Black and White, Unite and Fight

Whilst perusing  Moreau de Saint-Méry's compilation of laws, legal renderings, administrative decrees, etc. and came across a reference to a conspiracy by 2 black slaves and 1 white engagé to overthrow the colonial state in 1691. It involved allying with the Spanish colony in the east to distract the French troops and then the blacks would take Port-de-Paix and overrun the Nord of Saint Domingue. The  Loix et constitutions des colonies françoises de l'Amérique sous le Vent contains some details on the background of the authors of the conspiracy, which are interesting since this is one of the few recorded examples of white indentured laborers collaborating with African slaves in colonial Haiti (that we know of). According to this source, the 2 black slaves were Janot Marin and Pierrot, "owned" by different masters. Their conspiracy was also linked to a mulatto spy from the neighboring Spanish colony. The white indentured laborer, Louis Blaise of Tours, was about 16 years old and indentured to a marchand named Rouquier. Pierrot, also called Georges Dollo, was a "Senegalois" of about 18, who asserted that the chief of the conspiracy was a "Congre" (Congo?) black owned by Lamalle. 

Although it is a little difficult to determine from this brief source every part of the conspiracy, we know Blaise, Pierrot, and Marin were sentenced to death for it. Blaise, the indentured laborer, appears to have been involved in the conspiracy and was presumably drawn to collaborate with black slaves by the exploitative conditions of his contract. The black slaves, of diverse origins (Congo, Senegalois, and likely others), were politically astute and sought alliances with the Spanish colony of Santo Domingo to overthrow the French. Unfortunately for them, their conspiracy was discovered and the leaders executed. Clearly, the French authorities realized the potential dangers of interracial subaltern revolt. 

Siosta or Siota

The mother of Marie Pichot, the wife of Jean Baptiste Gaury, was a former slave named Nanette. She died a few years before her daughter with Jacques Pichot married Jean Baptiste. Her former master, a man with the surname Siota, apparently freed her. Intriguingly, her daughter would later use the surname of Siota. Using ANOM's Leogane parish records, we found that the man who likely owned Nanette died in 1746. He was from the diocese of Comminges in France and went by the name Jean Siosta.

Apparently Jean Siota may have left behind "mixed-race" progeny, too. In 1748, a Marie Francoise Siota died. She was the child of a Bastienne Siota, a free "mulatto woman" and likely the daughter of Jean Siosta. Is it possible Nanette was also the mother of Bastienne Siota? Or was she freed for another reason by Jean Siosta? It would also be great to uncover where Nanette came from and why her daughter later dropped the Pichot surname. 

Saugrain Connections

The Saugrain were counted in the 1703 Census, here transcribed by De Ville. Their three children may have been Francois, Alexis (died in 1744), and Charles.

One family name that consistently appears in the archive is Saugrain. Apparently derived from the word for a grain of salt, the white Saugrain of Bainet and Jacmel were from Normandy, like that well-known family of booksellers and printers. Unlike the perhaps distantly related family that converted to Catholicism and moved to Paris, the Saugrain of Saint-Domingue were planters. According to the 1703 census, they managed a small indigo plantation with only about 8 slaves. Perhaps the heads of the household in 1703 were a François Saugrain and his wife, Magdelaine Trésorier, both from Normandy (the latter from Rouen). 

In 1717, a François Saugrain married Marguerite Francq. According to this document, Saugrain's parents were François Saugrain and Magdelaine Trésorier of Normandie.

Early on in the records of Bainet and Jacmel, mixed-race Saugrain appear. One was Marie Françoise, the daughter of an Alexis Saugrain, baptized in 1718 with Charles Saugrain as her godfather. Marie Françoise's mother was not named, but her grandfather (François Saugrain) freed her. Another one, baptized in 1723, was Louise, the daughter of Susanne (a black slave) and Louis Saugrain. These mixed-race Saugrain went on to marry or produce children with other free people of color in Bainet and Jacmel throughout the 18th century. 

In 1719, François Saugrain died in Bainet. We assume this was the François Saugrain from Normandie.

