From the Folks Who Brought You the Weekend: An Illustrated History of Labor in the United States

Also by Priscilla Murolo

The Common Ground of Womanhood

Also by Joe Sacco

War Junkie

Safe Area Goražde

Palestine

Text © 2018 by Priscilla Murolo and A.B. Chitty. Art © 2018 by Joe Sacco

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Excerpt from Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?, words by E.Y. Yip Harburg, music by Jay Gorney, copyright © 1928 (renewed 1955) by Harms, Inc. U.S. rights controlled by Gorney Music and Glocca Morra Music. Reprinted by permission Akerman, LLP.

Published in the United States by The New Press, New York, 2018

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ISBN 978-1-62097-449-0 (e-book)

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Contents

List of Illustrations

Preface to the Revised Edition

Foreword and Acknowledgments from the First Edition

1LABOR IN COLONIAL AMERICA: THE BOUND AND THE FREE

2THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

3SLAVERY AND FREEDOM IN THE NEW REPUBLIC

4CIVIL WAR AND RECONSTRUCTION

5LABOR VERSUS MONOPOLY IN THE GILDED AGE

6LABOR AND EMPIRE

7AMERICA, INC.

8LABOR ON THE MARCH

9HOT WAR, COLD WAR

10THE SIXTIES

11HARD TIMES

12ONE STEP FORWARD, TWO STEPS BACK

13WORKERS OF THE WORLD

14RISING TIDE

15TIPPING POINTS

List of Abbreviations

Notes and Selected Bibliographies

Index

List of Illustrations

THE BOSTON MASSACRE

PRE–INDUSTRIAL ERA WORKERS

SLAVE AND WORKER

MOTHER JONES AND THE MINERS

INDUSTRIAL ERA WORKERS

THE FLINT SIT-DOWN STRIKE

MIGRANT LABOR’S HEROINE

POST–INDUSTRIAL ERA WORKERS

THE LAST GASP?

Preface to the Revised Edition

When this book’s first edition went to press in 2001, the United States was not officially at war, both the Democratic and Republican parties favored reforms that would make the country more welcoming to immigrants, and most of the American labor movement agreed with John Sweeney’s declaration a few years earlier that We don’t need any new programs. We just need to do what we’ve been doing even better.¹ Today, a seemingly endless War on Terror has U.S. troops on the move or on alert around the globe, xenophobia has become a core element in national politics, and labor activists of every stripe are experimenting with new programs. For all of these reasons, it seemed time to add fresh chapters to From the Folks Who Brought You the Weekend.

In addition, we felt keenly the need to update the old chapters, not only to correct mistakes and introduce newly discovered information but also to add citations, which would require a lot of research in historical documents. In the revised edition, every chapter is accompanied by notes that identify the origins of direct quotations and by a bibliography of our main secondary sources. We hope this will make the book a more effective springboard for readers who wish to do their own research on the topics we cover. After adding these bibliographies, we decided to dispense with the lengthy list of suggested readings included in the first edition. Today, the list would be twice as long and mostly redundant since the Internet makes it easy to track down good reading on labor history.

With regard to themes, the biggest difference between this edition of From the Folks and its predecessor is that we now look more closely at U.S. labor history’s international dimensions. Both corporations and labor movements are today global affairs. This is hardly a brand-new development, but in the late 1990s, when our research for the book began, it was new enough that we did not fully recognize its significance. This time around, we’ve tried to rectify that weakness by devoting an entire chapter to globalization and by making global history a more prominent element in other chapters.

We owe some new acknowledgments. Thanks to Marc Favreau, our editor at The New Press, for giving From the Folks a second life. Thanks to Sarah Scheffel for exceptionally astute copyediting, to Terry Buck for meticulous proofreading, and to Emily Albarillo for expertly shepherding the book to publication. Thanks to Pauline Watts and Sarah Lawrence College for the Get It Done Award that gave Priscilla time to work on the book. Thanks also to Priscilla’s graduate students and colleagues in the Union Leadership and Activism program at the University of Massachusetts; the experience and insight they have so generously shared have made a profound impact on our thinking about labor issues both present and past. We are incalculably grateful to Amanda Kozar for tracking down obscure sources, proofreading the manuscript, making sure the documentation is in good order, and steering us away from diction that would not register with readers considerably younger than ourselves. Cheers as well to Nick Thompson, who helped us review galley proofs before they went to press. For inspiration galore and numerous challenges to our old-fashioned assumptions, we are indebted to our family: our sons Tony and Max Schultz, our daughter-in-law Nicole Daro, and our grandchildren Sadie and Manny Daro Schultz, whose first sentences included Union busting is disgusting.

All three of the people to whom we dedicate the book—David Montgomery, Martel Montgomery, Meridith Helton—are now gone from this world. We think of them every day and hope our work will honor their memory.

Yonkers, New York

April 2018

Foreword and Acknowledgments from the First Edition

Why this book now? For two reasons, mainly. When we started this project in 1998, no comprehensive survey of U.S. labor history for the general reader had appeared for more than a decade. Recent scholarship had added new dimensions and many details to the story of working people in America. It was past time to compile these insights into a new general history.

Also, the labor movement itself had changed—most dramatically in the 1995 election of the New Voice slate to the leadership of the American Federation of Labor-Congress of Industrial Organizations. This change reflected a belated recognition that the labor-government-management accord achieved after the Second World War had already been scuttled by both corporations and government, that without reorientation to new economic and political realities unions and the federation itself could become as irrelevant as any boss or banker might wish, and just wither away. Compared to the men they succeeded, the new generation of leaders had different ideas about the role of organized labor in society. These ideas are not new: they are revivals and developments of labor traditions that had long been subordinated to the demands of the scuttled accord of the Cold War era. It was a good time to look again at these traditions.

As we began drafting the story, a third reason appeared and became clearer as we continued. Even a casual look at American history reveals how much of what we learn and teach in school is just not true. Sometimes these misreadings are errors of fact—the extent of the U.S. war in the Philippines at the turn of the last century is one example. More often they are errors of omission—the African American role in the Civil War, for example. Mostly they concern perspective: looking at historical events from the bottom up alters our understanding of historical agency and causation. Adopting the perspective of people organizing to achieve common goals gives an account of historical events that is truer, and surely more useful.

