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Illegal Enslavement, International Relations, and International Law on the Southern Border of Brazil

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  05 December 2016

Keila Grinberg
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The La Plata River Basin, bordering Uruguay and Brazil, was the site of constant disputes between the Spanish and Portuguese crowns into the eighteenth century. The conflicts dated back to the seventeenth century with the founding of the Colônia do Santíssimo Sacramento on the left bank of the river. Although both sides engaged in diplomatic efforts over the years, these were not enough to prevent war, and there were ongoing battles interspersed with short periods of calm until the end of the 1860s and the so-called Paraguayan War (1865–70).

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Law and History Review , Volume 35 , Issue 1 , February 2017, pp. 31 - 52
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Copyright © the American Society for Legal History, Inc. 2016 

The La Plata River Basin, bordering Uruguay and Brazil, was the site of constant disputes between the Spanish and Portuguese crowns into the eighteenth century. The conflicts dated back to the seventeenth century with the founding of the Colônia do Santíssimo Sacramento on the left bank of the river. Although both sides engaged in diplomatic efforts over the years, these were not enough to prevent war, and there were ongoing battles interspersed with short periods of calm until the end of the 1860s and the so-called Paraguayan War (1865–70).

As throughout the Americas, colonization in the Rio de la Plata region brought slavery. In the late 1700s, the increased demand for skins and dried meat to sell in the Andean and Brazilian markets led to a steady increase in the number of enslaved laborers working on farms. During this period, slaves in Rio Grande do Sul already accounted for approximately 30% of the population of the captaincy. When the two economies of Rio Grande do Sul and the La Plata River were integrated into Rio de Janeiro in the last decades of the eighteenth century, more and more enslaved Africans were brought to the region.Footnote 1 The La Plata River region was still receiving significant numbers of enslaved Africans at the turn of the nineteenth century, when the international slave trade was being seriously questioned. Many of these enslaved Africans and their descendants ended up living more than 400 kilometers south of the border that divided the Empire of Brazil (independent from Portugal in 1822) and the Republic of Uruguay (independent from the Empire of Brazil in 1828), working on ranches and farms of Brazilian and Uruguayan owners.Footnote 2

This article will analyze the passage of enslaved individuals across the southern border of Brazil, and its consequences for international relations and for the establishment of international law between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. It is widely known that individuals seeking freedom used the borders for this purpose. I argue that the movement of people across the Brazilian–Uruguayan border, first between empires and then between independent nations, established unprecedented diplomatic situations. These cases led to the creation of a new jurisprudence in the domain of international law, especially in areas for which there was no specific legislation, such as the question of what to do with runaway slaves.Footnote 3 In turn, this new realm of law, as well as the new treaties on extradition and the return of runaways that resulted from international negotiations, was critical in determining the resolution of individual cases.

The Legal Tradition of “Territorial Asylum”

Historians have recently shown renewed interest in the institution of slavery on the southern border of South America and its profound impact both on local society and on international relations. Starting with such pioneering works as Eugenio Petit Muñoz's study of the legal status and rights of blacks in the Banda Oriental, and Elena Studer's on the slave trade to the La Plata River in the eighteenth century, scholars have paid special attention to runaway slaves from Brazil to Uruguay and Argentina between the late-eighteenth and late-nineteenth centuries: the escapes “beyond the border,” to use the term coined by Silmei de Sant'Ana Petiz.Footnote 4 The interest in runaways is not surprising. In addition to the fact that escapes are a classic theme in studies of slavery in Brazil,Footnote 5 studying cases of enslaved Africans who fled across the borders enables one to see the profound impact on Brazil of neighboring countries’ independence movements and their efforts toward slave emancipation.Footnote 6

This passage across the borders of Brazil was part of a much broader transnational movement of fugitives that took place throughout the Americas from the seventeenth to the nineteenth century. Such cases have been widely studied in the Caribbean, where runaways were somewhat common on islands that were divided between two different empires. Throughout the eighteenth century, the French colonial authorities in Saint Domingue, for example, faced the problem of runaway slaves to Santo Domingo, the Spanish colony on the same island; ultimately, they established troops made up of freed persons to try to recover them. The revolution of 1791 in Saint Domingue continued to cause the displacement of refugees, initially to Santo Domingo, then to Cuba and New Orleans. In such cases, escaping across a border could mean much more than distance from a master; the pursuit of free soil could result in a change of legal status from slave to free or freed person.Footnote 7

In the southern parts of South America, the situation was surely no different. There is evidence that since the mid-eighteenth century, enslaved persons crossed the borders between the Portuguese and Spanish empires in both directions. The Spanish cartographer and naturalist Feliz de Azara mentions these escapes in his 1801 account, complaining that the Spaniards—who, according to him, treated slaves better than the Portuguese did—should never return fugitive slaves, “because the escape was a lawful means of achieving freedom, based on natural law, and thus no human convention could counter it.”Footnote 8 Writing shortly thereafter, in 1821, the French traveler Saint Hilaire, who also believed that slaves were better treated in Spanish territory than in Portuguese,Footnote 9 made reference to fugitive slaves from Brazil toward the La Plata River area at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and he even claimed that “the protection that Artigas granted to runaway slaves from the captaincy [of Rio Grande do Sul] was part of the alleged reasons for the outbreak of war.”Footnote 10

Saint Hilaire was referring to the Spanish–Portuguese conflict for control of the Banda Oriental, which began in 1811. General José Artigas, advancing the independence movement that had begun the previous year in Buenos Aires, besieged the city of Montevideo, where the Spanish viceroy was taking refuge. To avoid political unrest near their own territory—and fearing the possible expansion of Artigas to the north—the Portuguese organized a “Peacekeeping Army” under the pretext of freeing the viceroy, and invaded the Banda Oriental, beginning the so-called Cisplatine Wars, which ended only with the independence of the Republic of Uruguay, in 1828.Footnote 11

Although it is difficult to agree with Saint Hilaire's interpretation that the war started only because of Artigas's campaign to recruit slaves, it is nonetheless interesting that the French traveler offered this explanation. First, it highlights a common and well-known situation in the region that would last for decades: the involvement of slaves and freed persons in nineteenth-century political struggles, whether through voluntary enlistment or forced recruitment, often made under the promise of manumission.Footnote 12 Second, it demonstrates that the issue of runaway slaves deeply preoccupied the Portuguese authorities.

