“A WORLD EMBRACING SEA”: THE OCEANS AS HIGHWAY, 1604-1815

From the passing of the Elizabethan Age at the beginning of the seventeenth century to the end of the Napoleonic wars just after the end of the eighteenth century, European commerce began to flow along oceanic highways that were truly global in extent. It was a period of history that encompassed an enormous number of experiences, developments, and nationalities. Just in European terms alone, the “Oceans as Highways” embraced the Dutch, French, Spanish, Portuguese and English maritime experiences, as well as those of Sweden, Denmark, Russia, and the United States and a host of smaller nationalities, city-states, and principalities. It was an age characterized by what historians today refer to as “mercantilism,” in which maritime trade was dominated by a rapidly expanding volume of luxury and consumer commodities such as sugar, coffee, tobacco, fish, and grain. It was equally an age when oceanic highways permitted the rapid growth of the traffic in African slaves to the New World and when European powers struggled increasingly – not only on land but also on the sea itself – to control and use the wealth that traveled on these oceanic highways. To say something reasonably coherent about such a diversity of material within a brief chapter is a daunting challenge. Therefore, I will explore several themes within the narrower framework of the Newfoundland fishery, fisher society, and fish trade during the eighteenth century. Like so many other oceanic activities, this is one in which all aspects of oceanic commerce are manifest: oceans as highways; the struggle for control of the commerce on those highways; the national and ethnic diversity of the shipping, markets, and individuals engaged in oceanic commerce, and above all the strategies and considerations necessary to succeed in oceanic commerce – are manifest. Through this admittedly narrow window into the past, it is possible to explore the way in which the oceans functioned as highways for ships, people, and commodities during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Before the seventeenth century, Europeans had already developed significant maritime highways as they engaged in commerce within and beyond Europe. The Baltic, the Mediterranean, the English Channel and all along the Atlantic seaboard had all become busy with shipping and trade. During the sixteenth century, Europeans exploded beyond the confines of their homelands as they extended their reach to Africa, Asia, and the New World. By the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, trade was expanding along well-established routes across the Atlantic to North and South America, south to Africa, across the Indian Ocean to India, Southeast Asia and the Far East, and then back again on homeward voyages. A broad range of commodities flowed along these oceanic highways – sugar from the West Indies; tobacco from the Chesapeake; fish from Newfoundland; tea, silks, and porcelain from China; and spices from the East Indies. A great diversity of manufactured goods went to overseas destinations as well as thousands of migrants in search of new opportunities and new homes; and slaves were carried by the millions out of Africa to both the New and Old Worlds. The ships engaged in these trades were as diverse in size and appearance as the cargoes they carried, from large, well-manned ships of the British East India Company to the small fifty- or seventy-ton vessels employed in the fisheries. Nevertheless, for the most part they evolved very little after 1700, the major refinements having been worked out in the course of the seventeenth century – a mariner of 1700 would have had no difficulty working a ship of 1800. He might have observed that the prominent quarterdecks and fo’c’sles characteristic of ship profiles in the seventeenth century had gradually diminished, so that a great many vessels were flush- decked by the late eighteenth century. He would have noticed that the seventeenth-century tiller had given way to the wheel, and he might have realized that copper sheathing had begun to appear on the bottoms of ships that ventured into the tropics, particularly on those ships that specialized in the slave trade.    

Until well into the seventeenth century, most ships engaged in oceanic shipping were Dutch. By one calculation, the Dutch owned more tonnage than the rest of Atlantic Europe combined. This domination is typically explained with reference to the development of the fluit late in the sixteenth century, which gave the Dutch the ideal oceanic cargo-carrier – ships that, according to one observer, “measure little and stow much.”

It is, on the face of it, a reasonable argument; the fluit may not have been designed for speed, but it was ideally suited for the movement of bulk cargoes, where transportation costs were generally greater than the costs of production. Its small crew enabled the Dutch to earn more profit per ton of vessel than anyone else. Yet surely all this begs the question of what enabled the Dutch provinces to build so many ships. Clearly, innovations in shipping technology are not, in and of themselves, sufficient explanation to account for predominance on the oceanic highways.

Eventually, other nations acquires Dutch fluits or developed designs of their own that were patterned in part on the fluit.