Compared to conventional labor history, we tried mainly to be more inclusive in terms of workers and working peoples’ movements, and to incorporate as much recent research, historiography, and events as we could. Almost none of the material comes from our own research. We found an abundance of materials—in fact, too much. To keep the narrative from expanding beyond our publisher’s mandate, or our control, we had to exclude more than we could include at every turn. There are some interesting books we did not write. We did not write a comprehensive account of trade unions, their internal affairs, or their complicated relationships with one another in and out of federations. We did not write a history of work, nor a history of labor and capital. We did not write a history of labor politics. These would be good and useful books. We also tried to keep from straying too far into major reinterpretations of American history, perhaps with mixed results. That would be a great book too, but beyond our ambition, and probably our competence.

Besides, for us the significance of the past is found in the present, and the present moment is full of rapid changes, even surprises. We are hopeful for the future, but certain of very little. We do know that in the past people have always found a way to struggle to make life better for themselves and their posterity. We know their struggles have generally been effective in proportion to the range and depth of the solidarity of their movements. We know the incessant and implacable adversary is privilege, legitimated by law, custom, and popular ideology, which never yields without challenge, to which democracy is anathema. We side with democracy. We write for the people who work too hard for too little, whose families and communities are hostage to the greed and arrogance of the same privilege that deforms our humanity and threatens our common welfare. We write for the people who can change history.

Our debts to historians and activists are too numerous to list. Our publisher, André Schiffrin and The New Press, and our editors, first Matt Weiland, then Marc Favreau, encouraged our work. Copyediting by David Allen helped to reconcile inconsistencies and force clarification. A Flik grant from Sarah Lawrence College gave Priscilla some money for travel. Feedback from students in labor history courses at Sarah Lawrence, the Midwest Summer School for Women Workers, and summer workshops sponsored by Hospital and Health Care Workers District 1199 in Ohio, West Virginia, and Kentucky sharpened the analysis and the narrative. Friends and comrades like Kim Scipes, David Cline, and Gideon Rosenbluth helped us at particular points. Without the intellectual, emotional, and logistical support of Mary Reynolds, associate director of the Graduate Program in Women’s History at Sarah Lawrence College, this book most likely would never have appeared.

We dedicate this book to three people. David Montgomery has been our personal intellectual guide to American labor history. His life and work combine the long view with mastery of historical detail and with activism to a degree all too rare in the profession of history. Martel Montgomery, David’s wife, has been our good friend, steadfast and practical in seeing the possibility of change for the better, constant in her conviction that the principles by which we work for social justice apply with equal force to our everyday lives. Finally, our student and friend Meridith Helton learned labor history and then lived it, long enough at least to realize a personal dream working for the union victory at the Fieldcrest Cannon mills in North Carolina. She died too suddenly and too soon, leaving us with an indelible and fiery memory of beauty, youth, and energy, love of music, adventure, and life, and passion for justice. She and her generation carry our hopes and quiet our fears. They have already started making our history.

Yonkers, New York

January 2001

1

Labor in Colonial America: The Bound and the Free

The New World looked much like paradise to European voyagers in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Christopher Columbus’s first expedition (1492–93) took him to the Bahamas, Cuba, and Hispaniola, the island now shared by Haiti and the Dominican Republic. Claiming all of them as colonies for Spain’s king Ferdinand and queen Isabella, Columbus described these islands as modern-day Edens in his report to the crown. He found Hispaniola especially breathtaking: In that island . . . there are mountains of very great size and beauty, vast plains, groves, and very fruitful fields, admirably adopted for tillage, pasture, and habitation. The convenience and excellence of the harbors in this island, and the abundance of rivers, so indispensable to the health of man, surpass anything that would be believed by one who had not seen it . . . and moreover it abounds in various kinds of spices, gold, and other metals. The island’s inhabitants seemed exceedingly liberal with all that they have; none of them refusing any thing he may possess when he is asked for it, but on the contrary inviting us to ask them.¹

Such impressions were not confined to the balmy Caribbean. In the 1580s, Englishmen hoping to colonize the rougher shores of today’s North Carolina thought they had found an Eden on Roanoke Island. There, wrote Arthur Barlowe, The earth bringeth forth all things in abundance, as in the first creation, without toil or labor.² Thomas Harriot forecast a happy relationship with Roanoke’s natives, whose desire for friendship & love seemed certain to imbue them with respect for pleasing and obeying us.³ These were stock images in the earliest reports from European colonists in the Americas.

Many also told of astonishingly rich mineral deposits, which caught Europe’s attention above all else. These rumors began with Columbus, who announced at the end of his first voyage that the islands he had claimed would supply Ferdinand and Isabella with as much gold as they need.⁴ The islanders would presumably be happy to serve it up. In fact, Caribbean gold deposits fell far below Columbus’s estimates, and only brutal force could make mine slaves out of the region’s natives, a collection of tribes known in retrospect as the Arawaks. The islands he likened to paradise in 1492 soon became hellholes where Spain enforced its rule with troops, heavy armaments, and attack dogs as the Arawaks were literally worked to death harvesting gold. The same befell Puerto Rico, Jamaica, and other islands that came under Spanish control in later years. By the 1530s, the Caribbean’s goldfields had been stripped bare; the Arawak population had dwindled from about 10 million to a few thousand at best; and a new cycle of misery had begun as colonists turned from mining to cultivating sugarcane using captive laborers from Africa as well as the Americas.

Dreams of mineral wealth in the New World remained alive and well thanks to Spain’s conquests of the Aztec empire in Mexico (1519–21) and the Inca empire in Peru (1532), both exceptionally rich in gold and silver. For decades to come, colonists throughout the Americas would dig for ore before getting down to the more mundane business of farming. Over the long haul, however, agriculture—the production of cash crops for European markets—proved more lucrative than mining; and so did the commerce in slaves, who raised the lion’s share of colonial crops.

