Boer History1760 at the Cape of Good Hope: Coetsee beyond the Orange, Swellengrebel's Death, and Simon's Town Hospital
Tenth Year: Castle Continuity — 1760
Calendar 1760 opened in the tenth year of Ryk Tulbagh in the first chair. He had not been quite fifty-two when, on the 27th of February 1751, he became governor; the public presentation to the burghers and the promise of fidelity from the official boards had followed on the 15th of April. Saturday, the 8th of April 1752, had been a day of thanksgiving for a hundred years of Company possession, looking back to the gardens of 1652. In 1753 his wife Elizabeth Swellengrebel had died of a severe cold after seventeen years of marriage and had left him a childless widower. March 1755 had raised him councillor extraordinary of Netherlands India, a rank higher than governor without adding to his duties. He was the second Cape governor raised to that third top seat in the Company’s commercial empire. Independent fiscal Pieter van Reede van Oudtshoorn still held his office. The secunde Sergius Swellengrebel still sat the second chair when the year opened. Jan Andries Horak still sat Swellendam. Adriaan van Schoor, appointed in September 1748 after the death of Pieter Lourens, still sat Stellenbosch and Drakenstein. Adriaan de Nys still sat Simon’s Town. The Castle’s ordinary business—open access, fixed fees, no private trading by officers—was a tenth year’s habit. The sumptuary laws adapted on the 25th of March 1755 still stood: no gilded coach but the governor’s, no livery but a councillor’s coachman, no large umbrella but a senior merchant’s or a board lady’s. [3] [7] [9]
As governor he was accessible without the least difficulty to all who wished to see him. The humblest individual could pour grievances into the ears of the father of the country and be sure of a patient hearing. If the complaints were well grounded, he obtained speedy redress; in any case he was sure of good counsel. That quality more than any other endeared him to the people. His probity was beyond suspicion in an age when probity was hardly looked for in men holding such posts. Company salaries were small, and it was taken almost as a matter of course that officers would supplement their incomes in any way not punishable by law. Tulbagh set his face firmly against that habit. He neither traded on his own account nor would he allow any other officer of the government to do so. The fees they were permitted to receive in certain transactions were fixed, and they were restricted from taking more. He regulated his own expenses so that he lived well within his income and allowances, and used what he had to spare in relieving the wants of others. Under his administration every man was certain of getting his dues. No man was put to unnecessary delay; no bribes were received; no false accounts were rendered. Equanimity and a lack of swashbuckling dash did not mean an uneventful chair. He had never sought popularity for popularity’s sake. Gentle and tolerant he remained; strong when the governor’s authority was defied. The tenth year tested that strength on a roadstead still paying in wartime cash, on a northern hunt that crossed a river no white man was believed to have forded, on a church quarrel about rank, and on a death in the secunde’s chair in December. [3] [7] [9]
Continuity of persons was the point of the tenth year as much as novelty of placaat. The same castle, the same boards, and many of the same officers remained. Europeans and Khoikhoi were living together on friendly terms in the old districts, but occasionally the peace was disturbed by San marauders. Land continued to be allotted to colonists without consulting Khoikhoi clans. Plenty of land still seemed left. Cattle runs in the outward districts were probably never less than five or six thousand acres, for which, when it could be recovered, a yearly rental was paid—£2 10s. until 1732 and £5 thereafter. The eastern hamlet of Swellendam remained a hamlet; the pontoon placed on the Breede in 1757, close to the junction of the Zonder End, was still the public boat on that road. Philippe Jacob Naudé of Berlin, who had arrived in the Company’s service in 1754, was still a Company servant. The Rev. Hendrik Kroonenburg still sat the Cape pulpit with the Rev. Johannes Frederik Bode as second clergyman when the year opened. The Rev. Gerhardus Croeser still sat Zwartland. The Rev. Johannes Appeldoorn still sat Stellenbosch. The Rev. Van der Spuy still sat Drakenstein. Roodezand’s church at Waveren was still under Remmerus Harders, sent inland in January 1758 by commissioner Johan Gideon Looten after Meyring’s death in May 1757. Combined consistories had already ceased in 1759; their travelling charges would not sit on the congregations in the tenth year. [3] [4] [8]