By the middle of the seventeenth century, they were also introducing policies designed to liberate themselves from the Dutch stranglehold on shipping and commerce, policies to which historians later attached the word mercantilism. By the eighteenth century, both France and England relied far more on their own shipbuilding capabilities than on those of the Dutch who, in a relative sense at least, began to fade as the dominant maritime commercial power. Yet this, too, suggests that the key to understanding changing patterns of trade and domination at sea rests with our ability to recognize the significance of what was happening ashore.

Because this was an Age of Sail, shipping routes and even schedules were determined in considerable measure by factors over which ships had little control, but to which they had instead to adapt, such as oceanic currents or prevailing patterns of winds. Europeans had learned by experience that in order to cross the Atlantic as expeditiously as possible, the best route did not necessarily follow the shortest line on the chart. Indeed, the winds that blew from Europe to the West Indies and the northern coast of South America did so with such predictability that maritime trade could depend on these winds for a reliable and reasonably predictable passage – hence the name trade winds . The course followed by a merchantman making its way from the West Indies to Europe took it north to the latitude of Bermuda, then northeast until it reached the great fishing banks south of Newfoundland, where the ship would catch the westerlies for the Atlantic crossing. For a merchantman making its way from Europe to North America, however, the westerlies were a costly inconvenience that required tacking and wearing on a zig- zag course for several weeks. Consider, for instance, the seventy-ton Christian which departed Leith in Scotland in June 1726 on a voyage to Newfoundland with a load of biscuit; the passage across the Atlantic to St. John’s took six weeks, roughly twice the time taken by English West Country ships that made the crossing earlier in the season, before the prevailing westerlies of summer could hinder their crossing.

In 1746, also in the month of June, a naval expedition that made its way from France to Nova Scotia followed a course that was longer in distance than the Christian’s route. However, by sailing south from its home ports before venturing across the Atlantic, the expedition attempted to catch the trade winds so that the sail-handling skills of its inexperienced crews would not be overly challenged.

Winds were not, however, the only consideration in selecting a course on the oceanic highways of the day. There were also ocean currents such as the Gulf Stream. While their precise nature was not then fully understood, their effect on the movement of ships on the oceanic highways was known to all, and ships either avoided a course that would oblige them to sail against the current or chose one that enable them to pick up additional speed by sailing with the current. The capabilities of the ship itself also mattered – its ability to sail well into the wind, carry cargo, and be worked by an economically sized crew. The anticipated length of the voyage was also a consideration.

By reason of the roundabout routes that the oceanic highways followed, as well as for very sensible reasons relating to the constant search to maximize the profits of a voyage, ships and vessels engaged in Atlantic trades developed distinct three-point voyages that gave rise to the idea of “triangle trades.” The term us a simplification of the way in which ships found it more profitable to add legs to their voyage pattern. For instance, a ship might carry a cargo of wines and fabrics from France to the West Indies, then transport rum and molasses – and perhaps a reserved portion of the wine and fabrics – to Louisbourg or Canada before returning back to France with furs, fish, or timber. Conversely, a ship might carry manufactured goods and wines from France to Canada, and then pick up a cargo of fish and wood and deliver it to the West Indies before returning to France with sugar. Ideally, each leg of the voyage should make a profit. With three legs per year, a ship would generate more profit than a vessel engaged in a bilateral trading pattern. It was this kind of logic that inspired the Scottish merchants who chartered the Christian of Leith to venture into the Newfoundland trade in 1726. They already had some experience exporting Scottish fish to pay for the Iberian wines they imported. The idea of selling Scottish biscuit in Newfoundland in exchange for fish that could then be carried to Spain and exchanged for cork and wine seemed a reasonable and profitable extension of their trade.

The notion that many ships followed a three-point pattern over the course of a year can be something of an oversimplification. For instance, in the Newfoundland trade, the vessels that carried men from England to the fishery were not necessarily the same vessels that carried the fish from New- foundland to southern Europe. By the late sixteenth century, vessels that played no role in the process of catching or curing fish, but instead did nothing more than move cargoes of fish to market had made their appearance.

Moreover, a merchant-venturer engaged in the Newfoundland trade did not necessarily confine his activity to fish. Rather, he might invest in several commodities, so that his ship might carry several cargoes to various destinations before it made its way back to its point of origin in Europe. For instance, a ship arriving in Spain with a cargo of Newfoundland fish might take on a mixed cargo of Iberian fruit, wines, ironwork, and silks to be sent to America and exchanged for a cargo that might take the ship back to Newfoundland, or that might take it on to the West Indies before heading home. The term “triangle trade” should not, therefore, suggest that the precise movement of a given ship in a particular commodity trade can be predicted. Nevertheless, there is some validity to the term, for it accurately describes the principal directions in which investment capital in the form of shipping and cargoes moved.