These developments vindicated Columbus’s first impressions of the New World in one respect. Though the soil did not teem with gold and the people would not volunteer for servitude, the profits Europe extracted from American enterprises fully met his expectations. Many nations partook of the wealth: Portugal, England, France, and Holland joined Spain as major colonial and slave-trading powers, and their proceeds fueled economic growth throughout Europe.

Commerce across the Atlantic was not an entirely new phenomenon. Pre-Columbian journeys both to and from the Americas may have been numerous to judge from fragmentary evidence such as Roman coins found in the Americas, Inuit harpoon heads unearthed in Ireland and Scotland, and ancient Mayan sculptures that bear faces with African features. The Norse voyages described in Icelandic sagas are confirmed by archeological evidence of a short-lived settlement in Newfoundland in the early eleventh century, and timber from the region was shipped to Greenland for another 300 years. Columbus himself found evidence of commerce between Africans and Americans: Arawaks sometimes used spearpoints made from guanine, an alloy of gold, silver, and copper developed and used in West Africa, where it was also called guanine. The Arawaks said the alloy had come from dark-skinned traders. Columbus’s son Ferdinand reported that his father met people almost black in color in what is now eastern Honduras; the Balboa expedition to Panama reportedly encountered a tribe of Ethiopians.⁵

While transatlantic travel and trade predated Columbus, colonial ventures were something new. Unlike their predecessors, the voyagers of 1492 and after came from societies that had developed military technology to unprecedented levels during the Christian Crusades to seize the Holy Land from Muslims in the eleventh through thirteenth centuries. The new tools of war went hand in hand with the certainty of entitlement to any and all lands inhabited by non-Christians. And just as merchants had bankrolled the Crusades in return for trade monopolies, the men who pioneered Europe’s colonization of the New World combined Christian piety with a keen eye for business opportunities.

Exploiting the colonies was never a simple matter, however. European monarchs gave giant tracts of American land to favorite courtiers, explorers, military men, and merchants, but land by itself could not make the recipients rich. It seldom contained precious metals; when it did, someone had to mine the ore. Contrary to Europeans’ first impressions, moreover, the soil would not feed people without cultivation, let alone yield cash crops. To make a colony pay, its proprietors had to acquire and control a labor force.

Though colonial labor systems differed from place to place and changed over time, bondage was invariably their linchpin. Slaves, indentured servants, and other captives vastly outnumbered wageworkers, and the latter enjoyed few civil liberties beyond the enviable right to quit an unbearable job. For free laborers as well as the unfree, subordination was the central fact of life. Yet both groups repeatedly challenged their masters’ authority. The things they endured and the ways they resisted form the core themes of colonial labor history in territories that are now part of the United States.

Legacies of Conquest

Spaniards were the first to colonize land that would be incorporated into the United States. They explored Florida in the early 1500s, hunting for gold and for Indian captives to work in Caribbean gold mines. By 1565, when Spain claimed Florida as a colony, Spanish expeditions had also explored much of what is today the southwestern United States and had established outposts as far north as Virginia and Kansas. By the mid-1700s, the Spanish frontier in North America was confined to southern latitudes but stretched all the way from Florida to California. Free laborers—Spaniards, Native Americans, Africans, and many people of mixed ancestry—were part of the workforce on this frontier. They included artisans, domestic servants, cotton sharecroppers, and herders on cattle and sheep ranches. Native American servitude was the mainstay of Spanish colonies, however, and fairly common in the sections of North America controlled by England and France.

In the late 1500s, the Spanish crown forbade the outright enslavement of indigenous people, but other forms of Native bondage remained legal, and slavery was often practiced despite the law. From Florida to California, Spain’s North American colonies were dotted with missions established by Franciscan friars working to convert Indians to Christianity. This project proceeded on an especially large scale in the colony of New Mexico, established in 1598. By 1629, there were fifty Franciscan missions in the colony, and a reported 86,000 Pueblo Indians had been baptized. The majority of the converts lived in the mission settlements, where men, women, and children spent most of their waking hours at labor under the friars’ supervision. Mainly, they raised crops and livestock, not only feeding the settlement but also producing surpluses that the friars marketed for consumption in America or for shipment to Spain. Mission industries expanded as time went on and grew especially large in California. By the early 1800s, the products included butter, tallow, hides and chamois leather, maize, wheat, wine, brandy, vegetable oils, and textiles. While Spanish law did not define mission Indians as slaves, neither were they free to come and go as they wished. Floggings awaited those who failed to do their assigned work, missed the compulsory religious services, or otherwise broke the friars’ rules. Soldiers guarded the missions not only to keep rebellious Indians out but also to keep the converts in.

Still, many Indians preferred mission life to their treatment under secular Spanish rule. In New Mexico, colonists regularly violated the law by sending Navajo and Apache captives into slavery in Mexico’s mines. Outside the missions, Pueblo peoples labored under the encomienda system in which recipients of royal land grants collected tribute from the land’s inhabitants. Under this system, the Pueblos produced maize, cotton blankets, and hides for export to Mexico or Spain. Tribute in the form of forced labor was prohibited by the crown, but encomenderos habitually ignored that rule.

In both New Mexico and Florida, colonists also foisted repartimiento and rescate on native peoples. The system of repartimiento de indios drafted Indians for labor on public works projects—unloading ships, transporting supplies, and building and repairing roads, bridges, and fortifications. By law, the draftees served for limited terms, labored only on public projects, and received fair compensation. In practice, colonial officials often extended service beyond the legal term, dispensed with wages, and compelled repartimiento workers to labor for private businesses and households. Rescate was practiced in all Spanish colonies: Indians taken captive by other Indians were ransomed and bound over for domestic service in colonists’ households. Technically these indios de depósito were not slaves, and did not pass their condition to their children. But they could be bought and sold, and some were sold into outright slavery in Mexico.

