Marginalized, but Not Marginal: Accounting for Enslaved Lives in the Ledgers of a New Orleans Merchant

Post contributed by Reina Henderson, PhD, Eleanor Jantz Processing and Cataloging Intern

At first glance, the accounting books of E.L. Bernard look like any other set of nineteenth-century commercial records. The pages are filled with the looping script of professional clerks and the endless columns of numbers that drove the economy of antebellum New Orleans. They list shipments of French wine and invoices for mahogany furniture. They track the price of cotton and the arrival of ships from Bordeaux. It is a picture of sophisticated international trade. However, if you look closer at the columns of debits and credits, a much darker reality begins to emerge. These books do not just record the movement of goods. They record the systematic commodification of human beings.

Account books like these have long carried an aura of authority. Ledgers are presented as neutral instruments of fact where emotion falls away, and truth is reduced to figures that can be verified and balanced. We’re inclined to trust them precisely because they appear unadorned. Numbers seem to tell us what happened without interpretation. However, this promise of neutrality is itself fiction. Ledgers do not simply record economic life. In a place like New Orleans, one of the most profitable ports of the nineteenth century, they actively shaped it. They organized human activity into categories of value and loss. What they choose to name, how they name it, and what they render interchangeable all reveal the moral architecture of the world they helped sustain.

Accounting for Human Lives

The most chilling aspect of the Bernard ledgers is how mundane the entries are. In a General Ledger dating from 1815 to 1826, the merchant tracks his financial assets. On one page he lists his shares in the State Bank. On the very same spread, he lists an account titled “Nègres de Compte à 1/3.”

This was a joint-venture investment account. E.L. Bernard was not just buying enslaved people for his own use. He was speculating on them and trading them. The ledger shows that he held a one-third financial interest in a partnership designed to buy and sell human beings for profit. The debits represent the purchase price of men and women. The credits represent their sale. To the merchant and his accountant, these individuals were indistinguishable from the bales of cotton or barrels of sugar listed on the subsequent pages. They were simply inventory.

“Armantine, Her Child”

While the earlier ledgers show the cold mathematics of the slave trade, the later volumes reveal the daily reality of labor and control. In an account book from the 1850s, we find the name Armantine. She was an enslaved woman hired by Bernard from her owner for temporary work. The entry is brief but devastating. It records a payment for “Armantine, son enfant,” or Armantine and her child.

This single line item exposes the total dehumanization of the system. Bernard paid for the pair as a single unit. The child is listed not as a person but as an appendage to their mother. The age of Armantine’s child is impossible to determine from the record. Like so many children born into slavery, the child appears only fleetingly in the archive, visible only insofar as their dependency affected the price of their mother’s labor. The line does, however, imply the child was too young to be separated from her and so the business simply absorbed the cost of the child’s presence as a necessary expense attached to Armantine. Other entries show Bernard paying for “robes and souliers” or dresses and shoes for Armantine. These were not gifts. They were maintenance costs for a rented asset. In other words, supplies.

The Hidden Labor of the Port

The ledgers also challenge our image of slavery as a purely agricultural institution. E.L. Bernard was a city merchant and his books show that urban slavery was the engine of the New Orleans port. We see payments for enslaved men named Hilaire and Edouard. They were hired for “armement” or the outfitting of ships. These men were the ones loading the cargo and repairing the rigging and preparing the vessels that connected New Orleans to New York and France. They were skilled laborers whose time was rented out by the day or week.

When we read the manifests of the ships Mohawk or Neptune in the 1830s journals, we see lists of “Colonial Goods” like coffee and indigo arriving from the Caribbean and bales of cotton leaving for New York. It is easy to see these merely as commodities, but the names in the ledger remind us that every pound of sugar and every bale of cotton was the product of enslaved labor. The “Maison de Noir” or slave quarters mentioned in the expense accounts was just as essential to Bernard’s business as his warehouse or his counting house.

Recovering the Names

Documents like Bernard’s ledgers are difficult to read. They reduce complex human lives to prices and dates. However, they are also vital. They provide proof of the individuals who built the wealth of the Atlantic world. Armantine and her child. Marthe. Hilaire. Edouard. Nicaise. The names of enslaved people often appear in spaces such as these, in the margins of a white merchant’s account book. Whole lives, thoughts, and actions caught in a line or two of text from which entire stories can and should be brought into view. Recovering such names from documents like these is an act that insists that accounting records be read not only for what they quantify but for whom they erase. The ledgers of merchants like Bernard remind us that modern systems of finance and record keeping were built alongside and through human commodification, a legacy that continues to shape how institutions measure value, responsibility, and loss today. By studying these ledgers and telling the stories of the people trapped within their columns, we can begin to acknowledge the human cost buried in the archives of western economies.