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The Performance of Freedom:
Maroons and the Colonial Order in Eighteenth-Century Jamaica and the Atlantic Sound
Kathleen Wilson
The native spirit of freedom, which distinguishes British subjects beyond most others, is not confined to the mother country; but discovers itself in the remotest parts of her empire, and chiefly in a resistance to acts of oppression, and such unwarrantable measures, as they know, or at least believe, have a certain tendency to abridge them of [their] rights.
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| Edward Long, 1774 |
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A set of men, who ... ever at war with an assailant stronger than themselves and well armed, never ceased fighting for the defence of their liberty ... such a set of men would never be subdued by open force.
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| Abbé Raynal, 1782 |
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Like other savages, the Maroons have only those senses perfect, which are kept in constant exercise.
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| Bryan Edwards, 17931 |
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IN 1764 Edward Long witnessed an extraordinary performance. It exuded all the drama and flair of any production at Drury Lane or Covent Garden, yet it took place in Montego Bay, near the cockpits and defiles of western Jamaica, and the performers were Leeward Maroons. They had been at peace with the British government since 1739 and along with the Windward Maroons had proven to be adept if not wholly reliable allies in official efforts to capture runaway slaves. But now, in honor of the annual visit of Governor Henry Lyttelton, the performers from the Maroon village of Trelawny Town showed off the physical and military prowess that had made the Maroons the dread of the British colonial state (Figure I). According to Long's description, after sounding an abeng, the horn of a cow used as a trumpet, the men
all joined in a most hideous yell, or war-hoop, and bounded into action. With amazing agility, they literally ran and rolled through their various firings and evolutions ... They fire stooping almost to the very ground; and no sooner is their piece discharged, than they throw themselves into a thousand antic gestures, and tumble over and over, so as to be continually shifting their place; the intention of which is, to elude the shot, as well as to deceive the aim of their adversaries ... When this part of their exercise was over, they drew their swords; and, winding their horn again, they began, in wild and warlike capers, to advance towards his excellency, endeavouring to throw as much savage fury into their looks as possible ... some ... waved their rusty blades over his head, then gently laid them upon it ... They next brought their muskets, and piled them up in heaps at his feet, which some of them desired to kiss, and were permitted.2
This remarkable scene enacted the threat and the privilege that worked to make the Jamaican Maroons so essential a part of the plantation complex on the island. But it also did much more: it recalled a historical victory, encapsulated different notions of time, space, and possession, and reminded spectators of the superior deployments of violence and peacemaking that made the Maroons formidable adversaries as well as loyal subjects. Though seeming to pledge their skills on behalf of the powers that be, the performance invited speculation about the consequences of the withdrawal of such consent. Finally, though tailored to the white gaze, the Maroon war dance exhibited hierarchies, inventions, and memories that were only partially legible to that gaze and that simultaneously marked difference, rather than sameness, as the grounds for Maroon inclusion as British subjects in the colonial community. |
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