In New Mexico unbaptized Indians—especially women and children—were often seized and sold as domestic slaves in violation of the law. Officials tolerated the practice on the theory that it civilized the slaves; but like all forms of slavery, this one was more likely to barbarize the masters. In 1751, the wife of Alejandro Mora complained to authorities in Bernalillo, New Mexico, that he mistreated the Indian woman Juana, a slave in the Mora household. The investigating constable found Juana covered with bruises and burns, her ankles raw from manacles, her knees festering with sores. Mora had broken her knees to keep her from running away and periodically reopened the wounds with flintstone. Juana gave this testimony:

I have served my master for eight or nine years now but they have seemed more like 9,000 because I have not had one moment’s rest. He has martyred me with sticks, stones, whip, hunger, thirst, and burns all over my body. . . . He inflicted them saying that it was what the devil would do to me in hell, that he was simply doing what God had ordered him to do.⁶

Mora protested that he was only looking out for Juana’s welfare. He had raped her, he said, only to test her claim to virginity, and he had tortured her only to keep her from becoming a loose woman. Authorities removed Juana from the Mora household; that was her master’s only penalty.

English and French colonists enslaved indigenous people too, though never in the same numbers as did the Spanish. In the 1620s, Virginians sold Indian survivors of the Second Anglo-Powhatan War into slavery in the West Indies; in 1637, Indian survivors of the Pequot War in New England were enslaved in Bermuda. During the Tuscarora and Yamasee Wars (1711–15), Englishmen and their Indian allies captured and enslaved natives of the Carolina interior. In 1731, the French in Louisiana rounded up most of the surviving Natchez nation for sale to West Indies plantations. And while English and French colonies typically sent Indian captives to the Caribbean, quite a few were enslaved on the mainland. About a tenth of the slaves in French Louisiana were Indians, mostly women assigned to domestic work. French settlers in Detroit bought Pawnee, Osage, and Choctaw captives and held them and their descendants as slaves for most of the 1700s. A census of South Carolina in 1708 counted 3,960 free whites, 4,100 African slaves, 1,400 Indian slaves, and 120 indentured whites. In New York in 1712, about a quarter of all slaves were Indians. A census of Kingston, Rhode Island, in 1730 counted 935 whites, 333 African slaves, and 223 Indian slaves. By the late 1700s, Indian and African slaves had amalgamated to the point that census takers did not distinguish between the two, instead listing all slaves as colored.⁷

Indigenous people also labored for Europeans in relationships that did not involve bondage. Many hunted and trapped for pelts to sell to colonial fur traders. Since Native Americans valued commodities differently than Europeans, they often failed to get market value for their goods. From the mid-1600s onward, some New England Indians were wage earners, working as farmhands, domestics, whalers, or construction laborers. This movement into wage work—a pattern that would eventually extend across the continent—reflected the losses of land that undermined Native Americans’ ability to live without hiring out.

In 1742, the Seneca leader Canassatego spoke to Pennsylvania officials on behalf of the Iroquois nations: We know our lands are now become more valuable. The white people think we do not know their value; but we are sensible that the land is everlasting, and the few goods we receive for it are soon worn out and gone. . . . Besides, we are not well used with respect to the lands still unsold by us. Your people daily settle on these lands, and spoil our hunting. We must insist on your removing them, as you know they have no right to settle.⁸ In this instance and countless others, colonial authorities failed to remove the squatters, and Indians’ economic independence eroded.

Indentured Labor in British Colonies

Indentured workers—commonly called servants—were a key source of labor for British colonies. They planted the first crops at the Jamestown colony founded in Virginia in 1607, Britain’s first permanent settlement in what is now the United States. Twelve of them were aboard the Mayflower when it brought the Pilgrims to Ply-mouth, Massachusetts, in 1620. By the time the American Revolution broke out in the mid-1770s, more than half of all European immigrants to the colonies had entered as indentured servants. Estimates put their proportion at 60 to 77 percent. In the 1600s, the vast majority came from England as individuals, and the males far outnumbered the females. The next century saw a large influx of Irish and German families, and the gender ratio grew more even.

Until the 1660s, most Africans who came to British North America arrived as indentured workers too. The first twenty, at least three of them women, landed in Jamestown on a Dutch ship in 1619. Over the next forty-odd years, many hundreds of black indentured servants entered Britain’s mainland colonies, from New England in the north to the Carolinas in the south. The majority came from England, Spain, or Portugal, where Africans had lived for two generations or more; others came from the West Indies.

Indenture placed workers in bondage for a limited term—typically three to five years, though some served considerably more time. What had promised to be a short term might stretch into a long one. Magistrates customarily extended the terms of servants hauled into court for fleeing their masters or otherwise breaking the law. For the duration of the indenture, they were their masters’ property, and many were repeatedly bought and sold before their terms expired.

Mostly they were put to hard labor, clearing land and plowing new fields, cultivating crops that required constant work, draining swamps and building roads, laundering and cooking, hauling heavy loads. A man with special skills might enjoy lighter duty as an artisan’s helper. That was the lot of William Moraley, an apprentice watchmaker back in England and for three years the servant of a New Jersey clockmaker who purchased him fresh off a ship that docked in Philadelphia in 1729. Craftwork was seldom the whole of a servant’s assignment, however; in addition to cleaning timepieces, Moraley herded livestock and labored in an iron foundry. He was fortunate in that the clockmaker beat him only once, as a punishment for trying to run away. Other masters had less self-control. Writing from Maryland in 1756, Elizabeth Sprigs told her father in London of repeated floggings: I one of the unhappy Number, am toiling almost Day and Night . . . and then tied up and whipp’d to the Degree that you’d not serve an Annimal.⁹

Despite reports of such abuses, a great many people indentured themselves voluntarily in return for transportation to the New World and, they hoped, better opportunities than Europe offered. The volunteers signed indentures with labor contractors who paid for their passage and then sold them to American employers. Because there was room to haggle, men and women indentured under this arrangement served relatively short terms. But quite a few servants had no choice in the matter. Some were English convicts sentenced to servitude in the colonies. Others were destitute children kidnapped off the streets of England’s seaports or ordered into indenture by colonial authorities. Still others were debtors bound by law to work off their obligations to creditors. For these groups—especially convicts and children—terms of up to fourteen years were not at all uncommon.