Our connection to the Saugrain is through the Gory. Beresfort François's mother, Anne Marie Joseph Gaury (or Gory), was born in 1793. Her mother was only named as a Victoire Gory, but an examination of the other Gory in 18th century Bainet suggests she was a descendant of Marie Françoise Saugrain. Where things get confusing is the appearance of a second Marie Françoise Saugrain in 1721, daughter of Susanne. Which one was the ancestor of Anne Marie Joseph? The Bainet one born in the 1710s appears more likely because of her documentary trail consisting entirely of Bainet parish records and close connections to other Bainet-based Gory with the same Saugrain origins (to Alexis?).

Alexis Saugrain, the father of Marie Françoise, died in 1744. His age range makes it likely he was one of the children counted in the census from 1703.

Marie Françoise Saugrain married François Gory (presumably the brother of Jean-Baptiste Gory, son of Louis Gory) and had multiple children, including Françoise, François, Marie Victoire, Marie Louise and Marie Françoise. Their daughter, Marie Françoise, married a François Monteise from Clermont-Ferrand in 1759 and later went on to have Victoire Susanne. This Victoire Susanne was probably the mother of Anne Marie Joseph Gaury, although more documents would be nice to confirm it.

Marie Françoise Saugrain passed away in 1781, about 20 years after François Gory. Note that Jean-Baptiste Marillac, who was baptized in Jacmel in 1729, served as a witness. He was also a godfather of Anne Marie Joseph in 1793. 

If we are correct about the Saugrain ancestry of Beresfort François, it would also be interesting if our theory about Leopold François's wife was correct. If so, then she too had Saugrain ancestry from the marriage of Jean Pierre Cangé to a Marie Louise Saugrain in 1783, the daughter of a Louis Saugrain and a Marillac. Their union went on to produce Jean Charles Celin Cangé in 1788, the man we theorized could have been the father of Jean Michel Cangé. 

A Cangé-Saugrain marriage was something to be expected in the 1700s. It seems that, over the course of the 18th century, free people of color were less likely to marry whites (due to increasing discrimination?) and of course few of them formed formal unions with enslaved people. 

If our theory about the origins of Leopold François's wife is correct, then she was actually a cousin of Leopold. It would not surprise me in the least, and in fact might explain how their families knew of each other. After all, Jean-Baptiste Marillac knew Anne Marie Joseph and was presumably related to the mother of the Louise who married Jean-Pierre Cangé. Alternatively, Leopold could have met his wife through the small world that was 19th century Bainet. But the idea of both Leopold and Marie-Thérèse sharing Saugrain ancestry is not too surprising. It is a perfect illustration of the pattern of marriages between distant cousins in small towns or rural areas.

The Black Count

Tom Reiss's The Black Count is a fascinating read on the life of Alex Dumas, the mulatto father of famous French novelist, Alexandre Dumas. Dumas's father significantly shaped his son's literature, and therefore influenced French national identity (as well as reaching great prestige and power in France's military during the Revolutionary period, a testament to the vast array of African experiences in European history), so the story of Dumas's general father, son of a Saint-Dominguan slave woman and a less than noble aristocrat in Jeremie (modern Haiti) is one deserving more attention. Of course, one could critique Reiss's book for some anachronistic views on race, mainly referring to Dumas as a 'black' at various times, despite the experience of people of color and mixed origins being quite different (varying with class, of course). I suspect using the American 'one drop rule' view of blackness made more sense to the author, as well as for marketing purposes. It sounds better and is easier to refer to Dumas as the 'Black Count' rather than the 'Mulatto Count.'

Anyway, another problem I had with the book was how little of Dumas's life in Saint Domingue was revealed. His mother's personal life or history is essentially non-existent, and though Dumas lived in Saint Domingue until thirteen (he received a 'proper' and aristocratic education in France when his father sent for him after abandoning his son in the colony to return to France and take on his title and whatever remained from his family's wealth), so much of Dumas's early life remains lost (although finding sources on that period would be excessively difficult, compared to the amount of documentation one could find in France or in personal letters from Dumas, his loved ones, etc.). In addition, Reiss does not do enough to connect the dots between the Haitian and French Revolutions (and when he does, he overlooks or reveals his ignorance of Afro-Europe), espeically in how he seems to sincerely believe that Dumas's rise to fame in the French revolutionary military had no precedent. People of African descent could rise to all kinds of positions of authority in the last 500 years of European history, including scholars, professors, writers, aristocrats, artists, skilled laborers, musicians, composers, etc.). Indeed, Reiss has quite a bit to say about the Chevalier de Saint George, another man of color with roots in the French Antilles, who was Marie-Antoinette's favored violinist and a prominent man on the Parisian social scene (and involved in the military).

