lodge or downslope toward the estates closer to the coast would be constantly in view, whether working or not. A mere 250 meters away from Richmond-­Lodge are the remains of the Pembroke Estate. In comparison to the great house, small house structures were discovered on a slope near Montpelier typical of many house platforms found in the bush or on borders of plantations. One site sat adjacent to a footpath that linked west­ern end of Montpelier road to Brown Hill village via the Richmond-­

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 175

Figure 6.10. Site plan for small house platform adjacent to the road between Bush Hill and Montpelier estates. The roughly rectangular structure was most likely of wood construction and one room similar to that shown in Figure 7.2. g: glass; c: ceramics. X: iron bar. Z: copper pipe. H: cane hoe. Unfilled shapes are cobbles, and light-­grey shapes are stones.

Lodge Estate. It is representative of more than a dozen of this type recorded during survey and a potential model for laborers’ housing. The structure was on the edge of a precipitous slope overlooking Brown Hill village, west from Montpelier. Stones were clustered in a roughly rectangular arrangement 15 feet by 10 feet (4.5m x 3m). These stones would have supported a wood frame house of perhaps only one room. Adjacent to the structure, two traditional footpaths converge to form one at a cut away boulder and large ginnip tree (Melicous bijugatus). This native of South America was introduced into the Caribbean in pre-­Columbian times and is an important food plant of local tradition. An aged tamarind tree also shaded the site. Common blue transfer printed wares, nineteenth-­century floral painted and feather-­edged whitewares (mostly plate and saucer forms), yellow-­slip stoneware, brick fragments, clay pipe bowl fragments, and additional domestic artifacts are suggestive of an early to late nineteenth-­century post-­emancipation household. Built on rocky, marginal land, without terracing, stone piles were used as props for the house—a common practice to this day (Figures 6.10 and 6.11). This site reflects the conditions for poorer Nevi­

176 / Chapter 6

Figure 6.11. Three one-­room structures connected and propped up on rocks and a prayer to level the floors on sloping ground. The resulting space beneath these buildings allows air circulation, cools the building, and helps slow rot. It also provides a convenient place for storage.

sians, but also hints at the range of consumer goods being used among the humbler class. A modest dwelling perhaps, but stocked with attractive and popu­lar day-­wares for the table. Ware types were both plates and bowls, however, with no evidence of tea service items.

Military Landscape No features of the landscape in Phase III (1782–1833) are associated with active military operations in either St. John or St. Thomas parishes. Little attention was given to defenses in the years following the French invasion that ended Phase II. The forts and coastal defenses in the early nineteenth century were in disrepair or eroding into the sea (Machling 2012:81). No new military constructions were undertaken. Iron cannon that can be found in several coastal locations are of early to mid-­eighteenth-­century vintage. Many of the cannon at Fort Charles were brought there from sites in St. George Parish by British Naval personnel.3 As the military landscape stabilized, the num­ber of churches increased, from only two in 1635 and four in 1675, to more than

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 177

a dozen by 1700. With the exception of Nelson’s Lookout on Saddle Hill, nearly all components of the military landscape were coastal and not found in the upper elevation zones, yet an occasional cannon has been found in the bush at higher elevations, unassociated with structures, purposes unknown (Hubbard 1996; Machling 2012).

Religious Landscape The Methodist Church had a greater impact on island affairs than other any religious order. Bishop Thomas Coke, of the newly formed Church, visited Nevis in 1787 (Olwig 1992). By 1797, there were 400 in the congregation, of which 90 percent were of Af­r i­can descent. Reception by the plantocracy was guarded, as Methodists were rightly believed to oppose slavery, and indeed, Wesleyans were to valiantly carry the banner of the abolitionist movement. Olwig (1993, 1995) has cogently examined Wesleyan influence on Nevis’s culture as it incorporated ever more slaves into the church and attempted to institute the “cult of respectability.” While a few planters saw the effort as a “civilizing” and “calming” measure, keeping slaves more tractable, others were suspicious of the Sunday meetings for so many slaves and the “dangerous” ideas they were spreading (Olwig 1993:8, 69–71).4 The Anglican Church had long neglected the Af­r i­can, and Methodists were not only allowing them into the church, but openly encouraging oratory and dialogue (Olwig 1993). In England, as on Nevis, the Methodist Church participated vigorously in the debates over emancipation. On Nevis, ill feelings arose and the Charlestown Methodist church was set ablaze by a pro-­slavery mob in 1797, but was saved from total destruction (Hubbard 1996:120). Fig Tree Anglican Church stands in St. John Parish. In this church Horatio Nelson’s marriage to Fanny Nesbit, daughter of a prominent Nevisian planter family, was sanctified in 1787. The keystone over the entry to the church reads AD 1638. This date does not correspond with his­tori­cal documents and may not refer to the standing structure, but to another. Nevertheless, there is no doubt the church is among the oldest on Nevis. The church has undergone repeated rebuilding and serves as a cautionary tale of using such edifices for dating. A large copper rests on church grounds. Several are being used as household cisterns nearby. The area was extensively terraced and is indicative of intensive historic cultivation in the vicinity. In St. Thomas Parish are the remains of Cottle Church, built in 1824 (not included in our survey sample). Founded by Nevis planter Thomas Cottle, an Anglican, the church was intended as a place of worship “for all races” [sic].

178 / Chapter 6

This multiracial congregation confronted adversity of­ten, with the church burned on more than one occasion (Hubbard 1996:121). The church fell into disuse after emancipation. Cottle was married to the daughter of Edward Hug­g ins, another prominent planter. The interlocking relationships of the plantocracy are illustrated by this marriage. Not only was the planter class actively consolidating estates, but the families were consolidating as well.

Af­r i­can Villages The term “Af­r i­can village” is used locally to describe abandoned sites once occupied by Nevisians of Af­r i­can descent who were formerly enslaved. At least two are directly associated with specific estates. Three villages were investigated for this study, which will be aggregated here for discussion and comparison. The villages are identified on the 1871 Burke Iles Map as Vaughan’s, Morgan’s, and Harpie’s (Figure 6.12). Evidence is inadequate to substantiate a pre-­ emancipation history for the Harpie’s and Vaughan’s sites, although it certainly cannot be ruled out, especially at Morgan’s, where the preponderance of recovered ceramic artifacts yield mean manufacturing dates of 1750 (Meni­ ketti 2014). The period of most extensive occupation of the Af­r i­can villages would appear to be from post-­emancipation and into the early twentieth century, as evidenced by several classes of artifact. Morgan’s village is immediately downslope from the remains of the Mor­ gan Estate sugar works and is bisected by a cobble road that descends from the upper elevation to Charlestown. Approximately an acre has recently been cleared for construction of a luxury villa, cutting through the north­ern section of the site and destroying one portion of the former road. House platforms of clustered stone piles were closely grouped on terraces ranging from ten (3m) to twenty feet (6m) across. Plots of furrowed earth of indeterminate age were adjacent to some of the clusters bordering drainage ghuts and are indicators of household-­scale food production. Stone clusters were organized around definite paths. Vaughan’s was intersected during survey. This sizable settlement spread over several acres and is located very near the large estates situated immediately north and east of Charlestown. Vaughan’s village was investigated to increase data about village spatial organization. The village of Vaughan’s spreads widely in the forest and proved difficult to accurately assess. Here a historic road bordering the village was discovered. From this road narrow avenues meandered between the stone platforms. Only one masonry foundation of modest size

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 179

Figure 6.12. Villages depicted somewhat generically in the enlargement from the Alexander Burke Iles map, 1871. Houses are shown in neat rows, but the spatial organization of the villages was considerably more organic and conformed closely to terrain.

was recorded. The Vaughan’s site was found to be completely obliterated in 2012 with the latest environmental transformation—a private golf course. The population density in Vaughan’s was likely very high. Thirteen platforms were recorded over a 200 by 100 foot (60m x 30m) area with spacing ranging from five (1.5m) to twenty feet (6m). Platform dimensions create a bi-­modal distribution in the sample, but the majority measured less than ten feet (3m) to a side, and under three feet (.9m) in height. Artifacts recorded on the surface were primarily nineteenth-­century medicinal bottles and printed ceramics. Given a basic household of four, it is estimated that 52 people packed into this small area. Actual household size is not known, so this estimate may be low. At Morgan’s village, thirty closely packed house platforms of stacked stone and boulders, some arranged in rectangular order, were recorded. The foundations suggest single-­room structures. Few exhibited the same uniform shape as found at Vaughan’s, however, and groupings were less distinct. If all the platforms were for single families, and using the assumption of household as four persons for comparison, a fig­ure of 120 persons can be conjectured for the sample area. Stacked stone piles abutted a massive rock at the Morgan’s village location, forming an enclosure that perhaps served as an animal pen. The pattern of the village was quite distinct once mapped. Comparing the spatial ordering of the vari­ous villages reveals a pattern of close quarters in a high density, rural, residential landscape, on marginal land. More significantly, these arrangements have much in common with residential and plantation spatial ordering of earlier historic phases. In Vaughan’s village, a ghut divided the clusters of stone platforms. At Morgan’s, a deep ghut sided the village on its south side, and a less deep drainage ran along the north side. The ghut emerged from under the Upper Round Road through a well-­

180 / Chapter 6

built masonry outlet. Where the road crossed the ghut, it was supported by a masonry bridgeway, which maintained the road on a straight path to the Morgan Estate. It should not be assumed, however, that village spatial organization was entirely outside the control of the residents. The dense clusters and terracing found suggested a standard conception of village spatial ordering. The villages may well have replicated familiar patterns of residence once maintained on estates. It is an issue requiring additional research. They are organized following contours with minimal environmental modification. Artifactual evidence from these villages suggests adoption of consumer behaviors similar to Euro-­colonial patterns, especially in the use of mass-­ produced ceramics and flatirons for pressing clothes—an indication at least of acceptance of customs of attire and fastidious neatness and a sense of pride in appearance, perhaps a vestige of the cults of respectability promulgated by the Methodist Church on Nevis (Olwig 1993, 1995). However, there is little indication of the penetration of new concepts for spatial ordering accompanying or driven by capitalism, as it is suggested that Europeans experienced at this time. In general, artifacts were not visible in the dense forest understory, but the few that were found included liquor bottles, common colonial domestic ceramics, and clay tobacco smoking pipes. Afro-­Nevisian ware (colonoware) was also abundantly present. The range in dates may be misleading, owing to the extremely small sample and unsystematic manner in which they were noted, but the artifacts support an assessment of late eighteenth-­to nineteenth-­ century occupation at these sites. Few twentieth-­century artifacts were evident, signaling the likely period of abandonment. The data suggests a reduction in settlement building and a period of contraction, with populations becoming ever more concentrated into fewer population centers in the early nineteenth century.

Artifact Assemblages His­tori­cal archaeologists, according to Orser (1996a:234), “must approach the study of artifacts in a way that stresses relations over attributes.” Within the context of capitalism, artifacts can be viewed as commodities having symbolic attributes and therefore the potential for relational analy­sis is strong. Dyadic relationships such as buyer-­seller, producer-­consumer, colonist-­merchant, or planter-­bondsman have internal dynamics, which may be explored from the perspective of relational networks. Each in­di­v idual has many roles and is bound up in myriad relations that impact decision-­making and behavior.

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 181

Artifacts mediate these relationships and may affect self-­definition ­( Beaudry, Cook, and Mrozowski 1991:276; Praetzellis, Praetzellis, and Brown 1993:194; Steen 1999:69). The Ridge House as briefly described was both rural in character and a site of extractive industry that was occupied between Phase I and II, f­ ading finally during Phase III. Material culture gathered from the Ridge House site nonetheless displayed a finer selection of wares than from other sites investigated, and this was unexpected. Significantly more tablewares of finer quality (particularly tea service) and specialization were present. Coarse wares are mostly absent from the table, and everyday wares were represented by a large assortment of designs and colors, but a limited range of types. The collection is befitting of a planter or planter’s agent with just enough means to acquire the symbols of status that fine domestic wares represented during the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Here, at a small plantation residence, tea was served in porcelain and pearlware, meals on the latest serving wares and from decorative bowls and platters. It is uncertain whether pewter or wood were in service—they probably were if probate rec­ords of the period are to be trusted, but the resident or residents of this small sugar operation were certainly displaying the material culture messages that symbolically and psychologically confirmed their position in Nevisian colonial society, even if only for themselves. Potters in distant centers manufactured tablewares for special purposes uncommon in the centuries prior to colonization (Noel-­Hume 1974; Beaudry 1999; Miller 1994). They were both meeting a demand and creating a desire which affected social standing with nuanced contextual meanings within and between households (Beaudry, Cook, and Mrozowski 1991:291; Adams and Boling 1991:64; Barker 1999; Steen 1999:70). The rising middle class in the eighteenth century—a product of the successful exploitation of colonial development—acquired the new and affordable markers of status as best they could, not so much displacing earlier measures of status as adding to the litany. Matching sets became a popu­lar innovation, setting in motion a quasi-­ modern consumerism. Because new manufacturing techniques made it possible for wares to be accessible to wider classes of consumers, traditional social distinctions based on tablewares blurred, leading to acquisition of an increasing range of wares. Being a “colonial” could hurt ones social attainment in the mother country, and members of the plantocracy sought to establish themselves in the social hierarchy through established means, in­clud­ing sending their children to school in England (Lowenthal 1972:35). The adaptations that were occurring within the socialized context transformed society, but kept them connected

182 / Chapter 6

to the evolving capitalist economy within the emergent world system. It may be that creolization was occurring primarily among the sectors of the population who could not afford to leave. Creolization has many constructions in the West Indies. It may mean persons native to the island, but also connotes a mixing of ancestral heritage. It is of­ten used by researchers to imply a transformative process (Armstrong 2003:6). Variables influencing personal choice included cost, novelty, rarity, differential access, utility, but also new suites of behaviors governing social values. Use and display are simultaneous yet serve separate psychosocial functions. Any cup will serve for consuming a beverage, any platter is adequate for a meal. Yet as one internalizes elements of behavior associated with specific material culture, the objects act as extensions or expressions of implicit values. Specialized containers become associated with specific beverages and with newly derived behaviors, not from need but to distinguish the user among the cognoscenti. Although the assemblages dealt with here are small and fragmentary, important information concerning similarities and distinctions between site-­ types is nonetheless heuristic for illuminating social behavior. In Mary Beau­ dry’s eloquent prose, “the relationship of behavior to the modern world is far from passive; artifacts are tangible incarnations of social relationships embodying the attitudes and behaviors of the past” (Beaudry, Cook, and Mro­ zowski 1991:272). The sheer volume and variety of tea service items from the Ridge House site suggest both adoption of this “tea-­complex” at a material level, but also acceptance in the symbolic domain among the middle classes (Mintz 1985:​ 141). Participation, display, and consumption directly linked the consumer household in the colonial periphery to the suites of behaviors and values of the core culture to which they aspired. Yet it also connected the household to a world sys­tem that included potters in England and America, tea plantations in the orient, shipbuilders in North America, bankers in Antwerp, sugar refiners in Europe, textile workers in England, and a vast network of commercial and social relationships. The assemblage of ceramics from the Ridge House complex informs on the reach of consumer behaviors in the Caribbean colonial periphery. These were identified using standard sources, as observed by Semple (1944), Hughes and Hughes (1968), Miller and Stone (1970), Mayes (1972), Kelso (1984), Noel Hume (1985), Barker (1999), Majewski and Noble (1999), and Neale (2005). By calculating the percentages of vessel forms from the total, a preliminary understanding of on-­site usage can be developed. Further, by recategorizing the assemblage in terms of place-­use (such as kitchen, storage,

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 183

serving ware, and commondayware) in general terms, the lifestyle present at the site distinct from status behaviors can be determined. As observed by Beaudry (1993:52), “There is no single best or true classificatory scheme for ceramics or for anything else for that matter” and “different classifications can coexist if we make the most of our data.” In this context, the ceramic assemblage from the Ridge House can be used to isolate personal choice against the background of consumer options for this one household. While Nevis was neither an emporium nor entrepôt, its archaeological deposits exhibit the wide assortment of colonial wares encountered by his­tori­cal archaeologists. Colonial types and styles are well defined, and forms generally understood. The challenge is not to piece together an entire agate-­ware bowl, but to understand the bowl and style in the context of foodways and social life. Assessing lifestyle in terms of status display in household contexts can illuminate social attitudes and behaviors while hinting at the degree to which different sectors of island colonial society were influenced by consumer trends stemming from the core, which fused material culture with enacted culture. Mean ceramic manufacturing dates were compiled and used as a conservative chronological tool during surveys and excavation. The date ranges, based on several sources, provided a useful tool for assigning approximate date values to assemblages and surface scatters encountered during the project. Additionally, analy­sis of forms and their associations yielded information about possible usage (Beaudry 1993). Examination of trash deposits or midden composition and associated structures are used to inform on the possible activities at sites (King and Miller 1991:331; Steen 1999:64). For example, utilitarian wares were an important part of colonial households for food preparation and storage. Finer wares were intended for serving and display at the table; this presupposes a household of some means that has also internalized behaviors of display. Households with humble wares, however, may exhibit less differentiation between wares for preparation and those used for consumption, yet may aspire to the same behaviors displayed by social elites. Display is a form of discourse understood within class-­based societies and by no means unidirectional (Beaudry, Cook, and Mrozowski 1991:286). That ceramics play such a role is well understood in his­tori­cal archaeology, whether to segregate authority in frontiers (Miller and Stone 1970: 97), to divide classes of workers at mill factories (Beaudry , Cook, and Mrozowski 1991:286), or to differentiate ethnicity (Armstrong 1990:135). Wares might be expected to serve double-­duty in households lacking the means for specialized wares or sets. The artifacts that were recovered during surface collections are not un-

184 / Chapter 6

usual in scope and have parallels elsewhere in the Caribbean, such as reported for Drax Hall plantation in Jamaica (Armstrong 1982, 1990), at Port Royal, Jamaica (Mayes 1972), at Indian Castle, Nevis (Meniketti 1998), in the Bahamas (Wilkie and Farnsworth 2005), and elsewhere on Nevis (Morris 2000). For that matter, these same wares are found in New England, the colonial Ameri­can South, and frontiers and forts of North America as far as Canada (Miller and Stone 1970), a testament to the remarkable expansion of material culture that followed European exploration and settlement (Miller and Stone 1970). These may yet prove to be copies from New England potters, as direct connections between potters in New England and Nevis have recently been revealed (Liebeknecht 2007). If a particular vessel is labeled as “food preparation,” the locations where the vessels are found might be identified as kitchen areas. However, what is driving the identification, sure knowledge of the vessel as a kitchen item or its association with a kitchen? The assumption that an object is found in its assigned activity area is compelling, but never certain. In the cases presented here, categorization comes first from architectural association and context. The Ridge House was a small residential structure with a smaller nearby kitchen structure, thus table wares and food preparation vessels would be anticipated. The artifacts analyzed from Nevis belong to several different classes of commodities that can serve in both functional and social venues, of­ten simultaneously. Objects themselves lack messages. Only through specific contexts do they become invested with meanings and charged with significance relevant in social relations. These messages then reinforce behavior. The role of an object can be scripted in a multi-­layered play. The messages are lost on those unfamiliar with the script, automatically excluding those persons. Yet even the cognoscenti must work to maintain position. The entire relational exchange serves to segregate social units while grading those within a social unit. Trends in consumer behavior are evident in the Nevis archaeological assemblages that offer relevant information for testing the essential questions concerning penetration of capitalism to the in­di­v idual and micro-­ level integration of social changes associated with capitalism. Even here are examples of the ubiquitous English ceramic exports that flooded the colonies, hinting at consumerism’s penetration among vari­ous social ranks. Nevisian colonists, according to their means, were accepting and selecting the manufactured goods from Britain, in part because there was limited choice, but also because of what these wares proclaimed about the owner—they were part of the colonial prosperity and linked to the value sys­tem of the core state. The Ridge House assemblage was weighted toward tea service fragments

Decline and Adjustment, 1782–1833 / 185

Figure 6.13. The chimney became both a visual and symbolic landmark of the new industrial age during Phase III on Nevis.

and colonoware jar forms. Were the residents regularly consuming meals on plain, locally produced wares and bringing out imported European fine wares on only those occasions where display was deemed essential? Based on the evidence, the Ridge House assemblage appears to suggest a planter with aspirations of wealth and social status, but of insufficient means, incorporating the behaviors of emerging consumer ideology—even if only to reinforce this to himself. The variety and range of qualities being produced in the metropole and in other peripheries, such as New England colonies, were part of an emerging capitalist, factory-­based pottery industry of England. The small European population on Nevis actively and materially participated in the Atlantic trade, not simply at the level of industry or as a consumer of slaves to serve as industrial machinery, but by internalizing the product-­oriented social sys­ tem developing during the eighteenth century. As the eighteenth century progressed, new objects and commodities came

186 / Chapter 6

in to use along with new social rules. Our ceramic evidence supports the insight that “knowing how to act was reinforced by knowing what to buy and use” (Martin 1996:76). Material goods, such as ceramics, were just one aspect of their incorporation into, and adoption of, the capitalist mercantilism stemming from the Atlantic economy in which they aggressively engaged and which they helped to expand. As the era of slavery neared its end, changes in industrial architecture and spatial layouts were once again evident, as new technologies were introduced. The new industrial strategy made possible by steam technology was a gridded landscape, facilitating increased efficiency for getting raw sugar to centralized mill sites. Chimneys now punctuated the viewscape (Figure 6.13). No longer were agro-­industrialists conforming to topography, but rather, systematizing and managing the landscape in robust ways. The transformed physical and social landscapes, as understood by the planters, acted to reshape the contours of the psychological terrain.