Indentured servants faced the hardest times during the early decades of colonial settlement. Newcomers routinely succumbed to the deadly fevers that struck the colonies every summer. And the seasoned servants who had survived their first summers were far from safe, especially the thousands indentured to tobacco planters in the Chesapeake region of Virginia and Maryland. Nearly two-thirds of these workers died before their indentures ended. Following an Indian attack that killed 347 Jamestown residents in March 1622, the Virginia Company in England inquired into the fate of the 700 people in the colony as of spring 1619 and the 3,570 immigrants who had arrived since then. A head count showed that just 1,240 remained alive. Some of them probably envied the dead. As one starving servant wrote to his parents in 1623, I thought no head had beene able to hold so much water as hath and doth dailie flow from mine eyes.¹⁰

Endurance had its rewards. On fulfilling the term of service, each worker except for the convicts and debtors received freedom dues—a sum of money, a parcel of land in some colonies, and perhaps other things too, such as clothing, tools, a horse or a cow. In theory, the dues would turn released servants into proprietors of American farms, craft shops, or other small businesses. In reality, such happy endings were rare. Surviving records suggest that, of all the people indentured in British North America between 1607 and 1776, just 20 percent went on to self-employment in the colonies or newborn United States. About half did not outlive their indentures; most of the rest became wageworkers or paupers or returned to their countries of origin.

In the mid-1700s, the indenture system developed a new twist as shipping merchants devised a scheme that forced many thousands of free immigrants into terms of servitude. Recruitment agents commissioned by the shippers visited European towns and depicted America as a land where no one worked hard and everyone got rich. People who signed up for transport to this paradise were promised a cheap fare and easy credit if they could not afford the full price. By the time the passengers arrived in America, nearly all were in debt to the ship’s captain, who had levied surprise charges for tariffs, duties, and provisions. Nobody could leave the ship without first clearing accounts, and no sooner was that announced than entrepreneurs came on board with offers to redeem people who signed indenture contracts for themselves and their children. Exhausted and frightened, the captives often agreed to exceptionally long terms of service. Most of these immigrants, known as redemptioners, came from Ireland or Germany.

One eyewitness to their predicament was Gottlieb Mittelberger, whose Journey to Pennsylvania (1756) publicized the miseries he had seen. In 1750 Mittelberger left his home in the Duchy of Württemberg and joined a party of fellow Germans sailing for Philadelphia. The ship was so crowded with families and so poorly stocked with food that over half the passengers died in transit, their debts to the captain devolving to their kin. Desperate to leave the vessel when it finally docked, the survivors were ready to sign virtually any indenture contract. Adults committed themselves for terms of three to six years if they were lucky, six to twelve if their spouses were too sick to work or had died at sea. Minor children were bound over by their parents, or the ship’s captain in the case of children orphaned during the voyage. Those between ten and fifteen years old were sold into service until age twenty-one. The youngest, who could not by law be sold, were given away to anyone who promised to maintain them.

One of a handful who had paid in full for his passage, Mittelberger escaped indenture, but he saw what awaited his less fortunate shipmates. As a schoolteacher in rural Pennsylvania, he watched soul-drivers march lots of fifty or more redemptioners into the backcountry and sell them into labor on farms where they were beaten like cattle. Returning to Württemberg in 1754, he published his book in hopes that it would persuade fellow Germans to remain at home: Let him who wants to earn his piece of bread honestly and who can only do this by manual labor in his own country, stay there rather than come to America.¹¹ Such warnings had little if any impact. As the century wore on, redemptioners arrived in Philadelphia in growing numbers—by 1770 at an average rate of twenty-four shiploads a year.

Slavery

In 1505, a Spanish ship carried a cargo of captives from West Africa to Hispaniola, inaugurating one of the most hideous and profitable business enterprises in world history. Over the next centuries, the transatlantic trade in African slaves would grow to gigantic proportions and involve merchants and shippers from virtually every European and American seafaring power. By the time the trade ended in the late 1860s, an estimated 12.5 million Africans had been forced onto ships bound for the Americas, and about 10.7 million of them had survived the journey. South America and the Caribbean were the primary destinations; fewer than 400,000 of the captives disembarked on the North American mainland, but some who first landed in the British Caribbean wound up in Britain’s mainland colonies or, later, the United States.

British colonies in North America enslaved Africans almost from the beginning, as did the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam (which became British New York in 1664). As black indentured servants arrived in the early and mid-1600s, so did black slaves, though not yet in large numbers. The Dutch West India Company transported them to New Amsterdam as early as 1626. Others arrived in Boston in 1638 and in Connecticut the following year. Some indentured servants meanwhile became slaves in fact if not in name. Starting in the 1640s in Virginia, colonial courts used lifelong bondage as the punishment for black servants who fled their masters.

The decisive turn toward slavery came in the later 1600s, with Maryland and Virginia taking the lead. In 1663, Maryland’s lawmakers declared all of the colony’s black residents slaves for life and imposed the same status on all persons henceforth born to enslaved women. In 1670, Virginia condemned all Africans entering the colony to slavery, and a 1682 law extended the sentence to all offspring of enslaved women. Thus started a juggernaut. By 1710, every colony had passed laws that enslaved Africans and their descendants as well as Native American captives. Georgia, founded in 1732 with a charter that outlawed slaveholding, reversed that stand in 1750. Between 1700 and the start of the American Revolution in 1775, the number of slaves in British North America rose from about 25,000 to 500,000, about 90 percent of them laboring in the southern colonies of Maryland, Virginia, Georgia, and the Carolinas.

Slavery expanded in northern colonies too. By the mid-1700s, nearly every wealthy family in northern port cities owned household slaves, up to a third of the artisans in these cities used slave labor in their shops, and grain farmers from Pennsylvania to southern New England were replacing indentured servants with slaves. In Philadelphia and New York City, slaves constituted 20 percent of the whole labor force in artisan shops and did an even larger share of the work in maritime trades such as shipbuilding and sail making. In some grain-producing counties in northern New Jersey, New York’s Hudson Valley, and Long Island, slaves far outnumbered free workers. The major slaveholding colony north of Maryland was New York, whose enslaved population rose from 9,000 in the 1740s to almost 20,000 in the 1770s. New England’s 16,000 slaves as of 1770 were concentrated in Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Rhode Island, but some 2,000 worked in the more sparsely settled areas to the north.

