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MICHAEL BROERS
ED IT O R IN C H IE F
E D IT O R IA L BO ARD
M ic h a el B ro ers
www.peterlang.com
Michael Broers has asserted the right under the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act of 1988 to be identified as the Author of this Work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-906165-11-6
Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and to obtain their permission
for the use o f copyright material. The publisher apologises for any errors or omissions
and would be grateful for notification o f any corrections that should be incorporated
in future reprints or editions of this book.
List of Illustrations IX
Preface XI
Acknowledgements xvn
Maps XIX
Chapter 5 Spain: The Birth of the Guerrilla. The Bandits’ War? 105
Notes 199
Bibliography 211
Index 217
Illustrations
Figures
Maps
‘The Revolution is the historical void that separates one regime from another,
and where established institutions give way to the idea that human action
can impose itself on history,’ said François Furetd This may only have been
an intellectual’s way of saying revolution equals anarchy, but he was still
very right. An important element of this ‘empty space between two regimes’
was the capacity of individuals and communities to beat back attempts by
revolutionaries to impose a new order on them, and also to thwart attempts
to restore established authority in their midst; although, in truth, more people
looked back with rose-tinted spectacles than forward with blood-rimmed
compasses, in the decades that followed the outbreak o f revolution in France
in 1789. In the fullest sense of the term, ordinary people ‘reacted’ to the
sweeping changes conceived o f and ruthlessly asserted by small groups of
urban intellectuals. Most people did not enjoy having the patterns of their
daily lives disrupted, their taxes increased, their sons conscripted for wars
about which they knew little and cared nothing, their religion disparaged
and dismantled, their control over their own administration stripped away
by an unheralded degree o f centralisation. Whatever initial gains ordinary,
rural people made - and outside France, even these meant nothing after the
ravages o f ‘wars of liberation’ - they were smothered by the bullying that
came with forging a new regime in the new mould of the nation-state.
This is not at all to say the Revolution did not have support, still less
that it did not inspire more wherever Napoleon’s troops exported it. Most of
that support was urban, however, and so an important consequence of the
reforms of the Revolution, in France and elsewhere, was to intensify long
standing animosities between town and country. There were also people in
every village and hamlet who had done well out of the Revolution, whether
they had bought the lands confiscated from the Church in the early 1790s, or
found good posts in its new bureaucracy, or simply believed in its tenets. Such
people were always a minority outside the towns, however. The concentrated.
XU Preface
urban support for the Revolution - islands set in the sea of a largely hostile
countryside - made it into a civil war, as it engulfed the educated classes and
the centres of power, while the scattered support it had beyond the city walls
imbued that civil war with more than a tinge of local vendetta. The crisis
worsened, and was allowed to take root, because most of the governments
o f the 1790s were too weak to assert their rule securely or regularly in much
o f the hinterland. Furet’s ‘historical void’ was filled by desperate, violent
local feuds.
Regimes came and went in a series o f bloody coups in the 1790s, before
Napoleon consolidated the revolutionary state’s apparatus, if not necessarily its
ideological essence, in the years after his coup d’état in 1799. Two things rallied
a great many reluctant revolutionaries behind him. One was a yearning for the
re-establishment of law, order and personal safety, which Napoleon promised
to give them in return for ‘the end of politics’. Furet’s void had been filled with
violent opposition to the revolutionaries, and they found it very hard to defend
themselves, so they took the sane option: Napoleon. The revolutionaries
and Napoleon also had common enemies, not just the foreign armies bent
on destroying the Revolution, all its works and all its willing workers, but
the mass of the population, the peasantry above all, who had stood up to the
reforms. Put the two together, and it meant that revolutionaries outside the
big towns were not safe, because large swathes of the rural population were
opposed to them. The revolutionaries had ‘been after’ the peasantry for
money, conscripts and a degree of obedience to authority to which they were
unaccustomed, to put it mildly. The peasantry, together with marginalised
nobles and deposed clergy, were after the revolutionaries, full stop. Napoleon’s
conquests spread this pattern all across western Europe and, when he toppled
the Spanish Bourbons, he inadvertently unleashed similar chain reactions
across Spanish America; however conservative the Bourbons had become at
home, they had imposed unpopular reforms on their colonies from the 1770s
onwards. Napoleon’s meddling in the Ottoman-ruled parts of the Balkans,
alongside the machinations o f his enemies and competitors, the Russians,
the Austrians and the British, exacerbated disorder in a region where central
authority had long been marginal.