III SYNTHESIS AND CONCLUSIONS

7

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow “The commercial capitalism of the eighteenth century developed the wealth of Europe by means of slavery and monopoly. But in so doing it helped to create the industrial capitalism of the nineteenth century, which turned round and destroyed the power of commercial capitalism, slavery, and all its works.” —Eric Williams ([1944] 1994:210)

A two-­t ier model, one socioeconomic in scope, the other environmental, was proposed at the beginning of this book to account for the internal and external processes acting on Nevis, which might bear on analy­sis of regional trends. Each tier was viewed as directed or influenced by the emergence of capitalism. Initial colonization of Nevis was clearly intended for commodity production, leading inexorably to a modified environment as land was cleared (Mintz 1985:45). Still, the question of whether this was driven by simple plantation expansion or shaped by forces emerging within capitalism was unanswered until extensive archaeological investigations were conducted. The documentary record for this period is fragmented. The lacunae of documentary information directly addressing issues of environment or capitalism was especially salient when attempting to answer questions concerning abstract processes that his­tori­cal participants may not have been aware were occurring, nor might have thought to describe had they been aware. Many features of the proposed model could only be addressed through archaeology, particularly those features encompassing landscape analy­sis, where we tried to link development with economic change. The social landscape governed by rank and position in the earliest phase of settlement can be characterized in many aspects as transitional from a feudalist to capitalist mode (Meniketti 2005; Hicks 2007a, 2007b; Woodward 2011). That is, the social relations governing labor and the economic structures affecting capital were those grounded in and structured by the European systems in place at the end of the sixteenth century (Williams 1994;

190 / Chapter 7

Braudel 1973; Mintz 1985). Although the first enterprises were independent companies, their structure of bonded laborers formed a peasant class in Caribbean context, and over time, land was acquired by wealthy planters at the expense of this class of colonist who, at an earlier time, might have purchased plots at the end of their indenture (Mintz 1985). Indeed, tenant farmers on some estates in the eighteenth century on St. Kitts replicated feudal arrangements (Hicks 2007a:33). In the crucible of the Caribbean, as successes in production encouraged new settlement, both the environmental and social/ethnic landscapes were gradually transformed. Even so notable an observer as Benjamin Franklin reported on the adverse effects on local weather resulting from deforestation on Guadaloupe (Grove 1997:28). French authorities implemented policies to protect waterways on the colony in order to avoid localized climate changes as a result of Franklin’s observations. Such accounts, although few in num­ber, suggest that at least some planters were aware of the environmental changes they were causing, and some expressed concern. They were not entirely ignorant of their impact on the natural world. His­tori­cal archaeology in the French Caribbean will likely yield significant evidence of environmental interactions comparable to the British attitudes toward landscape (Kelly 2004). Arrival of new planters and increased investment from abroad led to novel labor relations and variations in land ownership and patterns of landscape exploitation (Mintz 1971, 1985). The exchanges between Nevis in the periphery and the core state encouraged changes in financial and economic practices, which lead incrementally toward market capitalism as competition among traditional European states intensified. The evidence suggests that environmental changes on Nevis were increasingly tied to systemic expansion of production. Settlement spread on the island was strategic, not haphazard, moving outward along the coastal flat lands from nodes determined by shipping, before moving into higher, marginally acceptable ground. Although marginal and steep terrain came to be exploited, this occurred principally in periods of diminishing returns. During the very earliest stages of colonization, little variation of material goods was evident to distinguish rank. It is entirely possible that rank was understood by voluntary social contractual accord, such as greater percentages of profits to higher ranking individuals, privileged access to foods or less demanding workloads, greater land ownership, or communicated in subtle aspects of personal apparel and grooming, or name (Wobst 1977, 1997; Giddens 1979; Fletcher 1989; Wiessner 1989). There is also the fact that the first adventurous settlers knew each other, so rank was understood. Few of these markers would be accessible from the archaeological record and unknowable without documents. Fortunately analogs are evident.

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 191

For the industrial and architectural landscape, archaeological analy­sis proceeded from the scale of infrastructure and the systemic requirements of operation in a frontier—what was necessary to achieve the goals of agro-­industrial production. Analysis was carried out by integrating archaeologi­cal site-­t ypes with spatial mapping to assess the structuring of landscape dia­chronically. An assumption made was that site-­t ypes could be identified categorically through a general typology and further, that different site-­types held different and generally discreet functions within the colony. This moves analy­sis away from the concept of plantations as wholly autonomous entities and places them in a socio-­industrial context—something comparable across time, space, and nationality. Space is interpreted here from the perspective that it is as much an element of architecture as the selection of materials. If space, as asserted by Lefebvre (1993:26), is “a tool of thought and action . . . and hence a means of control, of domination and power. . . .” then it must be applied in such a manner that the intended recipient of such control understands the message. Such relationships as implied by Lefebvre exist in the theoretical, not physical, world, with their meanings displayed for those with the key for decoding the messages in contemporary time (Wobst 1977:321; Hodder 1984:53). The landscape preserves elements of the display. This “deep structure” of meaning is carried in non-­verbal communication (Hodder 1989; Butzer and Butzer 2000). During this analy­sis, the premise was accepted that meanings in space are in part actualizations of cultural constructs from the cognitive domain; however, not all meanings are hidden to us or accidental products of the subconscious, as many are blatant and intentional attributes of colonial behavior finding expression at vari­ous nexuses within society (Hodder 1984; Weissner 1989; Johnson 1993; Leone 1994; Mugerauer 1995; Murphy and Johnson 2000). Going further, symbolism and traditions are embodied in architecture. As Tuan cogently framed the phenomena, “culture and experience influence interpretation of environment [and] levels of aspiration affects one’s sense of spatial adequacy—aspirations are culturally conditioned” (Tuan 1977:55). Was such manipulation of space an active part of the agro-­industrial landscape on Nevis? In the context of slavery, control was certainly a vital issue for the plantocracy, but what does it look like in landscape terms? Additionally, not all relationships of power or inequity were between slaves and slaveholders. Elite planters had reason to control lesser planters and to maintain roles or status positions in the transatlantic community. Hierarchies among laborers also existed (Orser 1988; Paynter 1989; Joseph 1992). Architectural spaces also derive their suggestive powers through place, iconography, and other forms of built-­in display (Tuan 1977). The industrial landscape was built to withstand hurricane-­force winds, but

192 / Chapter 7

also to signify strength and permanence in the cognitive domain. The contrast of the stone edifices of industry and the homes of its captains with the abodes of labor served as a not-­so-­subtle daily reminder of the hierarchy of social relations structuring the colony during the eighteenth century on Nevis. The impermanence of housing for Af­r i­can laborers compared to that of European colonists strongly reinforced the fragility of their position within colonial society. In his critique of Clarke’s (1968) seminal Analytical Archaeology, Tilley (1981) argues that “both change and stability in human systems relate to processes and as such we should regard both in terms of continuous trajectory without clearly defined beginnings or ends” (Tilley 1981:364). This study, however, has clear temporal boundaries that, on the one hand, define the beginnings, and on the other, make evident the processes and patterns of the emergent capitalist production systems. That being the case, one should detect in the archaeological landscape a shift in production from small-­scale to large-­scale, with associated changes in production facilities toward greater differentiation of space into discreet activity areas divided between production and non-­production, and socially between managers and workers. Workers can either be indentured servants or slaves, it does not matter. These relations are expected to appear especially in status-­associated artifacts, residential patterns, mobility behavior and options, and degrees of access to commodities—imported or native. Larger and more technologically sophisticated factory facilities should also appear in relation to developing production. Indeed, this was the case on Nevis. Finally, there should also be increasing exploitation of the environment to satisfy the systemic needs of production, discernible primarily in scale of production and distribution of industrial sites across the landscape, but also in terms of exploitation of environment along with the reconfiguration and reproduction of familiar landscapes. Such change as documented by Hicks (2007a, 2007b) on St. Kitts illuminates the process. While the industrial aspects of the colony expanded to increase production, land became an important variable in success. Demographic data offers additional insights into development on Nevis as labor increased to support production.

Demographics Population fig­ures for Nevis are reliable for only a limited number of years (Figure 7.1). Oldmixon (1708:204) offers the fig­ure of three to four thousand inhabitants after only twenty years of settlement and takes great pains to authenticate a population between 20,000 and 30,000 in the 1680s, ac-

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 193

Figure 7.1. Population demographics on Nevis. (Data compiled from Caribbeana vol. 1–6; Davis 1962; Galloway 1989; Goviea 1965; Merrill 1958; Pares 1936; Williams 1970.)

counting for most as military garrisons and black slaves (1708:204). Oldmixon’s calculations do not have corroboration. Jeffers (1792b) cites 30,000 during the middle of the eighteenth century. Jeffers’s numbers exceed by three times the numbers derived from other sources and were suspect until survey revealed the extent of now abandoned settlement. During the years 1672– 1686, there were important increases in the slave population among the Leeward Islands of Nevis, St. Kitts, Montserrat, and Antigua. Dunn (1972:141) has calculated a nearly equal number between European and Af­r i­can1 populations for 1678, with a total of 7,370 persons. Higham (1921:145) calculated populations for white and non-­white as doubling between 1672–1678, but falling drastically and rebounding slightly by 1708. The disease cycle on Nevis in 1690 killed a significant percentage of the white population. In 1678, Sir William Stapleton reported the Nevisian population consisted of 1,534 white men, 828 women, and another 943 children. Of the adults, more than 600 were identified as Irish and Scot (Higham 1921:148). The Af­r i­can population is given as 1,422 male, 1,322 female and 1,116 children, indicating the increasing trade in slaves for this period. Population statistics also highlight that women were not in short supply, while children of English, Irish, and Af­r i­can heritage represented more than 20 percent of the total population. This represents a tremendous burden for a society that, for the most part, did not produce its own food. We cannot assume outright that these children were colonists in the usual sense though. Sweeps through Lon­don streets to collect orphan children of­ten took place,

194 / Chapter 7

and these poor souls were subsequently shipped to the colonies. Citing a census taken by the governor of the Leeward Islands, Dunn’s fig­ures indicate that as slave numbers remained relatively stable early, then increased steadily over time, white population decreased markedly by 1708 (Dunn 1972:141). Other tallies vary in quality and availability. Iles estimated a total population of 12,000 for 1871, but offers the fig­ure 10,000 for the official census of 1861. Perhaps the single most telling demographic detail is the sharp de­cline in the European population relative to Af­ri­can. Enslaved Af­ri­cans came to make up the majority of the colony, living on estates and laboring in fields. The difference in population composition between 1655 and 1782 concurrent with plantation expansion also suggest changes in social structure and colonial focus. The human landscape was also transformed significantly in Phase II as enslaved populations swelled to become the majority inhabitants at a ratio of 8:1 with a European minority (Higham 1921; Dunn 1972). Population demographics demonstrate vividly that even as planters decreased, labor needs remained constant, despite institutionalization of the slave industry. Edwards reports “600 whites and 10,000 negroe” in 1793 (Edwards 1793:435). Changes reflect economic shifts toward increased control by quasi-­capitalists who initiated a period of estate consolidation that left little or no room for small holders. Furthermore, these data underscore the nature of the colony as principally industrial in scope. Taken as a whole, landscape features arising after 1655 primarily reflect the needs of the plantocracy for efficient operation of semi-­autonomous plantation communities and maintenance of social distinctions within a stratified society. However, these two functions are of­ten at odds, and there is evidence in spatial arrangements that suggest members of the plantocracy of­ten ignored models of efficiency in favor of other priorities, possibly status maintenance. Status considerations construe one more element of the variable load influencing decision-­making behavior. Colonial development during latter half of the eightieth century clearly is distinguished by increasing prosperity for a few elite and a marked shift in population demographics on Nevis. The transformed environment featured larger plantations, residential structures for the plantocracy of greater scale than previously built (Pariss Garden or Montravers, for instance), and increased attention to defense.

Social Landscape Having walked over numerous footpaths between estates during survey, it struck me that slaves passaging between plantations along unofficial tracks

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 195

created for themselves what might be termed “subversive landscapes,” hidden from the plantocracy—carving meanings through the bush for its trespassers. Many such paths between villages are in use to this day, linking estates away from paved roads and official routes. Many have become “common heritage paths” and are recognized legally as historic easements across property, and bitter fights can break out if a path is hindered in any way.2 Unofficially, the enslaved created for themselves landscapes of which planters were not cognizant, or when aware, prudently avoided. The archaeology of these landscapes, social and physical, remains to be explored and compared transnationally to other Caribbean islands. From letters between agents and owners we can glean that few skilled craftspeople lived on Nevis. It is likely many were on St. Kitts. Indentured laborers with trade skills, especially masons, were valued in the colonies and found ready employment, if not wealth. Prior to 1680, one might find indentured Europeans working the fields alongside Af­r i­cans (Beckles 1998). However, slavery became a racialized institution following passage of laws forbidding European slavery, excepting only po­l iti­cal prisoners. Certainly more than one diasporic group resisted servitude while shaping the social landscape. In addition to labor problems, the variable load on planters operating during the eighteenth century was significantly different from their counterparts a century before. Whereas seventeenth-­century estate owners worried over transport distances and labor, eighteenth-­century agro-­industrialists were ever more concerned with personal status, finances, and with squeezing more syrup from sugar grown in increasingly depleted soils. This is evident from documents, material goods, the size of estates, and statements found in the articles of capitulation to the French in 1782. Technological innovations between Phase I and Phase II, such as the three-­ roller crusher or the Jamaica train, improved production. Efficiency should be understood in this case as not a measure of labor output, but rather of product. Labor for the plantations was a constant cost, and an insecure one. However, for the sugar economy on Nevis, land was treated more as the investment than was labor (Figure 7.2). Slaves were viewed as replaceable, whereas land was not. Plantations were only autonomous in theory. In terms of spatial organization, they followed both established norms and novel configurations, yet in use of industrial space they conformed to a number of common ­practices and left similar footprints. All were dependent on sugar markets, prices in the home market, credit, and the merchant class, which members of elite plantocracy viewed itself to be above socially. Cramped spaces and legally restricted mobility officially defined the landscape for slaves and, for a time, emancipated wage laborers.

196 / Chapter 7

Figure 7.2. The landscape on the south side of Nevis reveals the sectioning and terracing for sugar production that once was common across the entire island. Rock walls create boundaries but also spaces for non-­native plants to gain a toehold on the landscape.

Even though the environment and soils were degrading, climate still allowed for annual harvests (Merrill 1958). Importing of labor increased in part because the new landscape dominated by macro-­scale sugar producers could be managed on a rotating schedule of production, harvesting, and refining (Galloway 1989:91). Herein lay the roots of managerial skills that would spawn a managerial class so important to the ascendancy of capitalism. The managerial class grew to mediate its own position in society (Mrozowski 2000). The number of estates in our archaeological sample from Phase I (1627– 1655) and their documented distribution points to a rapid spread of plantations across the landscape rather than a slow progression from a central node. The leapfrog effect of a “colonization gradient” (Lewis 1984) on an open frontier was manifested, but compressed in nature, with a different outcome once settlement completed encircling the island. The process of in-­filling in marginal areas then occurred. Island frontiers are not limitless, nor are their resources. Two limiting factors affected initial expansion: the rate of forest clearing and available labor. Works associated with indigo, ginger, or tobacco produc-

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 197

tion have all vanished or been absorbed into sugar complexes. As the scale of production increased, so too did the number of plantations during Phase II (1655–1782). Unlike earlier settlement patterns, in terms of the development model extrapolated here, settlements appear to have expanded outward from established nodes at Jamestown and Charlestown, first consuming flat land along the island’s perimeter. Distance was not necessarily a limitation. During the sec­ond discernible phase of development on Nevis, consolidation or absorption of small and medium-­scaled estates by consortiums and a minority of wealthy planters significantly reduced the number of estate owners. Cost structures had also changed, making it unprofitable to start from scratch. A different kind of colonist began arriving on Nevis’s shores than had journeyed to the isles before. The work of clearing had been accomplished, roads had been constructed, mobility patterned, and a sys­tem established. Figure 7.3 shows the spread of development of the sugar colony around the island based the archaeological record in correspondence to his­tori­cal phases.

Sugar Prosperity and Environmental Transformation Fortunate were the planters on Nevis that through­out this century of conflict (1700–1800), or perhaps owing to it, sugar prices remained reasonably high. With English protectionist policies in place at home, growers enjoyed a monopoly and limited competition. Although such legislation guaranteed and secured markets in England, Nevis planters had limited access to world markets. It is clear from contemporary correspondences and council reports that foreign policy in the Caribbean among competing European powers was aimed at disrupting sugar production and shipments of competitors (Crouse 1943; Davis 1962; Duffy 1987; Emmer 1998; Perotin-­Drumond 1999; see also Calendar of States Papers, Colonial Series. America and the West I­ ndies for years 1650–1780). For Britain, this was less intended to reduce market competition than it was to dismantle the economic base of its rivals. For the French and Dutch, to damage English sugar production was to cripple the English economy at one of its key sources. During war, less shipping reached ports. With a drop in overall tonnage, commodities fell in supply. More importantly than an example of Adam Smith’s simple formula of supply and demand was the attendant decline in all arenas of the economy that were yoked to the sys­tem that was evolving. In Britain, sectors as diverse as textile manufacturing to cooperage could be impacted by the capture or loss of ships, particularly through reduced capaci­t ies for remuneration. As previously cited, Nevisian merchants complained bitterly in official

198 / Chapter 7

Figure 7.3. Map illustrating the hypothesized spread of settlement through phases. Darkest area shows places of initial settlement 1627. Dark gray from 1630 to 1655. Medium gray shows settlement spread around island and to higher elevations 1655 to mid-­1700s. Lightest gray shows areas brought under cultivation from 1750 to 1800s. Areas in white are not settled or put under cultivation.

documents of the illicit trade from St. Eustatius. Archaeological evidence suggests the extent of this illicit trade went beyond simple avoidance of tariffs on imports. Thus, status goods, unavailable through legal British trade, could still find their way to Nevis and could play a role in the material culture of hierarchical relations. Smuggling and other illicit avenues of trade should not be viewed as something apart from capitalism’s mainstream, but rather as an integrated parallel economy—entrenched—not existing despite laws designed

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 199

to prevent it, but because of those restrictions (Schmidt and Mrozowski 1988:40). Dutch enterprise in the Caribbean may have indirectly contributed to changes in merchant capitalism through free ports and unrestricted trade or from smuggling (Crouse 1943; Merrill 1958; Goslinga 1971; Klooster 1998). The proximity to Nevis of the Dutch free port at St. Eustatius contributed to local merchant insecurity. Parliament pressed heavy protectionist taxes on foreign sugar. It should be obvious that protecting the plantocracy or their debtors, and not the consumer, was the principle Parliament had in mind (Mintz 1985). Data for sugar exports from Nevis and market prices in Lon­don during the eighteenth century reveal a cyclical pattern of rise and fall, in­clud­ing several points of precipitous declines (Dunn 1972; Lobdell 1972; Mintz 1985; Carrington 2002). When compared to production on other British islands, the pattern is clearly not unique to Nevis. Prices and production volumes, however, do not appear united. Other possible factors at work are weather, shipping, overproduction, and po­l iti­cal maneuvering of planters in Parliament. The famous “triangle trade” was far more complex than is commonly portrayed. Many vessels sailed directly to the West Indies with one of the more important commodities needed by the islands. In periods of peace, few though they were, the Atlantic trade might involve a host of ports and cargoes. While raw materials crossed eastward over the Atlantic, textiles, rum, and manufactured goods made their way to Africa. Only coffee threatened to supercede the value of sugar as a bulk trade commodity, especially in France, where nearly 90 percent was re-­exported (Duffy 1987:9). Consumption of coffee and tea increased the demand for sugar. The Atlantic economy in the eighteenth century was a world-­sys­tem under full sail. All of this bulk trade served as a stimulus to seaports in Britain and for agricultural production inland. Because the final refining of sugar was reserved for home production, the sugar industry also had direct impact on employment in England (Davis 1962; Mintz 1985; Duffy 1987) and general demographics. Duffy (1987:11) calculated the population increase in Liverpool for 5,000 to 78,000 over the period of 1700–1800, in direct connection to industries supporting the colonies (shipping, slaving, refining) with a similar circumstance in French port cities (Duffy 1987:12). Cotton production supplemented the income on several plantations and was subject to its own freight rating.3 Reporting methods during the seventeenth century were of­ten inaccurate, frequently changed, and regulation of the trade was late in development. Therefore, it is difficult to fully assess the trade from Nevis in the seventeenth century or to compare its value during the eighteenth century. Available statistics do, nonetheless, allow gen-

200 / Chapter 7

eral statements regarding its importance to the colony’s economy. As has been shown in this study, several factors played a role in the shaping trade. It appears that soon after the French capture of the island in 1782, Nevis suffered a sharp economic downturn exacerbated by globally declining sugar prices owing to overproduction. Loss of Ameri­can trading partners made a bad situation worse (Williams 1994:209; Carrington 2002:246). The Napoleonic wars and Haitian Revolution added indirectly to the economic turmoil, followed by a brief resurgence in sugar prices, but only with government support (Carrington 2002:276). As Engerman (1996:161) makes evident through his analy­sis of trade developments in the Lesser Antilles, geopo­liti­cal events played as much a role in determining the dominant traders of the region—French, British, or later Cuban—as the demand for sugar in home markets. At the close of Phase II after 1782, many mill-­complexes fell silent, the land of these estates to be consolidated into the hands of a few.