In the census returns of 1754 the number of colonists of both sexes and all ages had been given as 5,510, and the number of slaves owned by them as 6,279. In those of 1756 the number of colonists is given as 5,128, and of their slaves as 5,787. No later count sat on the Castle table in 1760. In ordinary years the number of deaths stood to baptisms roughly as 100 to 261, and there was a constant accession to the colonial population by servants of the Company taking their discharge. The figures, though they cannot be depended upon as absolutely accurate, still give the idea of the heavy loss of life by the smallpox. Table Valley had buried 963 Europeans and 1,109 blacks between the 1st of May and the 31st of October 1755. With the Khoikhoi the disease had created great havoc, spreading farther inland than in 1713. Before midsummer it had entirely died out. The tenth year therefore still lived inside that shadow: fewer free households, fewer bondsmen, and a colony that had exported grain from reserves while the capital’s labour force stayed thin. Company books had already closed the quarterly 600 guilders sent since 1747 to Tulbagh’s widowed mother Catharina Cattepoel; she had died in 1757. A childless widower sat the first chair without that Dutch household claim. [3] [9]
Outward, the land regime did not change. Cattle runs of five or six thousand acres still seemed to leave land enough. Yearly rental, when it could be recovered, remained £5 after the fifteen-year quit-rent settlement of 1732. Khoikhoi who still held together in compact bodies retained their own government, with chiefs practically appointed by the Dutch authorities. Only when Europeans or slaves were also concerned were they made amenable to colonial law. The greater number had lost old tribal distinctions and lived as dependents of farmers, or wandered and took service as they felt disposed. The courts were open for their protection, and heavy sentences against European criminals in such cases prove that the law was not a dead letter. The government of Tulbagh, being popular, was strong; oppression of Khoikhoi on any large scale could only take place in times of anarchy. Land was allotted without consulting them. As yet there was plenty of land left for them and their cattle, so that this question was not a pressing one. Dirk Marx’s report, received in 1756, that he had met Xhosa as far west as the Great Fish, remained the frontier note: not a new placaat on guns and horses—that had been 1755—but a hunter’s line moved west from the Keiskama of Beutler’s 1752 expedition to the Fish. Calendar 1760 added no second Beutler-scale trek and no second Roggeveld commando. It added a paying bay still in wartime, a Piketberg hunter across a northern river, a hospital foundation at False Bay, a consistory quarrel, and a death in the second chair. [3] [4] [7]
Wartime Provision Market Continues — 1760
From the arrival of the French men-of-war and transports in December 1758 and January 1759 the farmers had been in a prosperous condition. The war in India between the English and the French had not yet ended. French men-of-war still called to refresh and take in supplies. Officers of French packets from Mauritius and of English packets from St Helena bid against each other for cattle and meal and wine. The empty roadstead of the glut years had become a double auction. What the Castle could not do by placaat in 1756 and 1757—move the surplus—seventeen hulls and the packets that followed them still did in cash. Calendar 1760 sat in the middle of that wartime boom: the first full year after the French fleet, and still a year in which strangers paid in money. [3] [9]
On more than one occasion in this wartime stretch the government was unable to procure as much provision as was needed for the Company’s own ships, as the burghers were desirous of selling at high prices to strangers. That tension was the inverse of the insolvency years. The same farms that could not move wine in 1756 could not keep it from foreign pursers in 1760. The Castle still needed its own fleets fed. Burghers still preferred the higher foreign price. That contest, not insolvency, remained the administrative headache. There was a remedy later; it was not this year’s placaat. In the tenth year the Castle watched strangers bid and still had to fill Company holds. [3]
The government, as well as individuals, profited by the strangers. The revenue was increased, a quantity of surplus wheat in the magazines was disposed of, and some shipments of Bourbon coffee were purchased at the low price of twenty-five shillings per hundred pounds for transmission to Europe. Colonial and private interest aligned for once: the revenue rose when strangers bought, magazines could move surplus wheat, and farmers who had faced insolvency held the scarce goods. In 1756 an export duty of £1 per legger had been laid upon all wine and brandy sold to strangers in bulk, in addition to the dues previously levied. The duty was farmed out by auction, and in the first year was sold for no more than £38 6s. 8d. Four years later—calendar 1760—it rose to £400. The farm that had been almost worthless in the glut now paid ten times over, because the bay was buying. [3]