Napoleon and the revolutionaries had the same instinctive reaction to
peasant unruliness, a peculiar mixture o f atavism and a new, ideological
approach to politics. The new ideology found opposition very hard to fathom
and in the course o f the 1790s it hardened into the clichéd stance o f ‘all those
who are not with us, are against us’. This made the revolutionaries into an
Preface X lll
wild animals rampaging in a herd. When, on the other hand, the authorities
wanted to trivialise continuing, atomised but seemingly ineradicable unrest,
they called it banditry or brigandage.
This was a simplistic, disgustingly patronising vision of the rural world,
but it had a grain of truth in it. That is why this book takes the great risk of
perpetuating the revolutionaries’ skewed vision of the world, by dragging in
all sorts of forms o f resistance. Alan Forrest, Roger Dupuy and Colin Lucas
all focus, rightly, on motivation: why did people resist? Thanks to them, in a
French context - and many other historians, in other national and regional
frameworks - the falsehoods of official ‘double-speak’, as Orwell called it,
have been denuded. It was a very complex business, opposing the new regime.
This is absolutely right.
Just the same, when resistance to the new regime - or the old, if in Spanish
America or the Balkans - rooted itself in the countryside, it expressed itself
in strikingly similar ways. When they had to fight, peasants fought like the
best fighters they knew - men they feared, respected, did business with, fled,
drank with, and often were part-time: bandits. They behaved like bandits -
or they did if they wanted to survive more than five minutes against regular
troops. They took to the hills, the swamps and the backcountry; they lived
and fought in small groups; they foraged and plundered, and when they could
not, they lived hard, hunting and scavenging. They laid ambushes and created
landslides; they robbed coaches and public chests, there being no banks then.
They were treated as outside the law, so they were on the run most of the
time, and slipped home when they could. This was atavistic behaviour, for
there had always been such men, but banditry was usually seasonal work;
most such men had homes, farms and families of their own, and communities
where they belonged, at least intermittently. Now it went on forever.
The French Revolution began in 1789, and serious resistance to it was
apparent from at least 1793. Napoleonic policies meant not only that it spread
but that a great many men went on living and behaving like bandits, supported
by their families and communities, for a very long time indeed. The ‘real’ war
ended in 1815, at Waterloo, but unrest and revolution could rumble on. To
fight ‘the other war’, you had to learn to be a bandit. This ‘other war’ knew
no lulls, it was not governed by peace treaties or ceasefires. This ‘other war’
was, in great part, a series o f local civil wars, and civil war is the highest
expression o f that very bandit trait, vendetta. Banditry was the practical
glue that held the ‘other war’ together, that drove it on, and that made its
manifestations - its ‘symptoms’ - so remarkably similar all over the western
Preface XV
world in these decades. The warriors o f the other war’ employed the same
tactics in the Alps, the Andes and the Aetolian Mountains o f Greece. They
proved, taken as a whole, intractable. Unlike Napoleon, they never ran out
of armies, however many of them were betrayed, outgunned or bought off.
They were, to say the least, a m ixed lot, ethnically, in their motives and
their personal backgrounds. They all behaved the same, however, and so,
to the alien, barely half-comprehending eye o f the new regime, they were
all bandits - a wrong-headed view, but not inappropriate, when you had to
deal with them. Imitation is, indeed, a high form o f flattery, and the armies
of the other war’ were only well beaten when the new regime began to fight
back in like style. Sometimes they never were, which is hardly surprising.
Like a legion of devils, they were many, and not easily cast out. This is the
story of Napoleons other war’.
Acknowledgements
I wish first to thank the Bridgeman Art Library for permission to reproduce
the seven images in this book, and for their help in selecting them. Many
thanks are also due to Alexis Kirschbaum, who first signed this book for
Peter Lang, and to Graham Speake for supporting the project throughout.
Above all, Nick Reynolds has been a helpful, enthusiastic and particularly
patient editor and friend, in the process. Thanks are happily given to David
Sansom, who drew the maps, and to Elizabeth Stone, a most engaged copy-
editor, a rare breed.