Settlement Patterns and Environmental Change Archaeological assessment is that capitalism writ large, either as a mode of production or as a model of consumerism, was not operative at the time of first colonization on Nevis, and settlement can be characterized by practices embedded in feudal relations, where such relations were defined by control over the means of production, surplus, and land ownership. Sites from Phase I (1627–1655) were compared with sites identified as Phase II (1655–1782) and Phase III (1782–1833). Yet within 50 years these patterns had changed. Apparent differences in land-­use patterns are suggested as stemming from capitalist production systems, that is, changes in both the mode and relational aspects of commodity manufacture occurring in the West Indies (Mintz 1985; Williams 1994). The his­tori­cal data provides spotty, but significant information about agricultural yields, shipping volume, and prices that, when combined, indicated a trend toward ever increasing production. Increased production was both creating and fulfilling demand and lowering the cost of sugar to the point that it was obtainable by all classes of consumer (Mintz 1985:160). The archaeological evidence supports rapid expansion across the landscape, assimilation of efficient innovations in sugar technology, and a general increase in the number and size of mill-­complexes. These findings are consistent with a model for a settlement dynamic centered on industrial expansion—­ the emergence of Nevis as an important node for commodity production. As an alternative hypothesis, it might be argued that expansion of the settlement was simply a natural outcome of increasing colonization. This can

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 201

be refuted, however, on both archaeological and his­tori­cal grounds. Demographic data shows unequivocally that fewer Europeans were coming to Nevis while enslaved Af­r i­can populations grew. Slave imports served the needs of production. A large and disproportionate slave population was necessary in the absence of any willing wage labor force (Meniketti 2006). European numbers stabilized in Phase II, even as demand for commodity soared. Periods of large European populations can be attributed to military garrisons and troop deployments during periods of broad Caribbean conflicts (Oldmixon 1708). Towns were not being constructed or planned, and there is no evidence of settlement that was not estate-­centered or production-­ oriented. Shipping centers by default grew into mercantile hubs at anchorages, where control over imports was possible, and became logical seats of government. Any examination of capitalism in the Caribbean must inevitably confront environmental issues, because problems of economy and ecology are so tightly bound through­out the region. Evidence from surveys and documentary sources is overwhelming—environmental change was rapid and thorough. Unfortunately for later generations, it was also irreversible. The effect of this change on settlement patterns had unexpected impacts on economic dependency, future industry, and societal behavior. Both the deforestation that stripped the landscape for initial colonization and the spread of plantations blanketing the entire island are indicators of expanding productive capacity, even as the European colonial population reduced itself to the essential personnel of management and labor. By 1687 Nevisians were reporting a lack of timber for fuel (Merrill 1958:37). In an insightful assessment of the interplay between ecology and empire, a strong link was found by Grove (1997:37) between European expansion and the penetration of capitalist economic forces and transformation of tropical environments. This conclusion is fundamentally supported by evidence from other islands (Pulsipher 1977; Mintz 1985; Watts 1987, 1999; Richardson 1997). For instance, as Watts has argued for Barbados, deforestation of all potential cane land came first in preparing the landscape for new sugar estates (Watts 1987:​ 393). Watts details the process by which first all the tall timber is felled, both in establishing a plantation and for sale (Watts 1987:394). On Barbados deforestation increased as more slaves were acquired. In 1652, Colonel Modyford of Barbados reported, “this island cannot last in an height of trade three year longer especially for sugar, the wood being almost already spent.” Timber was being imported from Surinam (Batie 1976:23) in the way Nevis began importing from Virginia. The process of deforesting

202 / Chapter 7

was slower on Jamaica, according to Watts, but no less damaging. Sheet erosion from deforestation in the 1600s was a major problem on Barbados as well (Watts 1987). Many planters began using the crushed cane waste, bagasse, for fuel (Galloway 1989; Britt 2010). In short, as Watts states, “one may conclude that in the North­ern Leewards and the lower districts of the French islands, the landscape had changed by the end of the seventeenth century, as it had on Barbados earlier, from one in which there had been too many trees, at least from an estate owner’s point of view, to one in which there was a desperate shortage of them . . .” (Watts 1987:395). During the eighteenth century, the French used the island of St. Vincent as an experimental botanical garden to study which Polynesian plants might be imported to the Caribbean. Among these was breadfruit (Artocarpus altilis), one of the staples of Caribbean diet today, but origi­nally intended as food for slaves. Bringing this plant back to the British colony was the purpose of Captain Bligh’s infamous voyage in the ship Bounty to Tahiti. The attendant erosion and soil deterioration impacted planters and harms modern efforts at agricultural redevelopment. Signs of soil exhaustion had already been noted before 1661 on St. Kitts (Watts 1987:396). Through the eighteenth century, offshore reefs came under attack. Barrier reefs were mined for lime production during earlier centuries and no longer serve as an effective barrier to wave action, and coastal erosion is a cause for modern concern among inhabitants. Lime can be produced by the processing of coral for lime in small kilns. The lime was used domestically and industrially in house plaster, mortar, as fertilizer, and even as a coagulant during sugar boiling, although Bristol lime was preferred (Rees 1819). The resulting coastal erosion at Indian Castle rendered useless the customs facility located on the cliff before the nineteenth century. Two principal ways in which cultural behavior and environment have been integrated in archaeological research have been to either posit that cultural behavior functions as part of a sys­tem that also includes environmental phenomena or to demonstrate that environmental phenomena account for, or are in some way responsible for, the development of a particular cultural behavior under study (Watson, LeBlanc, and Redman 1984). Plantations generated at least three distinct and visible environmental modi­ fications. The first entailed removal of native plant life and replacing it with an imported agriculture based on cane sugar, along with imported animals. The sec­ond was through alteration of natural and existing landforms to impose an artificial landscape of tiered flat land suitable for planting—even to the point of expansion into marginal land and fragile ecosystems. The third was the construction of mill-­complexes, living spaces, and road networks.

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 203

Surrounding these spaces were non-­native plants introduced either for food, ornamentation, or medicinal purposes. Some species may have been accidental transplants. Not always visible, but nonetheless experienced by the colonists, were boundaries between plantations or between social segments within the estate hierarchy determined or manifested through spatial organization. Any suggestion that environmental change has not occurred can be rejected out of hand. The environment of Nevis represents nothing if not change. A further alternative explanation, that environmental change was unrelated to the needs of production but rather a natural by-­product of colonization, would need to explain why no land was set aside to feed colonists, why no towns were established after 1655, and why plantations continued to be built at increasing scale even as the European population decreased af­ ter 1700. Archaeological survey data clearly demonstrate the spreading of planta­ tions across the landscape while documentary data enables us to evaluate demographics and agro-­industrial productive efforts. These two lines of evidence converge, leading one to the conclusion that changes in the environment were aspects of the processes connected to commodity production as the voracious demands from abroad spurred interest and investment in sustaining productive capacities. Most of the European population viewed their time in the colony as temporary, rather than permanent. Another conclusion we can draw is that settlement in the Lesser Antilles, in general terms, was based on its environment. The islands afforded ideal conditions for certain luxury crops not easily cultivated in Europe, and the climate allowed for multiple harvests for those with managerial acumen. Europeans had not come to the tropics for their health. Many early documents refer to Nevis as among the most “unhealthful of places.”4 Af­r i­cans had not come of their own free will. Colonists believed that the island could be rendered healthier by clearing the forests and “opening” the landscape—and in doing so, they unwittingly created a habitat favoring disease vectors such as mosquitoes. It would be worth studying to what degree fear of wilderness accounts for European eagerness to clear and control the landscape. If climate was a criti­cal reason for colonizing the Caribbean, it also acted as a ruthless limiting factor. A planter needed be cognizant of drought, hurricanes, and other disturbing weather patterns that could ruin crops. In periods of sustained drought, a plantation might fail altogether. However, planters were usually in such debt that it benefited all to keep operating for as long as some capital was generated; it was cheaper to function poorly than to shut down and lose all. Ceasing operations would not cause debts to evaporate as easily as personal status.

204 / Chapter 7

The correspondences excerpted below (from Gay 1929) offer two of many examples for environmental factors affecting a plantation and the attendant social costs: 1725 Oct. 18 A bad crop of provisions by dry weather and a prospect for bad crop. No provision from abroad from wence the negoes suffer; for wich reason he writes for beans . . . From Herbert, Nevis 1726 June 1st . . . A dry time and very little suggar made in the island and a bad prospect for next year. No provision in the island for negroes. If the weather had prov’d tolerably good he had ship’d my mother att least two hund: hogs besides Ldy Russells annty and the plantation expenses. As things stand he shall not be able to shipp her above thirty. On the 16th may he was at my plant: where he was agreeably met by a fine shower of rain wich gave Mr Herbert room to plant a fine piece of canes the ground being open’d. . . . he fears he will not have enough to answer all the debts contract’d there. As for making buildings he does not see any occasion for any, att present it being sufficient to keep them in repair that are already. My negroes look good. My mother has lost a great part of her stock att the salt ponds . . . From T. Tyrrel, Nevis These communications show that weather and management influenced growing outcomes, but also the lives of plantation labor. If these agents’ letters are typical, one may well wonder how planters earned any wealth at all. Just as the indigenous populations may have sought particular resources in specific ecological zones, so too were Europeans exploiting the ecologi­ cal wealth of the Caribbean Basin for resource extraction. European agro-­ industrial practices were also ill suited to the tropics. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the tropical rainforests were not capable of sustaining the form and scale of agricultural practices introduced with plantation production. At the time of colonization, parts of Nevis were climax rainforest even though it had dry areas along its southeast­ern side (Watts 1987). The verdant nature of the islands was Barmecidal, that is, its apparent lushness is an illusion and easily misinterpreted for boundless fertility. The delicate balance in rainforest ecosystems is easily upset. Although abundantly diverse, the soils are fragile. On a nominal scale, plantations were immense

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 205

when measured against Carib garden plots. Unlike the Carib, whose conuco sys­tem of cultivation was diverse, sustainable, easily maintained and drought resistant (Hoy 1971; Pulsipher 1977; Goodwin 1979;Watts 1987), plantation-­ scale monoculture was highly labor intensive and proved remarkably susceptible to unsettled weather and disease, while being environmentally destructive. Traditional Arawakian agriculture included cassava, sweet potato, yams, and other carbohydrate-­r ich root crops produced in household plots (Watts 1987:54). But most importantly, conuco farming did not appreciably damage the soil the way sugar production did (Pulsipher 1977; Watts 1999). Moreover, while conuco agriculture provided a nutritious balance of foodstuffs, industrial crops of sugar, tobacco, and cotton offered no nutrition at all. With the eventual introduction of hogs, cattle, sheep, horses, donkeys, dogs, sport-­ pheasants, and that stowaway—rats—the local ecology was irreversibly altered, with ramifications experienced in the present. So great was the lure of profits from sugar production during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries (Barrett 1965; Batie 1976) that planters were willing to risk small fortunes on even marginal land. Archaeological survey has confirmed this. The terraced fingers of land in the upper elevations of St. John Parish survey quadrats are testimony to the measures taken to transform poor conditions into productive acreage, and hint at the harsh conditions experienced by laborers. Terraces followed even the narrowest of ridges upward and to the very edges of sheer drainage channels cut by water into the volcanic rock. Maintaining terraces was as much a demand on labor as holing and tending the cane, and was a chief occupation of enslaved labor not otherwise engaged in plantation duties. Despite these measures, soil degraded rapidly and with deforestation, topsoil blew away with the trade winds as easily as it washed away during storms. Rich volcanic loam was gradually depleted, leaving rocky hard-­packed grounds. Only a few plantations had large expanses of flat land, most of these in lower St. John Parish. A few planters practiced fertilizing in the form of cattle dung or lime (Barrett 1965) but far too inadequately to enhance the nutrient-­poor soil. The damaging effect of untenable agricultural practices was not immediately felt (Watts 1999). For at least the first half-­century of colonization, estates were small and dispersed. Islands of rainforest separated plantations. Prosperity encouraged further development, and entrepreneurs found willing investors (Batie 1976). Not until the late seventeenth century did the problems of soil degradation become evident and understood, yet there was no diminution in desire among entrepreneurs to invest in a sugar plantation.

206 / Chapter 7

However, the rules of the game had changed in Phase II by 1750, and with them, settlement patterns changed as well. A sugar estate was a large-­scale agro-­industrial enterprise requiring capital and expertise on several levels to operate successfully. Many who lacked managerial skills failed (Pares 1950; Barrrett 1965; Watts 1987). Indeed, the managerial acumen among the plantocracy growing out of the sugar industry is one of the key elements in the rise of capitalism. Watts’s examination of the early years of production found a higher turnover rate on Nevis than Barbados, with the land of failed planters being taken up by others through direct purchase or foreclosure (Watts 1987:334). Managerial skills were certainly transferable to other industries, and members of the new managerial class became important fig­ures in the rise of capitalism. Barrett’s (1965) detailed examination of sugar production standards and estate management requirements during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries—evident in management pamphlets and treatises from English and French sources—indicate that fundamental changes in the structure of the industry transformed sugar making from modest independent enterprises into larger conglomerates. The smaller estates could not effectively compete with larger ones with better financing. Yet he found that, between 1650–1800, techniques differed little and technical progress was null. This strongly suggests that it was managerial practices that made the difference between success and failure (Barrett 1965:148). The behavior of colonists on Nevis was not wholly determined by the environment; they brought much of their behavior with them. A shift in attitudes toward the environment and awareness of colonial capacity to decimate indigenous populations along with forest cover began with settlement in the Madeira and Canary Islands dating to the twelfth century (Grove 1997:45). In the Renaissance, a new conception emerged that nature was intended as a beneficent part of Divine purpose, and the Indies were perceived as a form of paradise or Eden (Grove 1997:47). Culture is not an exosomatic mediator, but acts directly on the environment. We can see in the Nevisian landscape the nexus of social and colonial behaviors juxtaposed. Adding insight, Mintz observes that “how land is used is always mediated by cultural values and in a class divided society, by conflicting cultural values, which pattern social interaction and express social relations among groups” (Mintz 1977:256). That agricultural behaviors imposed on the tropical environment of Nevis were egregiously inappropriate was not immediately understood, and probably did not matter to colonists in any respect. No more so than recognition that slavery was an immoral institution caused planters to stop the practice.

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 207

Adaptations came in the form of sporadic compromises. Compromises were the result of feedback from interaction within the tropical environment. Agency, or at least discussions of agency, are too of­ten a “black box,” failing to explicate or account for actors’ awareness of the consequences of their actions (Giddens 1979:2–5). Actions and outcomes have his­tori­cal context. It is not enough to explain change by simply “adding actors and stirring” (Dobres and Rabb 2000:9). The interplay between people, their environment, and the material culture with which they mediate their experience must be evaluated in context. In terms of his­tori­cal human ecology, “the dynamic interplay of cultural processes over time and the effects of human-­environment interactions necessarily influences interactions that follow” (Winthrop 2001:​ 206). One of the ways capitalism is manifested is through standardization, and efforts to standardize landscapes can be discerned in industrial frontiers (Har­desty 1985:213). Nevis, as an agro-­industrial outpost, developed a semi-­ standardized landscape by the dawn of the eighteenth century. The plantation sys­tem itself had systemic requirements of its own that reconfig­ured the observable landscape. Of these, perhaps none was as important as the roads linking estates to points of commerce, or to one another, and joining rural regions to commercial centers. Roadways are of­ten overlooked as landscape features, but roads not only facilitate mobility, they define and reify social space and are integral features of interaction spheres between rural and urban or civil and industrial centers. The several roads investigated within our study, built and maintained by enslaved Af­r i­cans, in­clud­ing footpaths, point to a far greater mobility than is possible on Nevis today. But the mobility patterns were evidently intended to serve plantation requirements, facilitating the movement of produce to shipping, and maintaining communication between estates. Barrett (1965:151) cites plantation manager Brian Edwards (1801) in concluding this pattern of mobility to also be the case on Jamaica and St. Kitts. Edwards emphasized the importance of locating a plantation with easy access to the sea. Historic maps of Nevis do not show roads as conduits between concen­ trated population centers. This was undoubtedly because the population was diffuse—distributed across the island at estates—with the only area of concen­ tration at ports, which also served as mercantile centers and military outposts. Survey along these roads, especially in lower St. John, led to unidentified industrial works spanning Phases II and III, but no residential architecture or artifact scatters of material culture datable to the pre-­emancipation era. Taken together, these data expose the road network as expressly intended for agro-­industrial expansion, reinforcing an interpretation of Nevis as foremost an outpost for resource extraction.

208 / Chapter 7

One important contribution of his­tori­cal archeology is the integration of his­tori­cal sources with the tangible evidence of archaeology. Documentary sources inform us that to establish a plantation, one had to acquire land and a labor force; build a mill, boiling house, curing house, and accommodations for servants or slaves; and acquire carts, animals, and sundry supplies (Labat 1724; Diderot 1751; Deerr 1949; Pares 1950; Merrill 1958; Barrett 1965; Galloway 1989). Initial planting could take upwards of two years to reach maturity. Alternatively, one could purchase an existing operation, perhaps already failing from poor soils, bad management, or distress following calamity. After careful study of the Pinney family papers, Pares (1950) found that in the eighteenth century, a small, run-­down property on Nevis could be purchased for £3,000, but would need additional capital to bring it to production. This is many times the expense incurred during the seventeenth century. In the 1780s, the cost was significantly higher than reported 150 years earlier (Batie 1976:20; Duffy 1987:16). But estates varied in value considerably based on location, soil, and the number of slaves, who were categorized as stock along with cattle (Barrett 1965:149). While equipment and buildings were costly, inventories from plantations in the Caribbean indicate that these constituted a small proportion of the total value. Galloway (1989:89) concludes that slaves by far were the chief capital investment after land. Barrett’s (1965:164) analy­sis of labor requirements based on historic sources for the 1700s supports Galloway’s finding. An examination of French sources, in­clud­ing the work of Avalle, published in 1799, described the ideal plantation as having a minimum of 200 slaves. Such a number was rarely ever achieved by any planter on Nevis, with many considerably below half that number. Avalle based his labor estimates on large plantations in French St. Domingue, and Barrett does not take this in to account when extrapolating labor needs to the smaller islands. Batie (1976) calculated estates as averaging closer to 60 slaves. However, even a small estate of 100 to 200 acres could make a significant impact on the environment, not the least of which included localized deforestation, reduced biodiversity, and erosion.

The Archaeology of Environmental Change We have to ask why the road systems, if so important, were allowed to deteriorate so badly around the south­ern side of the island. Two probable causes spring to mind based on the physical environment. The lower areas of St. John are dry and parched. Topsoil has so degraded that only acacia and agave flourishes, with native prickly pear (Opuntia littoralis var.) and Turks-­head cactus

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 209

(Melocactus intortus) underfoot. Artifacts from every historic period into the early nineteenth century are comingled on the surface in conflated deposits. Estates in the area are shown on the 1871 Burke Iles Map, yet are depicted as already cut by ravines, which obviously forced new patterns of mobility. With little to hold the ground, large tracts have washed away, and the drainage ghuts have widened—a process that continues at present. Analysis of architecture and surface artifacts, abandonment of the lowland area as unproductive at a date in the late eighteenth century appears to be widespread. Without plantations to service, road maintenance would not have been a priority, nor would labor gangs have been available. From more than two centuries of agro-­industrial exploitation, a bleak and inhospitable terrain resulted, suited only to the roaming herds of feral donkeys ranging across the landscape there today. Geographical analy­sis of spatial organization of human societies has intrigued researchers since von Thuenen in the early nineteenth century, as well as Higgs and Vita-­Finzi (1970), and Christaller (1966), whose vari­ous modeling of distance relationships, site catchment, and least-­cost systematics, respectively, have influenced the way scholars addressed the functional relationships of settlement systems. Organized space has meaning, whether a plantation-­scape or a Spanish town (Tuan 1977:179; Castillero-­Calvo 1999:​ 205). Rather than focusing exclusively on spatial patterning as a process unto itself, observable patterns are the nexus of environmental and economic re­ lationships, mutually contributing through social feedback exchanges to influence settlement dynamics. Although each of the factors ranging from distance relationships to cost factors operated, each had its own place and time of importance during a settlement’s historic trajectory, and at no time were any of these processes acting alone. Settlement on Nevis did not evolve around a central place, per se, but expanded outward from an entry point or gateway node. The pattern that emerged on Nevis was the establishment of semi-­autonomous plantation enclaves. The archaeological record is, of course, incomplete and biased toward the substantial as opposed to the ephemeral, and there is always the problem of allowing a particular landscape feature to tell the whole story. The solidly built mill-­complexes and boundary walls, wind­m ill towers and terraces are relics of the industrial character of the colony, but they were not places of residence, worship, commerce, or of defense—each was, nonetheless, a source of environmental modification. Documents in part reveal that the earliest mill-­complexes, houses, and curing facilities were built from wood (Acts of Nevis Counsil 1706). However,

210 / Chapter 7

no wooden structures from before the middle of the nineteenth century remain or were found in the survey sample.5 This was not unexpected. Wood construction simply does not withstand the humidity and degradation of the tropics owing to rot. An additional factor influencing the his­tori­cal landscape was fire. For example, Charlestown burned on more than one occasion even without help from the French (Case of the Sufferers 1710). Sugar refining is inherently risky, owing to the open fires under the boiling pots and ash billowing from smoke stacks.6 As island timber stocks were used up, colonists turned their attention to stone as a construction material. Mill-­complexes prior to 1685 had masonry boiling tables covered by wooden superstructures (Labat 1724; Diderot 1751). Introduction of the Jamaica train early in Phase II coincided with increased prevalence of masonry structures in the archaeological landscape, suggesting both a new focus on permanence of industrial sites and on factory-­scale production. It was an important period for capital investment, mirroring developments elsewhere in the Lesser Antilles in both British and French sectors (Barrett 1965; Batie 1976).

Changes in Landscape Structure With the colony focused squarely on production, shipping centers and road networks were organized to facilitate commodity transportation. However, new settlement was oriented toward plantations, not structured around new towns, farms, or villages. Although fortifications were on occasion upgraded, this served primarily to protect national rather than colonial interests, and usually followed—in classic too little, too late fashion—the invasions by foreign forces. The modern archaeological landscape contains vestiges of these episodes in island history. Harbor locations were dictated by geography, and settlement followed. Mill-­complexes became larger and more permanent in character. Estates for which records exist tend to be rectangular, even linear, and for many this unavoidably meant elevation variations from one end to the other (Caribbeana 1919; Barrett 1965). Another aspect of such a land and space arrangement is that contemporary models for estate efficiency locate laborers for optimum distance-­to-­field, or for constant surveillance, as was considered ideal by contemporary writers on the subject such as Dutrone (1790), Edwards (1793), or Avalle (1799). These authors form the core of Barrett’s analy­sis of ideal plantation standards in the eighteenth century (Barrett 1965). Yet the built landscape that arose on Nevis suggests that, for many planters, maintaining social distance was more prized than the type of agricultural efficiency defined in the vari­ous period trea-

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 211

tises. Surveillance of labor appears to be more a concern after implementation of wage-­labor in the nineteenth century. The discernable variable load shouldered by planters during each phase changed incrementally as environment was altered and the availability of  land for sec­ond generation entrepreneurs diminished. Variables influencing settlement during the first quarter of the seventeenth century included clear-­ cutting, land division, agricultural expertise, topography, and instituting markets at home—almost archetypal frontier mode. The sec­ond wave of colonists were free from the initial hardships, but were forced to stake out less desirable land at greater distances from shipping and at increased cost. On comparatively larger islands, like St. Kitts, this was of even greater importance, while on flat islands, such as Barbados, of lesser importance, and may account for why Barbados was the first of the English sugar islands to become fully settled (Barrett 1965; Batie 1976; Mintz 1985). In some respects the pattern resembles more recent behavior observable during gold rushes. If small changes had large impacts, major alteration of the landscape had long-­lasting effects. Clearing forests accelerated erosion and forced planters to implement terracing not only to create level land, but to retain soil and maximize water use. Water availability was not a determining factor in plantation spatial organization or the acquisition of estates on Nevis as it was on Jamaica, or as Clement (1997) found to be the case on British Tobago. Clement’s determination was that environment played a key role in settlement decisions. Clear-­cutting of forest by the first planters generated unforeseen environmental degradation; the use of marginal land and steep terrain by subsequent estates only served to exacerbate soil problems. Evidence from documents indicates that crops yielded less sugar juice per acre as a result of nutrient-­ depleted soils. The larger plantations that were more common during the eighteenth century emerged in part because of the need to produce more cane simply to procure yields of syrup equivalent to what smaller plantations had managed the century before. As Richardson (1997:10) ruefully remarks, there existed an “incongruity between the Caribbean’s externally introduced peoples and the lands they occupied.” The lack of any intimate link between colonists and the land contributed to an industrial/environmental imbalance that predates the institutionalization of capitalism and cannot be blamed on the economic sys­tem outright. With respect to the rise of capitalism, one would expect that increased capitalization would lead to changes in the social arena, evident in architec­ ture and material culture. In the seventeenth century, a planter obtained credit from a merchant, who supplied the estate with necessities (Barrett 1965; Lob-

212 / Chapter 7

dell 1972; Batie 1976; Carrington 2002). When a crop was ready, it would automatically be consigned to the same merchant, who sold it on the British market and took deductions for supplies, commissions, and so forth. The sys­ tem worked well enough unless prices fell or there was an outbreak of war, as occurred all too frequently. Yet even war does not seem to have diminished shipments—only adding to its cost and risk. More significant for investment was the innovative forms of credit offered to induce planters to adopt new technology, just as planters were accepting compensation from Parliament for costs incurred from emancipation (Lobdell 1972). The eighteenth century saw the confluence of increased flow of capital from new sources of credit, but also the need to have larger estates to be competitive. Nevis is a small island, and its chief competitors were larger islands. The vari­ous colonies were not a unified system, but shared the same market and competed within a closed system. In the economic climate after 1700, a small planter on Nevis could not compete successfully even in the protected, monopolistic markets guaranteed in the British sys­tem (Barrett 1965; Lobdell 1972; Mintz 1985; Galloway 1989). Consolidation of small estates into larger ones by ever fewer owners during the later half of the eighteenth century changed not only the plantation landscape, but also the social landscape. Middling planters could still maintain a presence, but eventually many sold their interests. Adoption of technological advancements, especially in refining methods, led many operations to rebuild existing sugar works in order to remain competitive.

