Posh Powerful Secrets
ANNETTE TELLS TALES BONUS (with EXTRA BONUS for Nonnies, annual and monthly paid subscribers) The Secret Diary of Billy, age 35 3/4: Behind his lofty attitude, he was scared.
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Today, a follow up to How To Be Posh, before we move on to something completely different. I’m writing about one posh man, typical of posh men of his time and place, except for this: He kept a secret diary.
Bill Byrd’s Transatlantic Life
Billy was an American boy from a wealthy family in the South, but his parents worried that America was an unsafe place to raise a kid. So when he was two, Billy and his mother went to live in England, in her home county of Essex. That didn’t last long, and they returned to America. At age seven, however, he was sent back to England alone, to a boarding school in Essex, where he was bullied for being American, something that would haunt him all his life.
Billy dropped his American accent, and then found friends. He heard little from his family: Billy’s dad sent occasional replies to his letters, urging him to work hard, but he only saw his dad twice again in his life. After school, Bill took an internship at a global commerce firm, showing the other side of the trade in which his family was engaged in America. He then studied law in London. Finally, Bill returned home to America, where Dad helped him launch a career in politics.
Bill was quickly elevated to the Virginia legislature (thanks to Dad, because Bill was a nepo baby, not that this happens now, cough) . But America was very boring compared with London. So, within a few months, Bill headed right back to England. In London, he resumed his law practice and became an English gent, with a posh wife, and connections around Britain.
Bill’s Englishness was typical of posh American men of his generation: They were coming to think of themselves as British, and, indeed, many of them were undeniably culturally British, having been educated in England, and sending their kids “home” to boarding schools.
Bill Byrd cultivated a reputation as a man of learning, of good manners. Reputation control was important to Byrd and men like him, to appear to deserve the power and privilege they had in life.
When Bill was thirty, his dad died. His mother had died a few years earlier. Reluctantly, he went home to Virginia, a home he hardly knew. There, however, this workaday London lawyer now found himself at the top of Virginia society. He became a powerful political influencer, and would build a huge new family mansion, and fill it with expensive knickknacks.
This was all thanks to the massively profitable Byrd family business, which Bill continued to build by buying some of the enslaved Africans being shipped to America. What he and we call a “plantation”, evoking romantic Gone With The Wind images, was in reality a slave labor camp growing huge crops of an addictive drug: Tobacco.
Bill Byrd, Exposed! Ahem.
William Byrd, II, born in 1674, grew up to become a stunningly wealthy and powerful slave-owning tobacco planter in early 18th century Virginia, although he spent much of his life in London from a very early age. He is amazingly well documented, thanks to his diary, which he coded in a form of shorthand, and kept for four decades.
More than 200 years later, in Los Angeles in 1941, resident Huntington Library scholar Louis B. Wright, an English professor, and Marion Tinling, a Huntington research assistant, together decoded Bill’s secret diary. They realized that he had learned his peculiar shorthand from a book published a couple of years before he began journaling.
Two generation later, in 1987, historian Kenneth Lockridge took the raw material of Byrd’s diary and turned it into a biography: The Diary, and Life, of William Byrd II. Lockridge found Byrd a man preoccupied with power in his home, with sex and violence, and with (here’s the thing) constant challenges to his authority: He wasn’t as in charge as he wanted to be.
Yet Byrd was becoming the most powerful member of the Virginia oligarchy, and no, I did NOT just use that word to comment on current events. For many, many decades, American historians have described William Byrd and all his intermarried cronies and frenemies who ran Virginia in the 18th century as oligarchs. That's because that's what they were.
Turns out, Byrd’s diary is, well, revealing. Very, very revealing. Leaving little to the imagination, if you get my drift.
There’s violence in it. And slavery. And sex. Now I have your attention!
But that stuff is sprinkled throughout a mundane account of Byrd’s daily life. And for me, that’s the most striking thing about the diary. When we look behind the curtain, behind William Byrd’s great and powerful image, there’s an insecure and rather lonely man who never got over being bullied as a kid. Nasty, too, but then, he and his pals all were, by the standards we like to kid ourselves we have today. He was also rather boring (seriously!)
Face it, though, you’re here for the sex and violence. Maybe the slavery. Same thing.
It was on tobacco profits that William Byrd eventually built his massive trophy mansion at Westover, his American estate, around 1730. I wasn’t kidding in How to Be Posh that the first half of the eighteenth century was a key time for poshness in Britain and British America: Money was pouring in from the slave trade and the products of slave labor, and the benefits were not spread widely, mostly to a few who now enjoyed a standard of living unimaginable to everyone else.
Brits, a moment please: Yes, I know some of you like to look around posh houses on a day out, and you see me as a spoilsport, bringing up slavery and whatnot, but if ten year olds cope fine with learning about slavery, why not you? C’mon! Tut. Not that I suggest you share this post with ten year olds. Ahem.