A work o f this kind really belongs to m any hands, to scholars both
contemporary and no more, who have toiled in archives and libraries, from
Santiago in Chile to Sofia in Bulgaria and all points in between, exploring
this subject in their local contexts. It has been a privilege to read their work
and, I would hope, to profit from and build upon it. Whatever the faults and
weaknesses of this book, they are my own, and I can but trust they do not
occlude the work o f others but, rather, that this offering may bring their hard
work and historical skills to as wide an audience as possible, for that is what
they deserve. It would be impossible to recite the entire bibliography, but
each piece listed in it is o f great worth. Some o f these authors merit special
thanks, nonetheless. Alan Forrest, Howard Brown, Charles Esdaile, Jean-
Marc Lafon, John Davis, Michele Ruggiero, Roger Dupuy, Don Sutherland,
Brian Hamnett, Clive Emsley, John Tone and Eduardo Pérez O. have made
truly outstanding contributions to our knowledge o f ‘the other war’ in their
respective ‘territories’ - for students of bandits and guerrilleros, like their
subjects, are very territorial. I am very proud and pleased to be able to call so
many of them my friends, as well as colleagues. Eric Hobsbawm’s contribution
will probably always stand above us all. There is one historian, however, whose
influence haunts these pages, and that is the late Richard Cobb. An urban
animal he may have been, but he inculcated in his students a rebellious spirit
XV lll Acknowledgements
and a suspicion of authority that has, in my case, translated itself into the
wilds and the hard places beyond the law. Richards hand is always there.
This book was written at a particular time, and in a particular place. The
example o f the Hounds had its part to play.
Finally, there are some special debts of thanks. Frances Lannon, my Head
of House, read the draft manuscript when she had so many other, pressing
things to do, and so gave me encouragement when it was needed. She may
not always be glad to have a brigand in her midst, but he is most grateful to
her. M y wife. Sue, watched over me as I wrote, while our cat, Louis, stood
guard over the typescript, doubtless on the lookout for thieving magpies.
Napoleon knew what a bandit was. He came from Corsica, a little island that
had more bandits per square metre than almost anywhere else in Europe, at
least outside the Balkans. Indeed, the future master of Europe grew up in a
golden age of banditry on the island. In 1770, the year after Napoleon was
born, there were about 200 bandits in a population of around 140,000; by
1800 - the year after he took supreme power in France - there were more
than a thousand.^ Napoleon also grew up knowing the difference - and, just
as importantly, the similarities - between a bandit and a ‘freedom fighter’,
because his father had been one of the latter. Banditry and a guerrilla war of
liberation were bound up with each other in Corsica throughout the eighteenth
century, for the islanders had been fighting for their freedom first from the
Genoese and then from the French, to whom the Genoese sold their rebellious
province in 1768. Their leader against the French, Paoli, was a tenacious
and publicity-hungry mountain guerrilla, a sometime friend of Napoleons
father. Carlo - who eventually went over to the French - and, awkwardly for
father and son, Napoleons boyhood hero. Paoli was the toast o f European
radical chic, adored by the armchair intellectuals of the Parisian salons and
London coffee houses. No less a person than Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the self-
proclaimed ‘bad boy’ of the Enlightenment, wrote a democratic constitution
for Paoli’s shadow regime, holed up in the granite mountains of the remote
interior. Napoleon knew a thing or ten about these things.
He didn’t fall for it, not once he grew up in any case. There was another
side to these brigands-turned-freedom-fighters that the glitterati of the time
did not perceive, but that changed Napoleon’s own life, and the course of
the history of the world, for ever and a day. Paoli’s brave boys, like many
Chapter i
Corsicans loyal to the French, had been bandits before they were guerrillas,
and, in truth, were guerrillas because they had first been bandits. They were
the men most skilled in fighting, the men who knew the hard country and
how to live in it. They liked to fight. Corsican banditry was o f a particular
sort, however, for there were many kinds o f bandits in eighteenth-century
Europe. Corsicans were not highway robbers, for there were no highways, nor
any commerce worth robbing in so small, remote and poor a place. Rather,
banditry was an offshoot of two very Corsican social phenomena, feuding
and clientage or, put another way, vendetta and local power games. Feuds
were centred on rivalries of many kinds - over honour, resources or politics -
between networks of clans, and these clans were hierarchical. When there was
vendetta to be dealt out, and feuds to pursue - when people were ‘in blood’
as the saying went - the men who did the fighting became bandits, less in
that they stole or raided for a living, than in that they had to live outside the
law. If politics dominated local life, and the leaders came out for Paoli, so did
the followers, and so did their armed men, the bandits. In a little book that
says a great deal, much of it inspired, some o f it contentious, all of it worth
knowing, Eric Hobsbawm declared that ‘banditry was freedom’.^ In Corsica,
and in other parts of the Mediterranean like it such as southern Italy, it could
actually mean mobilising the bonds o f clientage and family for the cause of
freedom, at the behest o f the capo. Banditry was about obedience, in such
societies. It meant friendship, enmity, collectivism within the network and
rivalry outside it. It meant honour won in dirty little wars.