After banning the slave trade in 1812, the government of the United Provinces of the La Plata River declared in February 1813 that slaves from foreign countries would be free simply by “treading on the territory of the United Provinces.”Footnote 13 The Portuguese government immediately complained about the decision, threatening to revise the Armistice of May 26, 1812, in which Portugal committed to evacuating the left bank of the La Plata River.Footnote 14 The Portuguese were alarmed by the large number of runaway slaves from the captaincy of S. Pedro do Rio Grande do Sul toward the territories of the United Provinces. The issue had already sparked an exchange between Portugal and Lord Strangford, the British ambassador to Rio de Janeiro, and letters were sent to the government of the United Provinces of the La Plata River, calling for the immediate return of runaway slaves and “an end to the fatal effects” of the decree. In response to threats from both the Portuguese and the British, Buenos Aires revoked the decree; however, it is unknown whether slaves were then actually returned to their alleged masters.Footnote 15

The issue of returning runaway slaves was actually a longstanding matter of dispute between the Portuguese and the Spanish. According to Petit Muñoz, who wrote an extensive study on the subject, the first Spaniard to free fugitive slaves from Portuguese territory was Don Pedro de Cevallos, Captain General of Buenos Aires. Having conquered the Colônia de Sacramento in 1762, Cevallos decreed freedom for all slaves who fled from the Portuguese side, before the Portuguese troops and families returned to Brazil, an act that he repeated in 1770, when he once again took the Colônia.Footnote 16

Also according to Muñoz, Cevallos's conduct was based on early Spanish and Christian customs: the right to Spanish asylum freed any servant who came into the lands of the consejo— even though this practice was not transplanted to the Americas—and anyone who had been a slave in the land of the Moors could be freed by converting to Christianity and fleeing to Christian lands.Footnote 17 These customs had already generated two specific royal decrees for the Americas in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries for indigenous people coming from the Portuguese to the Spanish domain. The first, in 1550, considered the indigenous free, even those who came from Brazil; the second, in 1629, called for freeing the “the Indian heathens of Brazil” who entered into Spanish lands from Maranhão, even if they were slaves and were treated as such.Footnote 18

Such actions as Cevallos's toward Africans and their descendants were formalized in 1773 with the Royal Decree of February 20, inaugurating what Muñoz calls the “Hispanic tradition of territorial asylum.” The king had received a query from the governor of Trinidad, asking what to do with thirteen fugitive slaves who had escaped from foreign territories and were being claimed by their owners. The monarch determined that these people should not be returned to their alleged masters, because they were no longer slaves “according to the law of nations, having entered my territory, and this extends to all black fugitives, not only the freedom they enjoy with the fact of arriving in my domain, but also the supreme mercy that I myself am worthy to admit them with my royal protection and support.”Footnote 19

In fact, the Spanish crown had issued resolutions regarding runaway slaves even earlier: 40 years prior, in 1733, King Felipe V issued two royal decrees that regulated the Spanish policy on fugitives in the late seventeenth century. Motivated by the constant escapes of slaves from the Carolinas, under British control, to Florida, then a Spanish colony, the first decree forbade any future compensation to the alleged masters of the fugitives, and the second reinforced the offer of freedom to all those who fled the English and Dutch domains, and, of course, converted to Catholicism.Footnote 20

In 1750, on the occasion of three slaves’ arrival from Jamaica to Cuba, the Council of the Indies created a general rule, establishing the freedom of “all black slaves of both sexes from the English and Dutch colonies of the Americas, who took refuge (whether in peacetime or war) in [the king's] domain, to embrace our Catholic Faith.” The resolution did not solve the cases of fugitives from Catholic countries, however, such as those fleeing from the French colony of Saint Domingue to the Spanish colony of Santo Domingo. In 1760, the governor of Santo Domingo informed the king that he would normally return the runaway slaves, but only when they were claimed by French masters, which did not always happen. Alarmed by the possible increase in the number of blacks in Spanish territory, the governor consulted the Council of the Indies, which said not to return runaways, even when claimed by their masters.Footnote 21 The decision worried the governor, fearful that it could further incite the flight of slaves from Saint Domingue, in addition to causing a possible invasion of the French seeking to recover their slaves by force.

The case caused so much controversy between the Spanish and French authorities that the 1750 ruling was revised in 1766, when a treaty was established on the return of runaway slaves. The two countries agreed to grant freedom only to those who were not claimed by their masters. A similar treaty was established between the Spanish and the Danish authorities in the following year, in response to the escapes of slaves in the colonies of St. Thomas, St. John, and St. Croix, and in 1783, the governor of Trinidad received orders to take steps to prevent the escape of slaves, and further, to observe “the reciprocal restitution of black fugitives from other foreign islands.”Footnote 22

This last decision became important for the development of the entire issue of runaways in Spanish America. The trigger for the decision had been the escape of Teresa, supposedly a slave, and her family. She had come in 1778 to the city of Granada with her children, all belonging to an Englishman. In 1784, shortly after the extradition order, Margarita Marizo, a daughter of Teresa—who, it seems, did not arrive at the same time because she was described as “a free mulatto and a new settler of this island”—appealed to the governor of the island, saying that her mother and siblings were subject to “inhuman and hard” punishment by their English master. She claimed that they had fled with the “sole purpose of achieving their natural freedom, counting on the positive reception” with which the Spanish had already received other fugitive slaves. In order to avoid extradition, Margarita even offered to pay the value of her mother and siblings over 3 years.

In response, it was established by royal decree on April 14, 1789 not only that the family of Margarita Marizo should remain free, but also that they should not pay any money for their release. Considering poor treatment a sufficiently valid argument for obtaining freedom, the Spanish king established as a general principle that they would “no longer return fugitive slaves who through these legitimate means had acquired their freedom.”Footnote 23

Although it might appear that the royal decree of 1789 supports Muñoz's thesis about the strong Spanish tradition of territorial asylum, other authors such as Manuel Lucena and Jane Landers are not as convinced about Spanish benevolence. They argue that laws on the asylum of slaves must be understood in the context of the interests of the Spanish crown, taking into account the needs for military recruitment in each location and the political situation of the different regions of Spanish America.Footnote 24

Just over a year after the promulgation of the Royal Decree of 1789, the Spanish State Council suspended the entry of “freed and foreigners” to the Spanish colonies, including slaves. In the early 1790s, concerned about the number of blacks who were fleeing to what is now United States territory, the Spanish authorities abandoned a policy of establishing Florida as a “sanctuary of liberty” for runaway slaves. Although in the mid-eighteenth century, Spain had accommodated fugitives because they expanded the ranks of Catholics and reinforced the Spanish military, by the end of the century escaped slaves were seen as sources of constant problems.Footnote 25

However, whereas fugitives from the United States were not well received in Spanish territory, the same was not true for refugees from Saint Domingue. Seeking to exploit the political turmoil caused by the revolution of 1791, the Spanish king sent a letter to the governor of Santo Domingo in 1793 ordering him to take advantage of the circumstances to protect runaway French slaves and offer them freedom. The plan, which was meant to culminate in the conquest of the whole island by the Spanish, did not work out; with the progress of the revolution and the consequent independence of Haiti, the Spaniards eventually lost the island. Elsewhere, such as in Cuba and Cartagena, as rumors increased about revolt among the slaves, the presence of foreign runaways was met with increasingly less tolerance. It is no surprise that, especially in the Caribbean region, they went from being the “innocents exploited by heretics” to being the bearers of dangerous revolutionary ideas.Footnote 26

Although Landers and Salmoral are undoubtedly correct about the interests of the Spanish crown in the granting of asylum to fugitives, it is worth exploring an important facet of Muñoz's argument: the creation of a specific jurisprudence on granting freedom to runaway slaves. Although they were certainly not created with this intention, I want to suggest that these decisions and related legislation were later used to justify the resolution of international legal disputes in favor of freedom.