Settlement Patterns across Phases A pattern of separating labor housing from planter residences is partially evident in the documentary record, principally in estate maps, but the sample is small and only partially confirmed archaeologically. Additionally, Europeans appear to have lived in smaller aggregate units than the Af­r i­can populations. For example, there were no European villages as in the manner of Af­r i­can vil­ lages. Were the plantocracy living in isolated family units, exercising free­dom of mobility to interact in the urban centers, while the enslaved lived in larger congregations and focused on interactions between habitation clusters? If this were the case, separate, overlapping systems of interaction spheres might be operating independently over the landscape. Official maps give no hint at unofficial tracks through the “bush” country between estates or higher on the mountain above estates. Technology was another contributor to patterns of settlement shaping the landscape. The environment of each plantation presented realities with

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 213

which planters were compelled to accommodate. Nevis has no permanent streams, so water wheels were not an option. The next best application of milling technology was the windmill. Not every plantation, however, could take advantage of wind, and such edifices were expensive (Barrett 1965). Where animal mills were the preferred approach, there was still flexibility for planters in spatial arrangements of the sugar-­complex, so long as the mill platform was raised above the collection vats (clarifiers). Since mills could be placed anywhere on a property, it is not surprising to find that proximity to roads was a deciding factor where wind capture was not criti­cal. When wind was the driving force, mill placement was more constrained. Nearly all animal mills investigated were also tied directly to roads, which would have facilitated delivery of harvested cane from the field. Steam-­powered mills were introduced shortly after the cessation of the British slave trade, but were not readily incorporated into estate operations. Steam engines were an important feature of the industrial revolution but had limited impact on the sugar industry initially. A flawed argument concerning new technology investment through­out the Caribbean is the idea that steam engines were introduced to reduce costs. In fact, steam engines did not fundamentally decrease labor or cost. The mills operated with very few laborers, sometimes no more than three men required to feed cane into the crushers (Barrett 1965:155). Extraction rates calculated by Barrett (1965:155) for vari­ ous configurations of mills were relatively close. There was little difference between animal mills and water-­driven mills. Minor improvements in extraction rates were evident in the transition from vertical three-­roller crushers to horizontal types. However, experiments made in the 1830s on Cuba suggested the opposite—that vertical mills were superior, and there was less loss owing to spillage (Barrett 1965:156). The bottleneck in productions was not the milling process, but in management of the harvest and subsequent curing. Steam engines, at most, reduced the labor needs by one man. What steam engines did was increase predictability by eliminating dependency on wind, daylight operation, and the need for animals and fodder, although water continued to be a weak point. Even if a steam mill could crush faster, there still were the problems of juice collection and boiling. Within twenty-­four hours, cane juice begins to spoil. Cut or crush too much and it goes to waste. Boiling facilities could not process cane juice faster simply because more juice was on hand. Estate managers instead were required to change the entire harvest cycle for constant operation of mills. These factors may explain the slow adoption of steam on Nevis, rather than traditionalist behavior or any reaction against capital improvements.

214 / Chapter 7

Nevis in the Atlantic Economy Caribbean settlement was dependent on shipping (Davis 1962; Batie 1976) and cannot be understood absent shipping any more than modern suburbia can be explained without the automobile. Mobility, trade, and defense were dependent on shipping and integral to the colonial system, while the role of navies as instruments of policy was expanded. The rise of insurance brokering in the context of plantations, and its rising costs, added impetus to criti­cal aspects of market capitalism and helped supply capital to new ventures. The rise of Lloyd’s of Lon­don from coffee house to international broker of maritime coverage was tightly linked to West Indian trade, and its chairman in 1810 was himself a planter and slaveholder who fought to maintain the insurance monopoly for Lloyd’s (Williams 1994:104). Growth of the maritime sector came about as an answer to material and labor problems, specifically the transportation of indentured servants from Europe and slaves from Africa, merchandise to the colonies, and product to markets. Maritime growth prompted adjustments in manufacturing, trade, and investment, spawning opportunities for economic expansion (Davis 1962; Duffy 1987; Carrington 2002). English shipping interests had a long-­standing practice of slaving stemming back to the Elizabethans’ trade in slaves with Spanish settlements. Slaving networks already in place extended and intensified to supply the labor-­ voracious sugar industry. Economic increase among the colonies enabled maritime centers, such as Bristol or Liverpool, to participate actively in the trade where slaves were viewed as yet another commodity. These trade centers also enjoyed the expansion of manufacturing and growth.7 The world-­sys­tem of which the Atlantic economy was a part was a network of subsystems and not monolithic. Maritime communities are of­ten over­ looked as criti­cal cogs of infrastructural links in the world-­system—sources of news and information, carriers of ideas as well as bulk commodities. During the eighteenth century, the impact of mariners on colonial society was widely suspected. Colonial authorities did not require a Wallersteinesque world-­systems theory to recognize influences of maritime communities. It is very likely the average citizen engaged in greater traffic of ideas and news in Barbados than the typical country citizen in England. In this light, study of black mariners, free and bonded, who may have carried important news casts light on a key segment of Caribbean society (Scott 1986, 1991; Bolster 1997). Recent trends for investigating the lives of enslaved and free blacks from the framework of semi-­autonomy and resistance illuminate their contributions to Caribbean social development in a wider world beyond the

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 215

confines of the plantation. Indeed, maritime activity of­ten accentuates the permeability and truly porous nature of boundaries that might be supposed to exist between nations or economic spheres. Thus, it is reasonable to incorporate maritime boundaries into the broader discourse of colonial po­l iti­cal landscape. While boundary zones may be important for rank-­size relationships (perhaps measured by economic might), it is boundary activity—energy expenditure in the frontier—that is key to flow (Kowalewski, Blanton, Feinman, and Finsten 1983:36). Where centralization is weak, boundaries are less a barrier for development, especially in peripheral zones.

Periphery-­Periphery The relationship between British island colonies, such as Nevis, and those on the North Ameri­can mainland in some cases may have rivaled the importance of that between the islands and the metropole for distribution of raw and manufactured materials. Similar relations held sway for French colonies, while Dutch holdings functioned in a singularly different manner. During the eighteenth century, the steady flow of sugar kept 1,500 refineries operating in Lon­don alone (Davis 1962). Several industries that had once stood independent of the West India trade became deeply invested in it. The increasingly tangled and interdependent economic relationships that manifest in this period form the backbone of the capitalist paradigm that funded the industrial revolution before the century’s end. English commercial sailing expanded to accommodate the rising tide of bulk cargo, and the insurance industry developed with it as a means of protecting planters from losses suffered from the vagaries of sailing or conflict. Whether they liked it or not, Nevisians, and indeed all inhabitants of the sugar colonies, were inexorably integrated into economies beyond their shores. Significant numbers in Parliament were themselves absentee planters sympathetic and predisposed toward increasing the gains of the plantocracy. The target of much trade legislation in the colonies was Holland. Barbados and many others in the colonies had been free to ship with whomever they chose, and the Dutch were the principal carriers of sugar in the Caribbean undercutting British shipping (Newton 1967; Mintz 1985; Klooster 1998). A criti­cal outcome of the restrictions was the imposition of the Navigation Acts restricting trade to only English ships. While this was good for the shipping interests, it placed a higher burden on the planters and costs were invariably passed along to consumers. Even as the social landscape in the Caribbean was changing, so too was

216 / Chapter 7

the social landscape at home. The growth of port cities is just one example of the growing interdependency evolving between the core state/periphery dyad during the seventeenth century, and growth was experienced by inland ports as well. With population increases in the core, there was also gradual rise of associated small industries and incipient improvements in economic endeavors.8 Even though zonation is hypothesized as a precondition for capitalism’s expansion (Wallerstein 1974) there is nothing inevitable about the ascendancy of capitalism in zonation. While the core-­periphery model focuses on the nature of long-­distance trade interactions, strictly speaking, in the eighteenth century, the British Caribbean as described here represents a variation of the periphery concept. Caribbean colonies were not exploiting indigenous populations nor forging hegemonic economic relations, but the region did provide the framework of an economic zone that structured the industries in the metropole, while absorbing much of its manufactured product. This economic zone was also an environmental zone. This understanding was true for Britain, France, and Holland at varying levels, but each followed a slightly different course, in part because of the differences inherent in their respective governments at the criti­cal juncture of Caribbean colonization, mediated by the nature of their colonies and the environments of their islands. Nevis was participating in the Atlantic economy simply through its productive capacity of commodities it could not consume on its own, but exported in response to consumer desires. Mintz (1985:63) convincingly argues that “vast new sources of demand were being opened in England and Europe” as prices fell in response to increased production. Falling prices, increasing consumption, and the contributions to national economies and foreign trade from the peripheral zones helped spur a process of accumulation (Mintz 1985:​ 65). One outcome was treating the islands as industrial outposts—specialized environments—for specific commodity production.

Coalescing Landscape and Material Culture The new prosperity of the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, especially in Great Britain, resulted from colonization and the concomitant rise in market support for the sugar industry, mostly as manufacturing centers developed. During the early colonization phase, ceramics among the vari­ous sectors of society tended to be of greater similarity than was the case during Phase II. There are several possible explanations for this. Social distinctions appear to have been leveled somewhat among the first colonists or were displayed by means other than the material culture of foodways. This may in

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 217

part be the result of frontier living—the need for basics taking precedent over luxuries—and mechanisms for maintenance of hierarchical relations unrelated to material culture. However, as the colony became established and the population increased, social divisions were strengthened and magnified by expressions within the material culture not uncommon to the parent nation. One arena of this expression that can be archaeologically documented is in the paraphernalia of food consumption. Evidence for the integration of behaviorally linked material culture into the social repertoire is found not simply through variety of wares, but also of what was actually being consumed in households. Cultural cues at the micro-­level, such as the accepted norms for food preparation or consumption, subtly reinforce realignments of social norms at the macro-­level (Ortner 1990:62). Just as painted tin-­glazed wares became fashionable status possessions in England about 1610, slip-­ trailing gained popu­larity around 1640 with changing norms. This popu­ lar ware then came to be replaced by newer fashions such as Rhenish style wares. Adoption of new commodities was not unusual (Noel-­Hume 1969). What was new for Nevis during Phase II was the degree of adoption of new consumer items, fully crystallized by Phase III. Spurred by expanding markets, a “ceramics revolution” was underway, with potters experimenting and marketing novel types and forms for the table (Orser 1996; Miller 1994; Allan 1999; Barker 1999; Steen 1999). Several types made their way into the archaeological record, in­clud­ing fine pearlwares, decorated whitewares, and less costly creamware. The spread of specific items of material culture to colonies and frontier regions can be viewed as tangibly linking and, among commodity users, cognitively reinforcing sociocultural identity (Beaudry, Cook, and Mrozowski 1991; Miller 1994; Majewski and Noble 1999; Barker and Majewski 2006 ). The evolving consumption of new material culture and display behaviors did not cause the landscape of Nevis to change, nor did landscape reconfiguration during Phases I, II, and III direct the modification of consumer behavior. Rather, these are related manifestations of the same phenomenon of capitalism’s penetration into colonial culture and social institutions. Nevis at the beginning of the nineteenth century was deeply embedded in the global system, deeply in debt, and not immune to the greater economic zonation of peripheral regions that was underway through­out the eighteenth century. Colonies such as Nevis were less economically vital to the metropole as the capitalist nations muscled into new territories under an expanded model of capitalist imperialism fueled by the industrial revolution. What the archaeological data point to is expansion in scale rather than a shift in practices. Land use was associated with fewer entrepreneurs with greater capital

218 / Chapter 7

and investment as the transition from phase to phase occurred. If capitalism was not at the heart of settlement change, capitalists were. Plantation society as a corporate unit was sensitive to status during Phase II, and the behavior appears to have continued into Phase III, but on a diminished scale. One tangible element of the change was adoption of new patterns of consumption related to status behavior exemplified in the artifact assemblages of ceramics. While these processes likely involved myriad categories of material culture and behavior, the archaeological record preserves the transition in ceramics best because of their durability and ubiquitous nature. The differences apparent in vari­ous assemblages are not simply hallmarks of differential wealth, but can be interpreted as signposts of the cognitive reinforcement of ideologies grounded in the economics of inequality. Another tangible was the use of space to broadcast one’s position within society through architectural statements. Grand houses, manicured approach roads, and architectural displays as found across the Nevisian landscape signify the important role played by display behavior among the plantocracy in excess of general industrial needs. Great houses at Bush Hill, Richmond-­ Lodge, and Montravers are substantive examples. Others stand out on St. Kitts (Hicks 2007). The adoption of new technologies and the shift away from construction in what might be called an organic character—wherein land contours were accommodated—to more rigidly oriented plans that modified land in conformity to industrial construction illustrate changing ideologies of production and conceptions of space, efficiency, and control during Phase III. The need to control labor in new ways also became apparent. Fundamental realignments of space, personal and production-­oriented, are reconfig­ured in the transition from feudalism to capitalism (Mangan 2000:205–07). These changes toward efficiency and control can be found at the heart of market capitalism itself (Lefebvre 1979, 1993). During the period of slavery, control was assured even if troubled. It may at first seem that slavery is inconsistent with capitalism, and even Marx had difficulty reconciling how these institutions hinged together, as did later authors wrestling with this issue, such as Genovese (Mintz 1985:59). Williams (1994 [1944]) had no problem seeing how they were woven together. Yet the slaves did the business of the capitalists (Marx) despite the fact that plantation labor was so contrary to the capitalist mode of production based on free labor (Mintz 1985:59). The conclusion by Mintz that these phases represent a pre-­ capitalist economic sys­tem within a “chain of causation” that leads one stage of development to another (Mintz 1985:59) lends support to the hypothesis that the first stages of Caribbean development had feudal roots. In Mintz’s in-

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 219

sightful analy­sis, the fact that the colonies were engaged in a precocious form of capitalism “does not necessarily mean that the European economy that gave rise to the plantations was capitalist” (Mintz 1985:59). It was never inevitably to be capitalist. At the beginning of Phase III, control was less certain and labor unreliable or resistant. This period overlaps with expanding European global domination and signals the emergence on Nevis of both mature capitalism and new forms of production relations. Significantly, relations that obtained among the peripheral regions as colonial development progressed could occasionally supersede the core-­periphery relationship; in fact, the periphery-­periphery contract allowed criti­cal development at times when island colonies suffered from official neglect.

Landscapes of Capitalism At least three economic innovations were criti­cal in sustaining capitalism’s reach in the Caribbean sugar islands. First, innovative forms of credit were made available to allow start-­up. Secondly, encouragement through government-­controlled markets fostered and protected would-­be planters into the eighteenth century (Barrett 1965; Sheridan 1961, 1969, 1974; Batie 1976; Mintz 1985; Richardson 1997). The resonance between global trade and new credit stimulated wider prosperity for the plantocracy. Aside from the enslaved, many sectors of society prospered. Perhaps an important reality of the transition from feudalism to capitalism was that those with privileged positions in the upper levels of the social hierarchy remained there. In the frontier, social asymmetry persisted as well. Elites remained elite, but mechanisms for entry to upper levels were more variable and flexible. Thirdly, management practices evolved over the first century of agro-­industrial colonization through the emergence of an intermediate class with vested interests in change. This class of specialists would play an increasingly important role in the burgeoning industrial revolution, as new definitions of efficiency and labor were instituted. As to which aspects of settlement or segments of society most reflect adaptation to social changes in island context, the archaeological and landscape evidence at hand primarily reflects the attitudes of Europeans. Archaeological data points to reliance on externally generated consumerism and standard commodities, internalization of culturally-­reinforcing behaviors associated with socially-­defining material culture. However, the ever-­ present colonoware on sites hints strongly at local adaptations and continuity of traditions in the face of change, possibly in all social sectors. The presence of locally manufactured wares among assemblages also re-

220 / Chapter 7

flects a pragmatic concern for functionality. That Nevis, although a peripheral economic zone, was not a backwater is suggested by the artifacts. Nevisians were not the “country cousins” of consumerism that Martin (1996) labels the frontier colonists of Virginia in the eighteenth century. The constancy of shipping insured that the Caribbean colonies were unlike other frontier regions suffering greater social isolation, especially in the continental colonies. One could never really get far from port. Close ties with the continental colonies are also important indications of the networked relationships of the peripheral colonies that may have been as vital as links to the core state. More work is necessary to adequately verify the contention, even though intuitively appealing, that in­di­v idual lives were influenced by capitalism at the micro-­level. Limited evidence from analy­sis of material culture to this point suggests greatest assimilation of capitalism among those already benefiting most from extant systems of social attainment. Members of the plantocracy adopted capitalism as a modus operandi and assumed roles in the new social sys­tem that assured or sustained their status. Always in debt, many planters welcomed new modes of credit as long as their peculiar status in West Indian society could be maintained. As Ragatz (1963) noted, plantation life had marked characteristics, among them “to view financial obligations lightly, lack of pub­l ic spirit, and a striking measure of ostentation.”9 The case of Nevis informs on regional (non-­Iberian) trends in the development of capitalism and inclusion of the Caribbean in a world-­system. The very conception of the Caribbean as a distinct region emerges out of the old world as rivals of Spain made incursions for plunder (Meniketti 2008). The Spanish Main and the Caribbean proper became separated cartographically as it did culturally. Even the Latin Caribbean developed special character relative to the mainland (Lowenthal 1972; Mintz 1985) as Imperial Spain bypassed the Greater Antilles to pursue objectives on the continent. Colonies of the Lesser Antilles were a vital part of an interlocked system. World markets and developments on the other side of the world influenced plantation success, ultimately affecting every colonist, slaves included. This has been viewed by some scholars as simply reflecting localized decision-­ making, rather than a form of globalization (Harns 2002). Instead, the opposite appears true, that it was the processes of evoking globalization which provoked localized decisions. Revolutions by the continental colonies (with whom many Caribbean colonies sympathized), revolution in France and in Saint Domingue (Haiti), all had repercussions of social and po­liti­cal scope far beyond their shores. Policies executed by the British East India Company could impact markets in England having implications for West India merchants and planters. Sugar from India or Mauritius in Lon­don markets was

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 221

as likely to affect the Caribbean colonies as piracy and smuggling. Far from being isolated, the Caribbean was incorporated into and integrated with the tentative world economy at an early stage of development, and remained so into the twentieth century, albeit with measurably less economic significance. A sec­ond regional trend for which there is compelling and undeniable evidence is environmental degradation. Sauer (1966) was among the first to recognize and articulate environment as a key component of Caribbean settlement, and his insights have been a source of inspiration for much subsequent research. Evidence of ecological transfiguration on Nevis is overwhelming. As one of the smallest islands in the Lesser Antilles, its problems were greatly magnified, but from this case we can recognize the pattern and the legacy of environmental neglect that was manifest elsewhere in the Caribbean. With a transformed flora and fauna, and the modern derivative economic status of the islands, paradise has been lost. It remains to be seen how the creative citizens and leaders of Nevis today can adapt to the legacy left by colonial industrial practices without further damaging the fragile ecosystems of the island.

Conclusion This study, as the first systematic, broad-­scale, controlled sampling of historic landscape on Nevis, has revealed major historic changes and irreversible environmental damage, which in turn compromised the origi­nal settlement enterprise. Yet it is evident that those embedded in the historic sys­tem were either unable or unwilling to extricate themselves from destructive behaviors due to perceived short-­term costs of both financial and social nature. Historic records suggest that planters were aware of the environmental changes they were generating, but it can be surmised that since they considered the colony more of an industrial site than a home, concerns were casual at best. This pattern is paralleled in many frontier zones and in regions of capitalist peripheries of the modern era, where capitalists and industrialists do not plan on remaining after profits are reaped. There are, of course, a great many more questions yet to be addressed, and additional work to substantiate further what has been suggested here. Recognition by researchers of ideological constructs imbued in objects, as well as studies of architectural iconography, forcefully suggest material culture under capitalism is, and has been, a powerful valence in social relations. In order to model the past effectively, we must, as suggested by Crumley and Marquardt (1990:79), “add cognitive and his­tori­cal features to more familiar environmental analy­sis” as “landscape is the spatial manifestation of the dy-

222 / Chapter 7

namic relations between humans and their environments.” How this manifested at vari­ous levels of colonial society remains speculative. Who sets the agenda of change within material culture—the manufacturer, the social elite, the underclass—continue to be vexing questions in Caribbean archaeology. Archaeological research into household artifacts among free laborers and slaves would significantly improve understanding of the penetration of consumer capitalism and attitudes toward social conformity functioning at different levels of society. The survey carried out for this study found several sites of middling and lesser domestic settlement that offer significant potential for illuminating the lives of colonial society’s non-­elite and silent participants. Many of these sites are in archaeologically undisturbed contexts and are rich data sources. In a similar vein, more research is needed to develop a basic theory on colonoware. Who actually produced it and for whom, and what functions did it serve? Was it strictly utilitarian? In what contexts was it used? Too many assumptions continue to underpin its interpretation (Ahlman et al. 2009). Recent studies are providing insights into manufacturing processes and trade (Ahlman et al. 2008, 2009; Meniketti 2010). Maritime enslaved journeyed between the islands, North America, of­ten to Europe, and a few globally. Association between enslaved and free sailors, white and black, and those who toiled ashore can be construed as having allowed communication between separated family members or groups. With regular sailings, such communication would not have been as haphazard as a casual glance might suggest. Research into this avenue of communication and parallel social development for the un-­free10 remains largely unexplored territory. Perplexing questions remain unanswered concerning pre-­and post-­emancipation settlement, capitalism and its penetration into society of the enslaved, and inter-­island social networks. Although the separate British colonies shared a common heritage, they did not represent a national unity. Each acted autonomously as its own state when possible, enacting local laws and competing vigorously with independent sets of stakeholders. A more comprehensive understanding of colonial relations between Nevis and neighboring St. Kitts could shed light on several discontinuities in settlement strategies, particularly where environment plays a role. Comparative studies between two English islands would be just as informative as comparing English and French models of plantation development. Future archaeological research into Caribbean landscapes, whether aimed at contact period studies, explicating culture change, or the relations of states, will unavoidably be ecologically oriented, as the his­tori­cal trajectory of Caribbean settlement was inextricable from ecological change.

