A fee of a thousand reis is set for baptising each captive before shipping

Brazilian interest in the Whydah trade produced a fortified Portuguese post there in 1721. Brazil's viceroy required that the fort be given a chaplain, and in 1724 an Italian Capuchin was recruited from Bahia for the position. The plan attached to the post went further than a chapel for the garrison. More priests were to be found and a mission established, and among the duties of that mission would be brief religious instruction and baptism for enslaved people before they were put aboard ship. For this the clergy were to receive a commission of one thousand reis on each person baptised. The personnel were never found and the project lapsed, so the Portuguese chaplains at Whydah served only their own expatriates. The scheme is worth recording anyway. It shows the sacrament being budgeted as a charge per head inside a slaving operation, at the port that supplied a large share of the people carried to Saint-Domingue.

Until 1724 Martinique had no legislation on poison at all. The Code Noir of 1685, which governed slavery in the French colonies and stood on the island until 1831, said nothing about poison, sorcery or medical practice. In February 1724 a royal ordinance extended to the Windward Islands the edict of 1682 that had come out of the poison affair at the court of Louis XIV. Most of the wording was kept. The preamble was replaced. The French original had warned about pretended diviners, magicians and enchanters who added spells and poisons to their sacrilege and seduced the credulous. The Martinique version spoke instead of the enormous crimes of malicious slaves administering poisons to the detriment of the king's subjects. Through one act of copying, a law about aristocratic love magic in Paris became a law about enslaved Africans in the Caribbean, and the legal tie between poison and slavery was made.

Colonists in Saint-Domingue rose against the French Indies Company between 1722 and 1724, objecting to the monopoly the company held over their trade. The last of the great chartered companies to dominate the colony gave way, and the settlement was written down as the Cul de Sac Treaty of 1722. What that paper did was introduce the principle of representation into colonial administration, giving white planters a formal voice in how they were governed. Sixty years later Moreau de Saint-Mery assembled the first French colonial legal archive, six volumes of laws and constitutions for the French windward colonies published between 1784 and 1790. He approved of the fight against the monopoly. He also found the treaty alarming, because planter democracy sitting on top of a slave society pointed somewhere he did not want to go, and he cut the document from the official record. Almost everything now knowable about maroons, enslaved people and free people of colour in the colony survives inside the archive he shaped.

No general census of seventeenth century Bahia survives, although the crown ordered them. The first solid figure is ecclesiastical and comes from 1724, when 45,482 enslaved people made up 57 per cent of the population. The count did not separate free whites from free people of African descent, and travellers early in the century suggest the latter were a large share of Salvador, a city of roughly twenty five thousand. Sugar drove the demand. From 1600 to 1680 over thirteen thousand Africans were landed in Bahia, 69 per cent of them shipped from West Central African ports, and the numbers then climbed steeply, from 1,193 in the 1660s to 5,121 in the 1670s, 11,540 in the 1680s and 42,562 in the 1690s. Plantation ledgers from the 1730s suggest Africans were about three quarters of the enslaved population. Poison accusations climbed on the same curve as these figures.