The same can be said of Portuguese law, as Ana Cristina Nogueira da Silva and I have argued elsewhere: in 1761, the crown issued a decree manifesting a desire to “free” the kingdom of slaves.Footnote 27 The intention of the decree was not to grant freedom to all slaves who “stepped on” the kingdom's soil; however, this was a possible consequence of its use. The decree of 1761 ended up serving as the basis by which enslaved people, for varying reasons and under different circumstances, claimed their freedom. They gave the decree its own meaning and often achieved manumission, either at customs upon entry into Portugal, or in the courts, when they asked for the right to change their legal status. Although it is not known how many of the Africans and Brazilians who arrived as slaves were aware of the existence of the decree, the fact is that, for many of them, the soil of Portugal came to mean a land of freedom.

It seems clear that enslaved individuals used the legislation for their own social gain, as they turned to the authorities to demand that their rights be respected. Therefore, although the slaves themselves were probably intended to benefit from the “free soil” decree of 1761—which was imagined as a penalty against slave masters who brought slaves to the metropole—the actions of these individuals ended up expanding the effects of the text, forcing the authorities to keep revising the original version of the law.

Although we know that the Pombal legislation had, as its main purpose, the definition of Portuguese soil as being free from slaves, it was used in several cases that addressed the passage of slaves across the border between Brazil and neighboring countries. The concept of a “legal tradition of territorial asylum,” if understood in the context of this Iberian notion of free soil, therefore makes sense, although it is not enough to explain how political disputes on the border were ultimately resolved.

The same happened in the late nineteenth century: even in a different context from the eighteenth century, in the absence of legislation, the Iberian “legal tradition of territorial asylum” was used to help solve issues related to the passage of slaves across the borders between Brazil and its neighboring countries.

A Case of Extraterritoriality?

The increasing connection between slavery and territory in the Americas was a key element in the definition, discussion, and defense of South American national sovereignty in the nineteenth century. With independence and the consequent movement for the abolition of slavery in the Platino countries, the crossing of enslaved individuals across borders gained new meaning and importance. The issue could no longer be considered from the perspective of rivalries among colonial slave powers and their struggle to control people and lands; it was no longer a question of different political and legal jurisdictions. Rather, in the new context, border crossing became a matter of national sovereignty between territories of freedom and territories of slavery (of which Brazil was the most powerful advocate in South America) and it reinforced the opposition between them. Although the new South American republics were abolishing slavery at a slow pace, it seemed unlikely that slavery would be maintained.Footnote 28 At the same time, the expansion of the Brazilian coffee economy in the nineteenth century was only the most obvious element of the “slave matrix of the imperial civilization” of Brazil, in the words of historian Ricardo Salles.Footnote 29

In Uruguay, the relationship between territorial freedom and the defense of national sovereignty was even more relevant. Unlike other South American republics, which proclaimed their independence from Spain, Uruguay broke away from Brazil. The territory that became Uruguay was part of the Brazilian Empire from 1822, when Brazil gained independence from Portugal, to 1828, when Uruguayan independence was proclaimed. As a result, approximately one third of the properties in northern Uruguay belonged to Brazilians.Footnote 30

Specifically in the 1840s, the troubled situation in Uruguay and the political instability in Rio Grande do Sul contributed significantly to the increase of border crossings between Brazil and Uruguay, by runaway slaves as well as Brazilian masters who sought to remove their slaves from areas particularly affected by conflict. Also near this time, the Farroupilha Revolution in Rio Grande do Sul (1835–45)—the separatist movement against the Empire of Brazil—and the Guerra Grande in Uruguay (1839–51)—a civil war between the Blancos, centered in Cerrito and led by Oribe, and the Colorados, represented in Montevideo by Rivera—caused significant social disruption in the border region, with military incursions on both sides, cattle rustling and horse theft, and the appropriation of slaves for troops.

In this context, the border area became a site of even greater tension when the Colorado government of Montevideo, an ally of Brazil and in desperate need of men for their defense troops, proclaimed the abolition of slavery in 1842. Enslaved persons and their masters, including Brazilians, were notified immediately of the new law, which requested the prompt attendance of those eligible for military service.

For the Brazilian government, this recruitment was a clear incentive for slaves from Rio Grande do Sul to escape. In addition, a rumor was circulating that the Uruguayan government was urging the English minister to send British vessels to arrest Brazilian ships that were carrying slaves. Rumor or not, this incited undeniable fear for Brazil's charge d'affaires in Montevideo. It is documented that on the very evening of December 12, 1842, when the law of abolition was passed by the General Assembly of Uruguay, Brazilian residents in Montevideo, fearing the English action, boarded more than 200 slaves on the Corveta Sete de Abril, heading to Santa Catarina.Footnote 31 On the other side of the front, the Blanco government of Cerrito (1843–51) also used the abolition of slavery as a resource to increase their troops. Although their law of 1846 makes no explicit mention of recruitment, as the 1842 law did, it was clearly the goal. A few days after the promulgation of the law, Cerrito authorities hastened to incorporate the now-freed slaves into Blancos troops, before the Brazilian masters returned to Brazil with them.

It is, therefore, impossible to understand Uruguay's two laws abolishing slavery, the Colorado law of 1842 and the Blanco law of 1846, outside of the military context. In both cases, abolition was the only way for governments at war to recruit enslaved Africans and their descendants. Outside of this context, however, both Uruguayan and Brazilian owners were opposed to enlisting slaves, even with promises of compensation.

The 1846 abolition decree particularly affected Brazilian masters on the border. As their properties were located within the territories of the Cerrito Government, many were unable to prevent their slaves from fleeing or from being confiscated by Blanco troops.Footnote 32 This situation lasted until at least the end of the Guerra Grande in 1851, and contributed to worsening the diplomatic relations between the empire and the Cerrito government, which grew increasingly hostile with each new complaint about confiscations of land, cattle, and slaves on the border.

Complaints from the authorities of Rio Grande do Sul about runaway slaves intensified after the end of the Farroupilha War to the point that, in 1848, the provincial president asked police chiefs of the municipalities to calculate the number of runaways in order to make a formal complaint about their return. This request generated numerous lists of escaped persons, drawn from the responses that masters sent to the police, informing the authorities of the loss of their slaves. It is estimated that in 1850 there were approximately 900 individuals officially regarded as fugitive slaves to Uruguay. Even with intense complaints, there were never any returns of slaves. Still, in the troubled context of the Guerra Grande, some of the escaped slaves were integrated into the black communities of the north of Uruguay, whereas others offered themselves voluntarily to the police or to the Uruguayan military as a way to avoid a return to Brazil.Footnote 33

As a result of this situation, at the end of the Guerra Grande, Brazil signed a treaty with Uruguay in 1851 on issues concerning boundaries, trade, and the extradition of prisoners, and the two countries agreed to return slaves to each other. Similarly, Brazil established treaties to return slaves with Peru (in 1851) and Argentina (in 1857) in addition to negotiating with Bolivia in the late 1850s, assuming once and for all an “active presence” in diplomatic relations in South America. In all the treaties, the governments of the South American republics were expected to recognize the principle of returning slaves who belonged to Brazilian subjects and who had crossed the border against their owner's will, and both parties pledged not to employ deserters from other countries in their own militaries, in order to prevent the escape of slaves or freedpersons who had been recruited.Footnote 34

Unlike the extradition treaties from the colonial period, these agreements were established between Brazil, which remained a slave nation (although it was forced by the British to ban the Atlantic slave trade in 1850), and countries that had already abolished slavery. It was a clear demarcation of slave territory, in contrast to the establishment of free soil in South American republics. This situation made an enormous difference: for the governments of South American republics, the reaffirmation of national territory as free soil was critical to the defense of their national sovereignty against the Brazilian presence; in this case, it was absolutely necessary to guarantee that any individual who entered its territory was considered forever free.

