Victoria’s Scottish Lion

by Greenwood, Adrian; Haythornthwaite, Philip;

  Further army cuts forced the disbanding of two of the old West India regiments, thus increasing garrison duties for the remaining British troops. In 1820 two companies from the 21st Fusiliers were ordered to Tobago. Four officers and thirty-seven men promptly dropped dead of fever.20 Then in March 1821, the regiment was split again: three companies led by Major Champion headed to Berbice on the north coast of South America; the other seven under Major Leahy sailed for the neighbouring colony of Demerara. Campbell went with Leahy’s detachment.* The Fusiliers’ senior officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Nooth, was too ill to leave Barbados. In August of that year he succumbed to the climate, leaving Leahy to assume overall command.21

  The move to Demerara brought coveted promotion for Campbell. He was appointed aide-de-camp and brigade major to the governor, Major-General John Murray, to act as his private secretary and confidant. At last he had achieved what his uncle had so long lobbied for in London – a staff appointment with an extra salary and the ear of a general – but with it came risks. His fate was now tied to Murray’s.

  Clinging to the shoulder of South America, the Dutch colony of Demerara had fallen like a ripe plum to the British in 1796, a casualty of the Netherlands’ waning power. The capital, Georgetown, situated at the mouth of the Demerara River where it met the Atlantic, was an exotic mix of plantation owners, slaves, hucksters, sailors and young men in a hurry. As on Barbados, the most eagerly awaited entertainment was the Fusiliers’ weekly parade.22 Twice a month a boat arrived with the mail, the only regular link with home.

  Demerara proved even more pestilential than Barbados. ‘The extreme annoyance, from whole tribes of insects and reptiles is even less supportable, to many, than the exhausting warmth of the climate’, wrote one visitor; ‘We are bitten, stung, or overrun by day, or by night, and exposed to incessant pain and discomfort.’23 Though it did not head the league table of colonial mortality (that unwelcome accolade went to Sierra Leone), Demerara was a strong contender. Yellow fever had ravaged the plantations in 1820.24 More worryingly still for the 28-year-old Campbell, the death rate among soldiers got worse with age; for those between 24 and 30 it was three times that for those between 18 and 20.25 Six years’ service here would cost the regiment fourteen officers and 400 men dead from disease.

  At least the only other obvious threat came from the occasional alligator.26 France was acquiescent, the United States content to pursue territorial expansion in its own backyard, and old colonial powers such as Portugal and Spain too weak to bare their fangs. Aside from the predations of pirates and brigands, uppermost in the colonists’ minds, as on Barbados, was the risk of a slave revolt. Demerara had experienced slave revolts in 1772, 1794, 1807–8 and 1812, but all had been small in scope and rapidly crushed. In the event of an uprising the Fusiliers had the backing of only one company of the 1st West India Regiment. Otherwise they were on their own. Reinforcements from Barbados were several days’ sail away. As in so much of the empire, control rested on the appearance of calm and natural authority, not on numerical strength.

  For the officers and men it was a period of crushing tedium, punctuated by the occasional cockfight or horse race.27 As aide-de-camp, Campbell was busier than most, doing the governor’s bidding, impressing those whose opinions counted, biding his time until his stock rose enough to allow him to make an advantageous exchange back to London. His old regimental lieutenant-colonel from the 9th Foot, Sir John Cameron, made a brief appearance in 1821 to take on the role of acting governor in the next-door colony of Berbice while the incumbent was dying. Otherwise tranquillity held sway. Campbell’s Victorian biographer, Shadwell, reduces his time in the West Indies to just two paragraphs. But to dismiss it as eight leaden years in the sun is to forget Campbell’s uncanny knack of arriving in places on the cusp of violent upheaval.