The merchants and shippers of Newport, Rhode Island, became the leading North American participants in the transatlantic slave trade. Other cities whose ships regularly bore down on Africa included Providence, Rhode Island; Salem and Boston, Massachusetts; and Portsmouth, New Hampshire. While southern colonists dealt mostly with British slave traders, Yankees dominated the business in northern ports and shipped up to 10 percent of the slaves arriving in southern ports in the 1700s.

Africans’ experience en route to America is vividly described in The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, the autobiography of a former slave published in 1791. Born in 1745 in the Essaka province of Benin, Equiano was kidnapped at age ten or eleven, passed from hand to hand, and finally sold to a trader on the Guinea coast, where in 1757 he was carried aboard an English slave ship bound for Barbados. To guard against a revolt, crewmen placed the adults in iron chains and allowed just a few captives at a time to leave the hold and breathe fresh air on deck. Then, when the ship got under way, all were put below. As Equiano later wrote,

The stench of the hold, while we were on the coast, was so intolerably loathsome, that it was dangerous to remain there for any time; but now that the whole ship’s cargo were confined together, it became absolutely pestilential. The closeness of the place, and the heat of the climate, added to the number in the ship, being so crowded that each had scarcely room to turn himself, almost suffocated us. This produced copious perspirations, so that the air soon became unfit for respiration, from a variety of loathsome smells, and brought on a sickness among the slaves, of which many died. . . . The shrieks of the women and the groans of the dying rendered it a scene of horror almost inconceivable.¹²

Such was the setting on every slave ship, and Equiano recounted incidents that also typified the voyage. Beatings and force-feeding awaited those who refused to eat, for the same business logic that prompted slave traders to jam-pack their ships made them anxious to keep the cargo alive. When captives nearing death were brought on deck for resuscitation, some threw themselves overboard; two men on Equiano’s ship succeeded in drowning while a third was rescued and flogged.

When the ship docked in Bridgetown, Barbados, merchants and planters came on board to inspect the captives, who were then taken ashore and penned in a yard. Several days later, Equiano remembered,

We were sold after the usual manner, which is this:—On a signal given, such as the beat of a drum, the buyers rush at once into the yard where the slaves are confined, and make choice of that parcel they like best. . . . In this manner, without scruple, are relations and friends separated, most of them never to see each other again.¹³

The West Indies sugar planters who bought most of Equiano’s companions rejected him, just twelve years old and frail from very much fretting,¹⁴ so he and a few others in similar condition were transported to Virginia. There, he was sold to an English ship’s captain and began a twenty-year maritime career during which he managed to purchase his freedom.

Some others enslaved in British North America gained their liberty through self-purchase, manumission, lawsuits, or flight. Until the American Revolution, however, such deliverance was rare. Of the nearly 5,000 free colored people in the colonies on the eve of the Revolution, the majority were freeborn descendants of indentured women, both black and white, or of noncaptive Indians. They were free by virtue of that ancestry, not because of soft spots in the fortress of slavery.

Slavery’s tenacity reflected its economic value to the colonies, which exploited slaves’ minds and muscles in remarkably elaborate ways. The typical slave of the colonial era was a field hand raising tobacco, rice, or indigo on a southern plantation; this was the most common labor for the men, women, and children. But slaves worked in many other capacities too. They tilled land on the giant estates that lined the Hudson Valley and on many a small farm from New Hampshire to Georgia. Their labors on southern plantations encompassed carpentry and blacksmithing, leather tanning and shoemaking, bricklaying and plastering, spinning woolen thread, weaving cloth, and sewing clothes. In northern colonies, they could be found in virtually all skilled trades, from maritime crafts to goldsmithing, printing, and cabinetmaking. Every colonial port counted slaves among its sailors and dockworkers. In many white households—rural and urban, northern and southern—enslaved women fetched water, hauled firewood, cooked meals, scoured kitchens, tended infants and children, and saw to other chores.

In addition to a wide variety of labor, slaveholders demanded deference. Nothing better illustrates this than the 1701 court case in which a Massachusetts slave identified only as Adam sued his master John Saffin for reneging on a 1694 promise to free him in seven years. Saffin’s defense was that Adam had been intollerably insolent, quarrelsome and outrageous, daring to work at his own pace, talk back when insulted, and resist beatings.¹⁵ Though the jury sided with Saffin, Adam won his freedom in 1703 by appealing the decision to the colony’s Superior Court. His appeal and indeed the original lawsuit would have been impossible outside of New England; elsewhere, slaves had no rights to sue or testify against whites.

In this context, assault, homicide, and rape became part and parcel of slavery; and while slaves on southern plantations were the most vulnerable to abuse, others were scarcely immune. New Jersey slaves were flogged to degrees that shocked the indentured servant William Moraley. For the least Trespass, he wrote, they undergo the severest Punishment . . . and if they die under the Discipline their Masters suffer no Punishment, there being no Law against murdering them.¹⁶ A British visitor to colonial South Carolina recorded the following in his diary: Mr. Hill, a dancing-master in Charles-Town, whipt a female slave so long, that she fell down at his feet, in appearance dead: when, by the help of a physician, she was so far recovered as to show some signs of life, he repeated the whipping with equal rigor, and concluded the punishment with dropping scalding wax upon her flesh—Her crime was, over filling a tea-cup!¹⁷ A New Englander who hobnobbed with Charleston’s most prominent men was astonished to hear them speak with no reluctance, delicacy or shame about molesting women in the slave quarters.¹⁸

The most common forms of abuse, however, were starvation and overwork. In the 1990s, preservationists blocked the construction of a skyscraper atop the African burial ground in the oldest part of New York City and reburied the unearthed remains of over 400 people whose skeletons testified to slavery’s grueling toll on black bodies.¹⁹ The majority of the dead were children twelve and under, half of them infants. The adult skeletons showed lesions on shoulder, arm, and leg bones where muscles had been torn away by strain, and some showed circular fractures at the base of the skull, a sign that excessively heavy loads had been carried on the head. One skeleton belonged to a boy about age six who died in the early 1700s. Though his remains indicated that he had been malnourished and anemic from birth, the anchor points on his arm bones revealed that his muscles had been unusually well developed from lifting, and the many healed fractures in his neck showed that his head, too, had borne large weights. Whatever disease or trauma ended this child’s life, it is fair to say that he was worked to death.