Environmental Change in Capitalism’s Shadow / 223

Nevis recently received UNESCO funds for environmental and heritage programs. In 2010 Nevis signed accords to protect submerged cultural resources. Other island legislatures hotly debate the merits of cruise ships and related environmental dilemmas. For the time being, Nevis has elected not to follow that path. Yet development is inevitable and economically necessary. Archaeological research can contribute significantly by emphasizing the historic scope of the problem. Economic benefits can be derived from preservation, but only if there is a local acceptance that archaeology has both cultural and economic value. As more his­tori­cal archaeology is conducted in the French islands, comparative studies may be realized. As the two culture systems approached the Caribbean colonialization process from the perspective of two different world­v iews concerning slavery, production, and commerce, one should expect differences in land use, spatial organization, and landscape. Nevisians today live in a changing landscape that nonetheless reflects plantation colonialism. Plantation structures and industrial artifacts are incorporated through adaptive reuse into residential properties. The last mill on Nevis closed in 1950—a mill in constant operation since 1815. The family that owned the operation continues to have stature on the island and has converted some sugar works into luxury hotels. The advent of ecotourism and heritage tourism may yet affect the Nevisian landscape in unexpected ways and subject citizens to the demands of the new global consumer capitalism of the twenty-­first century—a consumer appetite that devours landscapes in a search for the “primitive” or the pristine and unspoiled. But the natural environment is unnatural. The environment with which Nevisians today must contend is verdant, yet dramatically unproductive, its foliage foreign to the region—a transplanted paradise— lush in appearance, but on closer inspection a composite of invasive weeds, parasitic vines, and non-­native flowers. The coconut palms suffer from recently imported diseases, and indeed, the palms themselves are imports and possible vectors of the blight. It is barely thirty years since independence. Nevisians, with a proud spirit, will find their way forward as they always have, building a nation and reshaping former institutions with modern perspectives. With both a cultural and environmental awareness, it is not too early to wonder how and in what form they will remake paradise.

Notes

Introduction 1. A key difference between actual slaves and indentured persons was that the indentured could anticipate free­dom (if they survived) and their status was not inheritable, as was the case of the enslaved. However, their contract was considered estate property and could be sold or bequeathed just as slaves were.

Chapter 1 1. The cartographic error, with which we are now stuck, placed islands trending westerly as leeward and islands trending southerly as windward, but by convention came to be associated with nationalities. Thus, for example, once Saba was captured by the Dutch, it became one of the Windwards, even though it is located north and west of the other Leewards and is technically one of the Leeward islands, 2. An obvious exception is Holland, which had such small holdings in the Caribbean that sugar manufacture became less significant to the economy than shipping the sugar of other colonies.

Chapter 2 1. Pam Berry at Golden Rock Inn is a descendent of the Pinney and the Huggins families. She generously allowed us close inspection of the restored estate features and a personal collection of historic papers, and provided family-­related his­tori­cal information. 2. Montravers fell outside survey quadrats and was in a corridor being intensively studied by scholars from Southampton University, and so was not included in our survey. The estate belongs to the Pinney family about which Richard Pares has written a masterful biographical history. 3. One reference can be found in a locally published book titled Bamboo Shay: A Collection of Short Stories of Nevis, by Hanzel Manners, who describes a house moved

226 / Notes to Pages 43–150 in such a manner in the 1940s. Manners grew up on Nevis and is the Executive Director of the Bank of Nevis. 4. The landscape designers at Absolutely Bushed (now out of business) gave me a tour of the Nesbit property dating to the first quarter of the eighteenth century, where they have carefully “recreated” the landscape using architectural elements scoured from around the island. Many items had been artificially “aged” to please the aesthetic sense of the new owner. Another common practice is to “mine” ruins for cut stone. 5. Dated construction stones, such as key stones on arches, can be found in many contexts on Nevis and are missing from just as many. At Coconut Walk, the windmill has a stone with date and the planter’s initials. An unusual find was made by an Ameri­can who had recently purchased property in St. George Parish. It was a key stone with an early seventeenth-­century date and carved fig­ure of an inverted symbol of the Masonic Order, perhaps the earliest of its kind in the Caribbean.

Chapter 4 1. Short for Santa Maria de las Nieves. 2. Documents in Caribbeana provide the names of these eighty persons as receiving land. We might assume that servants or slaves were not enumerated, thus the actual number of colonists was likely higher. 3. Emancipation in 1833 was really only the initiation of the “apprenticeship” period that lasted until 1838, when true emancipation came. The reality was that former slaves were elevated only to wage slaves, free but unable by law to engage in any labor other than plantation work. See Nigel Boland (1981) for an insightful analy­sis of land and labor control in the British West Indies after 1838.

Chapter 5 1. A local informant suggested these and other iron objects had been scrapped out during WWI. 2. “Reuse and recycle” is a local attitude that impacts sites despite the best intentions of local historic preservationists, and it is difficult to know whether site conditions are a result of historic or recent activities. Nonetheless, these outcomes should be considered aspects of the taphonomic processes that need documentation. 3. For a clear understanding of the equipment employed in sugar milling, see Owen’s Dictionary of 1764. 4. Pedro Welch (1996) and Alison Games (1996 ) have documented the importance of women in colonial Barbados from the standpoint of European estate owners and among free colored. 5. Southampton University in the UK has carefully researched Montravers under direction of Roger Leech. See NHCS Newsletter Vol. 70, No­vem­ber 2003. Montra-

Notes to Pages 159–199 / 227 vers was featured by the popu­lar British television series Time Team, in 2005. Prof. Leech provided information about the cellar.

Chapter 6 1. Coconut walk was not in our survey parish. Its state of preservation serves for comparative dating of construction and industrial machinery. Excavations of a post-­ emancipation village at the site were conducted by Jim Chiarelli at Brandeis University. The estate also serves as a cautionary tale of using “text” in interpretation. The windmill tower keystone has the date 1815, yet it is known that the estate was in use long before. According to Chiarelli, the date more than likely corresponds to when the Huggins family took over the plantation. 2. The site was investigated as a field school by San Jose State University, in partnership with the Nevis Field Studies Centre and Research Associate David Small of the Department of Archaeology and Anthropology at Bristol University in the United Kingdom, aided by Research Associate Christine Eickelmann (Meniketti 2011a). 3. At the conclusion of the Falklands war, British Naval contingents sailed the Caribbean on a goodwill tour. At the request of the NHCS, helicopters were used to transport several iron cannon from the area of Indian Castle to Fort Charles (David Rollinson and Vince Hubbard, personal conversation). 4. The oratory encouraged by the Methodist Church unintentionally gave slaves an arena for speech that corresponded to certain traditional West Af­r i­can practices. These meetings did in fact lead to a new criti­cal self-­awareness (Meniketti 2000).

Chapter 7 1. Contemporary census data uses the terms white and black or non-­white, occasionally free black, as a distinction to slave. All such persons will be referred to here as Af­r i­can. 2. One such occurrence in 2005 of a developer blocking a common path caused serious local disturbances. I was asked by the NHCS to find another route to our excavation site to avoid the possibility of being dragged into a legal confrontation. Because property records are of­ten missing, the dispute was about whether the developer or the government actually owned the land. 3. Although light, cotton as bulk carried in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries took up a great deal of space aboard ship and was rated accordingly. A dispute over the cargo of a vessel at Nevis in 1712 offers insights into the intricacies of commodity shipping. Though the ship was officially capable of 200 tons burthen (capacity to hold 200 English tons of cargo), only 200 hogsheads of sugar and 80 bales of cotton were loaded for a total of 58 tons cargo (based on conventional measures at the time). The discrepancy arises from the bulk of the cotton, which prevented fur-

228 / Notes to Pages 203–220 ther loading. The ship’s master had to load carefully or risk a light ship that would be unstable. Tobacco, too, was loosely packed and transported in light hogsheads. The measure of a hogshead (barrel) varied considerably over time and between nationalities, even between islands. Making direct comparisons is of­ten not possible. We find, for example, on Nevis in 1785, a hogshead close to 200 pounds lighter than one from St. Kitts (Watts 1925). 4. In a twist of his­tori­cal fate, Europeans now travel to the islands “for their health.” The hot baths on Nevis became an important tourist attraction in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. The baths, first mentioned by Sir Henry Colt in 1630, and later studied by Sloane as having “curative” properties, are again becoming an attraction. 5. One possible exception is the Hermitage Estate, now a luxury inn. The main house appears to be origi­nal timber and rammed earth construction (Leech 2005). 6. Laws of Nevis 1706. Acts of Nevis Council. 7. The principal products of the Caribbean all began as high profit luxuries, but consumer markets helped transform these into necessities. Several notable historians and economists have explored this issue and analyzed the impact of agricultural production in terms of world economy (Edel 1969; Batie 1976; Mintz 1985; Engerman 1996; Ferry 1997; Carrington 2002). Davis (1962) has been unsurpassed in the analy­sis of merchant shipping and its economic role, both at the core and in the periphery. In addition to this fine work, knowledge of the socioeconomic relations of shipping and slavery has been significantly enhanced by Duffy (1987), whose data on the development of port cities such as Liverpool and Bristol in England, or Bordeaux, Nantes, and others in France, is enlightening. The rise of the slave trade provides a strong basis for linking these regions to the Caribbean economies. Bristol was the sec­ond leading port after Lon­don in the first half of the eighteenth century, with 20 sugar refineries in operation. In the latter half of the century, Liverpool gained prominence. Liverpool increased its population to become the sec­ond largest city in England and its sec­ond major port, with more than half of its ships engaged in the Africa–­West Indies trade. In France, the story is similar, as sugar from Saint Domingue (Haiti) caused a boom in trade. Forty-­seven percent of all trade in Bordeaux, for instance, was West India produce. Associated industries, such as refining, distilling, and shipbuilding, among others, grew up in the surrounding region as part of the expanding support structure (Duffy 1987). 8. There were, of course, several concomitant factors operating that made such a population available for urban industry, most of which are outside the scope of this study. However, a few deserve mention. Changes in the structure of farming, improvements in agricultural technologies that increased production, enclosure laws, and surplus population resulting from improvements in food production and distribution, as well as rebound from periods of disease, all contributed to making available the people demanded by the urban centers. Some income was to be preferred to none. 9. Much like the tendency for banks today to freely offer credit cards to the pub­

Notes to Page 222 / 229 lic then later complain of cardholders failing to make payments, or declaring bankruptcy, banks at the start of the nineteenth century, according to Lobdell (1972), continued to offer novel credit arrangements to sugar planters even as the industry was collapsing. Planters used the money to maintain displays of success before investing or repaying other debts. And just as banks today seek a legislative answer to a problem they helped create, so too did banks appeal to Parliament. However, many members of Parliament were absentee planters with specific sympathies for the colonialists. 10. I have use the term un-­free to distinguish a third category between the enslaved and the free black. Mariners who were bondsmen inhabited a peculiar social space and enjoyed semi-­autonomous free­dom of a scope yet to be fully defined.

References Cited

Primary and Contemporary Secondary Sources 1710 The Case of Sufferers of Nevis and St. Christophers, 1703. Goldsmith’s Kress Library of Economic Literature, Microfilm Series 16416 #5128.6 and #4607.1. 1788 Considerations on the emancipation of Negroes and the Abolition of the Slave-­trade by a West India Planter. Goldsmith’s Kress Library of Economic Literature, Microfilm Series 16416 #13691. 1788 An Account of Ships and Tonnage engaged in the trade to the West Indies. West Indies Series, Goldsmith’s Kress Library of Economic Literature, Microfilm Series 16416 # 14172. 1740 Acts of the Assembly of Nevis, 1664–1739. Lon­don. Horatio Nelson Museum Archives, Charlestown, Nevis. 1921 Journal of a Lady of Quality, Being a Narrative of a Journey from Scotland to the West Indies, North Carolina, and Portugal in the Years 1774–1776. Edited by E. Andrews, Yale University Press, New Haven. Anonymous Date unk.  Pinney Papers. Nevis Journal. Archives of the Nevis His­tori­cal and Conservation Society. Charlestown. Avalle [habitant cultivateaur de Saint Domingue] 1799 Tableau Compartitif des productions de Colonies fracaises aux Antilles avec celles des colonies anglaises, espangnoles et hollandaises. Paris. Belgrove, William 1755 A Treatise Upon Husbandry or Planting. Boston. Calendar of States Papers 1878 Colonial Series, America and the West Indies 1622–1624. Vol. 4. Kraus Reprint [1964] Vaduz. Calendar of States Papers 1880 Colonial Series, America and the West Indies 1661–1668. Vol. 5. Kraus Reprint [1964] Vaduz.

232 / References Cited Calendar of States Papers 1884 Colonial Series, America and the West Indies 1625–1629. Vol. 6. Kraus Reprint [1964] Vaduz. Calendar of States Papers 1889 Colonial Series, America and the West Indies 1669–1674. Vol. 7. Kraus Reprint [1964] Vaduz. Calendar of States Papers 1893 Colonial Series, America and the West Indies 1675–1676. Vol. 9. Kraus Reprint [1964] Vaduz. Calendar of States Papers 1896 Colonial Series, America and the West Indies 1677–1680. Vol. 10. Kraus Reprint [1964] Vaduz. Calendar of States Papers 1899 Colonial Series, America and the West Indies 1685–1688. Vol. 12. Kraus Reprint [1964] Vaduz. Calendar of States Papers 1908 Colonial Series, America and the West Indies 1693–1696. Vol. 14. Kraus Reprint [1964] Vaduz. Calendar of States Papers 1916 Colonial Series, America and the West Indies 1706–1708. Vol. 23. Kraus Reprint [1964] Vaduz. Caribbeana 1919 Vol. 1–6. Mitchell Hughes and Clarke, Lon­don. Churchill, Awansham, and John Churchill 1732 A Collection of Voyages and Travels, now first printed from origi­nal manuscripts, others now first printed in English. In six volumes. The true travels and adventures of Captain John Smith . . . and America from the year 1592–1629. Accounts 1629. Vol. 1, pp. 364–65. Lon­don. Churchill, Awansham, and John Churchill 1704 A Collection of Voyages and Travels, some now just printed from origi­nal manuscripts, others now first printed in English. In four volumes. Accounts 1652. Vol. 2. Liverpool. Coleridge, Henry Nelson 1825 Six Months in The West Indies. John Murray, Lon­don. Columbian Centinel 1795 Marine Intelligence April 18. Boston. Cooke, Thomas 1811 A History of the West Indies, Natural, Civil, and Ecclesiastical in Three Volumes. Lon­don. Nevis Archives MG12.9. Also, Goldsmith Kress Economic Library of Literature Microfilm series 16416 #13602. Diderot, Denis 1751 Encyclopédie Recueil de Planches, sur Les Sciences. Les Arts Liberaux, et les Arts Machaniques. Braisson, Paris.

References Cited / 233 Dutrone, Jaques-­Francois 1790 Precis sur La Canne et Sur les Moyen’s D’en Extraire Le sel Essential. Paris.Edwards, Bryan 1793 The History, Civil and Commercial of the British Colonies in the West Indies, In Two Volumes. John Stockdale Piccadilly, Lon­don. Glover, Richard 1775 The Humble petition of the planters of His Majesties Sugar Colonies residing in Great Britain and of Merchants of Lon­don Trading to said Colonies. Sabin Microforms, Series Bibliotheca Ameri­cana E262. Hakluyt, Richard 1965 [1595]  The voyage truly discoursed made by Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins . . . chiefly pretended for some special service on the islands and main of the West Indies . . . Hakluyts Voyages, pp. 479–490. Edited by Irwin Blacker, Viking Press, New York. Hilton, John 1675 Relation of the First Settlement of St. Christophers and Nevis, By John Hil­ ton, Storekeeper and First Gunner of Nevis. In Colonising Expeditions to theWest Indies and Guianas, 1623–1667, edited by J. Harlow. Haklyut Society, Lon­don, 1924. Iles, John Alexander Burke 1871 An Account Descriptive of the Island of Nevis. Fletcher and Son, Norwich. Irving, Thomas (Inspector General) 1790 An Account of Shipping, Number of ships with their tonnage. Custom House, Lon­don. Goldsmith’s Kress Library of Economic Literature, MSU Microfilm Series 16416 #14171. Jeaffreson, J. Christopher (editor) 1878 A young squire of the 17th century, from papers (1676–1686) of Christopher Jeaffreson. 2 vols. Hurst and Blakett, Lon­don. Jeffers, Thomas 1792a A New, Royal, and Authentic System of Universal Geography, pp. 524. Lon­don. 1792b A Brief History of Nevis. Lon­don. Nevis Archives MG2.25 Labat, Jean Baptiste 1724 Nouveau Voyage aux isles de l’Amerique, 1693–1708. Paris. Ligon, Richard 1657 A True and Exact History of the Island of Barbados. Lon­don. Macauley, Zachary 1823 East And West India Sugar or a refutation of the Claims of the West India Colonists to a Protecting Duty on East India Sugar. Printed for Lupton Relfe, Lon­don. Oldmixon, John 1708 The British Empire in America, British Colonies on the Continent and Islands of America. Vol. II., pp. 195–219. Lon­don. Owen’s Dictionary 1775 Dictionary, A New and Complete Volume 7:3045, Vol. 8. Rare books, The Bancroft Library, pp. 3380–2233. University of California, Berke­ley.

234 / References Cited Rees, Abraham 1819 The Cyclopedia; or Universal Dictionary of Arts, Sciences and Literature, Vol. 34. Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Lon­don. Robertson, Rev. Robert 1733 A Hurricane House described in a letter. Personal papers of Ann Berry. Golden Rock Inn, St. George Parish, Nevis. 1850 New Machinery for Depurating Sugar and other Substances. Scientific Ameri­ can 5(41): June 29. Sloane, Hans 1707 A Voyage to the islands of Madera, Barbados, Nieves, S. Christophers and Jamaica, with the Natural History of the Herbs and Trees, Four-­footed Beasts, Fishes, Birds, Insects, and Reptiles of the last of those Islands. Lon­don.

Secondary sources Abu-­Lughod, Janet 1989 Before European Hegemony.The World System A.D. 1250–1350. Oxford University Press, New York. Adams, William Hampton 1990 Landscape Archaeology, Landscape History, and the Ameri­can Farmstead. His­tori­cal Archaeology 24(4):92–101. Adams, William, and Sarah Boling 1991 Status and Ceramics for Planters and Slaves on Three Georgia Coastal Plantations. In Approaches to Material Culture Research in His­tori­cal Archaeology, edited by G. Miller, L. Ross, and T. Majewski, pp. 59–86. John Wiley & Sons, New York. Ahlman, Todd, Michael Glascock, Ashley McKeown, Gerald Schroedl, and Robert Speakman 2008 Ceramic Production and Exchange Among Enslaved Af­r i­cans on St. Kitts, West Indies. The Journal of Caribbean Archaeology. Special Publications #2. Ahlman, Todd, Gerald Schroedel, and Ashley McKeown 2009 The Afro-­Caribbean Ware from the Brimstone Hill Fortress, St. Kitts, West Indies. His­tori­cal Archaeology 43(4):22–41 Alcock, Susan 1993 Graecia Capta:The Landscapes of Roman Greece. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Allaire, Louis 1996 Visions of Cannibals: Distant Islands and Distant Lands in Taino World Image. In The Lesser Antilles in the Age of European Expansion, edited by R. Paquette and S. Engerman, pp.33–49. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Allan, John 1999 Producers, Distributors, and Redistributors: The Role of the Southwest­ern Ports in the 17th Century Ceramic Trades. In Old and New Worlds, edited by G. Egan and R. Michael, pp.278–288. Oxbow, Lon­don.

References Cited / 235 Appleby, John 1996 English settlement in the Lesser Antilles during War and Peace. In The Lesser Antilles in the Age of European Expansion, edited by R. Paquette and S. Engerman, pp.86–104. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Armstrong, Douglas 1982 The Old Village at Drax Hall Plantation: An Archaeological Process Report. Journal of New World Archaeology 5(2):87–103. 1990 The Old Village and Great House. University of Illinois Press, Urbana. 2003 Creole Transformation from Slavery to Freedom. His­tori­cal Archaeology of the East End Community, St. John,Virgin Islands. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. 2011 Reflections on Seville: Rediscovering the Af­r i­can Jamaican settlement at Seville Plantation, St Ann’s Bay. In Out of Many, One People: The His­tori­cal Archaeology of Colonial Jamaica, edited by J. Delle, M. Hauser, and D. Armstrong, pp. 77– 101. University of Ala­bama Press, Tuscaloosa. Aston, Michael, and Trevor Rowely 1974 Landscape Archaeology. David and Charles, Lon­don. Barka, Norman 1996 Citizens of St. Eustatius 1781: A His­tori­cal and Archaeological Study. In The Lesser Antilles in the Age of European Expansion, edited by R. Engerman and S. Paquette, pp. 223–240. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. 2001 Time Lines: Changing Settlement Patterns on St. Eustatius. In Island Lives: His­tori­cal Archaeologies of the Caribbean, edited by P. Farnsworth, pp. 103–141. University of Ala­bama Press, Tuscaloosa. Barker, David 1999 The Ceramic Revolution 1650–1850. In Old and New Worlds, edited by G. Egan and R. Michaels, pp. 226–234. Oxbow, Lon­don. Barker, David, and Teresita Majewski 2006 Ceramic Studies in His­tori­cal Archaeology. In The Cambridge Companion to His­tori­cal Archaeology, edited by D. Hicks and M. Beaudry, pp. 205–231. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Barlow, Virginia 1993 The Nature of the Islands. Chris Doyle Publ., Florida. Barrett, Ward 1965 Caribbean Sugar-­Production Standards in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries. In Merchants and Scholars, Essays in the History of Exploration and Trade, edited by J. Parker, pp.147–170. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis. Batie, Robert 1976 Why Sugar? Economic Cycles and the Changing of Staples on the English and French Antilles, 1624–54. Journal of Caribbean History 8–9(1):1–41. Beaudry, Mary, Lauren Cook, and Stephen Mrozowski 1991 Artifacts and Active Voices: Material Culture as Social Discourse. In The Archaeology of Inequality, edited by R. McGuire and R. Paynter, pp. 272–310. Basil Blackwell, Cambridge.

