Surrounded by such ideas, the young scions of the planter caste who had once played, albeit unequally, with their slaves, now despised them, dismissing them as “niggers” and chastising them if they addressed them unprompted or looked them directly in the eye. Racism was the factor that underpinned the entire social system of the colonies. It was not just about maintaining a rigid distinction between black and white, but about making sure that white society found some coherence. “In fact,” wrote the historian Karl Watson, “the only issue which seemed to have a unifying effect on Barbadian whites was that of race.” Barbados was after all a tiny, densely populated island in which a paranoid white minority lived cheek by jowl with a black majority they perceived as threatening and volatile. But in reality this small group of whites—divided by class, political allegiance and life experience—had little in common, so in times of crisis, they had only one thing to pull them together: their shared skin colour.
This way of thinking was most seamlessly absorbed by those who grew up on the islands, but it was also quickly adopted by outsiders. The whites who went to the Caribbean often started off being hostile to the slave system but, after going through what the twentieth-century writer and historian Edward Brathwaite (also known as Kamau Brathwaite) called “cultural action” or “social processing,” they often changed their minds. Lieutenant Thomas Howard, who served in the region at the end of the 1790s, was typical:
When I first came into this Country, I had the most horrid idea of the treatment the Slaves received from their Masters that could possibly be formed; every time I heard the Lash sound over the Back of a Negro my very Blood boiled and I was ready to take away the whip and the Lash of the Master. Since that time … I am persuaded my heart is not grown harder … yet I see the Business in a very different Light.
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No man puts a chain about the ankle of his fellow man without at last finding the other end fastened about his own neck.
—FREDERICK DOUGLASS
AT THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN my great-great-great-great-grandfather Robert Cooper’s life took a fateful and fortuitous turn when he was propelled by marriage into the upper echelons of Barbadian society. His union with Mary Burke in 1794 was a remarkable social coup for the Ashbys. The bride’s family had been well established on the island since the early part of the eighteenth century. They had originally generated their wealth as merchants before making the move into sugar production. Their success as sugar cultivators meant that by the latter part of the eighteenth century they had secured a place in the island’s plantocracy. Mary’s uncle, Colonel John Burke, was both a leading light in the local militia and Parliamentary Representative for the parish of Christ Church for seventeen consecutive years between 1771 and 1788. As the Ashbys moved within the small social circle of white planters in the Oistins area, they would inevitably have been acquainted with this prestigious clan, albeit from a respectful distance. When they attended the parish church, the colonel and his family would be seated in their specially designated pew and the Ashbys could only dream that one day they would move in the Burkes’ orbit as equals.
Given the social discrepancy between the two families, it is interesting to speculate as to why the Burke family agreed to the match. It may simply have been island demographics: by the 1790s, Barbados was one of the few colonial territories in which women slightly outnumbered men, particularly among the white population. The gender balance had been completely upturned since George Ashby’s time: as a result of the islanders’ eager desire to embrace family life, Barbados now had the most stable family structure of any of the British West Indian islands, hence the growth in the number of women who were born there. Another issue might have been Mary’s age. At twenty-four, she was not only a few years older than her husband, but—in terms of the island’s planter caste—dangerously close to being on the shelf.
The most likely reason, however, was probably the most prosaic one: she found him attractive. Robert Cooper Ashby was a good-looking man. A portrait of him painted two decades later at the height of his success depicts a type that was regarded as particularly handsome during the period. Impeccably groomed chestnut hair frames an imperious face, and he has green eyes, a long Roman nose, a luxurious moustache—carefully waxed and twirled at the ends—and an exquisitely barbered goatee. In an age that so romanticized the military, it did not hurt that Robert Cooper was painted in his militia uniform. Indeed, one historian noted that military commissions were valued largely because of the prestige they gave the holders with Creole beauties. Sad experience, the writer noted, had taught these girls’ parents “to guard their daughters against dapper braids wearers.”