On the other hand, for Brazilian masters on the border, the expansion of slavery beyond the boundaries of the national territory was a guarantee of their local power. This was especially poignant in Uruguay, where Brazilian ranchers wanted to maintain their slaves at any cost. Even acting illegally in both countries, they believed they had the right to redeem runaways, individuals who had obtained freedom by crossing the border into another country, by enlisting in other people's armies, or by being in a foreign territory when slavery was abolished there. After 1851, because they were not compensated for property confiscated during the conflicts in Uruguay and because they had received no responses to the formal complaints made by the provincial president of Rio Grande do Sul, several of these owners believed they had the right to act on their own. These were the so-called “Californias,” raids during which landowners invaded Uruguayan territory to recover lost cattle and slaves.Footnote 35 Uruguay, already a destination for runaway slaves, became invaded by slave catchers seeking to enslave people to sell in Rio Grande do Sul. To these Brazilian slave catchers, the black communities in northern Uruguay constituted a new frontier of enslavement.Footnote 36

This situation was particularly difficult for the Brazilian government, headquartered in Rio de Janeiro. On the one hand, they needed to guarantee control and protection of the national borders. On the other, these were the very same people who defended the expansion of slavery beyond national borders, which at that time meant covering up enslavements that were considered illegal by all the countries involved, including Brazil itself. Especially after the ban of the Atlantic slave trade in 1850, the Brazilian government needed to show respect and obedience to international agreements, not only so that Brazil could be the mediator of regional conflicts, but also to ensure defense of its own national sovereignty in relation to England, which rightly doubted Brazil's commitment to the end of the Atlantic slave trade. Disagreements between Brazil and England on this issue had already led to the intensification of diplomatic relations between the two countries, and these relations remained strained until the 1860s, when they once again broke down completely.

The Brazilian government needed to find a balanced solution that would take into account both Uruguay's position and the pressure from landowners in Rio Grande do Sul. Uruguay's refusal to allow Brazilians to recover their slaves from Uruguayan territory was totally understandable. A Uruguayan circular of December 6, 1851 stated that individuals who fled to Uruguayan territory before the treaty should not be claimed as slaves, and furthermore, that Brazilian masters should not try to capture alleged slaves on their own. If they wanted slaves returned to them, they should initiate an extradition process. From the perspective of Brazilian landowners in northern Uruguay, however, accepting Uruguayan laws meant they would be without the necessary slave labor to keep their farms running.

In this context, with protests from the Uruguayan Minister Andrew Lamas, a “very spontaneous and convenient agreement [was established] in 1852 between the two Governments”: Brazilians could claim their former slaves from Uruguay as freed workers under contract, as long as they had their freedom papers. José Maria da Silva Paranhos, then the resident minister in Montevideo who came to be known as the “founding father” of Brazilian diplomacy, later boasted that the employment contracts used in Uruguayan soil were an ingenious way out. Although he understood the potential for abuse and captivity of people who were, in principle, freed, Paranhos guaranteed that in cases of illegal enslavement “the Brazilian authorities have pursued and taken to the nation's courts some of those who were to blame.”Footnote 37

The Uruguayans, of course, disagreed. For them, the contracts, intended for those who had been slaves in Brazil, showed the fragility of Uruguayan national sovereignty, as they were a ploy to maintain individuals in a state of illegal enslavement. This was the complaint of Basilio A. Pinilla, political leader in the Department of Paissandu, who as early as the 1860s claimed that “persons of color are brought from the provinces of the [Brazilian] Empire into our territory, under the name of settlers, to be treated as slaves, against the articles 130 and 131 of the Constitution and the law of June 14,1837 which do not allow the presence of slaves in the Republic [of Uruguay], and therefore, do not allow for any other treatment than that given to free men, to prevent the cruel abuses that may be committed against humanity, as is stated in the decree of November 11,1861.”Footnote 38

Between 1852 and 1864, the Uruguayan government sent several notes to the Imperial government criticizing the contracts and the kidnappings of blacks by Brazilians. José Vasquez Sagastume, Deputy of the Department of Tacuarembó in 1860, best conveyed how the Uruguayans felt about the Brazilians in this period: “Uruguayan citizenship is becoming extinct in the area north of Rio Negro: contrary to what is stated in the Uruguayan Constitution and the provisions of our laws, slavery is a fact in some places …In this territory that is such an important one for the Republic, we can say that there is no Uruguayan State: the habits, customs, language, ways of being, all is Brazilian: you could say it's a continuation of Rio Grande do Sul.”Footnote 39

If the habits, customs, and language were all Brazilian, indeed “a continuation of Rio Grande do Sul,” can one conclude that Brazil imposed its rules and customs on Uruguay? Or rather, was this situation a particular case of extraterritoriality in which Brazil established a distinct set of rules for its citizens in another territory, such as happened in China after the Opium War?Footnote 40

Authors such as Lauren Benton, Eliane Zabiela, and Rafael Peter de Lima believe that it was indeed a case of extraterritoriality. Zabiela argues that, as with informal imperialism, “the Empire managed to create mechanisms of extraterritoriality, allowing Brazilian ranchers established in Uruguay to continue to use slave-labor in their estates, in a roundabout way, through contracts between employers and settlers, which only formally replaced the former designation of master/slave.”Footnote 41 Similarly, Benton argues that in Uruguay, Brazilian citizens used legal strategies and sought the help of consuls to resolve their disputes through political pressure. According to Benton, the fragility of the Uruguayan position allowed the Brazilians (and also the English and French) to defend their own interests and have their demands met through diplomatic agreements that benefited them; in this case, for maintaining and expanding slavery.

