Building Accounts 1. Extract from the account of William de Higelegh serjeant of Monks Eleigh from Michaelmas 1343 to the same feast 1344 for one whole year

Buildings (Dom’). And for roofing the hall (aule) and oats grange (grang’ aven’) and cresting (crestand’) the same 16s. And for 1 new gateway (porta) made at Coufen 3s.

Total 19s.

Building Accounts 2. Extract from the account of William de Hygele serjeant there from Michaelmas 1345 to the same feast following for one whole year

Building costs. For 1 man employed to repair the roof of the dovecote in total, 5s. For nails (clav’) bought for the same, 8d. For 1 roofer with his assistant (auxil’) roofing the said dovecote for 4 days, 1s. 6d., per day for him and his assistant, 4½d.

Total 7s. 2d.

Mill. And for 1 stone (petr’) bought for the mill, £1 6s. For carrying the same from Ipswich to Eleigh (Illegh), 8d.

Total 7s. 2d.

Building Accounts 3. Extract from the account of Robert Framesdenne, serjeant there from Michaelmas 1359 to Michaelmas 1360 for one whole year

Buildings. For repairing the pantry (panetria), 6s. 2d. For repairing 1 gateway, 6d. For 1 man roofing the hall, grange, walls, and other places where it was necessary for 40 days, 10s. taking per day, 3d. For daubing (dabur’) the stable, 3s. 9½d. For hinges (heng’) and hooks (hok’) bought for the door of the hall, 1s. For 1 carpenter employed repairing the mill, 4s. 9d. For daubing the same, 3s. 6d. For repairing the [?] (remo) of the mill, 1s. For 1 iron wheel (circulo ferr’) for the mill beam (trave), 1s. 6d, For 1 [man] roofing the mill for 10 days, 3s. 4½d taking per day, 4d. For 1 chest (arca) bought for receiving the tolls (toloneo), 2s. 6d. For wheels (rot’) and cogs (coggys) bought, 7s. 1d.

Total £2 5s. 2d.

Ditching (foss’) and fencing (clausar’). For 3 men digging and planting (ponent’) thorns (spinas) in 1 ditch at Sextaynesfeld containing 56 perches for 10 days, 7s. 6d. <taking per day, 3½d.>

Total 7s. 6d.

Expenses of the chamber (cam’). For 18,000 tiles (tegul’) bought for the chamber, £3 16s. 8d., per 1,000, 4s. 3d. with carriage. For 12 quarters of lime bought, 12s. For 6,000 lath nails (lathenayl’) bought, 10s. 4d.

The previous chapter showed how, by collecting andscrutinising agricultural labourers’ testimonies,George Robertson made important contributions toJohn Phil[i]p Wood's Cramond parish survey. In fact,Wood and Robertson continued to collaborate andcorrespond – and, increasingly, to disagree –throughout the 1790s as they were both employed insending out the ‘Statistical Missionaries’. Thesewere questionnaires designed to prompt Statistical Accountcontributors to return their reports quickly and inthe desired format so that larger countycompilations could be published. Robertson wasresponsible for compiling distinct parish reportsinto the general county survey for Midlothian – alsoknown as Edinburghshire at the time – and he wroteoften to Wood to lament the challenges thisentailed. In 1796 Robertson complained of such a‘vast difficulty in extracting intelligence fromsome of the backward ministers, for example [theMidlothian parishes of] Colinton and Duddingston,that I am preparing to finish the account withoutthem. Indeed I would rather form a calculation fromaverages of the adjoining Parishes from theintelligence I have got other ways than plaguemyself more with them.’

This complaint is interesting in a number of ways.Firstly, there is the fact that Robertson was notcomplaining about the parish surveyors failing tocontribute at all; rather, he was angry that theyhad not contributed ‘intelligence’. Theircontributions were, in his opinion, either notvaluable or not accurate, or both. In fact, someministers simply provided data that contradictedRobertson's assumptions and hypotheses, as we willsee. Secondly, there is the language he used todescribe these unsatisfactory con-tributors: theywere a kind of ‘plague’ and, crucially, they were‘backward’. Theirs was apparently a failure to fullyappreciate the wider process of agricultural‘improvement’ of which Robertson was such a vocalspokesperson. Thirdly, it is notable that Robertsonthreatens to ‘finish the account’ of a county ofsome twenty parishes without including informationfrom at least 10 per cent of them, implying that, inhis view, the details from those few parishes wouldnot materially change the overall picture. This isrevealing of Robertson's view of local particularityand the function of place-specific data. Fourthly,and relatedly, it is striking that he plans to fillany gaps in ‘intelligence’ by generalising theaverages of the parish reports he was happywith.