That was, roughly, how it worked, and it worked roughly. Napoleon fought
in some o f these small actions in the early 1790s, when the French Revolution
inserted itself into Corsican politics. He knew more about ambushes, hiding
out in the hills and the world of hit-and-run than he did about his beloved
artillery duels or the battlefield tactics of his ‘professionaf hero, Frederick
the Great of Prussia, because guerrilla war was the first thing he experienced
at first hand. It was all around during his formative years and, when the
Buonapartes took the wrong side in the conflicts of the 1790s - the side of
the French Revolution against Paoli’s pro-British bands - they were, literally,
run out. On the inky-skied night of 24-5 May 1793, his mother and sisters fled
for dear life, stumbling and slipping over the narrow, rocky paths, dogged by
the bandit ‘infantry’ of their rivals. Letizia, Napoleon’s mother, was warned
in the nick of time by Costa, a friend and brigand chief, that Paoli was after
her; ‘Hurry, Signora, hurry ... The brigands are close behind and it’s you
they want. There’s not a moment to lose. M y boys will protect you.’ They fled
The 'Way Things Were-. Bandits before the French Revolution
the family home in the hills, carrying as little as possible. First, they went
to another family cottage, believing things would calm down, but another
friend arrived, breathless, to say their house had been sacked and that Paoli s
men were on their trail. Elissa, the future Archduchess o f Tuscany, led little
Pauline, the future Governor o f Turin, by the hand, to the safety of the coast
and a ship for France, while their mother cradled Jerome, the future King of
Westphalia. They waited by the coast for four days, sleeping on the ground,
keeping a lookout until a French ship picked them up. It was a fate their
own troops would inflict on countless thousands in the following decade,
and one, to be fair, they would do their best to prevent, as the power o f their
brothers empire grew. During those fraught days, in a world where feuding
and vendetta shaded into politics, and where clientage and friendship were
politics, violence - usually an ambush, often an attack on women and children
- was how things were settled. They all arrived safely, but destitute, in the
French port o f Toulon, where Napoleon would soon get his first taste o f
conventional warfare, deploying artillery against the British in the siege of
December. Napoleon not only knew these things, he remembered them. In his
will, he left the loyal Costa 100,000 francs, a huge sum. Napoleon knew about
guerrillas, about indiscriminate violence and ingrained vendettas, long before
the countless men in the countless bands - and their networks of families
and communities - who would turn it against him in Italy, Germany and,
above all, in Spain. Well before he tasted victory with a whiff of grapeshot,
Napoleon learned what it was to avoid a deadly ambush, for himself and his
loved ones. He knew defeat, long before victory, and it had been at the hands
of bandits. He lost his flrst brush with ‘the other war’.
Napoleon went on to encounter and fight bandits all over Europe and,
indirectly, to extend guerrilla wars to Spanish Am erica and the Balkans.
