Allada sends an ambassador across the ocean to ask Spain for priests

The kingdom of Allada sat on the stretch of West African coast that Europeans called the Slave Coast, in what is now the Republic of Benin. In 1657 its king sent an envoy named Bans across the Atlantic to Cartagena, the Spanish port on the coast of present day Colombia. Bans carried two requests. The first was for commercial relations. The second was for Christian missionaries, and the report said the king was willing to accept baptism. The embassy was forwarded on to Madrid, where it arrived in February 1658. Philip IV agreed at once to send the priests and promised only to look into the question of trade. Bans was instructed in the faith and baptised as Don Phelipe Zapata. A second interpreter was found in a man of Allada who had lived in Spain for forty four years and married there. The initiative in bringing Catholic clergy to this coast came from the African side, and it came repeatedly.

The French and English driven out of Saint Kitts settled on Tortuga, taking it off the small Spanish garrison holding it. A contemporary called them smoked out hornets, which is close to accurate. What they built had no chief and no formal articles beyond the agreements men made with one another case by case, and an early writer described them as amphibious, since they lived half on land and half at sea. They hunted the wild cattle of northern Hispaniola and cured the meat on wooden frames over slow fires, a method taken from the indigenous people of the islands. The French word for the frame produced boucanier, which English turned into buccaneer, and the same practice gave every language the word barbecue. They called themselves the Brethren of the Coast. By 1667 their way of life had been written down by the first historians of the Antilles, so a stateless community of hunters and sea raiders was described in print while it was still going.

The first great expansion of Atlantic slaving produced the longest voyages and the highest death rates in the whole history of the traffic, for the crews as much as for the people in the hold. Ships were slower, provisioning was worse, and nobody had yet worked out how to keep several hundred confined human beings alive for three months at sea. Within the period the regional differences were enormous. People embarked in the Bight of Biafra died at two to three times the rate of people embarked in Upper Guinea, a gap that reflects the length of the route, the disease environments at either end, and how long a captive had already been held on the coast before boarding. Faster ships and later regulation brought the overall figures down. The seventeenth century numbers stayed in the record as the baseline, and every improvement the eighteenth century claimed for itself was measured from here.

In 1659 Jeremie Deschamps took Tortuga, the small island off the north coast of Hispaniola, and held it for Louis XIV under royal commission. Control of the place had been passing between European powers for decades. This time it stuck, and it began a hundred and thirty years of French rule over the western third of Hispaniola, the territory that became Saint-Domingue. Five years later the machinery arrived. In March 1664 Jean-Baptiste Colbert, the minister running French finance and trade, chartered the French West India Company and handed it a monopoly over colonial commerce. That charter is the point at which the enterprise stopped depending on buccaneers who answered to nobody and became an administered project with accounts, officers and an owner in the metropolis. Everything that followed ran through the framework laid down here. Within a century the colony was producing more sugar and coffee than any other, on the labour of enslaved Africans, and it was the most profitable possession any European state held anywhere.