If one looks at Revolutionary-era France in the context of the the degree to which 'liberal' bourgeois revolutions were 'inclusive' or anti-racist, I suppose it was ahead of the rest of Europe, but given the long history of African-European relations, one could not help but feel that Reiss was too positive in his portrait of the Revolution (though appropriately critical of many courses it would take, such as the rise of Napoleon, or the restoration of racial discrimination and slavery in legislation, not to mention the brutal French suppression and re-enslavement of the people of Guadeloupe or Leclerc's attempt to conquer Saint-Domingue and the savage violence with which white Europeans attacked, killed, sold into slavery, and tortured black and mixed-race Saint-Dominguans). I suppose what I am mostly getting at his how mainstream audiences still need an accessible history (much like The Black Count) that goes into great depth to reveal how influential people of African descent were in Europe, from Rome to the present.

At the end of the day, Reiss's text is successful as a biography of a man whose treatment by the racist Napoleon and French state revealed how elusive racial equality remained/s in France. The 'Black Devil" (as he was called by Austrians) would lead numerous campaigns in Europe and even Napoleon's foolish Egyptian campaign, only to be imprisoned in Italy (one aspect of his life that would influence The Count of Monte Cristo, as well as his military experiences shaping The Three Musketeers, and his mixed-race experience as a slave/free person of color, Dumas's lesser known novel, Georges). After reading this book and how much Napoleon hated Dumas (some of it due to Dumas's towering stature and being perceived by the Egyptians as the leader of the French army), one cannot help but feel that the fate of the slaves/ex-slaves in the colonies and the French republic would have been better served with a true believer in republicanism, like Dumas. Despite all the 'good' reforms and liberal policies promoted by Napoleon (such as protections of Jewish communities in Europe in areas conquered by Napoleon) and the supposedly 'good' spread of the Napoleonic legal code, the man's real legacy can be seen in dismantling radical abolitionism, warmongering, and imperialism. There are quite a few Europeanists and French historians I could and should recommend this book to to correct some of their ignorance or undue praise and obsession with Napoleon.

French Antilleans in Haiti: Guadeloupe and Martinique

Edouard Bloncourt in the Blue Book of Haiti. His import-export business in Cap-Haitien was predated by his merchant past in Port-de-Paix. The Bloncourt family is from Guadeloupe, and Edouard was likely the relative who assisted Yves Bloncourt when he came to Haiti after WWI.

The presence of Afro-descendants or even white Creoles from Martinique and Guadeloupe in Haiti during the 19th and early 20th centuries is surprisingly difficult to investigate. Perhaps due to their cultural and linguistic similarities, the 1500 or more French Antilleans who came to Haiti during the aforementioned period are harder to locate than Syriens or Anglophone West Indian immigrants. The vast majority, according to Zacair, who relied heavily on French consul reports, were from Guadeloupe. Many married into Haitian families and therefore a large number of Haitians today can trace their ancestry to the French Caribbean. The Bloncourt, Boutin, Rabouin, de Catalogne, Demeuran, and many other families have ancestors who came to Haiti during this era, particularly after 1848. Many were "mulattoes" of the professional and bourgeois classes who established maisons de commerce in various Haitian port cities, like the Boutin family in St. Marc. Others were artisans, musicians, mechanics, educators, engineers, merchants, street vendors, laborers, and skilled workers, searching for opportunities beyond the confines of their colonial homes. Like Anglophone Caribbean migrants, such people were possibly also inspired by the idea of living under a black-ruled government where racial discrimination would not curb their freedom.

Gérard de Catalogne is in the second row, second from the left. Son of a Creole father from Martinique and a Haitian woman, de Catalogne diffused the reactionary ideas of Maurras in Haiti.