This reading certainly seems accurate. Understanding extraterritoriality as “the state of exception which grants certain individuals the right to be exempt from the jurisdiction of the local law of a particular state as a result of diplomatic negotiations (including bilateral treaties),”Footnote 42 it seems clear that this was what was happening on the Brazilian–Uruguay border. After signing the treaty to return slaves, there were at least 197 returns in the 1850s; in the second half of the 1860s, during the so-called War of Paraguay, virtually all complaints made by Brazilian owners were heard. And in the 1870s, all requests for the return of slaves were met.Footnote 43

Looking at the scenario slightly differently, however, it is also possible, as a hypothesis, to consider a more complex perspective on this process. By the end of the 1860s, with victory in the Paraguayan War (1865–70), Brazil's supremacy in the region had clearly been strengthened, a process that had been developing at least since the end of the 1840s.Footnote 44 However, the reactions of the Brazilian Imperial government to the passage of slaves across borders in previous decades illustrate a lack of regional leadership strong enough for Brazil simply to ignore international conventions, especially given the British presence in the area. It was, therefore, not possible to defend the interests of the masters at the border or to expand slavery beyond the national boundaries, nor was it possible to impose the installation of their own courts, as Britain did with China in the classic case of extraterritoriality.

Therefore, respect for the principles of international law and established legal procedures, held as part of the very project of consolidating the modern and liberal Brazilian state, were essential to the construction of an image of respectability of the Brazilian Empire in this period. This contributed to building a culture of lawfulness that, although not restraining the Brazilian presence in northern Uruguay, did result in the release of many illegally enslaved individuals who sued their so-called masters when, after having stepped onto Uruguayan or Argentinian soil—free soil—they were returned to Brazil.Footnote 45 Even trying to impose a politics of interventionism in Uruguay in the 1850s—which according to authors such as Gabriela Nunes Ferreira led to the beginning of the so-called Paraguayan War, in 1864Footnote 46—it was impossible to disregard the principles and assumptions of the law.

Conclusion: Law Matters

How might one argue, then, that the Iberian concept of free soil, drawn from the legal tradition that created a specific jurisprudence on granting freedom to fugitive slaves both in Portugal and Spain, was used in the resolution of international and internal disputes in favor of freedom in late nineteenth century? The importance of creating a so-called “legal tradition of asylum to fugitives” and a respect for free soil in Portuguese and Spanish America, need to be understood, even though, paradoxically, slavery was only abolished in Portuguese possessions in 1867 and remained legal in the Spanish colonies of America until much later. But the treaties and the jurisprudence established in the framework of international relations made the resolution of this type of situation in the Brazilian courts possible. The argument that law did indeed matter in the resolution of international conflicts can be viewed as part of a historiographical movement that, since the late 1990s, has challenged the classical view of Brazilian social and political historians who conclude that legal decisions, if they existed, were rarely enforced. Instead, the so-called “social history of the law” argues that law and justice were critical to the processes of change that took place in Brazilian society in the nineteenth century.Footnote 47

It is no coincidence that in writing Slavery in Brazil in 1866, Brazilian jurist Agostinho Marques Perdigão Malheiro described leaving the empire as one of the ways a slave could achieve freedom in Brazil, “thus returning, he is like free, except for cases of escape or if otherwise agreed”; private international law “has enshrined the principle that if a slave comes to a country where slavery is not tolerated, he is immediately free; consequently, as free, he must be recognized as such in any other [country].”Footnote 48

Although not addressing Spanish jurisprudence, Perdigão Malheiro cites extensive legislation on the subject, including treaties of private international rights (which, in turn, refer to Spanish and French jurisprudence), the Portuguese Decrees of September 19, 1761 and January 16, 1773 (and others), which declared free those blacks and browns who reached Portugal, except fugitives or those employed as sailors.Footnote 49 According to Malheiro, Brazil agreed with the principle of free soil based on the interpretation made in 1856 of the Law of November 7, 1831, which states that “All slaves who enter the territory or ports of Brazil, coming from outside, are free.”Footnote 50 On this occasion, in response to a question from Eusebio de Queiroz, President of the Court of Appeals of Rio de Janeiro, on whether “a resident slave in a foreign country can enter the Empire, and not only be kept in slavery, but handed over to his master by the courts of their country,” the Council of State decided, by Decree 188 of May 10, 1856, that

  • 1. That the law of November 7, 1831 had the purpose not only of ending the trade of recently enslaved Africans, but equally to diminish the number of slaves in Brazil;

  • 2. That the order included, inevitably, the case of the slave who, with the consent of his master, had crossed the border to a foreign country and later re-entered the [Brazilian] Empire.Footnote 51

That statement of the Council of State received harsh criticism from masters who lived in the province of Rio Grande do Sul, for whom the imperial authorities were dangerously compromising the principle of the expropriation of slaves. Despite the protests of the owners and the provincial president of Rio Grande do Sul, and the contradictory notes issued by the Council of State on July 20 and September 10, 1858 (which emphasized again the need to return runaway slaves), the Notice of 1856 was included in all requests for the liberation of slaves who crossed the border to Uruguay.Footnote 52

And so it was: in 1858, responding to a query by the provincial president of Rio Grande do Sul on a case about slaves sold in Brazil who were taken to Uruguayan territory, the Council of State wrote the following opinion (then approved by the emperor and endorsed by José Maria Paranhos, then Minister of Foreign Affairs):

The slave…just obeys his master. If the master brings him to Uruguay, whatever the circumstances, by that simple fact, the slave acquires his freedom, he is free in that Republic, freed in Brazil. Both governments are required to recognize the right granted to him, one cannot claim his devolution, nor can the other can concede it. This interpretation is so accurate that the Brazilian government, in a previous decision, determined the following: Ultimately, those should be considered freed the slaves who, working as “contratados” [under contract] or in service authorized by their masters in a specific territory, then returned to the province of Rio Grande do Sul…as they remained, according to their master's will, in a country where slavery is abolished, which immediately changes their status of slave to one of freed person.Footnote 53

Similarly, also referring to the Decree of May 20, 1856 and the 1831 Law, the Supreme Court ruled for freedom in two similar cases, heard in 1865 and 1866, granting freedom, respectively, to a creole woman, Brenda, and to the family of Symphronia Olympia.Footnote 54

How is one to understand the interpretation of the highest Brazilian court, which reinforced the international tradition of respect for free soil? How is one to analyze the discourse of respect for international treaties and agreements and, at the same time, the political action of Brazil, which pressed for the return of slaves on a large scale in South America, specifically in Uruguay, and created loopholes to maintain slave labor in foreign territory? If it were a typical situation of extraterritoriality, Brazil would not have sent, between 1852 and 1864, fifty-six official complaints to the Uruguayan government.Footnote 55