There was much more to Bill Byrd than a huge house full of goodies and a fast car(raige) in the garage. No, before you ask, he didn’t own a massive yacht, much less a yacht to service his yacht. You’re thinking of someone else. Yachts weren’t really a thing in the 18th century. Trying to imagine William Byrd crossing the Atlantic in a private sailing ship . . . Nope. Not there yet.
That Diary
I’m not going deep into the life of William Byrd, and I have only dipped into Kenneth Lockridge’s book, not pored over it. Instead, I’ll share some excerpts from the diary itself, from when he was in his mid-thirties, and translate them into something more chatty.
Why translate in my inimitable style? Byrd’s diary might seem pretty easy to understand. But that’s a bit of an illusion.
As historian and Byrd biographer Dr. Lockridge noted, “Translated into English letters, the diary is still encoded.” Meaning: We don’t always know what Byrd meant, or how he meant it. Or why he wrote it. Byrd wrote about his doings with “appalling regularity”, as Lockridge almost sighs, since he had to read the whole thing, several times, and it is repetitive. But then there’s the sex and violence, and a peek at life for enslaved people on a huge Virginia plantation, which only make sense with a bit of context, starting with Byrd being a powerful man who wasn’t very sure of himself—none of the eighteenth century Virginia oligarchy were.
Bits of Byrd’s Diary
With thanks to whoever at the University of Oklahoma, Indiana University, and Newcastle University (UK) posted excerpts online, and also to Dr. Terry Bouton at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, for the same.
Byrd’s Diary [February 8, 1709] I rose at 5 o’clock this morning and read a chapter in Hebrew and 200 verses in Homer's Odyssey. I ate milk for breakfast. I said my prayers. Jenny and Eugene were whipped. I danced my dance. I read law in the morning and Italian in the afternoon. I ate tough chicken for dinner . . . In the evening I walked about the plantation. I said my prayers. I had good thoughts, good health, and good humor this day, thanks be to God Almighty.
Annette translates: [February 8, 1709]. Got up at the crack of dawn, 5 a.m., and read in Hebrew, which I learned at my expensive school in England. I must keep up with my reading in classical languages, because I’m stuck out here in Podunk, Virginia. If I forget my languages, I lose my claim to ultra-poshness and the power that comes with it. Plus I’ll go mad if I don’t keep the old brain stimulated. I also read 200 verses of Homer’s Odyssey, in the original Greek.
I had some milk for breakfast. I said prayers, because I worry that God sees what I get up to, and I don’t think He’s fooled by my poshness, just saying. He’s always telling me to try harder, just like my late dad did. I ordered the whipping of young Jenny and Eugene, because I can. They are my slaves and my property. But I don’t like to get my hands bloody, since I am a gentleman, so I had my overseer take care of that unpleasantness. For exercise, I did a spot of Zumba.
I read my law books in the morning, and, in the afternoon, I read in Italian . At dinner, the chicken was tough. I would have had the slave cook whipped, but if I did, she might poison my food. Hey, I was in a great mood today! And with my exercises, I am keeping healthy! Again, thanks, God (can’t say that too often).
Byrd’s Diary [April 17, 1709] I rose at 5 o'clock and read a chapter in Hebrew and 150 verses in Homer. I said my prayers, and ate milk for breakfast. I danced my dance... Anaka was whipped yesterday for stealing the rum and filling the bottle up with water. I went to church, where were abundance of people...
Annette translates : [April 17, 1709] Got up at five as usual, read Hebrew and Homer, said prayers, milk for breakfast, did Pilates. Anaka, one of my slaves, was whipped bloody, probably scarred for life, and she deserved it: She stole some of my best booze, and tried to hide her wicked theft by refilling the bottle with water, shame on her! As if I don’t pay her enough! Ok, I don’t pay her at all unless you count a weekly allowance of cornmeal and the bits of pig that I don’t like, like the trotters and intestines. But why should I pay my own property? And if I paid her, how could I, an important person, keep up my languages and fitness program? That’s absurd. Went to church, where I sit in a prime pew surrounded with other posh people, so God can know how much I love him.
Byrd’s Diary [June 9, 1709] My Eugene ran away this morning for no reason but because he had not done anything yesterday. I sent my people after him but in vain... I neglected to say my prayers for which God forgive me. I had good health, good thoughts, and good humor, thanks be to God Almighty. I danced my dance.
Annette translates: [June 9, 1709] My slave Eugene escaped this morning, and I just don’t understand: Why would he run away, when I’m so kind to him? Apparently he did no unpaid work for me yesterday, and he then decided he was done with slavery, which is ridiculous. I sent armed men to find him, but no luck . . . I got so distracted by Eugene’s misbehavior, I forgot to pray, which I hope the good Lord will overlook since I’m otherwise a good person. Hey! Thanks to you, God, I was really happy and healthy today! Did Crossfit, by myself.