  Demerara was a colony riven with tensions – religious, social, financial and moral. Campbell’s new boss, Governor Murray, had already been the subject of two Privy Council investigations. He had little patience for the diktats of Whitehall, but neither did the plantation owners. Any enemy of London was the colonists’ friend. As governor, military commander and plantation owner, Murray’s sympathies lay firmly with the white settlers. His bêtes noires were missionaries, in particular their attempts to educate slaves. Teach them to read, he reasoned, and in time they would absorb the pamphlets of the abolitionists. Literacy would lead to revolt. In 1817 the London Missionary Society had dispatched the 27-year-old Reverend John Smith to Demerara. He got a cool reception from the governor. Like most colonists, Murray regarded the society as little more than a fifth column of abolitionists at prayer. According to Smith, Murray warned ‘If ever you teach a negro to read, and I hear of it, I will banish you from the colony immediately.’28

  The abolitionists had expected that the extinction of the slave trade in 1807 would lead in one inexorable continuum to the extinction of slavery, but by the 1820s that looked like a pious hope. In March 1823, Thomas Buxton presented a motion to the House of Commons recommending ameliorative measures. Slaves were to be given the protection of British law, their testimony was to be held legal in court, their marriages officially recognised, children born to slaves were to be considered free and the slaves’ rights to worship and cultivate their own crops were to be enshrined. Buxton’s aim was ‘not the sudden emancipation of the negro, but such preparatory steps … which shall gently conduct us to the annihilation of slavery’.29 Watered down by Foreign Secretary George Canning, the motion was passed. On 7 July 1823, Murray received orders from Lord Bathurst, Secretary of State for War and the Colonies, to implement the changes. Bathurst warned Murray that if he and the Demerara legislature, the Court of Policy, failed to press ahead with the new reforms with expedition, they would be imposed upon the colony by Order in Council.

  Ignoring Bathurst’s threats, the Court of Policy prevaricated. Meanwhile, through a process of Chinese whispers, the story spread among the slaves that George IV had sent Murray orders to free them all immediately. Because the declaration came supposedly from the king, the belief spread that the king’s troops would not fire on the slaves if they chose to take matters into their own hands.30 Expectation grew, but no declaration was forthcoming, so the suspicion took hold that Murray was deliberately and illegally denying them their freedom.

  The plan of protest was conceived on the estate of absentee landlord Sir John Gladstone (father of William Ewart). The leaders were two slaves from the Gladstone estate: Quamina, a deacon at Smith’s Bethel Chapel, and his son Jack.** On Sunday 17 August 1823, they finalised their plans. It would start on Monday evening, the signal being the sound of gunfire on the coast. Rather than a bloody rebellion, they would mount an armed strike, capturing managers and plantation owners, and incarcerating them in the stocks, unharmed. The slaves would then demand the freedom denied them by Murray, or at the very least freedom for a few days each week.

  Shortly after 6 a.m. on the Monday morning, plantation owner Mr Simpson heard of the planned uprising from one of his slaves and rushed to inform the governor. Murray was initially dismissive, but as a precautionary measure ordered out the Georgetown Troop of Cavalry (all fourteen of them) to Simpson’s La Reduit estate to investigate. Murray assured Simpson that he would join him at La Reduit shortly, and in the meantime spread the word to nearby estates to be on their guard.31 The governor saw no especial need to hurry. After all, the revolt was not scheduled until that evening. He summoned Campbell, along with other assorted factotums, but seemed relaxed about heading forth. The assembled company did not drive out in the governor’s carriage until about 5 p.m., eleven hours after the plot had been revealed. Murray, Campbell and the rest made the short journey to La Reduit unmolested, to interrogate Simpson’s slaves. The governor concluded that the ringleader was a slave named Mars from the Vryheid’s Lust estate, so he and his entourage drove there and Mars was arrested. It looked to Campbell like they had nipped revolt in the bud.

  Meanwhile, riding towards th
e Success estate, planter and militia officer Captain McTurk stumbled upon a band of armed slaves. Alarmed, he galloped off to report the news to Murray at Vryheid’s Lust. It was now clear that unrest was breaking out independently on several plantations at once, and unless Murray could find some way of stopping it the colony would be in turmoil. The governor, Campbell and the rest of the entourage decided that Vryheid’s Lust was best vacated, so they returned to the carriage and set out for Georgetown. They had not gone far when they were surrounded by a mob of slaves brandishing ‘cutlasses’* and shouting, ‘We have them! We have them!’32 Murray, realising the odds favoured the slaves, played for time.