Free Labor

Although bondage lay at the core of colonial labor systems, the numbers of free men and women hiring out for wages steadily increased. This workforce included free immigrants, former indentured servants, Native Americans pushed off their lands, the lucky few who made their way out of slavery, and descendants of all these groups. Wage earners were a minority among free people, most of whom made a living through a family farm, a family craft shop, or some combination of the two. Almost from the start, however, the colonies were home to at least some wageworkers, and by the early 1700s wage labor was a fast-rising trend in British North America, especially in its coastal cities and towns.

The largest sectors of the wage-earning labor force were sailors, journeyman artisans, women and girls employed as domestic workers or in cloth and clothing production, and men and boys who plowed fields, hauled freight, and performed other backbreaking jobs that fell under the heading common labor. Except for the journeymen, whose craft skills won them higher wages than the rest, these workers belonged to the poorest segments of free society. Though nearly all earned substantially more than their European counterparts, their lives were scarcely enviable by free Americans’ standards.

Single women with dependent children got the worst of it, often trudging from place to place in search of a job that would pay enough to feed and shelter their families. Their chances of finding one were so slim that the overseers of Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and numerous towns in other colonies barred single mothers from settling down unless they relinquished the right to solicit help from local charities. Starting in the mid-1700s, agencies such as Boston’s Society for Encouraging Industry and Employing the Poor opened cloth and clothing manufactories where destitute women and children worked for a pittance, just enough to keep them alive.

Most women wage earners escaped such dire circumstances, as did the majority of sailors and common laborers; but very few were comfortably situated. Domestic workers and farmhands typically lived with their employers, toiling sixteen hours a day or more in return for a tiny cash wage plus room and board. Even in Philadelphia, North America’s most prosperous city in the late colonial era, sailors and common laborers almost never found steady jobs. Those who did earned about £50 per year—£10 less than a family of average size needed to survive in Philadelphia. To make ends meet, the wives and children of male wage earners often hired out too.

Workers’ troubles in some occupations went beyond hard labor and low pay. Many sailors lost their lives at sea; many more suffered from what they called Falling Sickness—dizziness caused by recurrent beatings at the hands of their ships’ officers.²⁰ Domestic workers sometimes faced physical abuse as well. In 1734, a group of them announced in the New-York Weekly Journal that we think it reasonable we should not be beat by our Mistrisses Husband[s], they being too strong, and perhaps may do tender women Mischief.²¹

For all of these reasons, most free people did everything in their power to build lives that did not revolve around wage work. More often than not, they succeeded. Just as wages were higher than in Europe, alternatives to wage earning were more plentiful.

Family farming was by far the most common alternative; it occupied well over half of free people, both black and white. Land to the west of the well-established settlements was cheap enough for a great many people to buy. Others obtained acreage as part of their freedom dues or squatted on land the colonies had reserved for Native Americans. A good number of people rented farms, especially in Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York’s Hudson Valley, and interior Pennsylvania and Maryland. Though farming was a family affair, it was also a commercial venture in most cases. Nearly every household marketed products such as corn, butter, and woolen goods; many also produced cash crops for export—tobacco in southern colonies, wheat in New England and the mid-Atlantic region. In the Northeast, where winter brought farmwork to a halt for several months each year, numerous households filled the time with craftwork, chiefly leather tanning and shoemaking. Farm families were often hard-pressed, even destitute, the landowners as well as the tenants. Inconsiderable persons, the colonial elite called them.²² Even so, they lived and worked without a boss breathing down their necks; therein lay the great attraction of farming.

Craftwork in cities and towns offered another route to independence, an astonishingly fast route by European measures. In Europe, an artisan spent many years preparing for self-employment as a master of his craft. First, he completed a seven-year apprenticeship, serving under a master craftsman in return for room and board; then he worked a long stint as a journeyman, perfecting his skills as he slowly saved money to finance a shop of his own. In America, it was easy to find shortcuts, for the craft guilds that oversaw the system in Europe almost never took root in the colonies. Absent guild oversight, few apprentices put in a full seven years. Some served less time by mutual agreement with their masters; others reneged on their apprenticeship contracts and ran away, eluding the law by moving to a different colony. Skilled labor was in such short supply that almost anyone with a few years of apprenticeship under his belt could get work as a journeyman, and journeymen usually earned enough to finance swift transitions to self-employment. In Philadelphia, journeymen earned slightly or substantially more than £60 a year depending on their crafts.

Benjamin Franklin’s story exemplifies artisans’ mobility. Born in 1706 in Boston, he was a candlemaker’s son who at age twelve undertook an apprenticeship in printing—a much more prestigious craft, not far below silversmithing at the very top. His master was his older brother James, whom Ben contracted to serve for seven years. By all accounts the boy learned quickly, but James’s foul temper made it a difficult apprenticeship; so in 1723, two years before his contract expired, Ben ran away to Philadelphia, where he passed himself off as a journeyman and soon opened a printshop of his own. By 1748, he was sufficiently rich to retire from the shop and give himself full time to the almanac writing, political activity, and scientific experiments that would make him one of the most famous Americans of the eighteenth century.

The unregulated craft system could also undermine the very advantages it bestowed. By the mid-1700s, some trades were so crowded with master craftsmen that bankruptcies were common in slack times. Some masters lowered costs by retaining fewer journeymen and more apprentices—more than they could train in all aspects of the craft. Others turned to slave labor or imported out-of-town journeymen to glut the local job market and thus reduce wages. For the time being, though, such problems were confined to certain trades in certain locales. Most practitioners of most crafts still had good reason to believe Ben Franklin’s adage, He that hath a Trade, hath an Estate.²³

This he was frequently a she. While midwives practiced a prestigious, wholly female trade, many more women engaged in male-dominated crafts, from silversmithing on down. Excluded from formal apprenticeships, they acquired craft skills by working in shops owned by their fathers, husbands, or other male kin. Virtually every master craftsman counted on women’s assistance; it took more than his own labor and that of male employees to make the shop pay. A handful of women opened crafts shops of their own. In Baltimore, for example, Mary Minskie and two male assistants made metal corset stays and men’s and women’s clothing. But the vast majority of master craftswomen were widows carrying on their husbands’ businesses—women like Ann Smith Franklin, who ran James Franklin’s printshop for twenty-three years following his death.

