Sugar in the Blood (24 page)

Unlike Long, the French naturalist the Comte de Buffon believed that blacks were part of the same species as whites (the monogenist argument), but he argued that they were situated at “the bottom of the human hierarchy.” In 1775, the year after Long’s book was published, the term “Caucasian race” was coined by the zoologist Johann Friedrich Blumenbach. He believed that the Caucasus was the cradle of human civilization and that all intelligence and beauty originated there. To prove his thesis, he collected a selection of 245 skulls which he duly examined and measured. After this analysis, he created a theory of a five-storey racial pyramid with whites at the top. On the next three levels were Australian Aborigines, American Indians, and “yellow-skinned” Asians. At the bottom were blacks originating in Africa. Against all scientific reason the term “Caucasian” remains in use to this day, synonymous with the white minority that Blumenbach claimed sat at the summit of humanity’s hierarchy.

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:

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.