A Posthumous Apology for the Atrocities of the Rum Trade in the Colonies

“What’s wrong with being thankful?”

On the surface, a seemingly innocent question. Placed within its context, asked on a lineage page for a historic New England couple on the day prior to Thanksgiving and accompanied by a diatribe on their wondrous works, less so. The inquirer railed at thanklessness at a time of year generally accepted for celebrating gratitude.

          I made the error of engaging.

          Prefacing my statements that there is nothing wrong with thankfulness and that gratitude is something to strive for, I explained that we should never dictate to others, especially those of Indigenous background, how they should feel about a holiday traditionally associated with a less than positive experience for them. I’m unable to learn my lesson when it comes to attempting to change the hearts and minds of those determined to live and die by ignorance on social media. Needless to say, I am no longer a member of that group and was told that I am damaging the family lineage by supporting those who respect the Day of Mourning honored by many Indigenous of Plymouth County and beyond.

          The thing is: lineage is not something that can be damaged. The events of the past either took place or they did not. A person can no more damage it than they can go back in time and change any course of events. As of today, Plymouth proper is still standing, so I don’t believe I did any permanent damage.

          As we watch history precariously unfold, taking great care to learn how we arrived at our current position and avoiding any hint of narcissism that prevents us from apologizing for events and actions committed by less enlightened versions of ourselves and those who came before us is imperative. Yes, I believe we need to apologize for things we didn’t do. That small act of contrition is a powerful act of empathy and human connection.

What does all this have to do with rum?

          The history of rum in New England is not merely a tale of spirited enterprise but also a sobering narrative of exploitation and conflict. Eighteenth century Salisbury, New Hampshire, like many New England towns, was entwined in commerce that connected local economies to the broader Atlantic world, often at the expense of the Indigenous population. Peter Bowen, a resident of Salisbury, epitomizes this complex legacy[i]. In February 1754, Bowen purchased a gallon of rum prior to inviting two Abenaki men, Sabatis and Plausawa, to his home in Contoocook (current day Hopkinton, NH). Plying them with rum after they had committed several atrocities in Salisbury and nearby towns, the next morning, tensions escalated when they attempted to trick Bowen. They learned that he had unloaded their guns during their intoxicated sleep when they opened fire on him. Bowen killed both men with a tomahawk and buried their bodies beneath a bridge in town. Although Bowen was arrested and taken to Portsmouth for trial, he was released by the local citizens, escaping custody and later moved to Corinth, Vermont.[ii][iii]

By the early 1700s, alcohol was embedded in diplomacy, trade, and daily dealings. In New England, rum was no mere libation; it was a tool of expansion, a disruptor of Indigenous sovereignty, and a quiet engine behind the erosion of trust. Rum was often used as an inducement in land negotiations, blurring lines of consent and undermining agreements. Records illustrate rum being offered during treaty signings and boundary disputes, not as a gesture of goodwill, but as a tactic to dull resistance and hasten surrender.[iv] Where there may have been negotiation, there was instead sedation. The rum available in Salisbury was one corner of a much larger system historians refer to as the Triangle Trade.

At its most basic, the trade followed three legs.[v] Ships left New England with goods like salted fish, lumber, and livestock bound for the West Indies. These were exchanged for molasses. Molasses was transported north and distilled in coastal towns where barrels were sold locally, exported to Europe, or shipped to Africa where it was exchanged for slaves. Captives were forced across the Middle Passage to the Caribbean or the American South, perpetuating the cycle. [vi]

The triangle fed on disparity between those who owned land and those who were taken from it, between those who traded freely and those who had no choice. Rum arriving in New England carried with it the weight of that imbalance. It was not merely a beverage or another commodity. It was a marker of a world built on uneven terms. Although not a port town, Salisbury played a crucial part in the establishment of these terms, especially as an actor on the World Stage when Peter Bowen hit it with a spotlight through his tragic actions. Salisbury contributed livestock and lumber, both in high demand in sugar-producing colonies where land was too valuable to consider use for anything but growing cane. Its residents invested in shipments, offloaded rum from nearby harbors, and sold it inland. What seemed like a distant circuit was, in truth, part of the local economy. Goods produced in small New England towns and elsewhere helped keep the cycle moving.[vii] 

Benjamin Franklin, in his autobiography

In this context, New England’s role in the rum trade was not passive. Residents were active participants in the economic circuits that trafficked it. They sold it, transported it, and leveraged it as currency—benefiting directly from a system that weakened and destabilized Indigenous communities.[viii] Rum dependency, though not universal, became a known and often deliberately exploited vulnerability. Some colonists understood its effects and used them with precision. Generational trust eroded as settler families contended with the ripple effects of addiction, exploitation, and dispossession. It paved the way for land seizures, fostered conflict, and left a legacy of betrayal.

However, acknowledging this history is not about assigning contemporary guilt. It is instead about recognizing past injustices perpetrated and understanding their lasting effects. By confronting these uncomfortable truths, we honor the memories of those who suffered and commit ourselves to a more inclusive and honest narrative of our shared past where growth can take place as we seek out ethical, responsible sources.

But…Do You Like Piña Coladas?