The Huguenot valleys that had planted vines after 1688 now sold into a wartime bay. Drakenstein, the Paarl, Fransche Hoek, and Val du Charron—later Wellington—had been agricultural settlements whose fruit and grain had become plentiful while cattle remained scarce. Under the second van der Stel the settlement had been extended beyond the first mountain range to place colonists for cattle farming and stock grazing. The Tulbagh kloof remained the gateway to that inland basin. Piketberg, from which a hunter would ride north this year, sat in that same outward cattle country. Wine from those old French names, and cattle from the outward runs of five or six thousand acres, were what French pursers still paid for. The tenth year did not invent those farms. It paid them. [4] [7]
During the twenty-one years of Tulbagh’s government the average quantity of farm produce exported to India was 11,791 muids of wheat, 202 muids of rye, 68 muids of barley, 202 muids of peas, 174 muids of beans, and 346 leggers of common wine. Butter had first been exported to India in 1754; during the next eighteen years the quantity sent abroad annually averaged 22,322 pounds, usually purchased at the Company’s stores at sixpence to eightpence a pound. To Europe were sent yearly rather over 100 leggers of common wine and as much Constantia wine as could be obtained, which was usually not more than 14 or 15 leggers. From 1756 the price paid by the Company for red Constantia wine was £20 16s. 8d. and for white Constantia wine £10 8s. 4d. the legger, the proprietors of the farms into which the original estate was divided being obliged under an old contract to sell at that price. They could easily get double those sums from foreigners, and were loud in complaining. In 1760 that complaint had a sharper edge: the bay was paying foreigners’ prices while the Company still took Constantia at the old contract, and the wine-export farm itself had jumped to four hundred pounds. [3]
After Clive’s action against the Dutch armament sent from Batavia to Chinsurah on the Ganges in 1759, the friendly feeling between Great Britain and the United Provinces had been disturbed. Orders had issued from the directors that nothing which could be refused under existing treaties should be supplied to English ships touching at the Cape. The matter was adjusted without a rupture, but those cooler instructions still sat on the Castle table in 1760. English packets from St Helena still bid for cattle and meal and wine; they did not yet recover the liberal treatment of a quiet neutrality. Swedish colours, first seen in Table Bay in 1759, remained a new flag among the foreigners who obtained whatever they chose to pay for, except when the council thought it necessary to prohibit the sale of articles the Company needed. The tenth year’s roadstead was therefore a paying one with a cooler English courtesy still in force. [3] [9]
Jacobus Coetsee Crosses the Orange — 1760
In 1760 a burgher named Jacobus Coetsee with twelve Khoikhoi companions proceeded northward from his farm at Piketberg and hunted elephants beyond the river known later as the Orange. It was believed that no white man had crossed that stream before. The hunt was a private venture, not a government train. Ivory remained a Company concern under the 1753 sale rules; hunters still went where tusks and cattle stories led. Coetsee’s party brought back more than ivory talk. They brought a crossing, and a report that would sit in a Paarl militia captain’s ear before the year was out. [3]
White cattle runs already reached as far north as the mouth of the Elephant river. Since Simon van der Stel’s copper journey of 1685 the base of supply had moved inland nearly two hundred miles. What had been a Company march to the copper mountains was now a burgher’s ride from a Piketberg farm. The tenth year did not need a commissioner or a governor in the saddle to put a European across that northern water. A hunter with twelve Khoikhoi companions was enough. The river that had long stood as a rumour line on the northern map became, in one season, a stream a Cape burgher had forded and come back from. [3] [4]
Piketberg itself belonged to that outward cattle country whose first graziers had been placed beyond the mountain range under the second van der Stel. Fruit and grain had filled the Huguenot valleys; cattle had remained scarce on the peninsula, and the remedy had been to push stock posts inland. A farm at Piketberg was already two hundred miles of moved base from the copper journey of 1685. Coetsee’s northward hunt was the next increment of that same logic: not a new district, not a new drostdy, but a private party following elephants beyond the last river the colony named as a limit. The Khoikhoi who went with him were of the class that accompanied elephant hunters, men who had learned to be expert marksmen. The Castle had already, in 1755, been anxious that such men should not become possessed of guns and horses of their own. In 1760 twelve of them went north in a burgher’s service and came back having crossed a stream no white companion had crossed. [3] [7]