A quick look at the negotiation between Brazil and the Argentinian Confederation on the extradition of slaves helps to answer this question. In 1856, 3 years after the passing of the Constitution, which established that all individuals who enter Argentinian territory should be considered free, Brazilian José Maria da Silva Paranhos was sent on a diplomatic mission to negotiate treaties similar to those that Brazil had with Uruguay, including the one on the devolution of fugitive slaves, despite knowing that such a treaty would face severe opposition.Footnote 56 After many refusals from the Argentinian General Justo José de Urquiza, Paranhos reported to his superior, Caetano Maria Lopes Gama (Visconde do Maranguape), that

the treaty of extradition depends today just on one clause…Mr Carril understands, and before him the Ministry of Foreign Affairs presented the same idea to me, that, as the article of the Argentinian Constitution declares free everyone who touches its territory, to avoid breaking this constitutional principle, the slave fugitive must be emancipated when we can pay for its freedom, for a certain price…I argued against that clause as a restriction to the property rights guaranteed by Brazilian law that should be ensured in all its fullness…I disagreed with the examples that I could find, and mainly with the one from the Oriental State [Uruguay], that we would have to renounce if we have a different agreement with the Argentinian Confederation. S. Exa. didn't consider this argument strong enough, understanding that it would be easy to similarly change our agreements with the Oriental Government (Uruguay) once we accepted the new clause. S. Exa. insisted on this proposition, alleging that the old laws of this country guaranteed freedom to any slave who could pay for his value. I asked V. Ex. to let me know the opinion of the Imperial Government on these matters because if I can't suceed on the devolution of fugitive slaves without this condition, I will accept the declaration that is offered to us and will delay this subject until another opportunity.”Footnote 57

Therefore, as can be seen from the mention of the international treaties and the results of freedom lawsuits, the Brazilian government and the Brazilian courts recognized the international tradition of respect for free soil as established in eighteenth century jurisprudence and reinforced in nineteenth century laws. It was impossible, in the international context of the abolition of the slave trade and the emancipation of slavery, for a country wishing to have a regional hegemonic position to continue to comply with the demands of local slaveholders without any respect for the existing laws. It is for this very reason that law matters.

The second answer to these questions is perhaps to be found in a statement of the State Council of Brazil in 1857, in a discussion of a possible extradition treaty with France:

Brazil has a great interest in the issues of extradition with neighboring countries, namely the recognition of the principle of claiming slaves who had run away from [Brazilian] territory. As time passes, that recognition encounters more and more problems, as slavery is disappearing from those countries. Uruguay recognized [this] with some repugnancy…; Peru admitted it with some difficulties…The Venezuelan government repealed it. Portugal refused it…The [State Council] doubts that any European government would extradite slaves. This is the progress we have made through humanitarian ideas and the crusade against slavery. People consider it an odious obligation to deliver a man as another one's property. However, unfortunately there is slavery in Brazil. It's one of our most important social institutions.Footnote 58

As both the members of the Council of State and Paranhos knew very well, although Brazil's power was founded in large part on the maintenance of a slave regime, the defense of the international right to the return of slaves at the time of “an [international] crusade against slavery” reflected its international weakness.

Pressured by the need to respect international law, the treaties established with the countries of the Plata region and with England, and the demands of the Rio Grande do Sul slave owners, Brazilian slavery was confronted in the mid-1860s with the dilemma that would eventually lead to the final crisis of the Brazilian Empire. On the one hand, the internal strength of the slave owners forced the court to adopt an aggressive foreign policy; on the other, treaties and international law showed how fragile the country remained on the international scene, even after victory in the war with Paraguay. Slavery remained both the strength and the weakness of the Brazilian Empire.

Footnotes

This article was translated from Portuguese by Kristin McGuire. Previous versions of this article were presented at the seminar “Brazil: History, Human Rights, and Contemporary Slavery,” University of Michigan Law School and at the seminar “A Crime Against Humanity: Slavery and International Law, Past and Present,” at Stanford Law School and at the University of Maryland at College Park. The author thanks Anita Correia Lima de Almeida, Ira Berlin, Sueann Caulfield, Alejandro de la Fuente, Ariela Gross, Jean Hébrard, Martha Jones, Beatriz Mamigonian, Jenny Martinez, Claudia Regina Andrade dos Santos, Ricardo Salles, Rebecca Scott, Lisa Surwillo and Daryle Williams for their insightful comments and suggestions.

1. Borucki, Alex, “The Slave Trade to the Rio de la Plata, 1777–1812: Trans-Imperial Networks and Atlantic Warfare,” Colonial Latin American Review 20 (2011): 81–107.

2. Souza, Susana Bleil de and Prado, Fabrício Pereira, “Brasileiros na fronteira uruguaia: economia e política no século 19,” in Capítulos de História do Rio Grande do Sul, ed. Grijó (Porto Alegre: UFRGS, 2004), 121–22.

3. Grinberg, Keila, “Freedom Suits and Civil Law in Brazil and the United States,” Slavery & Abolition 22 (2001): 66–82.

4. Petiz, Silmei de Sant'Ana, Buscando a Liberdade: as fugas de escravos da província de São Pedro para o além-fronteira (1815–1851) (Passo Fundo: Editora da Universidade de Passo Fundo, 2006). See also Bakos, Margaret, “Considerações em torno do protesto do escravo negro no Rio Grande do Sul,” Estudos Econômicos 18, Special Issue (1988): 167–79.

5. The historiography on runaway slaves in Brazil is extensive. See, among others, Silva, Eduardo and Reis, João José, Negociação e conflito: resistência negra no Brasil escravista. (São Paulo: Companhia das Letras, 1989); Gebara, Ademir, “Escravos: fugas e fugas,” Revista Brasileira de História (1996): 89–100; Neto, José Maia Bezerra, “Histórias urbanas de liberdade: escravos em fuga na cidade de Belém, 1860–1888,” Afro-Asia (UFBA) 28 (2002): 221–50; Florentino, Manolo, “De escravos, forros e fujões no Rio de Janeiro imperial,” Revista USP 58 (2003): 104–15; and Gomes, Flavio dos Santos, Histórias de Quilombolas. Mocambos e Comunidades de Senzalas no Rio de Janeiro –– séc. 19 (São Paulo: Companhia das Letras, 2006).

6. Studies on the northern border of Brazil in the eighteenth century show that runaways, especially from Pará to French Guiana, led to the signing of a treaty for the reciprocal extradition of slaves between Portugal and France. On escapes of slaves “beyond the border” in the north of Brazil during the colonial period, see Gomes, Flavio dos Santos and Gledhill, H. Sabrina, “A ‘safe haven’: Runaway Slaves, Mocambos, and Borders in Colonial Amazonia, Brazil,” The Hispanic American Historical Review 82 (2002): 469–98; and Caldeira, Newman, “À procura da liberdade: fugas internacionais de escravos negros na fronteira oeste do Império do Brasil (1822–1867),” Nuevo Mundo-Mundos Nuevos 2 (2009): 1–12.

7. For studies on the transnational history of slavery in the Caribbean, see Ghachem, Malick, The Old Régime and the Haitian Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012); Geggus, David and Fiering, Norman, eds. The World of the Haitian Revolution (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2008); Dubois, Laurent, A Colony of Citizens: Revolution and Slave Emancipation in the French Caribbean, 1787–1804 (University of North Carolina Press, 2004); Ferrer, Ada, Freedom's Mirror: Cuba and Haiti in the Age of Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014); and Scott, Rebecca and Hebrard, Jean, Freedom Papers: an Atlantic Odyssey in the Age of Emancipation (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2012).