He always fought them and honed to near perfection the Gendarmerie, the
paramilitary police o f the countryside, which would do more to end, or at
least to curb, the world of the bandits than anything else. Other rulers hated
and fought Napoleon throughout his career, but nearly all of them ended up
by copying and cloning his Gendarmerie, because the war against bandits,
and against guerrillas, was something they all had in common and had to
win. Before, during and after the French Revolution and the Napoleonic wars
there were plenty of bandits all over Europe. They lurked in all sorts of places
and came in many guises. That meant that, even before the wars unleashed
by the French Revolution blew the top off it, most o f rural Europe was a rum
old place, and everyone knew it. No one had to look to the past or to exotic
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In 1770 Kennett Meeting’s committee performed [Sidenote: Visit
a general visit to all possessed of slaves and found performed to all
there was not the desired willingness to manumit slave holders]
them which they had expected.[1267] From the
report made seven years later, we must judge the situation had not
changed very considerably since we find one member signified to
them that he did not incline to release his Negroes from bondage,
nor did he know that ever he should.[1268]
It does not, however, seem that the occasional stubborn brother
had a discouraging effect on the rest of the meeting. In 1779 the
records stated,
It is desired that Friends attend to the circumstances and the
situation of such negroes as have been set free, that we may fully
discharge our duty to them, by endeavoring to instruct them, both for
their spiritual and temporal good....[1269]
A committee of three men was immediately appointed to perform
the service. This work with committees continued constantly, with the
result that nine years later (1788) the meeting reported “none held as
slaves amongst us” and that attention was given to education.[1270]
The registration of 1780 showed only three held as slaves in the
whole township.[1271]
In New Garden attention was early called to the [Sidenote: New
Negroes,[1272] and a committee appointed then Garden]
reported in 1781 that most of them were living
among Friends and were generally well provided for.[1273] That
committee was released,[1274] and a new one reported in 1785 the
following state of affairs:
[Sidenote: Most
We have paid some attention to the case of Negroes reported
free negroes, and find there are but few able to read and
amongst us, most of whom we have visited write]
where they reside.... They are generally well provided for with
the necessaries of life and some care taken of their religious
education, in which we believe there may be an improvement.
We also inspected their school education and find most of
them can read and some write.[1275]
In 1789 one case of holding a slave came before the meeting, but
at its direction a writ of manumission was immediately secured for
the same.[1276] The registration in 1780 for New Garden township
returned one slave only, held by a Scotchman.[1277]
Uwchlan Monthly Meeting (Caln Quarterly), as [Sidenote:
early as 1765, received a report from a delegation Uwchlan]
sent from the quarterly meeting stating it as their
opinion that Friends ought to inspect into the care [Sidenote: No
Negro school]
which Friends who had Negroes, extended toward
them with regard to their education.[1278] A [Sidenote: Aid
solicited to school
committee was accordingly appointed by the poor Negroes]
monthly meeting to serve in that capacity. How
considerable was their activity in the interval elapsing between their
appointment and their first formal report of conditions which was
returned to the meeting in 1779, one cannot judge accurately. We
may judge from the report above mentioned that there was no Negro
school, for that race alone; it was perhaps not demanded by the
numbers who would have been eligible.[1279] It appears the
committee had visited all (Wilmington excepted) who had been
freed, and found all generally in a very satisfactory state. Some are
reported not able to give their children schooling, and for them aid is
solicited;[1280] for others advice is requested to guide them in their
outward affairs. The direction of the Negroes’ education, as nearly as
can be made out, was of the most practical nature, laying emphasis
on the industrial side, at that time an apprentice type of education.
[1281] The interest in the apprentice did not stop as soon as he was
placed, but continued, for it was customary to place him with
Friends, if possible, and the member of Friends was responsible to
his meeting for the fulfilment of his contract with the apprenticed. The
following extract from the Middletown records will serve to show the
general regulation by which the apprenticing was carried on among
members of the society.
... and his sonnes giving security to the orphans court, and to
pay interest for the money that belongs to the said ... ever
since the time it became due, and also the said Thomas do
abide at Robert Heaton’s house for his table and to be kept to
school for a year, or so long as the Meeting may think fit.[1282]
This makes clear that cases of Negro schooling were taken before
the same committee as cases of poor Whites and were investigated
and disposed of in the same manner.
Byberry Preparative Meeting makes no reference [Sidenote:
during the early years to the status of the Negro in Byberry]
its limits. Martindale, in a History of Byberry and
Moreland, states that slavery came into Byberry [Sidenote:
in 1721]
Slaves
From that time forward the reports made to the monthly meeting
were very definite. In 1775 a report was brought in which purported
to cover the entire compass of the meeting. It stated the number
held, their status, and what was done for their benefit. It is interesting
to note that a few enjoyed some educational opportunities, limited to
be sure, the details of which are presented here, as they appeared in
the minutes of the meeting.