Indeed, the concentration of land ownership among the white plantocracy after 1848, plus restrictions on the newly freed and "free colored" class after emancipation would have been enough push factors to make Haiti an attractive location. Many former slaves found themselves trapped, working for their former masters as poorly paid plantation laborers. It is also probable that many in Guadeloupe and Martinique saw independent Haiti as a model for the Caribbean. In fact, long before 1848, free people of color from the French Antilles were in Haiti (not to mention connections during Haiti's colonial period). One Edmond Thetis of Martinique served in the army of Henri Christophe before returning to Martinique in 1811, implicated in a revolt. Joseph Saint-Remy, who wrote a biography of Alexandre Petion, was a Haitian born in Guadeloupe. His parents, inspired by Haiti's racially inclusive Constitution of 1816, which invited anyone and everyone of African or Amerindian descent the right to Haitian citizenship, eventually chose to resettle in Haiti.

Migrants from Martinique and other parts of the Antilles were identified as street vendors and artisans in Cap-Haitien and other towns of the Republic, as this 1892 article illustrates.

Saint-Remy's father, a carpenter, brought the family to Les Cayes. The same biographical notice in Saint-Remy's book also claims the father and grandfather of President Salomon were originally from the French Antilles, suggesting another politically important family of French Caribbean roots. Besides the several families from the French Antilles who came to Haiti during this era, Cyril Bissette, whose Revue des colonies published Haitian writer Ignace Nau, also invested time and labor in defending Haiti from what he saw as Schoelcher's attempts to paint Haitian society as hopelessly divided into black versus "mulatto" castes. Bissette even saw Haiti's potential as the capital of a future Caribbean confederation. Of course, one must not forget Guillaume Guillon-Lethière, a Guadeloupe-born artist, who painted The Oath of Our Ancestors. This famous painting of the Haitian Revolution and the uniting of blacks and "mulattoes," with the will of God, must have signified dignity and liberty for oppressed slaves and free people of color living before 1848.  Of course, there were exceptions to favorable views of Haiti among French Caribbean people of color, as the case of Victor Cochinat  in the late 19th century reveals. The journalist from Martinique's vitriolic articles triggered a response from Louis Joseph Janvier, which demonstrates another side of French Caribbean perceptions of Haiti.

Marc Boutin, born in St. Marc to parents from Guadeloupe, inherited his father's maison de commerce. Along with his mother, the family expanded the business to include Port-au-Prince. Aubin also refers to him as one of the French subjects owning land in Haiti. In his case, it was Caradeux, in the Cul de Sac plain. 

Clearly, Haiti was already etched into the minds of many in Guadeloupe and Martinique, perhaps especially so with educated free people of color. Haiti likely appealed to blacks in Martinique and Guadeloupe after 1848. The rise of a socialist party and labor movement in Guadeloupe by the 1890s, one that was specifically linking race and class, may have seen in the Haitian revolutionary past something inspirational. More work needs to be done exploring this, particularly on Hégésippe Jean Légitimus and allusions to Haiti among black workers of the late 19th century. His opponents, for instance, sought to compare him to "savage" Haiti, going so far as calling him a papa loi. For others, Haiti may have signified something else. For example, by the time the Third Republic arose, the "mulatto bourgeoisie" of Martinique were identified by metropolitan authorities as pro-republican and the best local allies. This process is summarized quite well in Church's Paradise Destroyed: Catastrophe and Citizenship in the French Caribbean, which unfortunately does not explore the Haitian connection or the ways in which natural catastrophes may have encouraged migration to Haiti.

Dr. Justin Castera of Jacmel was a martiniquais descent.

It very well could be the preference shown by many French Caribbean businessmen for the Liberals in Haiti was related to their liberal bourgeois politics. This shared fervor for liberalism, plus growing personal ties through marriage, cemented their attachment to the Liberal party. As one would expect, their open sympathy caused tensions with the Haitian government. For example, Ludovic Goubault's transparent support for Haitian rebels in Jeremie during the 1883 revolt illustrates how French West Indians intervened in the political affairs of Haiti. In addition to business and marriage with the Haitian upper classes, some even served in the Haitian military or married into the families of generals. According to Thorald Burnham, Andre de Thomas, for example, married the daughter of a major general and served as his attaché. This gave the "moucas" a surprisingly large influence in Haiti.  Consequently, going to the Black Republic may have meant not solely economic opportunity in commerce, but a chance to participate in the affairs of an independent republic.