The crossing did not redraw a colonial boundary. The Fish still sat as Marx’s western Xhosa note; Swellendam still sat as a hamlet; the Breede pontoon still sat as the public boat. What changed was the northern rumour. A burgher had gone beyond the Elephant river mouth, beyond the copper mountains first visited in 1685, and had hunted on the far side of the great stream. The Castle did not send him. It would hear of him through a militia captain after he returned. Until that report, the tenth year’s northern fact was simply this: the river had been crossed, and the hunter had come home. [3]
Report of the Damrocquas — 1760
Some time after his return Coetsee informed Hendrik Hop, one of the captains of the burgher militia, who occupied the farm Slot van de Paarl, that he had heard of a tribe of black people called Damrocquas living ten days’ journey beyond the farthest point he had reached, and that they had long hair and wore clothes made of linen cloth. The story was a hunter’s report, not a surveyed map. It named a people Coetsee had not seen. It placed them ten days beyond his own farthest camp. It dressed them in linen and long hair—the sort of embroidered detail that makes a militia captain listen. [3]
Hop sat at the Paarl, on a farm whose name—Slot van de Paarl—already marked a settled militia rank in the old Huguenot basin. A Piketberg hunter’s story, carried to that captain, was how northern news still travelled in the tenth year: not by a Castle expedition, but by a burgher telling another burgher. The Paarl had been planted with vines and fruit after 1688; Slot van de Paarl was now a militia address. Coetsee’s Damrocqua talk sat in that address before it sat in any minute of the council of policy. [3] [7]
The embroidered detail would not be tested on the ground in 1760. No official caravan left the Bakoven. No botanist, surgeon, or surveyor was named. The year closed with the rumour still untested and the Orange already crossed. That was enough to open official ears later; it was not yet a government journey. The tenth year’s northern ledger is the hunter, the twelve companions, the crossing, and the story told at Slot van de Paarl. [3]
What the report did in 1760 was to attach a name—Damrocquas—to the country beyond the great river. Namaqua clans south of that water were already known in outline from the copper journey of 1685 and from later stock posts toward the Elephant river. Black people ten days farther north, with linen and long hair, were a new sentence on an old map. Whether the sentence would survive inquiry was not this year’s business. This year’s business was that a Cape burgher had crossed the stream and come home talking. [3]
Simon's Town Hospital Begun — 1760
At Simon’s Town expensive works were carried out in Tulbagh’s later years. The hospital—a square building of 130 feet frontage—was commenced in 1760. That foundation is the tenth year’s False Bay fact. The station had been a winter alternative since the 1740s, when north-west gales made Table Bay unsafe. Under Hendrik Swellengrebel a long building some 450 feet in length had been put up to serve for all purposes. In 1760 that long shed was no longer enough. A dedicated hospital square began to rise, paid for while foreign and Company ships still crowded the refreshment economy. [3]
Postholder Adriaan de Nys still held the station through 1760. He had been appointed in March 1751 in succession to Justinus Blas, in the same season that Tulbagh took the first chair. Nine years on, De Nys still sat the False Bay post while the hospital square was begun. The title of resident had not yet replaced postholder. The garrison and workmen still used the old Swellengrebel length as quarters once a separate hospital was conceived. Beginning the hospital matched the wartime traffic: False Bay was no longer only an emergency winter door. It was becoming a built station with medical space. [3]
Table Valley, in the same administration, was already being enlarged. Strangers began to know it by the name Cape Town, though by the colonists it was still termed the Cape. Several new streets were laid out. The parade ground was again levelled, and an oak hedge was planted round it. Already in 1755–56 a new building for the rattle watch had been erected on the present Greenmarket Square. The Wapen Pleyn was levelled again and provided with a hedge of oak trees. The name Kaapstad did not sound euphemistic any longer. Simon’s Town’s hospital square is the False Bay counterpart of that civic work: not a new street in Table Valley, but a medical building at the winter port, begun in the same wartime stretch that paid the farms. [3] [9]