[Sidenote: Report
We of the committee appointed by the on Negroes in
Monthly Meeting to visit such of our members 1775]
as are possessed of slaves, and detaining them
in bondage, contrary ... visited all such of our members that
are under that circumstance as we know of, which are eight in
number, who are possessed of sixteen negroes and one
mulatto, viz.: 1st possesses one negro girl about 17 years of
age and appeared in a disposition rather to justify the practice
of detaining her in bondage during life than otherwise. 2d,
possesses five negroes one of which is a man about 35 years
of age, who he said he intended to set free at the next quarter
sessions. The other four—three boys and a girl, are young,
whom he said he intended to set free as they came of age,
the boys at 21 and the girl at 18, giving them learning to fit
them for business. 3rd, two negroes, a man and a woman, the
man about 30 years of age, who was in the possession of a
Friend, lately deceased, now in his executors, who said he
intended they should soon enjoy their liberty. 4th, possessor
of three negroes, one a woman 20 years old, who he said he
expected should have her liberty in a short time—the other
two, a man and a woman about 20 years of age, both as we
thought, incapable of freedom. 5th, possessor of 2 negroes, a
woman about 32 years old, who he said should have her
liberty, when she earned him thirty pounds. The girl about ten
years old who he said is to be set free by his last will when
she arrives at the age of 30 years. 6th. Possessor of two
negroes, both women, one about 34, the other about 19 years
old; the said Friend not in a capacity of giving any account of
what might be done for them. 7th. Possessor of a mulatto girl
about 11 years old, bound to him till she is 31, who he said he
intended to set at liberty at the age of 21, with endeavors to
learn her to read. 8th. Possessor of a negro girl about 17
years old, who her mistress said she intended to do the best
she could by.[1315]
SUMMARY
Though slavery had fixed itself, very early, as an [Sidenote: Slavery
institution in Pennsylvania, it was not destined to in Pennsylvania]
continue its growth unmolested. Some of the chief
factors working against it were: (1) The scruples of Friends, and
other sects, (2) the Germans and (3) the opposition of White labor.
Restrictive legislation was passed in 1700, 1705 and 1712, placing
an ever increasing duty upon those imported. Gradual abolition was
provided for by statutes of 1780 and 1788. Socially and economically
the condition of the Negro in Pennsylvania was more desirable than
in states of her latitude and further south.
To three Quakers, opposed to Negro slavery, [Sidenote: Quaker
some brief attention is given. Their expressions Antagonists of
also indicate a solicitous interest in the education of Slavery]
the Indian. Their influence was extended by
missionary journeys, speaking in public, and numerous pamphlets
published on that subject. This work was by no means limited to the
Quakers. Slavery was denounced as impracticable, unjust and
inconsistent with the ideals of a free nation.
(1) Not only individual leaders, but also the [Sidenote: The
organized meetings arrayed themselves to fight Quaker
against slavery. The first memorial to that effect organization
against slavery]
was on the part of Germantown Meeting in 1688.
This was sent to the Quarterly Meeting of Philadelphia, but at that
date they took no action in regard to it. In 1727 the Philadelphia
Yearly Meeting’s advisers censured the practice of trading in slaves.
A more extensive warning and reproof was administered in 1758.
Throughout the early half of the century efforts were made to secure
favor for the slaves’ freedom; it was necessary that in some measure
that should come first.
(2) After the active campaign for freedom, the [Sidenote:
interest in education increased, and, in the last half Schools for
of the century, there are frequent statements of that Negroes]
nature in records of meetings. Separate schools
were established for them where possible. One in Philadelphia was
set up by the meeting, though in large measure due to the active
personal influence of Benezet, who, after 1782, taught in the school
till his death. Moses Patterson was the first teacher; after 1786 two
schools are always mentioned in reports. In the five years preceding
1782 it is estimated that two hundred and fifty Negroes attended the
school.
Some attention is given to the Negroes and their [Sidenote: In
education, or lack of it, in each of the meetings. country and small
The care of this subject in those meetings was in towns]
the charge of a committee, the general character of
whose duties was indicated on page 247. The support of the Negro
schools and the education of the poor children was similar to that of
other schools.[1338] Reports on the progress in freeing, supporting,
and educating the Negro, were required by their superior meetings.
The relations between Friends and Indians were [Sidenote:
most cordial from the beginning. Though their Education of
education was preached early by missionaries and Indians]
practised in a smaller way, little organized effort
was made until 1795. In that year the yearly assembly took the
necessary steps to establish schools among neighboring tribes, the
first mentioned being for the Oneidas. The desire of the Indian for aid
in these matters is indicated by the quoted letter of Cornplanter, the
Seneca chief.
CHAPTER XII
CONCLUSION