War is what abolished slavery in the colony, and Klooster omits it

The review credits Klooster with foregrounding war and international conflict as a causal factor across the American, French, Haitian and Spanish American revolutions, and with stressing contingency, the intersection of civil war with revolution, and the marginal place of democracy in all four. It then observes that the book curiously overlooks precisely that factor in the Haitian case, both in bringing about the abolition of slavery in the summer of 1793 and in making independence achievable. The reviewer's point is mechanical rather than interpretive: the entry of Britain and Spain into the war is what forced the republican commissioners to emancipate, and British naval pressure later is what made French reconquest impossible. Geggus judges the Haitian chapter the least sure footed of the book's regional chapters, while praising the whole as a survey of unique breadth and concision. Where this account departs from the standard one: Geggus argues Klooster's own emphasis on international war is not applied to Haiti, where war caused both the 1793 abolition and the achievement of independence.

Months after the largest and best organised group of self-liberated insurgents formally became the Black Auxiliaries of Carlos IV, Jean-Francois received a fresh French recruitment offer. The reversal was abrupt, since the French had recently refused to negotiate at all, and the new commissioners Sonthonax and Polverel had just begun selectively recognising the freedom of Black fighters willing to defend them near Cap-Francais. Jose Vazquez, a mulato priest from Santo Domingo who had become Jean-Francois's close adviser and his channel to Spanish officials, learned the general's loyalty might be in play and rode out to confront him. Jean-Francois knelt, swore obedience before God and the Spanish king, handed over the letter unopened, and then showed Vazquez his plans for expanding Spanish conquests. Yingling uses the scene to show religion functioning as the actual mechanism of alliance.

Francois Furet and Denis Richet refused the description of 1789 as a bourgeois revolution and called it a liberal one instead. Their reading needed a date on which the liberal revolution left its course, and they chose 10 August 1792, the day the Paris sections and the federes stormed the Tuileries and brought down the monarchy. From that morning, in their account, the revolution swerved towards the Terror, which they treat as a brief parenthesis running against a much longer liberal current that spans 1750 to 1850. What pushed it off course, they say, was the patriotic fervour of the crowd. Albert Soboul answered that the crowd drove the revolution and supplied whatever force it had. The argument matters beyond France. Historians read the French Revolution as a commentary on the Russian one, and the dates they pick are chosen with the twentieth century in view.

Yellow fever killed three thousand five hundred or more people in Philadelphia in 1797. Most physicians who could leave the city did leave. One who stayed was Felix Pascalis, who had arrived in the United States in 1793 as a refugee from the Caribbean and had treated fever patients at Benjamin Rush's house on Walnut Street during the epidemic of that year. His book on the 1797 outbreak argued against the common opinion that the disease had been carried in on human bodies aboard ships from Saint-Domingue. He allowed that ships brought it, and held that it moved through wood and air rather than from person to person, rising as putrid exhalations from the timber wharves along the city's two rivers as they dried out. His recommendation was to replace the wharves with stone and coat the stone with tar once a year. The theory was wrong. The habit of plotting cases against places became part of epidemiology.