This Part focuses on the early years of the mission (1935–46), when its actual nature was in a period of confusion. The mission was initiated by a single individual, Frédéric de Bélinay (1875–1958), without a mandate from his Jesuit superiors. It was formally approved without it being clear whether it was intended to evangelise or civilise. The inclination of the pioneers of the mission, this chapter argues, was towards Frenchification. This was the process by which missionaries helped to negotiate the remaking of French identity and moral prestige in the context of the end of the French empire and a decreasing Catholicism at home. This new missionary outreach increased the self-worth of the missionaries. It also gave them global purpose as they embarked on a conquering movement aimed at keeping African colonies under French political and cultural influence. The Jesuit mission in Chad, the chapter argues, shared the civilising nature of all Catholic missions in the 1930s. The missionaries, however, adapted this civilising mission to the unique context of France and Chad after the Second World War. This context was shaped by French strategic interests in Africa and the Middle East, and the urgent need to contain secularising trends in Chad that were already ‘infiltrating’ French towns and cities. The Jesuit missionaries in Chad were part of a broader project which the French government claimed worked towards ‘pacification’ of the region and maintaining the colonial established order.

In the 1930s, Chad became the battleground for global ideologies, religions, and politics. A Muslim-majority country for centuries, Chad witnessed a new move southwards of Islam. This resurgence of Chad's Islam coincided with the beginning of renewed efforts to Christianise the southern part of the country. It began with the arrival of the first Protestant missions in 1920, closely followed by Catholic missionaries in 1929.

Prior to the 1920s, the Capuchins, from the eighteenth century, and the Holy Ghost Fathers, from the nineteenth, had missioned to Central Africa. With the early French colonial expeditions known as ‘Mission Marchand’, ‘Mission Maistre’, and ‘Mission Foureau-Lamy’, Chad had become part of the Catholic Apostolic Vicariate of Ubangi. The Sudan United Mission launched its mission in the same region in 1904.

Apart from the British seas, Charles's main initiative to bring uniformity to his kingdoms was a new book of common prayer. Introduced in Scotland in 1637, it caused widespread and deep anger. A collective repudiation, the National Covenant, emerged on 28 February 1638; it included an oath and band committing Scots to the shape of the kirk being formed by free assemblies and the estates. Although alongside the defence of the true religion it talked of the defence of the king's authority within its established limits, Charles perceived the covenant as an assault on his authority. Regardless of the constitutional forms and privileges of individual territories, all kings understood obedience to be the obligation of their subjects, and composite monarchy offered Charles the means to reimpose royal authority, by drawing upon English and Irish forces. The Covenanters do not seem to have initially considered this possibility, expecting that by presenting a more or less united Scotland, as demonstrated by the broad base of subscriptions to the covenant, Charles would be rendered pliable. They quickly realised their mistake, as the royal navy sailed into the Firth of Forth and an army mustered south of the border. The navy failed to reimpose royal authority in the two Bishops’ Wars of 1639 and 1640, but it was not as ineffective as sometimes supposed and loomed over the covenanted regime's negotiations through the 1640s, as their search for confessional and political security through union rested on the unstated assumption that security could not be permanently assured through arms alone, because they had no reply to naval threats.

The covenanted regime conjured successive large armies for deployments in all three Stuart kingdoms through the 1640s, fielding up to 30,000 men. This was a Scottish military revolution, and the quest to support these forces did, for a time, bring about a transformation in Scottish fiscal capacity. However, it was not accompanied by similar improvements in naval capacity. This lack has been noted by historians, as has the limited success of Scottish privateers in these years. Laura Stewart says that the Scots had no incentive to develop naval forces because their military policy was predicated upon making England pay for the Scottish war machine.

Mt Paka is an extinct volcano in the centre of East Pokot, a region characterised by its pastoral livelihoods. As mentioned before, in the nineteenth century the pastoral Pokot were specialised cattle herders who established their territory north of Lake Baringo and in the Kerio Valley. This chapter describes the pastoral livelihoods at Mt Paka in detail in order to provide a better understanding of today's pastoralists. Contrary to stereotyped assumptions, these are not geared exclusively to life with and from livestock, but are characterised by a high diversity of livelihoods. Nevertheless, the focus on a life with cattle, goats, camels and sheep is very clearly visible – on the one hand, for own consumption; on the other hand, for market-oriented production. The following description of Paka pastoral livelihoods also provides a basis for a later comparison with agro-pastoral livelihoods. In this chapter, I focus on describing the household and community structures and relationships and explaining those elements that are particularly important in the daily life of this pastoral community.