  Getting down from the coach, the governor asked for their demands. ‘Our right’, they replied, meaning the right to freedom they believed King George had promised. Murray declined to enter into further discussions until they put down their arms, but the slaves refused, aware that they had the upper hand. At length he managed to persuade a few to drop their weapons, and seeing their resolve falter, told them that their freedom was under consideration but that there would be no concessions if their protest continued. The governor proposed a conference the next day at the Felicity estate, where they could air their grievances. The slaves were unconvinced, but Murray flatly refused to offer anything else.

  As Campbell sat in the coach, one of the slaves began to blow on a large conch shell. Was this some sort of sign for attack? He could hear the slaves discussing whether they should fire on the party. The rebellion was intended to be bloodless, but with the governor at their mercy, the temptation to press home their advantage was growing. Sensing the change of mood, Murray again addressed the crowd, warning them that if they refused to stop the rebellion now, he would use the Crown’s full military might to crush it without mercy. He then returned to his carriage. The slaves made way, and Murray, Campbell and the others were driven back to Georgetown. As they swept past the Plaisance plantation a few shots were fired at the carriage but none hit home.33 What had begun as a peaceful demonstration appeared to have fermented into armed revolt.

  The fragility of white colonial rule was now laid bare. In Demerara and Essequebo 75,000 slaves plus 2,000–3,000 mixed race ‘free coloureds’ were ruled by 2,500 white colonists using little more than art and mummery, backed by a few hundred muskets. If tested, the entire imperial house of cards would collapse. Colonel Leahy had seven companies of fusiliers in the colony, around 500 men, but given the incessant bouts of fever, the full complement was not fit for duty. There was the small Georgetown militia, but a band of armed white locals rampaging round in a panic might be more trouble than it was worth.

  By ten o’clock on Monday evening Murray had ordered a detachment of twenty-five fusiliers, along with his sole company (No. 8) of the 1st West India Regiment, to the coast where unrest seemed concentrated.34 The governor then summoned the Georgetown militia to the defence of the capital and arranged a meeting of the Court of Policy for Tuesday morning. Campbell would stay in Georgetown with Murray and help manage the situation from there. Measures to counter the rebellion would be left in the hands of Leahy and militia commanders McTurk and Goodman. As reports of disorder multiplied, Murray sent out a second detachment of Fusiliers at midnight, this time in carriages to reach the rebels without delay. The next morning, he declared martial law.

  There was much to do in Georgetown, turning all able-bodied settlers into an organised fighting force. The existing militia included Demerara’s wealthiest colonists, presenting Campbell with a group which benefited from basic training, but whose sense of entitlement to command far outstripped their abilities. That afternoon a new provisional battalion of nearly 600 was raised. The Presbyterian church was commandeered as a makeshift barracks for them. Campbell was faced with a frightened, undrilled gang of amateurs, armed with a miscellany of weapons and a lynch mob’s sense of justice.

  By Tuesday morning the flame of revolt had spread to plantations right across the colony. Forty estates were now in slave hands. Estate owners woke to find their houses encircled by their own slaves, armed with cutlasses, but most rebels were after humiliation not blood. The worst ordeal most white planters suffered was to be forced at gunpoint into the stocks. The most serious threat came from 2,000 rebels gathered at the Dochfour plantation, egged on by their leader, Prince, brandishing a machete in one hand and a black flag in the other. Against them were ranged a force of just seventeen regular soldiers and eleven militiamen, commanded by Lieutenant Brady. By dint of tactical retreats, Brady managed to keep the rebels at bay until dawn. Reinforced by sea with forty-three sailors, artillerymen, militia and regular soldiers, he sallied forth on Wednesday morning, routed the slaves and took back control of the nearby estates. The same morning the Rifle Corps of the Georgetown Militia dispersed a mass of rebels on the Elizabeth Hall plantation while Leahy defeated another group of slaves, 1,500 strong, on the Bachelor’s Adventure estate. It was the decisive engagement of the rebellion.