Rum has come a long way since Bowen slay Sabatis and Plausawa in 1754. What was then a raw, sticky byproduct of sugarcane, distilled in pot stills, exported in bulk, and ladled out of scorched barrels in dim taverns is now filtered, refined, and poured over ice in a hurricane glass, often beside a pool.[ix] Cheery umbrellas and beach-resort branding bears little connection to the substance that once powered trade deals, started brawls, and lubricated land theft. The original production process was crude by modern standards but chemically complex, relying on long fermentation and the reuse of dunder (the acidic leftover from previous batches, stored in open pits and reintroduced) to create a high-ester, deeply aromatic spirit. Rum then was pungent, heavy, and volatile, rarely aged, and almost never refined. It was produced to move, not to impress; its strength was its purpose. Today, rum suggests escape, promises tropical air, slow afternoons, and pineapple wedges. In the 18th century, it led to trade, control, and quick intoxication. It was rarely aged, never consistent, and sometimes dangerous. Colonial rum was likely harsh, unfiltered, or cut with whatever was handy. It came without a garnish but an agenda.

Today’s rum is sold in elegant bottles with etched glass, cork stoppers, and tasting notes of vanilla, warm spice, or toasted sugar. Some promise a long finish, others a smooth mouthfeel. This is rum that asks to be admired. In the 18th century, rum was not admired but endured much like the plantation system from which it was inseparable.[x] Every barrel was the result of coerced labor. Every export was part of a commercial chain built on forced cultivation and human suffering. There was no marketing strategy, no tasting notes, and no attempt at storytelling. There were no bottling lines or quality control checks. There was no filtering, no branding, and certainly no coconut cream.

A traditional piña colada

Arriving garnished in hurricane glasses, coupés, or frosted tumblers, today's rum is a far cry from the colonial experience where it was poured into whatever was dry and upright: a tin mug, a wooden ladle, the heel of a boot if necessary. There were no ice machines or blenders. Nothing was measured or stirred. One dram might burn all the way down while another tasted like the barrel it came from. There were no tasting flights or happy hour. There was only the immediate sensation of fire and the hope that it would be followed by numbness.

Over time, the identity of Jamaican rum began to shift. The abolition of slavery, followed by changes in trade policy and distillation technology altered both rum production and its reception. By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, pot stills remained in use but producers began to control fermentation and storage. Some rums were intentionally aged while others were blended or exported under specific labels. What had once been a rough commodity began to acquire regional character. Where rum was once served as currency, painkiller, bribe, and excuse, it began to materialize with a connection to leisure.

Today, Jamaican rum is known for its strength and distinctiveness. It is still produced primarily from molasses, fermented with wild yeast, and is still distilled in pot stills—often on the very estates that date back to the colonial period. What has changed is the intent and the artistry. Jamaican rum is now a point of national pride, protected by geographic identity, and appreciated by connoisseurs for its bold profile. So enjoy your Piña Colada (although that is something far removed from the experience of Jamaican rum)! Enjoy the crushed ice, the rum that doesn’t taste like ash, and the absence of splinters. That little umbrella represents centuries of transformation, from cargo to cocktail, and from bribe to indulgence. Rum has come a long way, and it took a great deal of trial, error, and evolved thinking to get there.

Deliberate Action Far Removed from Deliberate Wrongs

We may never right the wrongs of the past, but if we accept accountability for them we can consider them part of our growth and build up others whose parallel histories are the result of them. The actions of Peter Bowen, my fifth great grandfather, were not a simple act of self-defense. They were premeditated in his purchase of a gallon of rum, his insistence of interaction, and invitation of two men who he knew to be highly prone to influence through alcohol and the deliberate conditions he created.

We cannot rewrite the past, nor should we selectively ignore the parts of it that make us uncomfortable. However, choosing to approach it directly, without excuse or embellishment. We can name the damage and recognize its shape, even if we did not cause it. There is nothing noble in inherited pride if it comes at the expense of truth. There is, however, something worthwhile in inherited responsibility. If we claim the legacies we admire, then we must also claim the ones we would rather forget. That includes the misuse of rum. That includes violence. That includes the versions of our ancestors who acted in the premeditated awareness of what they were doing.

History does not demand that we fix all things. That is not possible. It asks that we carry it properly. Taking ownership of that weight - deliberately, openly, and without flinching - does not damage our lineage. It strengthens our character.

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[i] Dearborn, Jeremiah E. History of Salisbury, New Hampshire: From Date of Settlement to the Present Time. William E. Moore, 1890. Internet Archive, https://archive.org/details/historyofsalisbu00dear. 18 April 2023.

[ii] Vital Records, 1757–1864, 1883. Corinth (Vermont): Town Clerk. Microfilm. FamilySearch Catalog, Family History Library and Film, 21 October 2022

[iii] Petition of Peter Bowen. New Hampshire, U.S., Government Petitions, 1700–1826, 24 Dec. 1770, entry 16537, originally from New Hampshire Secretary of State Records, vol. 51, box 8. Ancestry.com, https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/62199/images/62199_01_0165-00051?pId=16537. Accessed 18 July 2025

[iv] Mintz, Sidney W. Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History. Viking Penguin, 1985.

[v] Mancall, Peter C. Deadly Medicine: Indians and Alcohol in Early America. Cornell University Press, 1995.

[vi] Dorothy Schneider and Carl J. Schneider. Slavery in America. New York: InfoBase Publishing, 2014 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en fonts changed. 1 March 2025.

[vii] Walvin, James. Sugar: The World Corrupted, from Slavery to Obesity. Robinson, 2017.

[viii] Franklin, Benjamin. The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. Edited by John Bigelow, J.B. Lippincott & Co., 1868, p. 57.

[ix] Curtis, Wayne. And a Bottle of Rum: A Social History of the Drink. Gotham Books, 2006. Chapter: Kill-Devil

[x] Pietrek, Matt, and Alexandre Gabriel. Exploring 300 Years of Royal Navy Rum and Its Techniques. Maison Ferrand (Planteray Rum), 2024.