8. Azara, Felix, Memoria sobre el estado rural del rio de la Prata y otros informes (Madrid: Imprenta de Sanches, 1847).

9. According to Saint Hilaire, slaves in Montevideo were “generally better treated, better nourished, and better dressed than those of Brazil,” showing “also an air of freedom and contentment that was not seen with the Brazilians.” Auguste de Saint Hilaire, Viagem ao Rio Grande do Sul (Brasília: Senado Federal, 2002, [1st ed. 1884]), 208.

10. Footnote Ibid., 65.

11. Frega, Ana, “Caminos de libertad en tiempos de revolución. Los esclavos en la Provincia Oriental Artiguista, 1815–1820,” in Estudios sobre la cultura afro-rioplatense, Betancur, Arturo, Boruki, Alex, Frega, Ana, eds. (Montevidéu: Facultad de Humanidades y Ciencias de la Educación, 2004); and Aladrén, Gabriel, “Experiências de liberdade em tempos de guerra: escravos e libertos nas Guerras Cisplatinas (1811–1828),” Estudos Históricos 22 (2009): 439–58.

12. Mallo, Silvia and Telesca, Ignacio, eds. Negros de la Patria. Los afrodescendientes en las luchas por la independencia en el antiguo virreinato del Río de la Plata (Buenos Aires: Editorial SB, 2010); and Blanchard, Peter, Under the Flags of Freedom: Slave Soldiers and the Wars of Independence in Spanish South America (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2008).

13. Grinberg, Keila, “Escravidão, alforria e direito no Brasil oitocentista: reflexões sobre a lei de 1831 e o ‘princípio da liberdade’ na fronteira sul do Império brasileiro,” in Nação e cidadania no Império: novos horizontes, ed. Carvalho, José Murilo de (Rio de Janeiro: Civilização Brasileira, 2007); and Frega, “Caminos de libertad en tiempos de revolución.”

14. Complaint of the Portuguese government about the delivery of runaway slaves to Brazil in the territory of the United Provinces of the La Plata River in “Nota do governo português ao das Províncias Unidas do Rio da Prata,” November 30, 1813, in Relatório do Ministro das Relaçoes Exteriores (1857) Annex E, no. 14:40.

15. “Nota do ministro britânico nesta Corte ao supremo governo das Provincias Unidas do Rio da Prata,” November 27, 1813, in Report of Minister of Foreign Affairs, 1857, Annex E, no 15:41; and “Nota daquele governo [de Buenos Aires] ao ministro de S.M. Britânica nesta Corte,” December 28, 1813, in Relatório do Ministro das Relações Exteriores, 1857, AnnexE, no 16:42.

16. Eugenio Petit Muñoz, La condición jurídica, social, económica y política de los negros durante el coloniaje en la Banda Oriental, Tomo 1. Montevideo, 1948, 243. An agreement was established only in 1774 between the governors of both sides on the reciprocal return of slaves and deserters. See Gabriel Aladrén, “Sem respeitar fé nem tratados: escravidão e guerra na formação histórica da fronteira sul do Brasil (Rio Grande de São Pedro, c. 1777–1835)” (PhD diss., Universidade Federal Fluminense, Niterói, 2012).

17. Munõz, La condición jurídica, 245–48.

18. Royal Decree of 1550. Cited in ibid., 246–47.

19. Munõz, La condición juridica, 246–47; and Salmoral, Manuel Lucena, Leyes para esclavos. El ordenamiento jurídico sobre la condición, tratamiento, defensa y represión de los esclavos en las colonias de la América española (Madrid: Fundación Histórica Tavera, 2000). 258–62.

20. Landers, Jane, “Spanish Sanctuary: Fugitives in Florida, 1687–1790,” The Florida Historical Quarterly 62 (1984): 296–313; and Lucena Salmoral, Leyes para esclavos, 258–62.

21. Royal Decree of September 24 1750, according to Lucena Salmoral, Leyes para esclavos, 259.

22. Lucena Salmoral, Leyes para esclavos, doc. no. 472:1026.

23. Lucena Salmoral, Leyes para esclavos, 1147–50.

24. Landers, “Spanish Sanctuary;” and Salmoral, Leyes para esclavos.

25. Landers, “Spanish Sanctuary,” 312–13.

26. Lucena Salmoral, Leyes para esclavos, 350–53.

27. Silva, Cristina Nogueira Da and Grinberg, Keila, “Soil Free from Slaves: Slave Law in Late Eighteenth- and Early Nineteenth-Century Portugal,” Slavery & Abolition, 32 (2011): 431–46; Venancio, Renato Pinto, Cativos do Reino: a circulação de escravos entre Portugal e Brasil, séculos 18 e 19 (São Paulo, Alameda, 2011).

28. Andrews, George Reid, Afro Latin-America. (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2004)

29. Salles, Ricardo, Nostalgia Imperial: Escravidão e formação da identidade nacional no Brasil do Segundo Reinado, 2nd ed. (Rio de Janeiro: Ponteio, 2013).

30. Benton, Lauren, “The Laws of This Country”: Foreigners and the Legal Construction of Sovereignty in Uruguay, 1830–1875, Law and History Review 19 (2001): 479–511; and Menegat, Carla, “Em interesse do império, além do Jaguarão: os brasileiros e suas propriedades na república oriental do Uruguai (1845–1864),” in As fronteiras da escravidão e da liberdade no sul da América, ed. Grinberg, Keila (Rio de Janeiro: FAPERJ/7Letras, 2013).

31. Brazilian Diplomatic Mission. Montevidéu – Ofícios 1842. Borucki, Alex, Chagas, Karla, and Stalla, Natalia, Esclavitud y trabajo. Un estudio sobre los afrodescendientes en la frontera uruguaya, 1835–1855 (Montevideo: Pulmón, 2004), 221.

32. There are indications, however, that escapes of slaves continued until the 1880s, and only ceased with the abolition of slavery in Brazil. Petiz, Buscando a Liberdade; and Borucki, Chagas, and Stalla, Esclavitud y trabajo, 129.

33. Relatório da Repartição dos Negócios Estrangeiros apresentado à Assembleia Geral legislativa. Correspondência dos Governantes, box 21, Arquivo Histórico do Rio Grande do Sul. See also Itamaraty Historical Archives (where the original lists are held), 310/1/1. These relationships, as well as the exact number of fugitives, have been intensively analyzed in the Rio Grande do Sul historiography. Petiz, Buscando a Liberdade, 53–54; and Caratti, Jonatas Marques, O solo da liberdade: as trajetórias da preta Faustina e do pardo Anacleto pela fronteira rio- grandense em tempos do processo abolicionista uruguaio (1842–1862). (Porto Alegre: OIkos, 2014).

34. “Tratado entre o Senhor D. Pedro II, Imperador do Brasil, e a Republica Oriental do Uruguay para a entrega reciproca de criminosos, e desertores, e para a devolução de escravos, assinado no Rio de Janeiro em 12 de Outubro de 1851, e ratificado por parte do Brasil em 13 do mesmo mez, e pela da referida Republica em 4 de Novembro do dito ano,” articles VI e VII, in Sistema Consular Integrado – Atos Internacionais – Ministério das Relações Exteriores, Brasil. http://dai-mre.serpro.gov.br/atos-internacionais/bilaterais/1851/b_26/ (October 9, 2013).