236 / References Cited 1993 Documentary Archaeology in the New World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. 1999 House and Household: The Archaeology of Domestic Life in Early America. In, Old and New Worlds, edited by G. Egan and R. L. Michale, pp. 117–126. Oxbow Books, Oxford. Beckles, Hilary, and Karl Watson 1987 Social Protest and Labour Bargaining: The Changing Nature of Slaves’ Responses to Plantation Life in Eighteenth-­Century Barbados. Slavery and Abolition 8: 272–293. 1998 Plantation Production and White “Proto-­Slavery:” White indentured Servants and Colonisation of the English West Indies, 1624–1645. In Settlement Patterns in Early Modern Colonisation, 16th–18th Centuries Vol. 25, edited by J. Lorimer, pp.149–174. The Expanding World: The European Impact on World History, A. J. R. Russel-­Wood, series editors. Ashgate, Aldershot. United Kingdom. Bender, Fredrick 1986 Karl Marx:The Essential Writings. Westview Press, Boulder. Bernhard, Virginia 1996 Bids for Freedom: Slave Resistance and Rebellion Plots in Bermuda, 1656– 1761. Slavery and Abolition 17(3): 185–208. Binford, Lewis 1968 New Perspectives in Archaeology. Edited by S. Binford and L. Binford. Adeline, Chicago. Blackburn, Robin 1997 The Making of New World Slavery. Verso, Lon­don. Boland, Nigel 1981 Systems of Domination after Slavery: The Control of Land and labor in the British West Indies After 1838. Comparative Studies in Society and History 23(4):​ 591–619. Bolster, Jeffery 1997 Black Jacks. Harvard University Press, Cambridge. Braudel, Fernand 1972 The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Phillip II. Harper, New York. Britt, Sean 2010 Fueling the Fire: Examining Caribbean Colonial relations between Humans and the Environment. His­tori­cal Archaeology 44(3):54–68. Buisseret, David 1980 Historic Architecture of the Caribbean. Heinemann, United Kingdom. Butzer, Karl 1982 Archaeology as Human Ecology. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Butzer, Karl, and E. Butzer 2000 Domestic Architecture in Early Colonial Mexico: Material Culture as (sub) Text. In Cultural Encounters with the Environment, edited by A. Murphy and D. John­ son, pp. 17–37. Rowman & Littlefield, Lanham, Maryland.

References Cited / 237 CCA 1991 St. Kitts and Nevis Environmental Profile. Caribbean Conservation Association. St. Michael, Barbados. Carr, Chris 1987 Left in the dust: Contextual Information in Model Focused Archaeology. In The Interpretation of Archaeological Spatial Patterning, edited by T. D. Price and E. Kroll, pp. 221–256. Plenum, New York. Carrington, Selwyn 2002 The Sugar Industry and the Abolition of the Slave Trade, 1775–1810. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Castillero-­Calvo, Alfredo 1999 The City in the Hispanic Caribbean, 1492–1650. In General History of the Caribbean: New Societies:The Caribbean in the Long Sixteenth Century. Vol. 2, edited by P. Emmer and G. Damas, pp. 201–246. UNESCO Publishing. Champion, Timothy 1989 Introduction. In Centre and Periphery: Comparative Studies in Archaeology, edited by T. C. Champion, pp.1–21. One World Archaeology, Vol. 11. Unwin Hyman, Lon­don. Charlton, Thomas 1981 Archaeology, Ethnohistory, and Ethnology: Interpretive Interfaces. In Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory 4, edited by M. Schiffer, pp.129–175. Academic Press, New York. Christaller, W. 1966 Central Places in South­ern Germany. Prentice Hall, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey. Clement, Christopher Ohm 1997 Settlement Patterning on the British Island of Tobago. His­tori­cal Archaeology 31(2):92–106. Crouse, Nellis 1943 The French Struggle for the West Indies. Columbia University Press, New York. Crowell, Aron 1997 Archaeology and the Capitalist World System. Plenum, New York. Crumley, Carole, and William Marquardt 1990 Landscape: a unifying concept in regional analy­sis. In Interpreting Space: GIS and Archaeology, edited by K. M. S. Allen, S. W. Green, and E. B. W. Zubeow, pp. 73–79. Taylor and Francis, Lon­don. Curtin, Philip 1969 The Atlantic Slave Trade. University of Wisconsin Press, Madison. 1998 The Rise and Fall of the Plantation Complex: Essays in Atlantic History. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Davis, Dave 1982 Archaic Settlement and Resource Explication in the Lesser Antilles: Preliminary Information from Antigua. Caribbean Journal of Science 17:107–122.

238 / References Cited Davis, Ralph 1962 The Rise of the English Shipping Industry. Macmillan & Co., Lon­don. Deegan, Kathleen 1995 Puerto Real. The Archaeology of a Sixteenth-­Century Spanish Town in Hispañola. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. 1996 Avenues of Inquiry in His­tori­cal Archaeology. In Images of the Recent Past, edited by C. Orser, pp.16–41. AltaMira, Walnut Creek. Deerr, Noel 1949 The History of Sugar. Chapman and Hill, Lon­don. Deetz, James 1977 Small Things Forgotten. Anchor Books, Garden City, New York. 1998 Material Culture and Worldview in Colonial Anglo-­America. In The Recovery of Meaning, edited by M. Leone and P. Potter, pp. 219–233. Smithsonian Institution Press, Wash­ing­ton. Delle, James 1994 The Settlement Patterns of Sugar Plantations on St. Eustatius, Netherlands Antilles. In Spatial Patterning in His­tori­cal Archaeology: Selected Studies of Settlement, edited by D. Linebaugh and G. Robinson, pp. 33–61. King and Queen Press, College of William and Mary, Williamsburg, Virginia. 1998 An Archaeology of Social Space. Plenum, New York. 1999a  Extending Europe’s Grasp: An Archaeological Comparison of Colonial Spatial Processes in Ireland and Jamaica. In Old and New Worlds, edited by G. Egan and R. L. Michael, pp.106–116. David Brown, Oxford. 1999b  The Landscapes of Class Negotiations on Coffee Plantations in the Blue Mountains of Jamaica: 1790–1850. His­tori­cal Archaeology 33(1):136–158. 2011 The Habitus of Jamaican Plantation Landscapes. In Out of Many, One People. The His­tori­cal Archaeology of Colonial Jamaica, edited by J. Delle, M. Hauser, and D. Armstrong, pp. 122–143. University of Ala­bama Press, Tuscaloosa. Delpuech, André 2001 His­tori­cal Archaeology in the French West Indies: Recent Research in Guadeloupe. In Island Lives: His­tori­cal Archaeologies of the Caribbean, edited by P. Farnsworth, pp. 21–59. University of Ala­bama Press, Tuscaloosa. Desowitz, Robert 1997 Who Gave Pinta to the Santa Maria. W. W. Norton, New York. Diamond, Jared 1997 Guns, Germs, and Steel. W. W. Norton, New York. Dobres, Marcia-­A nne, and John Rabb (editors) 2000 Introduction. In Agency in Archaeology, pp. 3–11. Routledge, Lon­don. Dubois, Laurent 2004 Avengers of the New World:The Story of the Haitian Revolution. Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge. Duffy, Michael 1987 Soldiers, Sugar, and Seapower. Clarendon Press, Oxford.

References Cited / 239 Dunn, Richard 1972 Sugar and Slaves. University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill. DuPlessis, Robert 1977 From Demesne to World-­System: A Critical Review of the Literature on the Transition from Feudalism to Capitalism. Radical History Review 4(1):3–41. Edel, Matthew 1969 The Brazilian Sugar Cycle of the Seventeenth Century and the Rise of West Indian Competition. Journal of Caribbean Studies 9(1):24–44. Eisenhardt, Kathleen 1995 Building Theories form Case Study Research. In Longitudinal Field Research Methods: Studying Process of Organizational Change, edited by G. Huber and A. Van de Ven, pp. 65–90. Sage, Thousand Oaks, California. Emmer, Pieter 1998 The Dutch in the Atlantic Economy, 1580–1880. Ashgate, Aldershot. Engerman, Stanley 1996 Europe, the Lesser Antilles, and economic Expansion, 1600–1800. In The Lesser Antilles in the Age of European Expansion, edited by R. L. Paquette and S. En­ ger­man, pp.147–164. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Esquemelling, John 1987 The Buccaneers of America. Dorset Press, New York. Farnsworth, Paul (editor) 2001 Island Lives. University of Ala­bama Press, Tuscaloosa. Ferguson, Leland 1992 Uncommon Ground: Archaeology and Early Af­ri­can America, 1650–1800. Smithsonian Institution Press, Wash­ing­ton, D. C. Ferry, Robert 1997 Encomienda, Af­r i­can Slavery, and Agriculture in Seventeenth-­Century Caracas. In Plantation Societies in the Era of European Expansion, edited by J. Bieber, pp.146–155. An Expanding World: The European Impact on World History 1450– 1800 series. Ashgate, Valorum, United Kingdom. Fick, Carolyn 1990 The Making of Haiti. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. Fletcher, Roland 1989 The Messages of Material Behavior: A Preliminary Discussion of Non-­Verbal Meaning. In The Meanings of Things, edited by I. Hodder, pp. 33–40. Unwin Hyman, Lon­don. Fox, Georgia 2013 Archaeological Investigations at Betty’s Hope Plantation Antigua, West Indies. Proceedings of the 24th Congress of the International Association of Caribbean Archaeology: East­ern Caribbean Plantations, edited by B. Bérnard and K. Kelly, in press. Fox, John 1981 The Late Postclassic East­ern Frontier of Mesoamerica: Cultural Innovation Along the Periphery. Current Anthropology 22(4):321–345.

240 / References Cited Galloway, J. H. 1989 The Sugar Cane Industry: An His­tori­cal Geography from Origins to 1914. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Games, Alison 1996 Opportunity and Mobility in Early Barbados. In The Lesser Antilles in the Age of European Expansion, edited by R. Paquette and S. Engerman, pp.165–181. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Gaspar, David Barry 1985 Bondsmen and Rebels. A Study of Master-­Slave Relations in Antigua. Duke University Press, Durham. 1992 Working the System: Antigua Slaves and Their Struggle to Live. Slavery and Abolition 13:131–155. Gay, Edwin 1929 Notes and Documents: Letters form a Sugar Plantation in Nevis, 1723–32. Journal of Economic and Business History, pp. 149–73. Graduate School of Business, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Giddens, Anthony 1979 Central Problems in Social Theory:Action, Structure, and Contradiction in Social Analysis. University of California Press, Berke­ley. Glassie, Henry 1975 Folk Housing in Middle Virginia. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. Goodwin, Christopher 1979 The Prehistoric Cultural Ecology of St. Kitts, West Indies: A Case Study in Island Archaeology. Unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation, Department of Anthropology, Arizona State University. Goslinga, Cornelis 1971 The Dutch in the Caribbean and on the Wild Coast, 1580–1680. Koninklijke Van Gorcum & Corp., Netherlands. Goveia, Elsa 1965 Slave Society in the British Leeward Islands at the End of the Eighteenth Century. Greenwood Press, Westport,Connecticut. Grove, Richard 1997 Ecology, Climate, and Empire: Colonialism and Global Environmental History, 1400– 1940. White Horse Press, Cambridge. Green, Stanton, and Stephen Perlman 1985 The Archaeology of Frontiers and Boundaries. Academic Press, New York. Hackett, Kieran 2003 Of Nevis Lighters and Lightermen.The Sailing Lighters of St. Kitts and Nevis.The Writers’ Collective, Cranston, Rhode Island. Hall, Douglas 1971 Five of the Leewards, 1834–1870. Caribbean University Press, Barbados. 1973 Absentee-­Proprietorship in the British West Indies to about 1850. In Slaves, Free Men, Citizens.West Indian Perspectives, edited by L. Comitas and D. Lowenthal, pp. 105–136. Anchor Books, Garden City, New Jersey.

References Cited / 241 Hamilton, Donny 1991 A Decade of Excavations at Port Royal, Jamaica. In Underwater Archaeology. Proceedings from the Society for His­tori­cal Archaeology Conference, edited by J. Broadwater, pp. 90–94. Society for His­tori­cal Archaeology. 2006 Pirates and Merchants: Port Royal Jamaica. In X Marks the Spot. The Archaeology of Piracy, edited by R. Skowroneck and C. Ewen, pp. 13–30. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Handler, Jerome 1968 Amerindian Slaves on Barbados. Journal of Caribbean Studies 8(4):38–60. Harns, Robert 2002 The Diligent. A Voyage Through the Worlds of the Slave Trade. Basic Books, New York. Harlow, Vincent 1925 The Voyage of Henry. In Colonizing Expeditions to the West Indies and Guiana, 1623–67, p. 90. Holt Hakluyt Society, Lon­don. Hauser, Mark 2009 Economic Networks and Landscapes of Production: Bois Cotlette, Dominica in the Early Nineteenth Century. Paper presented at the XXXIII Congress of the International Association for Caribbean Archaeology, Antigua and Barbuda. 2011 Of Earth and Clay: Locating Colonial Economics and Local Ceramics. In Out of Many, One People:The His­tori­cal Archaeology of Colonial Jamaica, edited by J. Delle, M. Hauser, and D.Armstrong, pp. 163–182. University of Ala­bama Press, Tuscaloosa. Hardesty, Donald 1980 Historic Sites Archaeology on the West­ern Ameri­can Frontier: Theoreti­cal Perspectives and Research Problems. North Ameri­can Archaeologist 2(1):67–81. 1985 Evolution on the Industrial Frontier. In The Archaeology of Frontiers and Boundaries, edited by S. Green and S. Perlman, pp. 213–229. Academic Press, New York. Harrington, J. C. 1978 Dating Stem Fragments of Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Clay Tobacco Pipes. In His­tori­cal Archaeology: A Guide to Substantive and Theoretical Contributions, edited by R. Schuyler, pp. 63–65. Baywood, Farmingdale, New York. Haviser, Jay B. 1997 Settlement Strategies in the Early Ceramic Age. In The Indigenous People of the Caribbean edited by S. Wilson, pp. 57–69. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Hicks, Dan 2007a The Garden of the World: An his­tori­cal archaeology of sugar landscapes in the east­ ern Caribbean. BAR International Series 1632. Oxford. 2007b  Material Improvements: The Archaeology of Estate Landscapes in the British Leeward islands, 1713–1838. In Estate Landscapes: Design Improvement and Power in the Post-­Medieval Landscape, edited by J. Finch and K. Giles, pp. 205–227. Boydell and Brewer Ltd., United Kingdom.

242 / References Cited Higgs, E. and C. Vita-­Finzi 1970 Prehistoric Economy in the Mt. Carmel Area of Palestine: Site catchment analy­sis. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 36:1–37. Higham, Charles S. S. 1921 The Development of the Leeward Islands Under the Restoration 1660–1688: a study in the foundations of the old colonial system. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Higman, B. W. 1985 Theory, Method, and Technique in Caribbean Social History. Journal of Caribbean History 20(1):29. Hodder, Ian 1977 Some New Directions in the Spatial Analysis of Archaeological Data at the Regional Scale (Macro). In Spatial Archaeology, edited by D. Clarke, pp. 223–352. Academic Press, Boston. 1984 Burials, houses, women and men in the European Neolithic. In Ideology, Power, and Prehistory, edited by D. Miller and C. Tilley, pp. 51–68. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. 1989 The Meanings of Things. Unwin Hyman, Lon­don. Hodges, R. 1987 Spatial Models, Anthropology and Archaeology. In Landscape and Culture: Geographical and Archaeological Perspectives, edited by J. M. Wagstaff, pp. 118–133. Basil Blackwell, Oxford. Hoffman, Paul 1980 The Spanish Caribbean and Defense of the Caribbean, 1535–1585. Louisiana State University Press, Baton Rouge. Honeychurch, Lennox 1997 Crossroads in the Caribbean: A Site of Encounter and Exchange in Dominica. World Archaeology 28(3):291–304 Hood, J. Edward 1996 Social Relations and Cultural Landscapes. In Landscape Archaeology, edited by R. Yamin and K. Metheny, pp. 121–146. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. Hoy, Don 1971 Changing Agricultural Land use on Guadeloupe, French West Indies. In Peoples and Cultures of the Caribbean, edited by M. Horowitz, pp. 267–290. Natural History Press, Garden City, New York. Hubbard, Lucius 1931 Did Columbus Discover the Islands Antigua and St. Martin? Geographical Review 21(4):583–600. Hubbard, Vincent 1996 Slaves, Ships, and Sugar. Premiere Editions, Corvallis. Hughs, Bernard, and Therle Hughs 1968 English Ceramics. Abbey Library, Lon­don. Johnson, Matthew 1993 Notes Towards an Archaeology of Capitalism. In Interpretive Archaeology, edited by C. Tilley, pp. 327–356. Berg, Providence, Rhode Island.

References Cited / 243 1999 His­tori­cal, Archaeology, Capitalism. In His­tori­cal Archaeologies of Capitalism, edited by M. Leone and P. Potter, pp. 219–232. Kluwer Press, New York. Joseph, J. W. 1992 White Columns and Black Hands: Class and Classification in the Plantation Ideology of the Georgia and South Carolina Lowcountry. His­tori­cal Archaeology 27(3): 57–73. Keegan, William 1994 West Indian Archaeology. 1. Overview and Foragers. Journal of Archaeologi­cal Research, 2(3):255–284. 1996 West Indian Archaeology. 2. After Columbus. Journal of Archaeological Research 4(4):265–294. 2000 West Indian Archaeology. 3. Ceramic Age. Journal of Archaeological Research 8(2):135–167. Kelly, Kenneth 2004 His­tori­cal Archaeology in the French Caribbean: An Introduction to a Special Volume of the Journal of Caribbean Archaeology. Journal of Caribbean Archaeology, Special Publication 1. 1–10. Kelso, William 1984 Kingsmill Plantations 1619–1800. Archaeology of Country Life in Colonial Virginia. Academic Press, San Deigo, California. Kealhoffer, Lisa 1999 Adding Content to Structure: Integrating Environment and Landscape. In Old and New Worlds, edited by G. Eagan and R. Michael, pp. 378–389. David Brown, Oxford. Keur, John, and Dorothy Keur 1960 Windward Children: A Study in the Human Ecology of Three Dutch Windward Islands in the Caribbean. Royal Vedercum Ltd., Assen. King, Anthony 1990 Urbanism, Colonialism, and the World-­Economy: Cultural and Spatial Foundations of the World Urban System. Routledge, Lon­don. King, Julia, and Henry Miller 1991 The View from the Midden: An Analysis of Midden Distribution and Composition at the van Sweringen Site, St. Mary’s City, Maryland. In Approaches to Material Culture Research for His­tori­cal Archaeologists, edited by G. Miller, O. Jones, L. Ross, and T. Majewski, pp. 331–353. Society for His­tori­cal Archaeology. Kintigh, Keith 1990 Comments on the Case for Full Coverage Survey. In The Archaeology of Regions, edited by S. Fish and S. Kowalewski, pp. 237–242. Smithsonian Institution Press, Wash­ing­ton, D.C. Kipple, Kenneth, and Kreimhild Ornelas 1996 After the Encounter: Disease and Demographics in the Lesser Antilles. In The Lesser Antilles in the Age of European Expansion, edited by R. Paquette and S. Engerman, pp. 50–67. University Press of Florida, Gainesville.