The tenth year did not finish the hospital. It laid it out. Substantial storehouses, a stone pier, a slaughter house, a bakery, workshops, and a dwelling for the officer in charge would be later work. In 1760 the fact is the commencement: 130 feet of square frontage at the winter port, the old 450-foot building kept for garrison and workmen, De Nys still postholder, and a roadstead that made medical space at False Bay worth the Company’s outlay. The gardens of 1652 had been a refreshment station with a hospital in Table Valley. A century and eight years later the winter door got a hospital of its own. [3]
Serrurier Arrives and the Bode Dispute — March 1760
In March 1760 the Rev. Johannes Petrus Serrurier arrived from Europe. He was of Hanau, a French refugee name already known at the Cape: Jan Serrurier of Hanau, son of Louis Serrurier and Ester de Vis, had married Catharina Krygsman in November 1747, become a burgher councillor, and owned Alphen at Wynberg. The new clergyman came from that same Hanau stock into a Cape church that already had two ministers. The council of policy decided to keep him at the Cape and to send the Rev. Johannes Frederik Bode to Waveren. Bode had been inducted as clergyman of the Cape in November 1758, sent out by the directors after Voltelen’s death in April of that year. Waveren still sat under Harders, provisionally, since January 1758. The council’s plan was to park the new arrival in the capital and move the second Cape minister inland. [3] [8]
Bode declined to remove, on the ground that having been inducted as clergyman of the Cape he could not be required to fill a position of less dignity without being found guilty of misconduct. Some members of the council shared that view. The majority suspended him from duty and stopped his pay until the opinion of the directors could be made known. The 1760 quarrel was thus a castle-and-consistory dispute about rank, not doctrine. It left the Cape with Kroonenburg still in the first pulpit, Serrurier kept in town without a settled induction as third clergyman, and Bode suspended without stipend, while Harders continued at Roodezand and the directors had not yet spoken. [3]
Combined consistories had already ceased in 1759. The council had considered that the yearly meetings served no useful purpose, and that the travelling charges of the clergymen and elders were burthens too heavy to be borne by the congregations. The tenth year’s church fight therefore happened without that circuit as a safety-valve. Five congregations—Cape, Stellenbosch, Drakenstein, Zwartland, Waveren—no longer met as a combined board. Rank at the Cape pulpit was argued in the council of policy instead. Church administration under Tulbagh could be as punctilious as salute etiquette in the bay. [3]
On the 9th of November 1760 Serrurier married Margaretha Elisabeth Timmendorf. The new clergyman, still in his first Cape year and still waiting on the directors for a settled rank, took a Cape wife while Bode sat suspended. Hanau and Timmendorf in one household joined the French-refugee names already on the Cape books. The marriage is the year’s private church fact beside the public suspension: a minister kept in town, a second minister without pay, and a November wedding in the capital. [8]
So the Cape pulpits stood at the close of March’s quarrel and November’s marriage. Kroonenburg still sat. Bode was suspended and unpaid, his contention not yet judged in the Netherlands. Serrurier was in town, married, and not yet inducted as third clergyman. Croeser still sat Zwartland, Appeldoorn Stellenbosch, Van der Spuy Drakenstein, Harders Waveren. The directors would have to settle Bode’s rank; they had not done so by December. The tenth year’s church ledger is arrival, refusal, suspension, and a Hanau wedding—not a finished induction. [3] [8]
Sergius Swellengrebel Dies; Van Oudtshoorn Acting Secunde — December 1760
On the 8th of December 1760 the secunde Sergius Swellengrebel died. He had held the second seat since the arrangement that accompanied Tulbagh’s promotion—named in the despatch of 1 April 1750 while Hendrik still governed, and confirmed in the working order of the 1750s. Hendrik had become secunde in August 1737, governor in April 1739, and had resigned in March 1751 to proceed to Europe. Sergius had taken the second chair in February 1751 as Tulbagh took the first. Nearly ten years later the Swellengrebel name left that chair by death, not by resignation. [3]
His death broke the direct Swellengrebel hold on the secunde’s chair. The family name remained on the map at Swellendam and in colonial memory; the office itself passed at once into other hands. For Tulbagh, who had married Elizabeth Swellengrebel in 1736 and risen beside that household—from senior clerk to secretary to secunde to governor—the loss was both personal and institutional. He had been a childless widower since 1753. The brother-in-law’s family still sat the second chair until the 8th of December. After that date the Castle’s second seat was no longer a Swellengrebel seat. [3] [9]