Byrd’s Diary [June 10, 1709] I rose at 5 o’clock this morning but could not read anything because of Captain Keeling, but I played at billiards with him and won half a crown of him and the Doctor. George B- brought home my boy Eugene. I ate milk for breakfast, but neglected to say my prayers, for which God forgive me... In the evening I took a walk about the plantation. Eugene was whipped for running away and had the [bit] put on him. I said my prayers and had good health, good thoughts, and good humor, thanks be to God almighty.
Annette translates: [June 10, 1709] Got up at five as usual, but I couldn’t read as I usually do, because I have a houseguest, that idiot Captain Keeling. So I challenged him and the Doctor, also visiting, to a game of billiards [like pool, A.] They had no idea I’m an absolute shark, and won half a crown off them [Two shillings and sixpence, today maybe roughly £15 or US$20, a small amount to a rich man like Byrd—A] .
George B. brought home my slave Eugene, who so rudely ran away, the ungrateful young fool. Milk for breakfast, didn’t say my prayers (Sorry, God). Had a nice walk around the plantation this evening, while Eugene was whipped bloody on my orders, and forced to wear a bit in his mouth, like a horse, so I don’t expect any more complaints from him about slavery, thank you. Said my prayers. Another great day. Thanks, God!
Byrd’s Diary [November 30, 1709] I rose at 3 o'clock and read two chapters in Hebrew and some Greek in Cassius. I went to bed again and lay till 7. I said my prayers, danced my dance, and ate milk for breakfast. Eugene was whipped for pissing in bed and Jenny for concealing it. I settled several accounts . . .
Annette translates: [November 30, 1709] Got up at 3 a.m., I couldn’t sleep, so read in Hebrew and then Greek. Went back to bed, and slept until 7 a.m. Got up, said my prayers, did some “Sweatin’ to the Oldies”, drank milk for breakfast. Eugene wet the bed, so I had him whipped, and had Jenny whipped for trying cover up for him. Paid some bills.
Byrd’s Diary [December 3, 1709] I rose at 5 o'clock and read two chapters in Hebrew and some Greek in Cassius. I said my prayers and ate milk for breakfast. I danced my dance. Eugene pissed abed again for which I made him drink a pint of piss. I settled some accounts and read some news . . .
I see no need to translate that one for you.
The Brutal 18th Century: Byrd in Context
How was it possible to be a gentleman and yet so ungentle? In 18th century Britain, violent punishments were the norm. It was a brutal age, made more so as the increasingly wealthy elite sought to control by fear. Even wealthy children were whipped by parents and teachers, sometimes with heavy bundles of birch twigs. Hangings in London were a form of entertainment. Even so, enslaved Africans and African-Americans in British America were exempted from the rights of even the poorest Englishmen—They had to be, or they could not have legally been enslaved for life, or their children enslaved.
Enslaved people were victimized by slavery, but we should not define them only by victimhood. Byrd and other powerful Virginians feared enslaved people. No wonder: They feared slave revolts, and not just major uprisings. People held in slavery were in a constant state of rebellion against the lives they were forced to lead.
Slavery is not a natural way for people to live. I cringe when non-historians talk of slavery in terms of whippings, and the “treatment” of slaves, which puts the emphasis, wrongly, on passive victims, and pity toward enslaved people, as if they were pet poodles, not people. The issue for enslaved people themselves, always, was freedom, and the getting of it, for however long they could.
There was no freedom to be found by fleeing to northern British America in 1709, since slavery was legal throughout the colonies: There were slave rebellions in New York in 1708 and 1712. But people still escaped from slavery, either with a goal of never coming back, or simply getting a bit of respite, to see family members, or to postpone and perhaps evade punishment.
Resistance by enslaved people included taking compensation that was denied to them: Their only payments were skimpy food rations, and enslaved people were often expected to grow their own veggies. So hogs and chickens went “missing”, and the more daring enslaved people also helped themselves to expensive treats like tea and rum. They avoided work whenever possible, which was regarded by slaveowners as “laziness” (because of course they didn’t want to admit the truth to themselves or anyone else), but which was—to anyone rational— the only sane response to being forced to work for free.
William Byrd saw himself as a stern father. It’s pretty clear that the enslaved people of his household saw him as terrifying. Their words and thoughts went unrecorded, but Byrd gives us a revealing glimpse of their actions: Jenny tried to cover up for Eugene when he wet the bed. Eugene took off when faced with whipping. There was fear, understandably, but also solidarity, with Jenny doing her best to protect Eugene.
Whippings were carried out, not by Byrd (who wouldn’t want blood on his nice clothes) but in his name, and they were carried out before other enslaved people as a warning.
Whipping is a weaselly word: In America, I’ve heard the word “whipping” applied to light corporal punishment. However you feel about corporal punishment, let’s be clear: What was done to enslaved people wasn’t light. It was bloody and brutal. It often left people with permanent scars.
Laing, this is fascinating and awful, but where are the dirty bits in Byrd’s diary?
Coming right up below!
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