Dear Judge, … Margaret Braithwaite

 

I never fail to be amazed at the depth and breadth of the information that can be gleaned from research in Danish West Indies archives. Once you have ventured beyond the volumes of governmental tax accounts and reams of administrative files – the proclamations, the probates, the auctions, the appraisals, the guardianships, the judgments and adjudications – one finds the poignant minutia – the notes, the asides, the scribbles, the sketches, the torn-out clippings from newspapers or pamphlets. These fragments of historical trivia represent the subtle interjections of humanity, intriguing little tidbits encountered amidst a sea of bureaucratic imperatives. In truth, they are the real rewards of the diligent researcher — the “grand prizes,” so-to-speak. What elation, to be slogging through a long and rambling estate reconciliation, or nodding off while transcribing a seemingly endless list of tax debtors, and then to turn a page and find that nugget of gold hidden away for centuries just waiting to be appreciated.In upcoming SJHS newsletters it will be my pleasure to share with our readership some of the “prizes” that I have been so fortunate to encounter along the way. Most will be in the form of letters culled from sources within the archives of the “St. John Landfoged” (1741- 1910), a subsection of the broader “West Indies Local Archive” (c1755-1917), which is housed in the Danish National Archives (Rigsarkivet) in Copenhagen, Denmark. Many of these ephemeral gems are simply disassociated notes found in boxes of miscellaneous correspondence, or inserted into probate files and court ledgers. Some, at first impression, seem frivolous; others are heartfelt and quite sad. Yet, each and every one tells a human story, which could never have been sufficiently relayed through the cold ink of an administrative pen.

So, let us now begin with a perfect case in point: a hastily-scrawled note of complaint written by one of St. John’s most intriguing colonial inhabitants, Margaret Catherine Braithwaite. According to the “1832 Register of the Free Colored Inhabitants of St. John,” Margaret Braithwaite was born into slavery on the island of Tortola in 1762 (although the 1860 census of St. John gives her place of birth as “Africa”). In 1797 she was brought to St. John by the owner of Estate Bordeaux, Reverend Thomas Braithwaite, who had purchased her freedom on the 27th of May of that year. Over the course of their relationship Margaret produced three children with Thomas Braithwaite, all girls, who were left sizable “fortunes” upon the good Reverend’s demise. After Thomas Braithwaite’s death Margaret was displaced from Estate Bordeaux, but soon found an agreeable situation as the paramour of St. John Landfoged Louis Michel, the owner of estates Hope and Misgunst. Louis Michel died in 1838, leaving Margaret and their daughter, Catharine, a 10-acre parcel of Estate Misgunst, on which stood the former estate residence and the ruins of a sugar works.

And so it is here, living on her newly-inherited property atop a rugged knoll overlooking the Reef Bay valley, that we encounter 77-year-old Margaret Catherine Braithwaite, mistress of Estate Misgunst, in a state of great consternation:

Note: to the best of my ability the accompanying transcript of Margaret Braithwaite’s letter has been copied verbatim; there has been no attempt to correct spelling or punctuation. While Margaret’s language and spelling may seem odd to the modern reader, when one puts excepted norms aside the true voice and dialect of a 19th century resident of St. John is vividly revealed. Given her background and the context of the period, especially when compared against her contemporaries (of both European and African heritage), Ms. Braithwaite’s written communication skills are truly astonishing.