244 / References Cited Klingelhoffer, Eric 1999 Proto-­colonial archaeology: the case of Elizabethan Ireland. In His­tori­cal Archaeology: Back From the Edge, edited by P. Funari, M. Hall, and S. Jones, pp.164– 179. Routledge, Lon­don. 2005 Facts, Fiction, and Fable: The Fate of Jamestown on Nevis. Presented paper, Society for Post-­Medieval Archaeology. Conference: The Colonial Landscape of the Caribbean, Nevis, West Indies. Klooster, Wim 1998 Illicit Riches. KILTV Press, Leiden, Netherlands. Kowalewski, Stephan, Richard Blanton, Gary Feinman, and Laura Finsten 1983 Boundaries, Scales, and Internal Organization. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 2:32–56. Kryder-­Reid, Elizabeth 1994 “As is the Gardner, so is the Garden”: The Archaeology of Landscape as Myth. In His­tori­cal Archaeology of the Chesapeake, edited by P. Shackel and B. Little, pp. 131– 148. Smithsonian, Wash­ing­ton, D.C. Landon, David, and Timothy Tumberg 1996 Archaeological Perspectives on the Diffusion of Technology: An Example from Ohio Trap Rock Mine Site. Journal of the Society for Industrial Archaeology 22(2):40–57. Leech, Roger 2003 The Early Colonial Settlement and Landscape of Nevis-­St. Kitts. Nevis His­ tori­cal and Conservation Society Newsletter No. 67, February. 2005 Impermanent Architecture in the English Colonies of the East­ern Caribbean: New Contexts for Architectural Innovation in the Early Modern Atlantic World. Perspectives in Vernacular Architecture, edited by X. K. Breisch and K. Hoagland, pp. 153–168. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. 2008 “In what manner did they devide the land”: the early colonial estate landscape of Nevis and St. Kitts. In Estate Landscapes: Design, Improvement and Power in the Post-­Medieval Landscape, edited by J. Finch and K. Giles, pp. 191–204. G. B. Boydell Press, Woodbridge, U.K. Lenik, Steve 2009 A Jesuit Plantation and Church in the Caribbean Borderland: Grand Bay, Dominica, 1748–1763. Paper presented at the XXXIII Congress of the International Association for Caribbean Archaeology, Antigua and Barbuda. Leonard, Robert 1993 The Persistence of an Explanatory Dilemma in Contact Period Studies. In Ethnohistory and Archaeology: Approaches to Postcontact Change in the Americas, edited by J. Rodgers and S. Wilson, pp. 31–47. Plenum, New York. Leone, Mark 1984 Interpreting Ideology in His­tori­cal Archaeology: using rules of perspective in the William Paca garden in Annapolis, Maryland. In Ideology, Power, and Prehistory, edited by D. Miller and C. Tilley, pp. 25–35. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

References Cited / 245 1985 A His­tori­cal Archaeology of Capitalism. Ameri­can Anthropologist 97(2):2 ​ 51–268. 1999 Setting Some Terms for His­tori­cal Archaeologies of Capitalism In His­tori­ cal Archaeologies of Capitalism, edited by M. Leone and P. Potter, pp. 3–20. Kluwer, New York. Leone, Mark, and Parker Potter 1988 Introduction. Issues in His­tori­cal Archaeology. In The Recovery of Meaning, edited by M. Leone and P. Potter, pp. 1–22. Smithsonian Institution Press, Wash­ ing­ton, D.C. Lefebvre, H. 1979 Space: Social Product and Use Value. In Critical Sociology: European Perspectives, edited by J. Friedberg, pp. 285–295. Irvington, New York. 1993 The Production of Space. Translated by Donald Nicholson-­Smith. Blackwell, Oxford. Lewis, Kenneth 1984 The Ameri­can Frontier: An Archaeological Study of Settlement Pattern and Process. Academic Press, New York. 1999 The Metropolis and the Backcountry: The Making of a Colonial Landscape on the South Carolina Frontier. His­tori­cal Archaeology 33(3):3–13. Liebeknect, William 2007 Archaeological Evidence of an Obscure Trade Network at the Head of Tide on the Delaware River. Paper presented at the 44th Conference of the Society for His­tori­cal Archaeology. Williamsburg, Virginia. Lightfoot, Kent, and Antoinette Martinez 1995 Frontiers and Boundaries in Archaeological Perspective. Annual Review of Anthropology 24:471–492. 2005 Indians, Missionaries, and Merchants. University of California Press, Berke­ley. Lobdell, Richard 1972 Patterns of Investment and Sources of Credit in the British West Indian Sugar Industry, 1838–97. Journal of Caribbean History 4:31–53. Loftfield, Thomas 2001 Creolization in Seventeenth-­century Barbados. Two Case Studies. In Island Lives. His­tori­cal Archaeologies of the Caribbean, edited by P. Farnsworth, pp. 207–233. University of Ala­bama Press, Tuscaloosa. Lowenthal, David 1972 West Indian Societies. Oxford University Press, New York. 1973 Introduction. In The Aftermath of Sovereignty, edited by D. Lowenthal and L. Comitas, pp.195–210. Anchor Press, Garden City, New York. Lukezic, Craig 1990 Soils and Settlement in 18th Century Colonial Tidewater Virginia. His­tori­cal Archaeology 24(1):1–17. 1994 Colonial Site Location in Tidewater, Virginia. In Spatial Patterning in His­tori­cal Archaeology: Selected Studies of Settlement, edited by D. Linebaugh and G. Robinson, pp. 13–32. William and Mary Center for Archaeological Research Occasional Pa-

246 / References Cited pers in Archaeology, No. 2, College of William and Mary, King and Queen Press, Williamsburg, Virginia. Machling, Tessa 2000 Old Road Fort, Cotton Tree Fort and Dukes Sconce/Abbots/Coles Point Forts: Fieldwork 2000. In Nevis Heritage Project Interim Report, pp. 45–73. Department of Archaeology, University of Southampton, United Kingdom, in association with the Nevis His­tori­cal and Conservation Society, Charlestown, Nevis. Machling, Tessa, Rebecca Lawrence, and Elaine Morris 2005 The Newcastle Redoubt: Preservation by Record. Nevis Heritage Project. University of Southampton, United Kingdom. 2012 The Fortifications of Nevis,West Indies, from the 17th century to the Present day: Protected Interests. BAR International Series 2349. Oxford. Majewski, Teresita, and Virgil Noble 1999 British Ceramics on the Ameri­can Colonial Frontier, 1760–1800. In Old and New Worlds, edited by G. Egan and R. Michael, pp. 299–309. Oxbow, Great Britain. Mangan, Patricia 2000 Building Biographies: Spatial Changes in Domestic Structures During the Transition from Feudalism to Capitalism. In Lines that Divide, edited by J. Delle, S. Mrozowski, and R. Paynter, pp. 205–238. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. Manners, Hanzel 2007 Bamboo Shay. A Collection of Short Stories of Nevis. Self Published. Available from Nevis His­tori­cal and Conservation Society, Charlestown. Martin-­Fragachan, Gustavo 1999 Intellectual, Artistic and Ideological Aspects of Cultures in the New World. In General History of the Caribbean: New Societies:The Caribbean in the long sixteenth century, vol. II, edited by P. Emmer and G. Damas, pp. 247–307. UNESCO Press, Hong Kong. Martin, Ann Smart 1996 Frontier Boys and Country Cousins: The Context for Choice in Eighteenth Century Consumerism. In His­tori­cal Archaeology and the Study of Ameri­can Culture, edited by L. A. De Cunzo and B. Herman, pp. 71–102. A Winterthur Publication Delaware. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville, TN. Marx, Karl 1977 Capital. Vol. 1. [1867] Translated by Ben Fowkes. Vintage Books, New York. Mason, K. 1993 The world an absentee planter and his slaves made: Sir William Stapleton and his Nevis Sugar Estate, 1722–1740. Bulletin of the John Raylands University Library of Manchester 75: 103–131. Mayes, Phillip 1972 Port Royal, Jamaica Excavations 1969–70. Jamaica National Trust, Kingston. McGlade, James and Van der Leeuw 1997 The Limits of Social Control: Coherence and Chaos in a Prestige-­goods

References Cited / 247 Economy. In Time, Process and Structured Transformation in Archaeology, edited by S. van der Leeuw and J. McGlade, pp. 298–330. One World Archaeology, Vol. 26. Routledge, Lon­don. Meniketti, Marco 1998a T he Port St. George Project: Reconnaissance and Assessment of a Sugar Plantation/ Harbor Complex in Nevis,West Indies. Unpublished Masters thesis. Michigan Technological University, Department of Social Science. Houghton, Michigan. 1998b The Port St. George Project: Reconnaissance and Assessment of a Sugar Plantation/Harbor Complex in Nevis, West Indies. In Underwater Archaeology, edited by L. Babits, C. Fach, R. Harris, pp. 88–95. Society for His­tori­cal Archaeology. 2000 Post-­Colonial Transformation and Invention of Cultural Identity on Nevis, West Indies. Journal of Post-­Colonial and Historic Studies 1(1):139–163. 2003 Historic Colonial Landscape Project: Interim Report. On file with Horatio Nelson Museum Archive, Charlestown, Nevis. 2006 Sugar Mills, Technology, and Environmental Change: A Case Study of Colonial Agro-­Industrial Development in the Caribbean. IA, Journal of the Society for Industrial Archeology 32(1):53–80. 2009 Boundaries, Borders, and Reference Points: The Caribbean Defined as Geographic Region and Social Reality. International Journal for His­tori­cal Archaeology. 13(1): 24–62. M. Hauser, K. Kelly, editors, Special edition on Caribbean Archaeology. 2011a  The Bush Hill Estate and Landscapes of Capitalism: A Case Study in Economic and Social Transition at Bush Hill Estate, Nevis. In Proceedings of the XXIII Congress of the International Association for Caribbean Archaeology, 2009, edited by A. Rebovich, pp. 331–341. English Harbour, Antigua. 2011b  Preliminary Comparative pXRF Analyses of Indigenous Saladoid Wares and Colonoware from Nevis, West Indies. Caribbean Connections, February 1(1). Field Research Centre, Antigua. Merrill, Gordon 1958 The His­tori­cal Geography of St Kitts and Nevis. Instituto Panamericano de Geographia e Historia, Mexico. Miller, J. Jefferson, and Lyle Stone 1970 Eighteenth-­Century Ceramics from Fort Michilimackiac. Smithsonian Institution Press, Wash­ing­ton, D.C. Miller, Henry 1994 The Country’s House Site: An Archaeological Study of a Seventeenth-­Century Domestic Landscape. In His­tori­cal Archaeology of the Chesapeake, edited by P. Shackel and B. Little, pp. 65–84. Smithsonian Institution Press, Wash­ing­ton, D.C. Mintz, Sidney 1971 The Caribbean as a Socio-­cultural Area. In Slaves, free Men, Citizens:West Indian Perspectives, edited by D. Lowenthal and L. Comitas, pp. 15–46. Natural History Press, Garden City, New York. 1977 The So-­called World System. Local Initiative and Local Response. Dialecti­cal Anthropology 2(4):243–270.

248 / References Cited 1985 Sweetness and Power.The Place of Sugar in Modern History. Penguin Books, New York. Mintz, Sidney, and Sally Price 1985 Caribbean Contours. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore. 2000 Nevis Heritage Project Interim Report. Department of Archaeology, University of Southampton, United Kingdom, in association with the Nevis His­tori­ cal and Conservation Society, Horatio Nelson Museum Archive, Charlestown, Nevis. Morris, Elaine, Robert Read, S. Elizabeth James, and Tessa Machling, with David Williams and Brent Wilson 1999 “the old stone fortt at Newcastle.” The Redoubt, Nevis, East­ern Caribbean. Post Medieval Archaeology 33:194–221. 1974 The European Discovery of America.Vol. I.The North­ern Voyages. Oxford University Press, New York. Mrozowski, Stephen 1991 Landscapes of Inequality. In The Archaeology of Inequality, edited by R. McGuire and R. Paynter, pp. 79–101. Basil Blackwell, Oxford. 2000 The Growth of Managerial Capitalism and the Subtleties of Class Analysis in His­tori­cal Archaeology. In Lines that Divide, edited by J. Delle, S. Mrozowski, and R. Paynter, pp. 276–306. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. Mugerauer, Robert 1995 Interpreting Environments:Tradition, Deconstruction, Hermeneutics. University of Texas Press, Austin. Murphy, Alexander, and Douglas Johnson 2000 Cultural Encounters with the Environment. Introduction. In Cultural Encounters with the Environment, edited by A. Murphy and D. Johnson, pp.1–16. Rowman & Littlefield, Lanham, Maryland. Neal, Gillian 2005 Encyclopedia of British Transfer-­printed Pottery Patterns, 1790–1930. Millers Octopus Publishing Group, United Kingdom. Needham, Stuart, and Tony Spence 1997 Refuse and the Formation of Middens. Antiquity (71):77–90. Newton, Arthur Percival 1967 The European Nations in the West Indies 1493–1688. Barnes and Noble, New York. Noel Hume, Ivor 1974 His­tori­cal Archaeology. Alfred Knopf, New York. 1985 A Guide to Artifacts of Colonial America. Alfred Knopf, New York. O’Brien, Patrick 1982 European Economic Development: The Contribution of the Periphery. The Economic History Review XXXV(1):1–18. Olsen, Fred 1974 Indian Creek. Arawak Site on Antigua, West Indies. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman.

References Cited / 249 Olwig, Karen Fog 1993 Global Culture, Island Change. Harwood Academic Publishers, Switzerland. 1995 Cultural Complexity After Freedom: Nevis and Beyond. In Small Islands, Big Questions, edited by K. Olwig, pp. 100–120. Frank Cass, Lon­don. Orser, Charles 1988 The Archaeological Analysis of Plantation Society: Replacing Status and Caste with Economics and Power. Ameri­can Antiquity 53(4):734–751. 1990 Archaeological Approaches to New World Plantation Slavery. In Archaeological Method and Theory. Vol. 2, edited by M. Schiffer, pp. 111–154. University of Arizona Press, Tucson. 1991 On Plantations and Patterns. In Approaches to Material Culture Research for His­ tori­cal Archaeologists, edited by G. Miller, O. Jones, L. Ross, and T. Majewski, pp. 371–383. Society for His­tori­cal Archaeology. 1996a His­tori­cal Archaeology of the Modern World. Plenum, New York. 1996b  Beneath the Material Surface of Things: Commodities, Artifacts, and Slave Plantations. In Contemporary Archaeology in Theory, edited by R. Preucel and I. Hod­ der, pp.189–202. Blackwell, Oxford. 1996c  Artifacts, Networks, and Plantations. Toward a Further Understanding of the Social Aspects of Material Culture. In His­tori­cal Archaeology and the Study of Ameri­can Culture, edited by L. A. De Cunzo and B. Herman, pp. 233–256. Wintethur Museum. University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville. Ortner, Sherry 1990 Patterns of History: Cultural Schemas in the Foundings of Sherpa Religious Institutions. In Culture Through Time, edited by Emiko Ohnuki-­Tierney, pp. 57– 93. Stanford University Press, Stanford. Pailes, R., and Joseph Whitecotton 1979 The Greater Southwest and the Mesoamerican “World” System: An Explanatory Model of Frontier Relationships. In The Frontier.Vol. 2, edited by W. Savage, Jr., and S. Thompson, pp.105–121. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman. Pargellis, Stanley, and Ruth Lapham Butler 1944 Daniell Ellffryth’s Guide to the Caribbean, 1631. William and Mary Quarterly, Third Series, 1(3):273–316. Pares, Richard 1936 War and Trade in the West Indies 1739–1763. Clarendon Press, Oxford. 1950 A West India Fortune. Longmans, Green and Co., Lon­don. Parsons, Jeffery 1972 Archaeological Settlement Patterns. Annual Review of Anthropology 1(1): 127–150. Paynter, Robert 1986 Models of Spatial Inequality: Settlement Patterns in His­tori­cal Archaeology Academic Press, New York. 1989 The Archaeology of Equality and Inequality. Annual Review of Anthropology Vol. 18:369–399.

250 / References Cited Perotin-­Dumond, A. 1999 French, English, and Dutch in the Lesser Antilles: From Privateering to Planting, c.1500–1650. In General History of the Caribbean: New Societies:The Caribbean in the long sixteenth century, Vol. II, edited by P. Emmer and G. Damas, pp. 114–158. UNESCO Press, Hong Kong. Praetzellis, Mary, Adrian Praetzellis, and Marley Brown 1993 What happened to the Silent majority? Research strategies for studying dominant group material culture in late nineteenth-­century California. In Documentary Archaeology in the New World, edited by M. Beaudry, pp. 192–202. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Pulsipher, Lydia 1977 The Cultural Landscape of Montserrat, West Indies, In the Seventeenth Century: Early Environmental Consequences of British Colonial Development. Unpublished Ph.D.dissertation, Department of Geography, South­ern Illinois University. Pulsipher, Lydia, and Conrad Goodwin 2001 Getting the Essence of it: Galways Plantation. Montserrat, West Indies. In Island Lives: His­tori­cal Archaeologies of the Caribbean, edited by P. Farnsworth, pp. 234– 271. University of Ala­bama Press, Tuscaloosa. Raminoffsky, Ann, and Anastasia Steffen 1998 Units as Tools of Measurement. In Unit Issues in Archaeology, edited by A. Ramenofsky and A. Steffen, pp. 3–19. University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City. Richardson, Bonham 1997 Economy and Environment in the Caribbean: Barbados and the Windwards in the Late 1800s. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Richardson, David 1987 The Slave Trade, Sugar and British Economic Growth, 1748–1776. Journal of Interdisciplinary History XVII(4):739–769. Ragatz, Lowell 1963 The Fall of the Planter Class in the British Caribbean, 1763–1833. Octogon Books, New York. Rossignol, J. 1992 Concepts, Method, and Theory Building: A Landscape Approach. In Space, Time, and Archaeological Landscapes, edited by J. Rossignol and L. Wandsnider, pp. 3–20. Plenum, New York. Rouse, Irving 1948 The West Indies: An Introduction; The Ciboney; The Arawak; The Carib. In Handbook of South Ameri­can Indians. Bureau of Ameri­can Ethnology Bulletin, Vol. 143, edited by Julian Steward. Wash­ing­ton, D.C. 1964 Prehistory of the West Indies. Science 144(3618, May):499–513. 1977 Pattern and Process in West Indian Archaeology. World Archaeology 9(1):1–11. 1986 Migrations in Prehistory. Yale University Press, New Haven. 1992 The Tainos. Yale University Press, New Haven.

References Cited / 251 Rubertone, Patricia 1989 Landscape as Artifact: Comments on the Archaeological Use of Landscape Treatment in Social, Economic, and Ideological Analysis. His­tori­cal Archaeology 23(1):50–54. Sauer, Carl 1966 The Early Spanish Main. University of California Press, Berke­ley. Scammell, G. V. 2003 Seafaring, Sailors, and Trade, 1450–1750. Variorum, Ashgate. Schmidt, Peter, and Stephan Mrozowski 1988 Documentary Insights in the Archaeology of Smuggling. In Documentary Archaeology in the New World, edited by M. Beaudry, pp. 32–42. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Schneider, Jurgen 1986 The Significance of Large fairs, Money Markets, and Precious metals in the Evolution of a World market from the Middle Ages to the first Half of the Nineteenth Century. In Emergence of a World Economy 1500–1914. Papers of the IX International Congress of Economic History, edited by W. Fischer, R. Melnnis, and J. Schneider, pp.15–60. Franz Steiner Verlag, Weisbaden. Schurz, William 1939 The Manila Galleons. E. P. Dutton, New York. Scott, Julius 1986 The Common Wind: Currents of Afro-­Ameri­can Communication in the Era of the Haitian Revolution. Unpublished Ph.D.dissertation, Department of History, Duke University. 1991 Afro-­A meri­can Sailors and the International Communication Network: The Case of Newport Bowers. In Jack Tar in History: Essays in the History of Maritime Life and Labour, edited by C. Howell and R. Twomey, pp. 37–52. Acadiensis Press, Fredericton. 1996 Crisscrossing Empires: Ships, Sailors, and Resistance in the Lesser Antilles in the Eighteenth Century. In The Lesser Antilles in the Age of European Expansion, edited by R. Paquette and S. Engerman, pp.128–143. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Sempill, Cecilia 1944 English Pottery and Porcelain. Collins, Lon­don. Shaw, Jenny 2013 Everyday Life in the Early English Caribbean. University of Georgia Press, ­Athens. Sheridan, Richard 1961 The West Indian Sugar Crisis and British Slave Emancipation, 1830–1833. The Journal of Economic History 21(4):539–551. 1969 The Plantation Revolution and the Industrial Revolution. Journal of Caribbean Studies 9(3):5–25. 1974 Sugar and Slavery. An Economic History of the British West Indies, 1623–1775. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, Maryland.

252 / References Cited Skocpol, Theda 1977 Wallerstein’s World Capitalist System: A Theoretical and His­tori­cal Critique. Ameri­can Journal of Sociology 82(5):1075–1090. Skowroneck, Russell, and Charles Ewen 2006 Identifying the Victims of Piracy in the Spanish Caribbean. In X Marks the Spot. The Archaeology of Piracy, edited by R. Skowroneck and C. Ewen, pp. 248– 270. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Small, David, and Christine Eickelmann 2007 Bush Hill Estate, Fig Tree. A Preliminary Assessment of Documentary Evidence. Unpublished report prepared on behalf of the Hoffman Family, Mont­ pelier estate, Nevis. Integrated with Bush Hill Project. Smith, Adam 1961[1776] The Wealth of Nations. Bobbs-­Merrill, Indianapolis. Steen, Carl 1999 Pottery, Intercolonial Trade, and Revolution: Domestic Earthenwares and the Development of an Ameri­can Social Identity. His­tori­cal Archaeology 33(3):62–72. Steffan, Jerome 1980 Comparative frontiers: A proposal for Studying the Ameri­can West. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman. Stinchcombe, Arthur 1995 Sugar Island Slavery in the Age of Enlightenment.The Po­liti­cal Economy of the Caribbean World. Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey. Stein, Gil 1999 Rethinking World Systems. University of Arizona Press, Tucson. Sued-­Badillo, Jalil 1992 Facing up to Caribbean History. Ameri­can Antiquity 57(4):599–607. Terrell, Michelle 1998 What are you doing? Examining a Colonial Period Jewish Cemetery in the Caribbean. Paper presented at the Annual Conference of The Society for His­tori­ cal Archaeology, Atlanta, Georgia. 2005 The Jewish Community of Early Colonial Nevis. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Tilley, Christopher 1981 Conceptual frameworks for the Explanation of Structural Change. In Pattern of the Past. Studies in honour of David Clarke, pp. 363–386. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Tuan, Yi-­Fu 1971 Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis. Trouillot, Michel-­Rolph 1992 The Caribbean Region: An Open Frontier in Anthropological Research. Annual Review of Anthropology, 21:19–42. UNESCO 1998 Hurricane Impact on Beach Changes in the East­ern Caribbean islands, 1989–1995.

References Cited / 253 Draft, Coast and Beach Stability in the Lesser Antilles, pp. 9, 13, 31–33. University of Puerto Rico Sea Grants Program.University of Puerto Rico, San Juan. Vaughn, Dianne 1992 Theory Elaboration: The Heuristics of Case Analysis. In What is a Case? Exploring the Foundations of Social Inquiry, edited by H. B. Charles Ragin, pp. 173– 202. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Wallerstein, Immanuel 1974 The Modern World System I. Academic Press, New York. 1980 The Modern World System II. Academic Press, New York. 1989 The Modern World System III. Academic Press, New York. 1995 His­tori­cal Capitalism with Capitalist Civilization. Verso, Lon­don. Walton, J. 1992 Making the Theoretical Case. In What is a Case? Exploring the Foundations of Social Inquiry, edited by H. B. Charles Ragin, pp.121–137. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Wandsnider, LuAnn 1988 Landscape Configuration. Lifespace, and Occupation History: Ethno­arch­ aeo­logical Observation and Archaeological Applications. In Surface Archaeology, edited by A. Sullivan III, pp. 21–42. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque. 1998 Regional Scale Processes and Archaeological Landscape Units. In Unit Issues in Archaeology, edited by A. Ramenofsky and A. Steffen, pp. 87–102. University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City. Watts, Arthur 1929 Nevis and St Christopher’s 1782–1784, Unpublished Documents. Les Presses Universitaires de France, Paris. Watts, David 1987 The West Indies: Patterns of Development, Culture, and Environmental Change Since 1492. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. 1999 The Caribbean Environment and Early Settlement. In General History of the Caribbean,Vol. II: New Societies:The Caribbean in the long sixteenth century, edited by P. Emmer and G. Damas, pp. 29–42. UNESCO Press, Hong Kong. Watson, Patty Jo, Steven LeBlanc, and Charles Redman 1984 Archaeological Explanation. Columbia University Press, New York. Watters, David 1997 Maritime Trade in the Prehistoric East­ern Caribbean. In The Indigenous People of the Caribbean, edited by S. Wilson, pp. 88–99. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Wayne, Lucy 2010 Sweet Cane. The Architecture of the Sugar Works of East Florida. University of Ala­bama Press, Tuscaloosa. Welch, Pedro 1996 Madams, Mariners, and Merchants: Freed Coloured Women and White Benefactors in Bridgetown, Barbados, 1770–1834. University of the West Indies, Barbados.