The population of the Paka community consists of approximately 500 to 600 people. Fluctuations in population numbers can be explained with seasonal mobility and in- and out-migration of households from the study area. During the main fieldwork from 2013 to 2015, I counted 92 married women, 50 married men, four independent women and 412 children, resulting in a population of 558 people. The official population density in the former Paka/Korossi sub-location is 27.8 people per km2 for the year 2019 (Republic of Kenya, 2019), whereas the average population density in East Pokot has been calculated as 32.8 people per km2 for the same year (Republic of Kenya, 2019). Population numbers in East Pokot have increased strongly over the past 60 years but, as mentioned in Chapter 3, official population figures must also be viewed with caution.

The pastoral people at Mt Paka organise their living in households consisting of the husband and at least one wife living together with children and sometimes other members of the family such as the husband's mother or siblings. Each wife has her own self-built hut and several small shelter huts for the goatlings, and she owns specific usufruct rights for milking certain livestock given at marriage (Sassoon, 1994).

This chapter is about how ‘new’ or recently publishedgeographical information was added to existingcompilations and applied to other (i.e.,non-geographical) topics in Enlightenment Edinburgh.First, it analyses a copyright dispute between rivalpublishers of geographical grammars to demonstratethat the information in geographical compilations,which was commonly copied, constituted a kind ofcommon knowledge in Enlightenment Edinburgh. Thisemphasises the importance of supplementing thesecompilations with new information. Next, it examinesthe sources used by the publishers of the Encyclopædia Britannica,especially for the Supplementto the 3rd Edition of the EncyclopædiaBritannica (1801–1803). This Supplement was intended toinclude any new information that had been uncoveredsince the volumes of the third edition werepublished (1788–1797). Novel additions to the stockof global knowledge were particularly valuable tothe editors of the Encyclopædia in Edin-burgh, who neededmaterial for every new edition. The price,publishing process and format of the Encyclopædia meant that anysupplementary material – much of which was gleanedfrom the books stocked by Charles Elliot and, later,Bell & Bradfute – needed to be skilfullyincorporated into each successive volume. Using Bell& Bradfute's records, the chapter identifies thepublications – largely recently published books ofvoyages and travels – that were used by the Supplement's editor.Finally, the chapter analyses how these sources wereincorporated into the specific form of theencyclopaedia, and how the new geographicalinformation was included under variousalphabetically organised headings, whereby‘EDINBURGH’ followed ‘EARTHQUAKE, LISBON’ and‘EASTER ISLAND’. Crucially, the new informationappeared not just in explicitly ‘geographical’articles; it was also used in essays about subjectssuch as botany or pagan customs, and came tosupplement the Encyclopædia's discussions of race andhuman classification.

The size and structure of a compilation facilitatesboth the casual glance and rigorous memorisation ina way that a mass of travellers’ accounts does not.It also enables comparisons, and for different kindsof information to be combined and shuffled together.For Bruno Latour, the compilation is an advancedstage on a scale of translations of information. Hesuggests that at each successive translation,‘something is gained’.Moreover, ‘The gain is on the paper form itself. For instance,the supplement offered by the map is on the flat surface of paperwhich is easily dominated by the eyes and on whichdifferent elements can be painted, drawn,superimposed and inscribed.’

Several surveys of Edinburgh's environs were sold fromthe bookshop, but the extent of the environs varied.In the 1770s and 1780s Elliot sold an ‘Environs ofEdinburgh’ map encompassing just a fifteen-mileradius, as well as ‘Ainslies Map 50 miles RoundEdinburgh’. But by 1812 John Ainslie had published asurvey of ‘The environs of Edinburgh’ that alsofunctioned as ‘a complete map of the South Eastdistrict of Scotland’ stretching to the border withEngland some eighty miles south. This expansion ofEdinburgh's environs was also the effect of itssurveying in the period: extending the city'sinfluence, and consolidating the connections betweenthe urban centre and its rural peripheries.

Ainslie and other Edinburgh-based land surveyors playeda vital role in the transformation of the southernScottish countryside. They planned new ruralvillages, as well as roads and bridges whichexpedited trade and correspondence between the cityand its surroundings. Their surveys facilitated thelevelling, draining, dividing and enclosing ofagricultural land. Ainslie's Gentleman and Farmer's Pocket Companion andAssistant (1802) featured instructionsand information to aid this process, including a‘Table for knowing what number of thorns to purchasefor inclosing ground’. In Ainslie's home county ofRoxburghshire in the Scottish borders, common landswere almost entirely thorn-enclosed by the start ofthe nineteenth century. These ‘commonties’ had beenused by rural communities for public events, forforaging fuel, food, medicinal plants and buildingmaterials, and as shared grazing and arable land,but landlords denigrated them as barren wastelandsand surveyors helped to parcel them off to privatelandowners. The loss of common land-access rightsand the reorganisation of the rural economy hadimplications for Scotland's cities. Tenant farmersand agricultural labourers from Scotland's southerncounties migrated to industrial centres such asGlasgow and the expanding capital. Edinburgh'spopulation doubled in the first three decades of thenineteenth century. Agricultural production wasgeared towards meeting the growing urbanpopulation's demands and the regional landscapedominated by large, enclosed farms was barelyrecognisable from the rigs and open commons of acentury before. Methods of mapping and surveyingplayed a key role in this dramatictransformation.

