So while, in his choice of a wife, Milbourne Marsh was evidently willing to profit from slave-ownership, he also took daily, comradely contact across racial lines for granted. Whether he also knowingly crossed racial lines in marrying Elizabeth Evans, and whether this contributed to the Marsh family’s subsequent documentary reticence about this woman, will probably never be known. Biography, it has been said, is like a net that catches and brings to the surface an individual life. But a net is only a set of holes tied together by string, so some things slip through. There are always life-parts, and body-parts, that get lost, and the birth identity of Elizabeth Marsh’s mother is one of these.35 As far as she herself is concerned, attempting to establish her precise ethnic origins may be more than usually inappropriate. In 1733, Jamaica’s governing assembly passed a law stipulating that ‘no one shall be deemed a mulatto after the third generation … but … shall have all the privileges and immunities of His Majesty’s white subjects of this island provided they are brought up in the Christian religion’, a belated recognition of the extent of miscegenation, and of its muddled human consequences.36
So, even if she was mixed race in terms of her origins, the one-time Elizabeth Bouchier may have seen herself, even before her two marriages, as a person undergoing change and flux, beyond easy categorization. ‘The fiction of the census’, Benedict Anderson has written of present-day attempts to fix a person’s identity, ‘is that everyone is in it, and that everyone has one – and only one – extremely clear place. No fractions.’37 Elizabeth Marsh, brand-new wife of Milbourne Marsh, may have been a person of fractions. For a variety of reasons, her daughter, another Elizabeth Marsh, also seems at times to have viewed herself in these terms; and in her case, the fact that one of these fractions may have been linked in some manner with slavery will need at intervals to be borne in mind.
In 1735, Milbourne Marsh, his new bride and their unborn child had first to survive. Jamaica’s parish registers suggest that a quarter to a third of white children born on the island at this time perished before their first birthday. James and Elizabeth Evans appear themselves to have buried a child in Port Royal in 1730, a daughter who can have been at most barely one year old. But Jamaican parish documents severely understated the volume of infant mortality. Vicars charged money to register baptisms, and parents often held off from making the monetary and emotional investment until a child had survived for several months. Many died earlier than this, and were buried unchristened and unrecorded. Among the children of black slaves, death in the early weeks and months of life was common, and on some plantations may have been the norm. Even if a child survived until its third decade, it was unlikely that both parents would see it do so. Jamaican marriages lasted on average less than nine years before being broken by the death of one or both partners. For a child to reach full maturity, and for its mother and father still to be around to witness this, was exceptional even among the very wealthy.38 What prospects then – for all his newly acquired property – could there be for Milbourne Marsh, a working sailor at risk from the sea as well as from Jamaica? And what prospects could there be for his new wife, Elizabeth, who had already lost a child?
Their private fears of death, which determined so much on Jamaica, were sharpened by mounting racial unrest. Running away and forming armed communities in the island’s rugged mountains was one of the oldest forms of slave resistance. By the early 1730s, these maroons – as the runaways were termed – had become so numerous, and sufficiently organized, for its continuance as a colony to seem at risk. Jamaica was some thousand miles distant from Britain’s other Caribbean islands, but dangerously close to Spanish Cuba and French St Domingue. This was one reason why the Kingston and the Rupert, and by 1735 nineteen other Royal Navy warships, were patrolling the Caribbean. But the navy exercised limited power over Jamaica’s interior, and – as was nearly always the case – the number of British soldiers available was painfully small. The island’s governing assembly and plantocracy had therefore dual reasons for alarm. ‘The terror of them spreads itself every where,’ Jamaica’s Governor, Council and Assembly reported to London of the maroons in February 1734. Their military successes had exerted ‘such influence on our other slaves, that they are continually deserting’. ‘Hopes of freedom’ were even shaking ‘the fidelity of our most trusty slaves’.39 If this level of slave flight were to persist, and if slave anger mutated into large-scale violent resistance, the sugar industry might falter and white settlers might be tempted to abandon the island. In that event, the French or the Spanish, or both, might invade.
Milbourne Marsh experienced some of the consequences of growing panic among Jamaica’s whites at first hand. Several of his former shipmates on the Kingston and the Deal Castle were swept into fighting the maroons on shore, and on 10 October 1734 John Cudjoe was taken off the Rupert at his owner’s request. Slave escapes had reached such levels by now that Cudjoe’s owner may have wanted him under her surveillance, or she may simply have been desperate for his labour. The fact that Milbourne’s former servant shared his Akan surname, which means ‘male born on Monday’, with one of the most prominent maroon chieftains, Cudjoe, who would force the British to a treaty in 1739, may also have provoked superstitious unease and hostility aboard the Rupert itself.40 During this same month, October 1734, martial law was declared on Jamaica. Six hundred additional men were raised from its parishes to serve as militia, and London shipped out six new military companies to aid them. By now, Milbourne was closely involved with Elizabeth Evans. Their marriage that December, the certainty by February 1735 that a child was on the way, and mounting fears among Jamaica’s whites that ‘We cannot say we are sure of a other day,’ made them determined to get out.41
Milbourne Marsh acted with his customary efficiency. On 7 March the Kingston arrived at Port Royal and began lengthy preparations for its voyage back to England. By 10 March, Milbourne had signed on again with his old ship, where he retained friends and patrons. He seems to have sold, or given over his rights in, the drink shop at Port Royal and the wherry to a naval official there. It is possible, though not proven, that he sold the slaves, Palla, Cresia, Silvia, Gosport and the rest, to the Royal Navy, which employed both male and female slaves in its Jamaican dockyards. This indeed may have been how he funded his new wife’s passage to England.42 Certainly, her escape from the island was aided by Milbourne’s own specialized skills. On paper, Royal Navy warships were exclusively masculine spaces, but women who posed no obvious sexual temptation were sometimes permitted to sail on them, especially if their responsible male possessed leverage of some kind. When the Kingston left Jamaica that June, Elizabeth Marsh senior was six months pregnant, and she was the wife of one of the ship’s most indispensable craftsmen. Twice married to a mariner, she also understood what was expected of her. She seems to have made private arrangements for her food with the Kingston’s purser so as to keep clear of the ship’s formal accounting system, and she would probably have spent the days of the voyage resting her growing bulk on the orlop deck, the quietest, darkest and most secluded space aboard.43 It was on 20 August 1735 that they sailed into Portsmouth harbour, barely a month before the birth of their daughter.
Such time as this new Elizabeth Marsh spent on dry land during her first nineteen years was mainly lived here, at Portsmouth. The family found lodgings in the New Buildings, a recent development of austere workingmen’s houses in what was then the northern end of Portsea Island. It was only a short walk from here to St Thomas, the medieval church on Portsmouth’s High Street where Elizabeth Marsh was christened on 3 October 1735.44
The New Buildings