Courtship among the respectable colonial classes was a rather superficial affair. Once the possibility of the match was mooted, the women of their circle would have seen to it that the pair was brought together in the intimacy of people’s homes. Here each exchange was scrutinized by a squadron of matronly ladies who noted the pair’s every move. At these soirées Robert Cooper and Mary Burke could talk for a bit, even flirt a little. He would have courted her with compliments and gallantries; she would have responded appropriately, smiling and demurring at the appropriate moments. As things progressed the pair would be encouraged to attend the occasional ball, which gave them the opportunity to hold hands, even coil their arms around the other’s waist. But respectability demanded that they were rarely left alone together.
Since these candlelit meetings were so carefully chaperoned, Robert Cooper’s dashing appearance and masterful aura were probably all that Mary Burke got to know about him before the marriage was arranged. And it was probably enough; Creole girls, “stuffed to the gills with romantic nonsense,” tended to be unsophisticated and unrealistic about what marriage would entail. Whatever her fantasies and misconceptions, the reality was that the options for a well-born Creole woman were extremely limited. Only men had agency in this society and at this time in history; only they were able to vote, hold public office, or exert any formal power. A job would have represented an unthinkable social demotion for a well-born woman like Mary Burke, and spinsterhood held little appeal. For a respectable woman, marriage was the gateway to everything: it opened the door to the role of being a wife, the status of being married and the opportunity to become a mother.
The choice of husband was of course crucial, but it was also something of a gamble. At that time, as in England, the accepted maxim was that husband and wife were one person in law. And that “person” was the man. Thus if a woman chose poorly by marrying someone who was cruel or profligate or a womanizer, she could be trapped in a situation from which it was virtually impossible to escape. In addition, since the entirety of a woman’s assets were transferred to her husband on marriage, a woman like Mary Burke who was richer than her husband had a great deal to lose. With the signature of a wedding contract, her wealth, independence and power were swept away. While for Robert Cooper, that final flourish of a pen was almost entirely positive: he gained not only his wife’s fortune, but took several steps up the social ladder, acquiring some of her family’s considerable cultural cachet along the way.
A child arrived with gratifying swiftness. Their only son, John Burke, named after the Burke family’s patriarch, was born in 1796. As was the custom, the birth of the firstborn and male heir was celebrated in style. Robert Cooper would have declared a feast day and even allowed his slaves a day off work. A hog and a cow were butchered and barbecued to feed the visitors and the air was scented with the smell of roasted meat. The slave cooks supplemented this with an array of local delicacies such as candied sweet potatoes, pickled breadfruit and corn seasoned with chilli butter. Rum was distributed among the workers, in preparation for the toast to the new baby’s arrival. Then the infant, dressed in impeccably laundered and ornately worked clothes, was wrenched from the breast of his wet nurse and held aloft as visitors and slaves alike roared their approval.
The young family settled on Burkes plantation, which was situated
at the southernmost point of the southernmost parish, Christ Church. The property had a history almost as old as the colony itself. There had been a plantation on this site ever since the early days of settlement. In 1663 James Oistine (otherwise spelt Austin or Oistin), “a wild, mad, drunken fellow whose lewd and extravagant carriage made him infamous in the island,” had sold part of the land, which eventually found its way into the hands of the Burke family. In 1796, John Burke the elder died and bequeathed the plantation to his nephew, who in turn died unexpectedly. When his will was proved it became clear he had left this sixty-two-acre plantation to his sister Mary Burke, who had recently married Robert Cooper Ashby. The property was substantially extended by a joint purchase the couple made in 1802, when they acquired 150 acres of land adjacent to their property. No doubt this sizeable acquisition was funded primarily by Mary’s inheritance, since it is unlikely that the Ashby clan could have raised anything like the necessary £1,200. The ameliorated Burkes estate now abutted the boundaries of planters such as Henry Chase, Thomas Cryall, William Segall and the Honorable John Ince, who would become the Ashbys’ nearest neighbours and, in some cases, closest friends.
