A priest at Petite Riviere writes down where a freedom paper came from

For most of the eighteenth century a person of colour in Saint-Domingue was free if the neighbours treated her as free. By the 1770s officials wanted a document instead, and an arret of 1758 required priests to see proof of liberty rather than accept what everyone locally knew. The parish of Petite Riviere was ahead of that order by ten years. In 1748 a woman recorded as Angelique brought her freedom papers to a baptism and the priest wrote down exactly where they came from, an act of liberty granted by two named men on 29 August 1746. Her daughter had no acknowledged father and therefore no white protector, so the entry in the register was the child's whole defence. In the same year and the same parish, Marie Victoire Morisseau was baptised with her brothers by a mother who called herself free in front of priests and slave owners and produced nothing. Years later that absence decided a lawsuit against her.

In 1748 the Virginia legislature made it a felony for an enslaved person to practise medicine of any kind, on pain of death. The act said that many slaves, under pretence of practising physic, had prepared and given out poisonous medicines, and described the resulting illnesses as long and tedious indispositions sometimes ending in death, which is exactly how the earlier accusations had described them. Two provisions softened the sentence. If the court decided there had been no ill intent and no bad consequence it could impose something lighter, in practice a brand on the hand and thirty nine lashes. And the law did not apply where all the owners concerned had agreed to the treatment. Contemporary English law held that poisoning could never be manslaughter because it carried its own evidence of deliberate malice. Virginia dropped the requirement of harm or intent altogether, which let county courts punish people for what they might do.

Coffee reached the Caribbean in the second quarter of the eighteenth century and suited land the sugar planters had left alone. It grew on slopes and it took heavy rain. In Dominica the number of coffee trees went from 684,700 in 1743 to 1,367,700 in 1749 and 1,585,400 in 1753. Over the same decade the enslaved population tripled and the number of white residents doubled. By 1763, when France gave the island up at the Peace of Paris, annual output stood at 1,690,360 pounds, so what France ceded to Britain was in effect a coffee colony. The consequence held for seventy years. In the early 1800s Dominica was the only British Caribbean possession where a majority of enslaved people worked coffee, and it had the lowest share working in sugar anywhere in that empire. At the abolition of slavery in 1833 coffee still brought in about half of the island's export earnings.

Oyo was a Yoruba kingdom in the interior to the north east, and it had invaded Dahomey repeatedly. Tegbesu spent his first years fighting it and made peace in 1748 on the condition of an annual tribute. The military reason was obvious enough, since the invasions were ruinous. There was a commercial one too. Oyo had been the main supplier of captives to the coast, and peace opened the possibility that its caravans would come down through Whydah again. During 1746 to 1748 Tegbesu had criers announce at Whydah that the paths were open and free. The second and third announcements named the places by name, Epe, Weme, Ajara and Popo, and invited their traders in. Dahomey had spent twenty years accused by European buyers of strangling the routes from the interior. It now set out to become the middleman on those same routes.