One advantage of such a shipping pattern is that it put a ship to profitable use practically the entire year round. The drawback was that a triangular voyage pattern also took more time than a bilateral one, with the result that oceanic trades was constantly dominated by deadlines that must have contributed significantly to the anxiety of the merchant-venturer. Failure to meet those deadlines could defeat the voyage, perhaps even discourage investors from venturing further onto the oceanic highways. This, too, can be demonstrated with reference to the voyage of the Christian in 1726, although it must be understood that the same concerns existed in most trades. The Christian was fitted out in May and departed in June. It should have made Newfoundland in July but arrived instead in August, by which time the purchase price of fish had been set at a higher level than would had been the case with an earlier arrival.

The ship acquired its cargo of fish quickly enough to make its departure for Spain in September, but it was a slow sailer, so that by the time it reached Barcelona, the demand for its fish had already been satisfied by those who arrived before. This made it difficult to dispose of Christian’s cargo, and therefore imposed additional delays on the ship. By the time a return cargo of wine had been secured, the season was so advanced that the prevailing Mediterranean winds now blew contrary, denying the crew an easy return voyage to Gibraltar. Just as Christian arrived there, longstanding tensions between Spain and England caused hostilities to break out; the Christian and all other shipping at Gibraltar were forced to wait nearly a month before a convoy could be arranged for their safety. More than a year passed between the Christian’s departure from Leith and its return home. Whether the voyage earned a profit at all is moot; there is certainly no evidence that the merchants who chartered the Christian ever tried to invest in the Newfoundland trade again.

There may have been a pronounced rhythm to many of the commodity trades that employed the oceanic highways, but none could be described as a simple business.

Given their duration, oceanic voyages could present a ship with many risks and hazards, so that those who ventured forth onto the oceanic highways were understandably preoccupied with finding ways to reduce risks. In 1604, the Hopewell of London took out insurance against the following hazards of the Newfoundland trade: “the seas men of warre, Fire, enemies, Pirates, Robers, Theeves, Jettesons, Letters of Mark and counter Mark, Arrestes, Restraintes, and detaynements ...barratrye of the Master and Marriners of all other perilles, losses and misfortunes whatsoever they be.”

The nature of most trades generally, and the gaps in the communication between the owner and the master of merchantman in particular, meant that the master had to be given considerable freedom to exercise independent judgement. Trust was, therefore, an essential ingredient in the working relationship between shipmaster and merchant in oceanic trades. Many merchants encouraged younger members of the family to serve as shipmasters, in part to assure themselves of a reliable servant, in part to apprentice a possible heir in the business. A particularly successful shipmaster might be invited into a partnership role, a relationship that might then be further cemented by a carefully arranged marriage into the family.

In France, for instance, an important business practice was la société familiale. This refers to the intricate network of shared investment and vessel ownership by which family connections were used to secure French businesses against the many risks of eighteenth-century commerce.

Under this arrangement, all members of a family would contribute their personal capital into a common family fund for purposes of owning, outfitting, and crewing several vessels and ships. Business capital and family fortunes blended and became indistinguishable. The family, in effect, became a joint shareholding venture, with the profits of the voyages distributed among the members of the family according to the amount each had contributed. In this way, the security of share ownership and business partnership was cemented by blood-ties and kinship. The participants in this kind of family-business might relocate in several seaports, and specialize in different activities, all to ensure the well-being of a family involvement in oceanic commerce.

An excellent example of the way family and kinship were used to secure investment in oceanic commerce is provided by the brothers Chenu of Saint-Malo during the first half of the eighteenth century: Claude Chenu, Sieur Boismory (ca. 1678-17?); Pierre Chenu, Sieur Dubourg (ca. 1683-1769); Jacques Chenu, Sieur Duchenôt (ca. 1687-1758); and Louis Chenu, Sieur Duclos (ca. 1694-1774). A fifth Chenu, Jerôme, Sieur Dupré (ca. 1698-17?) may have been a cousin.

The Chenus did not belong to the top rank of Saint-Malo’s négociants ; they lacked the wealth, the diversity of commercial activity, and the international associations that were definitive characteristics of the great merchants.