Gaston Gerville-Réache worked as a teacher in Port-au-Prince for a short time. Once elected to the French National Assembly, he spoke for Guadeloupeans in Haiti during the turbulent year of 1883. In Paris, he also contributed to Benito Sylvain's La Fraternité . Unlike him, other French Caribbean educators, musicians and professionals stayed in Haiti. Louis Astrée, for instance, was a major figure in 19th century Haitian music as the director of the Musique du Palais.

But, who exactly were these immigrants? How were they received by the Haitian population? Did they chose to become Haitian citizens? After consulting Zacair's article and some of the sources, their position in Haiti was often paradoxical. For instance, they were able to practice professions in Haiti that were prohibited to foreigners. Others, despite marrying Haitians and establishing close ties with the Haitian political and economic elite, exploited their status as French subjects to make inflated claims on the Haitian government for compensation during moments of political turmoil. In fact, some of these French Caribbeans became consuls, while others were involved in larger French commerce or financial interests. As one can expect, French Antilleans, as well as other black immigrants, were occasionally attacked by Haitian political figures for their exploitative behavior and refusing to become Haitian citizens. In terms population and demographics, the "moucas" or French Antillean subjects were clearly an important presence. Indeed, they were numerous enough to form their own quarter in Cap-Haitien, by Bas de la Ravine. In Port-au-Prince, French and French Caribbean residents were involved in a mutual aid society, but Zacair hints at intra-community tensions as the business community sought to exclude workers from Guadeloupe and Martinique from the benefits of the society. Intellectually, some, such as Fernand Keitel, launched Le Cable, a Capois journal highlighted by Marc Péan. For most of the aforementioned groups, assimilation seems to have occurred relatively quickly. This was likely the case for the lower classes, too.  A cursory exploration of Haitian literary references to the French Antilles also sugguests this. Velleda Petite-Caille, in Justin Lhérisson's famous novel may be the best early example.

The Monfleury usine for the preparation of coffee. Aubin claimed Monfleury père  to be of Martinican origin.

As a card reader, she attracts a wealthy clientele, ultimately launching her husband into high society of fin de siècle Port-au-Prince. But Velleda, who does not come from the Martinique "mulatto" bourgeoisie. So, she continues to mispronounce some French phrases, thereby demonstrating an affinity with uneducated lower-class Haitian Creole speakers, whose elocution was also mocked by their social superiors. However, she was not a target of derision or singled out for her origins in Martinique, and her marriage with Eliézer suggests a great degree of cultural compatibility. Unfortunately, her fate does not end well in the novel, but there is no suggestion of bias or exclusive attitudes towards her due to her non-Haitian origins. Perhaps the ease at which she could establish a reputation for fortune-telling is matched by those of the French Antilles who could join Vodou congregations. Burnham alludes to Civil Blain, a Martinican in 19th century Bel Air, who left behind a lakou bearing his name. It is reasonably clear that the lower class waves of migrants from the French Caribbean were capable of assimiling well with locals in the urban popular quarters. Their skin color, language, and the ease with which they could travel into the interior of Haiti likely facilitated this, which perhaps masked their presence in the archives. Many practiced small trades in towns like St. Marc, Port-au-Prince, Cap-Haitien, Aux Cayes, Jacmel, or Gonaives, which brought them into regular contact with Haitians of all backgrounds. Perhaps the commonality of language and culture enabled positive interactions or professional relations, as well as marriage and progeny.

A bizarre story involving from Oct 1900 involving a Haitian woman and her husband from Martinique or Guadeloupe. 