  Campbell, with responsibility for communications between Murray, the army, militia and local government, could so far claim at least semi-detachment from Leahy’s Fusiliers. He was fortunate to be able to put any distance between himself and what happened next. As the revolt passed its zenith, Leahy became the self-styled hammer of retribution, consumed by revenge. At Mr Hopkinson’s estate, he assembled his first kangaroo court. Leahy, Captain Croal of the militia and a couple of regular officers retired to the house to try a slave accused of being a rebel. ‘A few minutes sufficed, and they came bringing out the culprit, his hands bound behind him’, recalled militiaman John Cheveley.

  ‘Colonel Leahy, I must beg to intercede for this man’, protested Hopkinson. ‘I have always found him a most faithful servant, I cannot believe he is guilty, let me entreat you to give his case further consideration.’

  Leahy was unmoved. ‘Who are you, mister? Go back to mind your business, I am sent here to punish these fellows and by God, they shall receive their deserts!’

  The soldiers then tied the slave to a tree. Hopkinson tried once more. ‘Colonel Leahy, I will stake my life upon that man’s innocence, let me beg you sir not to be so precipitate. I entreat you to spare him till his case can be more fully investigated.’

  Leahy thundered:

  I’ll tell you what it is, sir, it’s of no use your talking to me. You’re acting from interested motives, and by God, if you talk to me any longer, I’ll put you under arms and send you down to the Governor! If you are afraid of losing your negroes, I am not coming up here to be humbugged by you, and have all this trouble for nothing. Let me alone to do my duty, and you may all sleep quiet in your beds for years to come, but if I am interfered with, you’ll all have your throats cut before you’re twelve months older!

  Then, turning to the soldiers, he cried ‘Shoot him.’ ‘Two balls in the breast, a minute’s struggle, and all was over’, recorded Cheveley.35

  Leahy executed twenty-three slaves on his own order.36 By Monday a general court martial had been arranged for those slaves already under lock and key in Georgetown. It was headed by militia officer and vendue master (slave auctioneer) Lieutenant-Colonel Goodman. The verdict was a foregone conclusion and at five o’clock the first two slaves were hanged.37 Thirty-three were executed in Georgetown. Quamina, shot dead by a local tribesman as he tried to escape, was chained in a gibbet and left to rot as a lesson to others.* The roads, parade ground and fort were soon decked with remains. ‘I returned in December’, wrote Cheveley:

  The first sight I saw on coming in to the River, was the Fort set round with twenty or thirty Negroes’ heads on poles, interspersed here and there with dead bodies hung in chains, and this was continued at intervals on most of the Estates up the Coast. Appropriate garniture to a Slave Colony.38

  Demerara had found its own heart of darkness.

  Where was Campbell while all this was going on? In Georgetown, keeping a low profile. Having witnessed his fair share of military disasters, he was well versed in making his deed
s in questionable enterprises as opaque as possible. Scarcely any mention of his role in the suppression of the revolt survives, yet he was one of the most senior officers in the colony. So far he had distanced himself from the worst excesses, but he could not avoid the limelight for long.

  Though dozens of slaves had been through the dock, the big trial in Demerara was that of the Reverend John Smith, who had been under arrest, along with his wife, since refusing to serve in the militia.* Proceedings opened in Georgetown on 13 October. ‘I have endeavoured to secure to him the advantage of the most cool and dispassionate investigation by forming a Court entirely of officers of the Army who having no interest in the country are without the bias of public opinion, which is at present violent against Mr Smith,’ Murray assured Lord Bathurst.39 In fact, the court included two local militia officers,** one of whom would preside. A further fourteen officers were to sit in judgement, including Captain Colin Campbell.

  Smith stood accused of spreading dissent among the slaves, inciting revolt and advising the rebel leaders before, during and after the rebellion. While the trials of the rebels had been over in minutes, Smith was in court until 24 November. The prosecution had the advantage of Smith’s own journal, revealing his private thoughts on the iniquities of slavery. A few locals were paraded to repeat snippets of hearsay and gossip, implying Smith was sympathetic to the rebels’ cause, while several slaves testified that they saw Quamina entering Smith’s house on Wednesday, after the revolt had broken out, although Smith claimed Quamina had said very little. A number of Smith’s congregation confirmed his sympathies, but there was no hard proof of his role as revolutionary mastermind.40