Rather, their business dealings were limited to the French North American cod fishery and its related activities
outfitting, ship owning, and trade. As young men, they all served as captains of fishing or trading vessels that they either owned themselves or that were owned by a brother. This in itself was fairly typical of all levels of merchants engaged in overseas commerce, though Louis Chenu appears to have been content to remain a captain-owner throughout his later years, even as his brothers were establishing themselves as merchants of Saint-Malo or its suburb Saint Servan. Claude Chenu was the most mobile of the four; at various times he was identified as a resident of Granville, Saint-Malo, and La Rochelle, although he always maintained both the business and personal sides of his relationship with his brothers. Together the Chenus maintained fishing stations, owned vessels, sometimes as individuals but usually in partnership with one another, and participated in the truck trade at Île Royale (as Cape Breton Island was known to the French). Their sons provided them with a large labour pool from which were drawn the captains and junior officers of the Chenu vessels, and the next generation of merchants. In short, they were a fairly typical example of a phenomenon visible within both the French and the West Country English Newfoundland fisheries: a family trying to emerge out of the ranks of ship masters and become merchants, shipowners, and outfitters determined to emulate those in their community who, through their own success, had demonstrated that it was possible to rise from equally modest means to the highest ranks of Malouin commercial society.

The reduction of risks and the safeguarding of investment in oceanic commerce were enhanced by factors and methods other than the bond of family – religion for instance. Throughout the world of European oceanic trade, examples abound in which religious fellowship combined with family ties cemented through marriage to create powerful business alliances – for instance, the Huguenots of seventeenth-century La Rochelle or eighteenth-century Carolina, or the Quakers of eighteenth-century Newfoundland.

The element of trust, on which commercial credit depended so absolutely, was thus ensured in many informal ways. Yet trust only went so far. Good old-fashioned influence was an essential ingredient in securing one’s investments on the oceanic highways of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Alan Pearsall has recently demonstrated the way in which the Russia Company pressed the Admiralty for warships to escort and protect their trade with Archangel during the War of the Spanish Succession.

Merchants of the English West Country who engaged in the Newfoundland trade used their positions as mayors and aldermen of their communities to petition London for measures to protect their commercial interests. Of course, it can be difficult to determine precisely how effective such pressure actually was. Historians often assume that lobbying by the Newfoundland fishing interests was effective because the policies adopted by government seemed to match the policies desired by the trade. Yet government perceptions and priorities could differ significantly from those of the fishing interests, making it necessary for the merchants to word their petitions in such a way that their real objectives were disguised in order to assure themselves of a favorable response from government. Thus, the view that the Newfoundland fishery was a “nursery for seamen” has been challenged on the grounds that the fishery provided the navy with relatively few mariners, and that its image as a “nursery” was an illusion maintained by the merchants to
justify their resistance to government regulation of their industry.

Nevertheless, there is little doubt that one of the most striking developments in oceanic trade during this period is the degree to which government legal, diplomatic, and military measures shaped mercantile opportunities. This was made abundantly clear at a recent conference session on the theme “merchant organization and maritime trade in the North Atlantic, 1660-1815.” Several historians explored a diversity of examples, including government-encouraged penetration of trade with Iceland by British merchants during the Anglo-Danish war of 1807-1814, the success of local merchants in wresting control over commerce in the Spanish port of Bilbao from foreign merchants in the late 1600s, and the sudden opportunity presented the Act of Union of 1707 for Scottish merchants to break into British Atlantic trades that had been previously denied them by virtue of mercantilistic restrictions.

What is also striking throughout this period is the degree to which oceanic trade in the Atlantic, as opposed to the commerce with the Far East, the East Indies, Africa and even the West Indies, did not depend on large- scale, corporate organization. There was no equivalent in the Atlantic trades to great merchant companies like the British, French, and Dutch East India Companies, the Royal African Company, or the Hudson’s Bay Company. Was this because the state was better able to provide the measure of security that
companies had to provide themselves in more remote or disputed waters? It is clear that more work is needed before the full complexity of the “oceanic highways” can be understood.

To conclude, there were many considerations that shaped behaviour on those highways – risk, trust, access to reliable information, and an understanding of the nature and the limitations of government regulation, to name but a few. One thing is evident. Effective analysis of the use to which the oceanic highways were put during this period requires that we understand more than just the obvious needs of maritime commerce – a ship, a cargo, and a crew. What takes place on land has as much a bearing on maritime history as what takes place at sea. To put it in other words, while it is undeniable that the oceans served as profoundly important highways during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, an understanding of the land-sea relationship is vital to our attempts to comprehend the nature of the oceanic highways.