In Eugène Aubin's En Haïti; planteurs d'autrefois, nègres d'aujourd'hui, published five years before the US Occupation, direct accounts of French West Indians abound. Aubin describes landholders, owners of usines for the preparation of coffee, a pious woman from Guadeloupe, an engineer by the name of Emmanuel Odeide working for the Manneville habitation, merchants, and spouses. Examples of their presence abound, such as the wife of General Dorsey Falaise of Croix des Bouquets, a Guadeloupean woman. These French West Indians are described by Aubin as mixing with locals due to language and color. However, his account also attests to their significance in new developments in the economy. Perhaps the business end of the French Caribbean community was ultimately negative for economic development by encouraging dependency on foreign imports, but during the 1870s and 1880s, they introduced some new technology in the coffee industry. Octave Francis, a "mulatto," was identified as one of the first to establish a usine for preparing coffee, in Petionville. Francis's mother was from Martinique while his father was from St. Thomas. While they may not have directly controlled the production of coffee, Francis, Monfleury, and other foreign-owned usines improved the quality of Haitian coffee, thereby increasing prices on the global market while, in some cases, weakening their Haitian intermediaries.

Yves Bloncourt was an early proponent of the Boy Scouts in Haiti.

Another family with origins in Martinique, the Montfleury, were associated with the usine in Carrefour, which was expanded by the two Montfleury sons and a French partner, Bertin.  Their usine employed 50 employees and 150 trieuses, leading to a new community to service the workers in the area. Some also contributed to tentative steps towards restoring sugar production or large-scale production in the Cul-de-Sac plain by providing essential services, like mechanics, management or engineering. A letter to a Haitian who criticized Martinican and Guadeloupean residents was published in Le Nouvelliste. The author, A. Charlesin, appears to be a Martinican or Guadeloupean forger-mechanic working in Haiti. Meanwhile, Zacair describes one who managed a plantation near Leogane managed by a French Antillean. Haiti en 1886 mentions a Martinican horticulteur known throughout Port-au-Prince. Thus, their presence was linked to early capitalist intrusion into the Haitian economy and new industries and businesses, shaping new social relations and methods of production while simultaneously weakening the local merchant class.

President Louis Borno was the son of a naturalized Haitian from Guadeloupe. His non-Haitian roots were a subject of concern to Jacques Roumain, who criticized Borno for being a puppet president of the US Occupation. 

Despite difficulties in knowing exactly how many French Caribbean peoples were in Haiti during the 19th and 20th centuries, their influence likely surpassed their actual numbers. Through commerce, education, music, the arts, and industry, migrants brought with them new ideas, concepts, and interactions which connected Haiti and the French Antilles within the archipelago and their diasporas in France. The Bloncourt family, for instance, had branches in Haiti and Guadeloupe, while Haitian presidents with origins in Martinique and Guadeloupe can be found in the Duvaliers and Louis Borno. Gerard de Catalogne, a descendant of a Martinican and a Haitian woman, was a major figure in 20th century Haitian journalism and politics. In Paris, Haitians such as Firmin brushed shoulders with Adolphe Lara of Guadeloupe. Thus, the French Caribbean and Haiti enjoyed a mutual influence in which the earlier migrations of Martinicans or Guadeloupeans was a pivotal part. The French Caribbean residents in Haiti may have also been influential in aspects of folklore and Vodou dance. Unsurprisingly, the paradoxical relationship of these migrants with Haiti and France illustrates a semi-colonial character in Haiti-France relations. The political independence of Haiti was gradually eroded as France, Germany, and, by the 20th century, the US, increasingly dominated its economic affairs. Those of Martinique or Guadeloupe roots knowingly or unknowingly contributed to this development, even if adopting Haitian citizenship, by encouraging the cultural orientation of the Haitian elite.

Colonialism and Science: Saint Domingue and the Old Regime

After reading James E. McClellan III's Colonialism and Science: Saint Domingue and the Old Regime, one begins to see Saint Domingue in a wholly new way. Science as a tool for colonial development and the slave regime is a topic one does not usually discuss in history courses of slavery in the New World. Indeed, the most common ways to hear of the application of science and industry in slave societies of the Americas is the use of the cotton gin and the development of mechanized sugar mills in the 19th century, so it is important to uncover the various ways in which even during the 18th century, the plantation model in the colonies more closely resembled and took advantage of limited industrialization and science in a way that presaged 19th and 20th century industrial labor.