Set high on a bluff, caressed by southeast trade winds and bordered on one side by steep escarpments overgrown with cacti and sea grapes which led down to foam-crested turquoise waters, Burkes had a glorious location. The land here is good and boasts the kind of beauty that has drawn people to it over thousands of years. Its soil is naturally fertile and the sea that constitutes its southernmost border is teeming with fish and other sea life. But this place also has a curious feeling of confinement that must have been particularly disturbing to its slave inhabitants; as the waves crash in beneath you, there is a sense of being on the edge of things, as if there is nowhere else to go.
Today, all that remains of the estate is Burkes Mill, a sturdy tower made of coral stone that dates back to around 1800. Its original windows survive, but it has lost the bell that would have been used to summon the slaves to their daily labour. It is now the studio of a well-known local artist, and she and her husband have built their fashionable home beside it. The land that once comprised Burkes, meanwhile, is today dominated by the only metal lighthouse in the Caribbean. Built in 1805, it still fulfils its original function, warning seafarers about the dangers of its coast. The rest of Burkes acreage is now largely residential: a desirable location for the affluent Barbadian middle class. In the wild sea that once acted as the property’s border, wind-surfers twist and twirl, riding their sails on the waves.
Though few of the original buildings remain, it is possible to reconstruct something of the appearance of Burkes in its heyday through old plans, inventories and an understanding of local convention. As was the tradition, the plantation was built on a slight eminence so that the planter could keep a watchful eye on his investment. But in contrast to the modest property on which Robert Cooper was raised, the great house at Burkes was an altogether more exalted affair; one guest of the estate described this exhibition of wealth, power and vanity as “a mansion.”
The nineteenth-century visitor, arriving on horseback or by carriage, approached Burkes by a long drive lined by stately trees. At the end of this Arcadian grove was the house itself: an impressive two-storey building surrounded by an impeccably maintained and shady garden dominated by large tamarind, mango and frangipani trees. These orderly grounds with their colourful and luxuriant plants required a devoted cadre of slaves to defend them against the voracity of the island’s fast-growing vegetation. Some planters preferred to grow hedges of lime trees around their homes as a safety precaution; not only did the plants yield the limes which were an essential ingredient in the island’s famous rum punch, their prickles served also as fortification against any attempt to encroach on the property.
Once visitors had climbed the steep stone steps that led to the entrance of this tropical palace, they were ushered into the house by one of the legion of domestics who served the family, through a handsome reception usually panelled in dark glossy wood. Upstairs were the bedrooms, their heavy mahogany beds shrouded with netting to protect the sleeper from insects. Most of the rooms in Barbadian plantations were also equipped with Venetian blinds, which simultaneously allowed the air to circulate and blocked out some of the blazing sunlight.
On the ground floor was a drawing room furnished with local furniture as well as a few pieces imported from North America and England, including fashionable items like grandfather clocks, lacquered screens and ornate oil lamps. On the walls were the ubiquitous prints of local scenery and maps of the island that the colonials of the period found so captivating. The dining room was dominated by a huge table with matching chairs and a sideboard that contained china plates, silver cutlery, crystal glasses and decanters and ornate candelabras: enough to serve scores of guests. Next door was the study where Robert Cooper kept his records and ledgers.
The entire house was encircled by a wide wrap-around balcony with slatted railings. On this veranda the family could sit and enjoy the breeze. Here the Ashbys collected to entertain their guests and chat, sip cool drinks and play cards. Most planters also had a spyglass, strategically positioned, so that they could survey their domain. With this, Robert Cooper could watch the distant ships sail across the horizon, scrutinize his workers in the fields and monitor the approach of any visitors as they rode towards his property.