On the 12th of December the council of policy decided that the independent fiscal Pieter van Reede van Oudtshoorn should fill the vacant office until the pleasure of the supreme authorities could be known. He had assumed duty as fiscal independent in September 1741. He had sat that chair through Tulbagh’s whole government, through the sumptuary years, through smallpox, through the wine glut, and through the French boom. In the glut years Tulbagh had arranged with him to abandon the fiscal’s fee of four shillings and twopence on every legger of wine sold to a foreigner, and to take instead one shilling and fourpence on every hundred pounds of grain or meal. In December 1760 that same fiscal was placed in the second chair. The directors confirmed him. The independent fiscal’s office itself then stood vacant pending a successor from the Netherlands. [3]
So 1760 closed with a new second-in-command already sitting, a northern river crossed by a hunter, a hospital square begun at Simon’s Town, a clergyman suspended over Waveren, a Hanau minister married in November, and the wartime market still paying farmers in money. The wine-export farm that had sold for thirty-eight pounds in 1756 had risen to four hundred. French packets still bid. English ships still found a cooler hand after Chinsurah. Combined consistories still did not meet. Horak still sat Swellendam. Van Schoor still sat Stellenbosch. De Nys still sat Simon’s Town. Kroonenburg still sat the Cape pulpit; Bode did not. The Castle hierarchy did not wait for a larger northern scene. Four days after Sergius died, Van Oudtshoorn sat the second chair. [3] [4] [7] [8] [9]
The decade that opened with Tulbagh’s installation, De la Caille’s instruments, and the fiftieth penny closed a calendar year of a northern crossing, a hospital foundation, a consistory suspension, a November wedding, and a death in the second chair. Between those poles of the 1750s lay Beutler’s eastern march, the slave code, sumptuary rules, smallpox, the Doddington’s rock, leprosy confirmed among Europeans, wine collapse, a pontoon on the Breede, a Roggeveld pursuit, a paying French fleet, cancelled consistories, a Swedish flag, and cooler orders about English colours. The 1750s did not give the Cape a new province. They gave it a new governor’s style, a measured sky, a harsher slave ordinance, a demographic scar, and a wartime market that still paid the farms in cash. Calendar 1760 added a hunter beyond the great river and a vacant Swellengrebel chair. [3]
Calendar 1760 may be closed on those names and numbers. Father Tulbagh, childless since 1753, councillor extraordinary since March 1755, sat a tenth year in which the last census still read 5,128 colonists and 5,787 slaves. French packets from Mauritius and English packets from St Helena still bid against each other for cattle, meal, and wine. The wine-export farm rose to £400. Burghers preferred strangers’ prices to the Company’s own need. After Chinsurah, directors’ orders still cooled English ships. Jacobus Coetsee, with twelve Khoikhoi, hunted elephants beyond the great river and told Hendrik Hop of Damrocquas with linen and long hair. The Simon’s Town hospital—a square of 130 feet frontage—was commenced. Serrurier arrived in March, Bode was suspended, and on the 9th of November Serrurier married Margaretha Elisabeth Timmendorf. On the 8th of December Sergius Swellengrebel died. On the 12th Van Oudtshoorn sat the second chair. Horak still sat Swellendam. De Nys still sat Simon’s Town. [3] [4] [7] [8] [9]
Year 1760 is the second full calendar of the paying wartime stretch—still under Tulbagh, still under Company law, still under the noise of European war in the roadstead, and now under a hunter’s northern sentence and a new secunde. The gardens of 1652 were still a refreshment station under a Dutch flag, a Castle that posted its duties, and a fatherly chair that had seen a paying fleet in the year before and a death in the second seat in December. What the tenth year did not do is as clear as what it did. It did not extend the eastern border. It did not fill a vacant landdrost. It did not restore Batavia’s old wine take. It did not send a government caravan north of the great river. It paid the farms, began a hospital square, suspended a second clergyman, logged a Hanau wedding, crossed a northern stream by a private hunter, and replaced a Swellengrebel in four days. That is enough for one calendar. [3] [9]
The tenth year closed with cash in the bay and a thinner second chair. French hulls had done what twelve foreign ships in two glut years had not, and they were still doing it. Combined consistories, useful or not, still did not meet at the congregations’ travelling cost. English ships still found a cooler hand. A Piketberg burgher had crossed the great river. A square hospital had been begun at Simon’s Town. Bode sat without pay. Serrurier sat with a wife. Van Oudtshoorn sat as secunde. The Castle, the boards, and the fatherly chair remained. Calendar 1761 would have its own names. They are not this year’s ledger.