Unruly Labor

The first labor rebellion in colonial North America preceded the establishment of permanent colonies. In the summer of 1526, about 500 Spaniards and 100 enslaved Africans made camp near the mouth of the Pee Dee River in what is now South Carolina. That November the slaves rose up, killed most of their captors, and escaped to nearby Indian settlements. The Spanish survivors retreated to Hispaniola; the Africans stayed on. Over the next 250 years, North America saw many more acts of resistance by colonial laborers, both bound and free.

Slaves and indentured servants frequently challenged authority in much the same ways Adam defied John Saffin. Stubborn, refractory and discontented, in the words of Connecticut’s colonial officials, they paced their work as they saw fit, objected aloud to insults, and refused to march dutifully to whipping posts.²⁴ Many took aim at their masters’ property, breaking tools, injuring farm animals, setting fire to houses and barns. Some took aim at the masters themselves, along with anyone who got in the way. In 1678, the Englishman Thomas Hellier, indentured on a Virginia plantation called Hard Labour, axed to death his master, his mistress, and a woman servant who tried to assist them. In 1747, the Comanche Pedro de la Cruz led his tribesmen in an armed raid on the New Mexico town where he had been enslaved. In 1771, two African slaves in New Orleans were arrested for flogging their master and burning his hayloft. Stories of such incidents appeared in colonial newspapers on a fairly regular basis.

For both slaves and indentured servants, however, the most common form of resistance was flight. Newspapers carried column upon column of advertisements describing runaways and promising rewards for their capture and return. In British colonies, which were more thickly settled than those of France or Spain, most of the fugitives got caught. As one indentured Pennsylvanian wrote, "’Tis certain that nothing is more difficult than for a Slave or a Servant in America to make his Escape without being retaken, because the Master spares no Expence for that Purpose."²⁵ The penalties for apprehended runaways included whipping, branding, and the amputation of an ear. But attempts at escape continued nonetheless, inspired by the fact that some people managed to get away for good. Those who beat the odds typically found refuge among Native Americans or by fleeing to French or Spanish territory.

In Spanish Florida, escaped slaves from the Carolinas founded a town of several hundred in 1739. Located just north of Saint Augustine, surrounded by stone walls, and guarded by a town militia about 100 strong, this settlement—known as Fort Mose (short for Gracia Real de Santa Teresa de Mose)—became a barrier against British invasion as well as a beacon for runaways. In 1740, when an army of South Carolinians marched into Florida, their defeat at Fort Mose persuaded them to retreat. Welcoming new arrivals from the Carolinas and, later, Georgia too, the town survived until Spain ceded Florida to Britain in 1763 and Fort Mose’s residents moved to Cuba.

Resistance to servitude also took the form of armed rebellion. Colonial records describe the suppression of hundreds of plots by would-be rebels, including indentured servants in Maryland in the 1650s, an alliance of Indian and African slaves in Massachusetts in 1690, slaves in French New Orleans in 1730 and 1732, about 150 slaves and 25 white allies in New York City in 1741, and the Pueblos in Spanish New Mexico in 1784, 1793, and 1810. If authorities exaggerated some plots and entirely dreamed up some others, their suspicions are understandable. Experience proved time and again that bondage begat revolts.

The largest by far occurred in New Mexico in August 1680, when 17,000 Pueblos rose up against Spanish demands for tribute under the encomienda system and for Indian conversions to Christianity. A model of strategic planning, this offensive mobilized Pueblos from over two dozen far-flung villages that spoke at least six different languages and widely varied dialects, many of them mutually unintelligible. The revolt also seems to have won strong support from the tens of thousands of baptized Pueblos laboring for Franciscan missions. By October, the rebels had driven every Spaniard out of New Mexico, and only a few hundred Pueblos from the missions had joined the exodus. Spain did not retake the colony until 1693 and never reestablished the encomienda. Following a smaller Pueblo uprising in 1696, the colonists also softened their demands for religious conversion and for labor from mission Indians and repartimiento draftees.

Slaves and indentured servants in British colonies launched scores of smaller-scale revolts that made up in daring what they lacked in size. The early 1660s ushered in thirty years of unrest in Virginia. Both slaves and servants fled their masters in record numbers. Authorities discovered plots for armed rebellion by servants in York County in 1661, a confederation of slaves and servants in Gloucester County in 1663, and slaves in the Northern Neck region in 1687. Bands of fugitive slaves staged repeated raids on plantations in various counties in 1672 and again in 1691. In 1682, when planters’ overproduction of tobacco plunged the colony into a depression, slaves, servants, and impoverished free people laid waste to the tobacco crops on plantations throughout Gloucester County.

For Virginia’s elite, the most frightening of all the uprisings in this period was Bacon’s Rebellion in 1676. It began that spring as a revolt by backcountry farmers, most of them former servants working land they had received as freedom dues. In April some 500 farmers united behind the tobacco planter Nathaniel Bacon to wage war on neighboring Indians, in flagrant violation of their treaties with the colony’s royal governor. By summer Bacon’s troops were also plundering wealthy planters’ property, and in September they attacked the colonial capital in Jamestown, where hundreds of slaves and indentured servants joined the uprising. Within days the rebels had burned Jamestown to the ground and fanned out into the surrounding countryside to loot plantations. Chaos reigned for the rest of the year, with slaves and servants fighting on long after Bacon died of dysentery in late October and the farmers started to trudge home.

Following Bacon’s Rebellion, the large planters of coastal Virginia and nearby Maryland rethought their labor policies. The indenture system seemed terribly risky now that former servants had inaugurated a mass revolt in which black and white fought side by side. Slavery might prove safer, as long as slaves could be isolated from poor whites. To secure their dominion, the planter elite would henceforth purchase as many slaves as possible, use indentured workers only in a pinch, and try to minimize contact between the two. Colonial officials meanwhile criminalized marriage across the color line and granted servants certain rights and