35. In 1850, Francisco Pedro Buarque de Abreu, the Baron of Jacuí, organized the largest armed incursion (a “california”) to retrieve cattle and goods in Uruguay, having recruited an army of approximately 300 men, paid at his expense. Reclamaciones de la Republica Oriental del Uruguay contra el Gobierno de Brasil (Montevideo: El Pais, 1864), XIII; Torres, Miguel Gustavo de Paiva, O Visconde de Uruguai e sua atuação diplomática para a consolidação política externa do Império (Brasília: Fundação Alexandre de Gusmão, 2011), 79–85; Ferreira, Gabriela Nunes, O Rio da Prata e a Consolidação do Estado Imperial, (São Paulo, Hucitec, 2006), 116–17; and Rafael Peter de Lima, “A Nefanda Pirataria de Carne Humana': escravizações ilegais e relações políticas na fronteira do Brasil meridional (1851–1868)” (Master's Thesis, Porto Alegre, Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul, 2010).

36. I am using the concept of a border of slavery as suggested by Joseph Miller and used throughout Africanist historiography. Miller, Joseph, Way of Death: Merchant Capitalism and The Angolan Slave Trade, 1730–1830 (Wisconsin, Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1996). See also Candido, Mariana, An African Slaving Port and the Atlantic World: Benguela and its Hinterland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013).

37. “Nota do governo Imperial Brasileiro a Legação da República Oriental do Uruguai no Brasil em 27 de abril de 1857,” Archivo General de la Nación – Montevideo (hereafter AGN), Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, Legación del Uruguay en el Brasil, box 102, file 124, cited by Lima, A Nefanda Pirataria de Carne Humana, 50.

38. Statement from Basilio A. Pinilla, Head of the Department of Paissandu, to the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Uruguay, Dr. D. Juan José de Herrera, on May 12, 1864. Documentos Oficiales Justificativos de la Conducta de las Autoridades Departamentales de la Republica Oriental del Uruguay contra las acusaciones de las Camaras Brasileras (segunda edición aumentada). Montevideo: ‘El Pais’, No 67 (1864): 11, cited in Lima, “A Nefanda Pirataria de Carne Humana,” 50.

39. Vásquez Sagastume cited in Lima, “A Nefanda Pirataria de Carne Humana,” 74.

40. In the Chinese case, after China's defeat by Britain, the 1842 Treaty of Nanjing established that several Chinese ports would be opened to foreign traders and that the British, when involved in a crime, would be tried in courts provided by their own consular authorities, rather than in the Chinese legal system. Horowitz, Richard S., “International Law and State Transformation in China, Siam, and the Ottoman Empire during the Nineteenth Century,” Journal of World History 15:4 (2004): 445–86.

41. Benton, “The Laws of This Country”; Lima, “A Nefanda Pirataria”; and Eliane Zabiela, “A presença brasileira no Uruguai e os tratados de 1851: de comércio e navegação, de extradição e de limite” (Master's Thesis, Porto Alegre, UFRS, 2002), 125.

42. Guerra, Susana, “A produção de um espaço colonial em um país soberano: extraterritorialidade no Sião”, Ars Historica, 1 (2010): 127–136.

43. Thiago Leitão de Araújo, “Para o outro lado da linha: as fugas de escravos para o além-fronteira (século 19),” in Grinberg, As fronteiras da escravidão e da liberdade, 176.

44. Torres, Miguel, O Visconde do Uruguai e sua atuação diplomática para a consolidação da política externa do Império (Brasília: Funag, 2011), 20; and Ferreira, O Rio da Prata e a Consolidação do Estado Imperial, 139–42.

45. Grinberg, Keila, “Slavery, Manumission and the Law in 19th Century Brazil: Reflections on the Law of 1831 and the ‘Principle of Liberty’ on the Southern Frontier of the Brazilian Empire,” European Review of History/Revue Europeene d'Histoire 16 (2009), 401–11; and Nequete, Lenine, O escravo na jurisprudência brasileira: magistratura e ideologia no Segundo Reinado (Porto Alegre: Editora Revista de Jurisprudência, 1988), 125–35.

46. Ferreira, O Rio da Prata e a Consolidação do Estado Imperial, 229.

47. About the historiography of slavery in Brazil, see Jean Hebrard, “Slavery in Brazil: Brazilian Scholars in the Key Interpretive Debates,” Translating the Américas, vol. 1, 2013 http://dx.doi.org/10.3998/lacs.12338892.0001.002 (accessed November 11, 2016) and Keila Grinberg, “Historiographie et usages publics de l'esclavage au Brésil”, Revue d'histoire du XIXe siècle 51 (2015): 127–44.

48. Malheiro, Agostinho Marques Perdigão, A escravidão no Brasil: ensaio histórico-jurídico-social (São Paulo: Edições Cultura, 1944 [1st ed. 1866]), 117.

49. Malheiro, A escravidão no Brasil and Da Silva and Grinberg, “Soil Free from Slaves.”

50. Law of November 7, 1831 in Câmara dos Deputados. Coleção das Leis do Império do Brasil. http://www2.camara.leg.br/legin/fed/lei_sn/1824-1899/lei-37659-7-novembro-1831-564776-publicacaooriginal-88704-pl.html (October 22, 2013).

51. Soares, Macedo, Campanha Jurídica pela Libertação dos Escravos, 1867–1888 (Rio de Janeiro: Jose Olympio, 1938), 79–83.

52. The decrees of July 20 and September 10, 1858 established that in addition to cases of escape, already included in Article 6 of the Treaty of Extradition, the slaves should be returned when they randomly crossed the border with permission from a master, and when a slave crossed the border with the master's orders for “an occasional and momentary service.” “Notas Reversais sobre Extradição de Escravos,” in Sistema Consular Integrado—Atos Internacionais—Ministério das Relações Exteriores, Brasil. http://dai-mre.serpro.gov.br/atos-internacionais/bilaterais/1858/b_68/ (October 22, 2013).

53. Opinion, Council of State, March 20,1858, Brazil–Uruguay. Extradiction of Slaves. do Conselho de Estado de 20 de março de 1858, Brasil–Uruguai. Extradição de Escravos. Itamaraty Historical Archives, 5/58.

54. Malheiro, A escravidão no Brasil, n. 543.

55. Grinberg, As fronteiras da escravidão e da liberdade, 54, 68, 86.

56. Historical Archive of Itamaraty, Brazilian Diplomatic Missions, Special Mission of the Visconde of Rio Branco (1856–1859), Livro de Ofícios 1857, August 18, 1857, September 16, 1857.

57. Footnote Ibid., October 30 1857 (emphasis mine).

58. “Brasil-França. Projeto de Tratado de Extradição. Consulta de 27 de fevereiro de 1857,” in House of Representatives/Ministery of Foreign Affairs, Conselho de Estado 1842–1889, Consultas da Seção dos Negócios Estrangeiros, vol. 4 (1854–1857). (Brasília: Centro de Documentação e Informação, 1981), 523–524.

Ibid
Ibid