254 / References Cited Wiessner, Polly 1989 Style and Changing Relations Between the Individual and Society. In The Meaning of Things, edited by I. Hodder, pp. 56–63. One World Archaeology, Vol. VI. Unwin Hyman, Lon­don. Wilkie, Laurie, and Paul Farnsworth 2005 Sampling Many Pots.An Archaeology of Memory and Tradition at a Bahamian Plantation. University Press of Florida, Gainesville. Williams, Eric 1963 Documents of West Indian History, 1492–1655. PNM Publishing, Port of Spain, Trini­dad. 1970 From Columbus to Castro:The History of the Caribbean 1492–1969. Harper and Row, New York. 1973 Massa Day Done. In The Aftermath of Sovereignty. West Indian Perspectives, edited by D. Lowenthal and L. Comitas, pp. 1–29. Anchor Press, Garden City, New York. 1994 Capitalism and Slavery. Reprinted. University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill. Originally published 1944. Wilson, Samuel 1989 The Prehistoric Settlement Pattern of Nevis, West Indies. Journal of Field Archaeology 16:427–450. 2006 The Prehistory of Nevis, a small island in the Lesser Antilles. Yale University Publications in Anthropology, New Haven, Connecticut. Winthrop, Kathryn 2001 His­tori­cal Ecology: Landscapes of Change in the Pacific Northwest. In New Directions in Anthropology and Environment, edited by C. Crumley, pp. 203–222. ­A ltaMira, Walnut Creek, CA. Whitbeck, R. H. 1933 The Lesser Antilles—Past and Present. Annals of Ameri­can Geographers 23:21–26. White, Carolyn 2005 Ameri­can Artifacts of Personal Adornment 1680–1820. Rowman & Littlefield, Lanham, Maryland. Whitehead, Neil 1999 Native Society and the European Occupation of the Caribbean and Coastal Tierra Firma, 1492–1650.” In General History of the Caribbean,Vol. II, New Societies: The Caribbean in the Long Sixteenth Century, edited by P. Emmer and G. Damas, pp. 180–200. UNESCO Press, Hong Kong. Wobst, H. Martin 1977 Stylistic Behavior and Information Exchange. In For the Director: Research Essays in Honor of James Griffin, edited by C. Cleland, pp. 317–342. University of Michigan Museum Anthropological Paper 61, Ann Arbor. 1997 Towards an Appropriate Metrology of Human Action in Archaeology. In Time, Process, and Structured Transformation in Archaeology, One World Archaeology, edited by S. Van der Leeuw and J. McGlade, pp. 426-­448. Routledge, Lon­don.

References Cited / 255 Wolf, Eric 1971 Specific Aspects of Plantation Systems in the New World: Community Sub-­ cultures and Social Classes. In Peoples and Cultures of the Caribbean, edited by M. Horowitz, pp.163–178. Natural History Press, Garden City, New York. 1982 Europe and the People Without History. University of California Press, Berkeley. Woodward, Robyn 2011 Feudalism or Agrarian Capitalism? The Archaeology of the Early Sixteenth-­ Century Spanish Sugar Industry. In Out of Many, One People: The His­tori­cal Archaeology of Colonial Jamaica, edited by J. Delle, M. Hauser, and D. Armstrong, pp. 23–40. University of Ala­bama Press, Tuscaloosa. Wright, Niel, and Ann Wright 1991 Hamilton’s Sugar Mill, Nevis. Leeward Islands, East­ern Caribbean. Industrial Archaeology Review XIII Spring: 114–141. Wylie, Alison 1999 Why Should His­tori­cal Archaeologist Study Capitalism? The Logic of Question and Answer Challenge Systemic Analysis. In His­tori­cal Archaeologies of Capitalism, edited by M. Leone and P. Potter, pp. 23–50. Kluwer, New York. Yate, T. 1989 Habitus and Social Space: Some Suggestions About Meaning in the Saami (Lapp) Tent, ca. 1700–1900. In The Meaning of Things, edited by I. Hodder, pp. 249–262. One World Archaeology, Vol. VI. Unwin Hyman, Lon­don. Zedeño, Maria Nieves 1997 Landscapes, Land Use, and the History of Territory Formation: An Example from the Puebloan Southwest. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 4(1): 67–103. 2000 On What People Make of Places: A Behavioral Cartography. In Social Theory in Archaeology, edited by M. Schiffer, pp. 97–111. University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City.

Index

aloe (Aloe baradensis), 38, 39, 110, 113, 150 acacia (Acacia nilotica), 110, 113, 138, 142, 208 Afro-­Nevisian ware, 132, 165, 167–68, 180 agave (Agave caribaeeicola), 42, 110, 208 Anglo-­Dutch war, 86 animal mill. See sugar milling technology Anglican Church: St. John Parish, 44, 46– 47, 152, 177; St. Thomas Parish, 49, 142, 152, 177 Antigua, 11, 58, 75, 77, 83, 84, 88, 91, 97, 105; slave population, 193 Arawak, 4, 72, 205. See also Taino Atlantic Economy, 2, 71, 186; in world-­ system, 14, 199, 214, 216 Avalle, plantation layouts, 95, 208; surveillance, 210 bagasse used as fuel, 107, 202 Barbados, 6, 32, 33, 51, 76, 77, 78, 83, 84, 89, 94, 95, 99, 102, 201–2, 206, 211, 214, 215, 226 Barbuda, 11 Barnett, Edward (captain), 160 Beaumont Estate, 116–17 Bellin map, 86, 154 Berry, Sir John, 84 Bligh, William (captain), 202 boiling house architecture. See sugar mill­ ing technology

Bush Hill Plantation, ix, xi, 41, 45, 46, 48, 111, 119, 123, 125, 151, 159–62; archaeology at, 163–75, 218 breadfruit (Artocarpus altilis), 202 Bristol, England, 214, 228 Bristol lime: in sugar, 32, 202. See also mortar Cades Bay, 77, 153–54 camels, 95 cane hoe, 130, 134, 175; at Kingsmill plantation, 133 capitalism: ascendance, 1, 25, 30, 51, 53, 55, 59, 67, 71, 97, 189, 196, 216, 219; consumer, 93, 189, 200, 221, 223; environment, 18, 54, 61, 67, 173, 201, 205 inequalities, 4, 66; material correlates, 180, 184, 217, 220; proto-­capitalism, 3, 15, 17, 52, 55–57, 66, 97, 218–19; slavery, 7, 189, 222; socio-­economic system, 4, 5, 7–9, 15, 22, 52, 53, 58, 61, 63, 65, 93, 180, 190, 199, 207, 211, 214, 218, 220, 222. See also Atlantic economy: in world-­system cauldrons. See sugar milling technology: coppers ceramics, 16, 27, 50, 125, 132, 133, 137, 141, 145, 147, 154, 161, 165–67, 171– 73, 175, 178, 183, 218; earthenware, 125, 132; indigenous types, 72, 73, 184,

258 / Index 186, 216; imported wares, 170, 179, 180, 182, 217. See also Afro-­Nevisian ware Champion, Timothy, 16 Charles II, King of England, 83 Clarke, David, 192 Clarke Estate, 97, 99, 161 Coconut Walk Estate, 73, 159, 160, 226, 227 code noir, 107 Codrington, Sir Christopher, 84, 86 Coke, Thomas (bishop), 177 colonization gradient, 18, 196 colonoware. See Afro-­Nevisian ware Columbus, Christopher, 6, 11, 53, 71–73, 102; on naming islands, 74–75 Constellation (US ship), 109 conuco, 205 coppers. See sugar milling technology Cottle, Thomas, 177, 178 Cottle Church, 177 Coxheath Estate, 46, 48, 111, 116, 118–19 Cromwell, Oliver, 19, 83, 103 Cuba, 11, 25, 72, 105, 200, 213 Curacoa, 86 curing house architecture. See sugar mill­ ing technology Curtain, Phillip, 55 Daubree, Paul, 1 deforestation, 19, 60, 81, 102, 190, 201, 202, 205, 208, 211 De Grasse, Count Francois Joseph Paul (admiral), 90 Delle, James: on Jamaica, 82, 113; on space, 67 distilling, 32, 228 Dogwood Estate, 41, 46, 48, 111, 116, 118 Dominica, 72–74 Drake, Sir Francis, 53, 73, 75 Dunn, Richard, 6; on slave population, 193–94; on sugar trade, 94

encomienda system, 55, 74. See also slavery environmental zones, 80 feudalism: agrarian, 53, 17, 52, 55, 65, 74; economic, 17, 56, 61, 66, 189, 218; as social structure, 3, 14, 15, 17, 55, 58, 67, 79, 97, 108, 200, 218, 219; spatial, 53, 55, 57, 58, 190. See also capitalism Fletchers Company (Derby, England), 174 Forbes, George Clarke, 161–62, 172 Fort Charles, 45, 142, 153, 176, 227 Franklin, Benjamin, 190 French invasion of Nevis: in 1706; 89–90, 147, 153; in 1782, 20, 90–91, 105, 109, 157, 176, 195, 200 frontier: capitalist, 58, 221; cosmopolitan, 55; extractive, 14, 17, 18, 51, 54, 55. See also colonization gradient; Hardesty, Donald; Lewis, Kenneth Galloway, J. H, economics of slavery, 208 George and Betty (ship), trading voyage, 88 ginnip (Melicous bijugatus), 42, 150, 175 Glassie, Henry, vernacular architecture, 62 green vervet monkey (Chlorocebus ae­ thiops), 101 Grenada, 73 ghut, 36, 119, 137, 138, 160, 178, 179, 180, 209 Haitian Revolution, 104, 200 Hardesty, Donald: frontier types, 18, 52, 54–55; landscapes, 56 Hermitage Estate, 46, 48, 228 Herbert, Joseph, letters from Nevis, 21, 204 Hicks, Dan, 6; feudalism, 17, 97; spatial order, 53, 58, 97, 192 Higman, B. W, 6 Hilton, Anthony, 76, 79 Hilton, John, 7, 25, 71, 74, 76 Hispañola, 11, 13, 25, 72, 73 HMS Boreas, 105, 161

Index / 259 HMS Bounty, 202 HMS Dartmouth, 86 HMS Thunder, 160 hogsheads, 91, 92, 95, 227, 228 horizontal crusher. See sugar milling technology Huggins family, planter, 159, 178, 225, 227. See also Coconut Walk Estate hurricanes, 7, 80, 81, 84, 87, 90, 154, 191, 203 hurricane house, 122 Iles, Alexander Burke, 6, 74, 194; Af­r i­can villages, 178, 179; map, 7, 22, 116, 118, 123, 209; on plantations, 23, 105, 116 Indian Castle Estate, 2; factory, 44, 111, 145–49, 151, 184, 227; indentured, 4, 20, 56, 78, 95, 162, 190, 192, 195, 214, 225; shipping place, 147, 202 Irving, Thomas (inspector general), 18 Jamaica, 6, 11, 17, 20, 33, 51, 53, 82, 89, 90, 202, 207, 221; capture of, 76, 83; 184; coffee plantations, 113; Spanish period, 55 Jamaica train, 33, 139, 195, 210. See also sugar milling technology James (king of England), 78 Jamestown, Nevis, 45, 47, 77, 84, 89, 90, 111, 143, 153–56, 197 Jeaffreson, Sir Christopher, 80–81 Jeffers, Thomas, 7, 101; on population, 193 Labat, Jean Baptiste: distilling, 34; monkeys, 101. See also sugar milling technology landscape: as cognitive construct, 5, 43, 16–17, 52–54, 63, 64–66, 75, 82, 189– 91, 195, 221, 226; divisions within, 7, 19, 24, 29, 34, 42, 55, 60, 79–80, 98, 101–2, 142, 194, 196, 206, 210, 212; industrial, 147, 159–60, 173, 186, 191,

200, 210, 212; material culture, 216–18; military, 91, 153, 176–77; po­l iti­cal and economic, 84, 97, 99, 102, 150, 207, 215, 219; religious, 152, 179; residential, 148; as space, 2–3, 5–6, 13, 25, 29, 31, 58–59, 62, 68, 71, 81, 107, 113, 138, 151, 158, 191, 201–3, 209, 222–23; as unit of analy­sis, 30, 35, 48, 51, 60, 61– 62, 83, 100, 109–10, 189, 192 Leeward Islands, 6, 11, 72, 77, 84, 88, 94, 95, 110, 150, 193, 194, 202, 225 Lefebvre, Henri, 53, 191 Leone, Mark, capitalism, 54; space, 62 Lesser Antilles: 2, 11, 13, 18, 20, 25, 52, 55, 72, 74, 75, 77, 85, 200, 203, 210, 220, 221. See also Leeward Islands; Windward Islands Lewis, Kenneth, xi, 18 See also colonization gradient Ligon, Richard, 7; milling, 32, 95 L’Insurgente, ship, 109 Liverpool: population, 199; shipping, 214, 228 Lobdell, Richard, sugar markets, 106, 229 logwood (Haematoxylum campechianum), 113 Long Point Road site, 46, 48, 134–39 Lowenthal, David, 13, 59, 60, 79, 151 mango (Mangifera indica), 39, 42, 101, 150 Manila fleets, 15 Manners, Hanzel, 225 Marx, Karl: on capitalism, 15, 52, 58; slavery, 218 masonry: general use, 42–46, 48; house, 77, 82, 125–27, 150, 165, 174, 178, 180; mills, 116, 127–33, 139, 141, 145, 151, 160, 166, 167, 169, 170, 173, 210. See also mortar Methodist Church: emancipation, 177; ­social impact of, 180, 227 Mintz, Sydney: capitalism, 57, 216, 218–

260 / Index 19; on colonization, 55; social relations, 206 mongoose (Herpestidae javanicus), 101 monkeys. See green vervet monkey Montpelier Estate, xi, 41, 46, 48, 105, 116, 125, 131, 133, 160, 161, 171, 174, 175 Montravers Estate, 42, 47, 49, 95, 150–51, 194, 218, 225, 226 Montserrat, 11, 13, 75, 81, 84, 85, 193 mortar: construction, 45, 127, 129, 130, 142; as fertilizer, 202; finishes, 42–44, 116, 130 Morgan’s Estate, 48, 112, 119; village, 120, 178, 179 Morton’s Bay, 77 Muscavado, 34; prices, 93. See also sugar milling technology Nelson, Horatio, (admiral), xi, 105, 161, 177 Nevis His­tori­cal and Conservation Society, xi, 2, 22, 98, 99, 154 New River Estate, 63, 160, 161 Nisbit, Francis, 105 Nine Years War, 86 Norfolk island pine (Araucuria hetero­ phillia), 158 Orser, Robert, 30–31, 151, 180 Ortner, Sherry, 28, 62, 63 organ pipes (Cephalocereus royenii) 110 Orinico region, 72 Ostinoid phase, 73 ouaymaca, 101 Pariss Garden Estate, 111, 143, 144, 151, 194 Paynter, Robert, 4, 52 Pembroke Estate, 48, 111, 113–15, 174 periphery: as economic zone, 5, 16, 55, 59, 182, 190, 228; interactions, 215–16, 219; as region, 14, 15, 16, 19, 182

piracy: Jamaica, 83, 84; Nevis, 85–86; risk to shipping, 51, 73, 93, 102. See also Port Royal; privateers Pinney, John, 95, 115 Pinney Papers, 161, 208 plantation: coconut, 155; coffee, 113; cotton, 199; economics of, 59, 60, 77, 79, 83, 84, 93, 94, 99, 106, 133, 208, 214, 218–20; enslaved labor, 20, 23, 50, 74, 78, 91, 155, 165, 172, 195, 204, 208, 226; environmental impact, 58, 60, 61, 80, 94, 95, 107, 201–3, 205, 209, 210; divisions of, 30, 42, 53, 58, 80, 96, 97, 138, 152, 160, 174, 179, 191, 207, 211, 212; in Ireland, 14, 79; operations, 6, 17, 25, 31, 35, 54, 57, 66, 81, 95, 97, 100, 123, 147, 149, 152, 153, 181, 204, 208, 213; romanticized image,1, 16, 41, 75, 158; settlement, 2–5, 14, 21, 22, 24, 31, 35, 37, 38, 42, 43, 73, 100, 110, 113, 153, 189, 194, 196–97, 222, 223; in world-­sys­tem theory, 182, 184 population: Af­r i­can on Nevis, 89, 91, 179, 194, 201, 212; demographics, 192–94; European, 78, 185, 201, 203; indigenous, 72, 74, 76, 78, 204; Irish, 152; Jewish, 152; in Liverpool, 199; movements of, 3, 19, 21, 71, 83, 84, 194 Port Royal, 90, 184 Port St. George, 111 Prentis Estate, 45, 112, 123, 128 prickly pear (Opauntia dilleni), 110, 208 privateers, 72, 73, 77, 83, 85; French, 86; from Nevis, 102 Puerto Rico, 11, 72 Ragatz, Lowell, 220 Rawlins Estate, 111, 144–45 refining, 173, 196, 199, 210, 212, 228. See also sugar milling technology Richmond-­Lodge Estate, 46, 48, 63, 111, 160, 172–74, 218

Index / 261 Ridge-­m ill complex: complex, 123, 128– 29; factory, 129, 131–32; house, 125 Robertson, Robert (reverend), 122 Rodney, John (captain), 78 Royal Af­r i­can Company, 88 Russell, James (colonel and governor), 78, 84, 86 Saddle Hill, 117, 123, 155, 160; Nelson’s Lookout, 177 Saint Domingue, 11, 107, 109, 220, 228 Saladoid phase, 2, 72, 73 Santa Maria de las Nieves, 226 Santo Domingo, 11 Sephardic Jews, 20, 33, 152 Sevilla la Nueva, 17 slavery: as commerce, 7, 92, 94, 107, 159, 189, 218, 223, 228; emancipation, 11, 20, 23, 42, 60, 61, 71, 91, 103, 105, 106, 108, 109, 150, 157, 158, 162, 175, 177, 178, 207, 212, 222, 226, 227; Indian, 20, 56, 74, 75, 78; institution of, 1, 5, 7, 23, 54, 109, 186, 191, 195, 206; Irish, 20, 78; in plantation factories, 31, 32, 43, 51, 71, 74, 78 slave trade, 55, 74, 88, 91, 106, 159, 162, 213, 228. See also Royal Af­r i­can Company Sloane, Hans, 7, 25, 228; on deforestation, 51, 53, 81; runaway slaves, 51 Skocpol, Theda, 14, 15 Smith, John (captain), 53, 77, 102 smuggling. See piracy soil: erosion of, 91, 102, 196, 202, 205, 211; quality of, 3, 35, 39, 43, 60, 64, 79, 95, 110, 195, 204, 208 Sommers Island, 83 Source Trail, 120–22 Stalker, David, letters from Nevis, 19, 21, 34, 84, 85, 193 Stapleton, Sir William (captain general and governor), 34, 84, 85, 161, 171, 193

Statia, 88, 89. See also St. Eustatius St. Christopher, 19, 21, 51, 71, 72, 75, 76, 80, 83, 90, 91 St. Eustatius, 20, 75, 88, 125, 198; smuggling, 199 St. George Parish, 39, 41, 105, 111, 120– 22, 144–48, 155, 176, 226 St. John Parish, 29, 35, 37, 41, 82, 105, 108, 110, 113, 119, 120, 123, 134, 138–40, 142, 151, 155, 160, 171–73, 176, 205, 208; churches, 152, 177; quadrants, 38– 39; site distribution, 44, 46, 48, 111 St. Kitts, 11, 13, 17, 18, 20, 76–80, 84, 87, 90, 101, 105, 125, 151, 193, 195, 202, 207, 211, 218, 222, 228; feudal landscape, 53, 55, 58, 97, 108, 190, 192. See also St. Christopher St. Lucia, 73 strangling fig (Ficus aurea), 160 St. Thomas Parish, 35, 37, 41, 42, 105, 144, 151, 176; churches, 142, 152, 177; site distribution, 45, 47, 49, 111, 112; quadrants, 38, 39 St. Vincent, 74, 202 sugar cane (Saccharum officinarum), 1, 3, 100, 101 sugar milling technology: animal-­ powered, 94, 95, 114–20, 123, 127, 128, 134, 141, 142, 213; boiling house, 31, 95, 115, 116, 118, 120, 130–32, 138–40, 142, 143, 145, 160, 163, 169, 171–73, 208, 210; centrifuge, 107; clarifiers, 32, 170, 173, 174, 213; coppers, 33, 78, 90, 115, 128, 131, 138, 141, 147; Cornish engineers, 43; curing house, 34, 41, 100, 114, 116, 128, 134, 135, 137, 139, 145, 160, 163, 169, 171, 172, 208, 209; crushers, 113, 115, 129, 147, 160, 169, 170, 195, 213; mills, 29, 31, 41–49, 60, 78, 81, 82, 99, 111–13, 115, 116, 120, 125, 128, 129, 131–32, 135–37, 139, 143, 144, 147, 148, 159, 166, 173, 174,

262 / Index 186, 200, 202, 208, 209, 223; occupations in mills, 162; refining, 196, 199, 210, 212, 228; steam-­powered, 105, 106, 172–74, 213; “teache,” 33; wind-­ powered, 2, 45–49, 72, 94, 107, 113, 118, 119, 145, 160, 161, 163, 169, 171, 172, 213, 226, 227 Surinam, 201 Swallow (ship), 88 Taino, 71, 72 tamarind, (Tamarindus indica), 39, 42, 150, 175 “teache.” See sugar milling technology tobacco, 56, 76, 77, 79, 108, 196, 205, 228; pipes, 163, 180 Treaty of Madrid, 85 Trouillot, Michel-­Rolph, 1 Tuan, Yi-­Fu, 191 turks caps (Melocactus intortus), 110, 209 variable loads, 60–61, 63, 64, 194, 195, 211 Virgin Gorda, 43, 76

Wallerstein, Immanuel, capitalism, 14, 15, 57, 63, 65, 214; on periphery, 16. See also world-­system Warner, Thomas (captain), 76, 78, 79, 153 Watts, Arthur, 90 Watts, David, 7, 20, 201, 202, 206 Wesleyans. See Methodist Church West Indies, 1, 18, 19, 51, 59, 105, 226; creolization, 182; market trade, 197, 199, 200, 228; routes to, 72. See also Lesser Antilles Wheler, Sir Charles (governor), 110 Willoughby, Francis, 78 windmill. See sugar milling technology Windward Islands, 11 Wobst, H. Martin, 27 Wolf, Eric, 28, 57 Woodward, Robin, 17, 53, on feudalism, 55 world-­sys­tem theory, 1, 14–16, 19, 57, 66, 182, 199, 214, 220 Zedeño, Maria Nieves, cognitive space, 63