On 15 June 1945, Propaganda Fide extended the ‘personal jurisdiction’ of de Bélinay up to the tenth parallel, leading to the official approval of the Jesuit Mission of Chad in February 1946. A year later, in 1947, the Apostolic Prefecture of Fort-Lamy was created. Du Bouchet, a former provincial of Lyon (r. 1937–43), was appointed the first apostolic prefect. He was joined by one of his former novices, Louis Forobert, in 1948. Under du Bouchet, the territory was divided into two additional missions. The Jesuits directed the mission of Fort-Archambault, and the Oblate Fathers directed the mission of Fort-Lamy. The Capuchins would remain at the head of the Chari Mission until 21 May 1951, when the Jesuits took over its eighteen parishes.

As the previous chapter showed, De Bélinay was a forceful defender of France's geostrategic interests in Central Africa against a rising American influence and the double threat of Communism and Islam. Joseph du Bouchet, in contrast, was sent to Chad primarily to carry out the Vatican's agenda of ecclesial Africanisation. This chapter shows that instead of fully pursuing the Vatican's progressive vision of clerical Africanisation, du Bouchet joined the circle of Lefèbvre, René Graffin, and other French missionary bishops in Africa by delaying the development of a Chadian clergy. For du Bouchet, and in continuity with de Bélinay, Chad was a blessing for France's broader strategy in the Middle East, an opportunity to expand the evangelising mission of the Jesuit Province of Lyon, and a retirement place amid the rise of a younger generation of French Jesuits at home. Like de Bélinay before him, du Bouchet embarked on a conquering movement aimed at spreading the gospel while keeping African colonies under French political and cultural influence.

Addressing the conservatism of the Jesuit pioneers of the Chad Mission in this chapter also means revisiting recent Jesuit historiography. Thomas Banchoff, José Casanova, and others have demonstrated the existence of a certain conservatism in the Society from its restoration in 1814 to the Second Vatican Council (1963–65). When analysing the post- Vatican II period, there is ongoing discussion over whether or not Pedro Arrupe created a ‘new’ Society that broke away from this conservatism. Some historians believe that while Arrupe was reforming the Society, the ‘old’ conservatism was threatening the unity of the Jesuit order.

On the evening of 24 February 1801, atwenty-one-year-old Francis Horner walked from hisfamily home in Edinburgh's New Town to a meetinghall at the University. He was attending a debateorganised by the Speculative Society. The society'smembers – mostly Edinburgh University students andalumni – used the meetings to practise publicspeaking and rhetoric, and to learn how to constructand win an argument. It was an institution forplaying at being statesmen and for acquiring theconfidence to intervene in politics. On thisFebruary evening, as Horner recorded in his diary,the debate was about ‘one of the most interestingsubjects which can engage the attention of apolitical philosopher’, namely ‘the consequences ofa free commerce and intercourse between China andthe rest of the civilised world. There cannot be amore splendid prospect, than that of this new worldbeing unfolded to the curiosity and the observationof European science.’ Indeed, from a ScottishEnlightenment perspective, China remained mysteriousand little understood even in the early nineteenthcentury. Horner's school geography textbook (seeChapter 13) contained barely half a page on China,including the comment that ‘the Europeans are butvery little acquainted with’ the countries of EastAsia. Summarising the Speculative Society'sdiscussion, Horner wrote in his diary that a morecomplete understanding of China would represent ‘animmense accession to the science of humannature’.

‘Accession’ was an interesting choice of word. It meansan addition to acollection. It also means the acquisition of a position ofpower. These two meanings were broughttogether by the philosopher Dugald Stewart, whohimself had been a member of the Speculative Societyin the 1770s and who lectured at EdinburghUniversity in the 1790s. In his Outlines of Moral Philosophy (1793;expanded second edition published 1801), Stewartdescribed ‘every addition that is made to the stockof human knowledge’ as an ‘accession of evidence’ tobe used by ‘those individuals who devote themselves… to the pursuit of science’. Each ‘accession ofevidence’, for Stewart, would lead to an increase inpower for the institution or individual collectingthe evidence. Owning the collection and managing theaccessions was crucial: ‘The idea of power is,partly at least, the foundation of our attachment toproperty.