Indeed, in some cases, cutting edge technology of the 18th century West found its way into Caribbean colonies, particularly the use of the steam engine and locomotives in parts of the British Caribbean and the use of a steam engine pump in L'Artibonite area for irrigation (which ultimately failed, though remains of the Perrier engine can be seen in Haiti today, according to McClellan III). Clearly, the use of science, engineering, applied botany, and medicine were the most important sciences for colonial development, as well as cartography and engineering, which all ensured the survival of a profitable colony, which in turn justified European colonial expansion and the mercantilist policies which supposedly explains why one in eight French were economically tied by trade and profit to the colony of Saint Domingue. 

McClellan also uses a worthy introduction and detailed first part to analyze how the context of Saint Domingue's towns, demographics, slaves, and various other factors of colonialism and science impacted Saint Domingue. His extensive coverage of Cap Francois and the other principal cities (Les Cayes, Port-au-Prince) is consistently compared favorably to a French provincial city. And the level of scientific inquiry and advances in medicine and hospital infrastructure in the colony were only rivaled or perhaps surpassed in Dutch Batavia, in Southeast Asia. These scientific missions began with naturalist Jesuit priests in the late 17th and early 18th centuries, who collected useful notes on the flora of Saint Domingue, while future endeavors would emphasise cartography, developing medical infrastructure in the largest cities of the colony (although the author admits that slave healing was usually as efficient or successful as 'Western' medicine, perhaps due to Africans' longer history in the tropics and dealing with tropical climes).

Most of the best scientific inquiry came out of direct state investment and researchers, especially as Saint Domingue was incorporated into French society's scientific interests and collaborations, which included astronomy, engineering (hydraulic and civil engineers collaborated in Saint Domingue, especially with funding by planters, to invest in irrigation projects that successfully fertilized the Cul-de-Sac region, and many other arid or inhospitable parts of the colony), medicine (the widespread use of inoculation for slaves against smallpox in the 18th century stands out), botanical gardens, experimentation with new crops from other regions of the world (think about it, neither sugar nor coffee were native to the Americas, but both became the basic source of wealth for slave plantations), cartography, navigation (learning how to plot one's longitude to aid in sailing, for instance, played a role in expanding trade and success in European shipping around the world), studies of poisons, and the use of science and botany in new industries and trade for the slave society.

It would seem that scientific and medical knowledge reached its zenith with the institutionalization of science among settlers with the Cercle des Philadelphes in 1784, largely forming in response to pseudoscientific 'mesmerism' which had reached popularity with all sectors of Saint Dominguan society. That so many Saint Dominguans took on the pursuit of rational and empirical science seriously against the threat of mesmerism and popular science (such as the ballooning craze of the 1780s that struck Saint Domingue with fervor before being replaced by mesmerism and 'animal magnetism') even if they lacked a background in the field, revealed the degrees to which the pursuit and application of certain branches of scientific study were deemed vital for colonial development and profitability. Of course, the well-known Moreau de Saint Mery appears in this organization, along with several prominent Freemasons (but Freemasonry is proved by McClellan to have played little role in fostering scientific endeavors), as well as the French ministries of the colonies and navy in the decades leading up to the 1780s. Thus, science and colonialism went hand in hand, and colonialism played a role in contributing to scientific communities in Western Europe as an additional source of observations, material, and a practical zone for application of new technologies.

What one wishes to see more of is how slaves themselves approached 'science,' for instance. What of slave healing and medicine? What about slave and African contributions to botany, agriculture, sugar processing and mill technology, or other fields? McClellan states that most sugar mills were powered by animals and humans, although a large minority were water-powered, and windmills were not extensively used (he argues that mathematical fields and pursuits were behind in Saint Domingue when compared to Europe, a factor in explaining some poor surveying and astronomy), but what of black Saint Dominguan contributions to those fields? And in what ways did urban slaves and people of color in the principal cities contribute to the Cercle des Philadelphes and other institutions of learning? Those types of questions will obviously require a great shift in perspective of mathematics and science in precolonial Africa, but deserve an answer. Nonetheless, this is an excellent book illustrating how two significant modern fields, by their very nature, collaborate in European expansion, paving the way for European conquest of Africa (think of the discovery and use of 'Peruvian bark' to treat malaria in the colonies). Tropical pathology, inoculation, and medical advances in general, along with industrialization, became the key fields that aided and abetted European colonialism in the 19th century.