It is not hard to imagine the Ashby family in these rooms, slumbering on canopied beds piled lushly with cushions and covered with embroidered sheets, as the ubiquitous bats soared and dipped against the starlit night and the plantation dogs barked their messages to their neighbours; or gorging on lavish plantation meals; or sitting on the balcony’s wicker furniture enjoying their lime water; or playing backgammon on the patio; or strolling in the garden against a backdrop of green pastures and a vivid sky, while the sounds of the slaves cutting cane wafted over to them from the far-off fields. Their lives were perpetually perfumed by the unique smells of plantation life—a heady combination of tropical flowers and horse manure, heat and the cloying smell of sugar cane—which drifted in through the doors and windows. All the while, they were served by an army of ever-present slaves, who slipped around the house as unremarked upon as ghosts.
At its most expansive, the Burkes property comprised 350 acres and over 200 slaves. To those who lived there, it must have felt sometimes as if it was the entire world. Like most plantations it was a self-sufficient community, as self-contained and independent as any small town. In addition to the plantation house and slave huts it included scores of buildings, including windmills to power the sugar works and boiling and curing houses with their smoking chimneys, as well as barns for livestock and storage sheds for cane and plantation supplies; it even had its own hospital and jail. It was sustained largely by what was grown on the property, including sweet potatoes, plantains and okra that the slaves cultivated alongside guavas, oranges and bananas. There were pigs, cows and poultry in its fields, and fish in its waters. While the cane crop provided the backbone of the plantation’s economy, Burkes also sold small amounts of other produce like cotton, vegetables and eggs.
Surrounding all of this were the lands of the plantation itself. Some parts were devoted to grazing fields for cattle, others to the cultivation of foodstuffs, with the odd gully abandoned to nature, covered in draping vines and choked with foliage. All the rest was a sea of sugar cane, extending so wide and deep that it seemed to touch the horizon. The cane had as many moods as an ocean: on a still day it absorbed the heat of the sun and sent it back into the sky in shimmers, at other times when it was breezy, the cane waved ceaselessly, creating what the historian C. L. R. James called “the song that never ceased.”
These early years at Burkes were a period of transition for Robert Cooper Ashby. It was one thing to be brought up on a plantation, but quite another to run one. Though he would have been familiar with many of the processes involved in “civilizing sugar” and would have an instincti
ve understanding of how to recognize a diseased cane plant or when it was time to harvest, he had never before been responsible for making sure this complex operation ran smoothly and profitably. But it was probably a challenge he relished. Robert Cooper was an ambitious man, and Burkes was an altogether grander canvas on which to paint his dreams than the modest farm on which he grew up.
Robert Cooper’s first task when he took over control of the plantation in 1795 was to familiarize himself with the property, so he spent many hours on horseback riding up and down the cane breaks, inspecting Burkes’ buildings and boundaries, meeting employees and going through the slave ledgers and accounts. He needed to know where this operation was solid and where it was vulnerable. Was the estate yielding as much sugar as it could? Did the factory need repairing or extending? Was the overseer getting the best out of his slaves? Was the bookkeeper embezzling the family’s profits, taking advantage of the death of its previous owner? Perhaps he needed to get a loan to carry out his plans? Only then, when he had a clear idea of how best to proceed, would Robert Cooper roll up his sleeves and get to work.
Later on, the priority was to increase his human “stock.” Though his wife had inherited the property with its existing slave population, once Burkes had been extended Robert Cooper needed more hands to farm the estate. Therefore he spent some of his time in these early years going backwards and forwards to the slave market in Bridgetown. It was one of the busiest in the region, with slaves on sale every day but Sunday, and it attracted buyers from all over the Americas. One nineteenth-century traveller to the island recollected such an occasion:
I went one day to a sale of Negroes. Here an elderly Negro woman and her four children, all born in the island, were exposed to sale. Two of the boys were purchased by a mulatto woman who had the countenance of a perfect Virago. And she examined the boys with all possible indelicacy. I pitied them greatly; they were to be separated from their mother and sent to Demerara. The other two children were females and bought by a decent looking white man to take with him to Berbice, and the mother was sold to a planter of St. Lucia.
Sugar in the Blood Page 18