On 20 February 1763, only days after the formal conclusion of the Seven Years’ War (1756–63), the London engraver and geographer Thomas Jefferys published a large advertisement in Lloyd’s Evening Post. Although Jefferys typically published several advertisements every year, in many different papers, this one was special: unusually long, it declared that he had published a series of ‘American Views neatly engraved from Drawings taken on the Spot by several officers of the British [sic] Navy and Army’, and in addition, it listed over two dozen maps and plans which represented sites in North America and the West Indies.1 It was a remarkably timely announcement, one that reflects the commercial potential in selling the turmoil of global power relations to British consumers in the mid-eighteenth century. The Seven Years’ War had had an enormous impact: it had engulfed most of Europe, including Britain, France, Prussia, Austria, and Spain; and because of British, French, and Spanish colonial ambitions, battles had been fought in North America, in the Caribbean, and in India, as well as in Europe. When the war ended, Britain’s imperial territories had grown tremendously, while France had suffered an unprecedented defeat, a conclusion that drastically upset the global balance of power.2 For people living in Britain, the war had led to higher taxes, invasion scares, economic depressions, military and militia service, and a wide range of patriotic activities.3 Although the conflict was physically distant, a great deal of imagery represented it for a public audience.4 Many of London’s leading artists created works depicting significant moments of the war: Francis Hayman made enormous history paintings of Robert Clive after the Battle of Plassey and of Jeffery Amherst conquering Montreal, both of which were installed in Vauxhall Gardens; Joshua Reynolds exhibited portraits of military commanders in his studio and in public exhibitions; Robert Adam and Joseph Wilton designed monuments to fallen soldiers to be erected in Westminster Abbey.5 All of these works represented the war as the triumph of virtuous, noble heroes, a message most famously conveyed by Benjamin West’s The Death of General Wolfe, a ‘modern’ history painting that was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1771.6 The story of the great military hero, however, was only one of the narratives being presented to the public: in contrast to the portraits, history paintings, and monuments, the military view prints that Jefferys sold during the war represented it as a conflict of global spaces, and in his shop these landscapes were surrounded by a rich discourse of geographic controversies. As the Treaty of Paris came into effect, establishing a fragile peace between European powers and setting up new colonial orders across the globe, Jefferys was determined to promote all he had done to depict the war for the British public and to continue to sell a visual narrative of the war which explored the imperial challenges posed by colonies. The men in the strongest position to depict the war were the soldiers and officers who were fighting it: these men had seen the battlefields and the contested colonies first-hand, giving them unique opportunities to make field studies and sketches. Many had some training in drawing and, in the early 1760s, some of these men chose to use their works as the basis for prints depicting sites in North America. Captain Hervey Smythe (or Smyth), aide-de-camp to General Wolfe, and Richard Short, purser on HMS Prince of Orange, both published sets representing Quebec, the site of Wolfe’s famous victory (and demise) in 1759. Thomas Pownall, who had risen rapidly from unofficial agent of the British government to Governor of Massachusetts, created a set of prints depicting sites in New York, New Jersey, and Philadelphia.7 Captain Charles Ince, of the 35th Regiment, published a view of Louisbourg; Captain Thomas Howdell, of the Royal Artillery, created two views of New York; Thomas Patten, another British officer serving in New France, made a view of Montreal. Many of these views were eventually reissued as part of the Scenographia Americana (1768), which ensured that they remained in circulation years after they were first created.8 The Scenographia has since had a powerful impact on the interpretation of these views: recent studies have emphasised the importance of its overall arrangement as a reflection of a newly powerful British Empire.9 As a product, however, the form and context of the Scenographia were very different from those of the original publications: the original prints had been published as discrete sets, and were not intended to form a narrative. In addition, many of the prints in the Scenographia were published when the war was still being fought, before its final outcome and impact was known. Similarly, although these prints have since been associated with the picturesque and even with tourism, they were first published well before the leading picturesque theories, at a time when their subjects were too entwined with the war to possibly have been conceived of as tourist destinations.10 When Jefferys first sold these military artists’ prints, he did so as part of a larger project to make his shop one of the best places in London to view a range of images associated with an ongoing global war. The dynamics of Jefferys’s shop are fundamental to the significance of the military artists’ view prints of North America. For eighteenth-century consumers, every text and representation, be it a book, painting, print, collected object, performance, or illustration, was an artefact within a specific cultural space which operated under its own terms and conditions.11 The different ways in which these artefacts and spaces were ‘commercialized and packaged’ for consumers led to the creation of different audiences: in commenting on the consumption of culture in the eighteenth century, Ann Bermingham has stressed that there were many different publics for art.12 Jefferys’s customers constituted one of these publics, and by examining the context in which his customers would have seen the military view prints, a geographic visual narrative of the Seven Years’ War emerges. In the eyes of the military artists, the war was not a conflict of heroes, it was one of contested and highly unstable landscapes. Thomas Jefferys and the Military View Thomas Jefferys’s success grew out of a double professional identity as engraver and geographer.13 Today, it is as geographer that Jefferys is better known: he was the Geographer to George III and he published numerous maps. Maps of the Americas and the West Indies were one of the most successful parts of his business between 1750 and 1766.14 His role did not come with a stipend, but it did give him semi-official access to government intelligence and an aura of authority; he often sold maps with express permission and support from the Lords Commissioners of Trade and Plantations, the branch of the government that oversaw colonial matters.15 Official title notwithstanding, he saw himself as an engraver and publisher first and a geographer second, and his business was closely connected to the art world in mid-eighteenth century London, both literally and metaphorically.16 His shop was at number 5 Charing Cross, at ‘the corner of St Martin’s Lane in the Strand’ (Fig. 1), near the St Martin’s Lane Academy and several fashionable print shops, such as that of Thomas Major, the official engraver to the Prince of Wales in the 1750s. Major sold French, Flemish, and Italian prints, in sheets or bound for libraries, at his shop near ‘the lower end of St Martin’s Lane’.17 Jefferys often worked with artists and other engravers; for example, when he published a map of Virginia, he engraved the map himself, but Francis Hayman and Charles Grignion created the cartouche for it.18 Alongside the maps he sold, he offered customers ‘a fine Collection of Foreign Prints by the most celebrated Masters Antient or Modern, consisting of History, Heads, Landskips … Likewise the greatest Variety of the best English Prints’.19 This portfolio of products was most likely seen as a natural combination, and not merely a reflection of Jefferys’s interests: in the eighteenth century, people purchased maps both for library collections and for display on the wall.20 It was not especially unusual for a printseller to sell maps, though the level to which Jefferys invested in them was rare. Yet while not unnatural, the combination ensured that any images Jefferys sold were viewed in a space where geography and current events were paramount. Fig. 1. View largeDownload slide Thomas Bowles after Canaletto, A View of Northumberland House, Charing Cross, mid-eighteenth century, engraving, 33.7 x 47 cm. Yale Center for British Art ca. 1750. (Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.) Although the shops in this view are not identified, this is the area Jefferys’s shop was in. Fig. 1. View largeDownload slide Thomas Bowles after Canaletto, A View of Northumberland House, Charing Cross, mid-eighteenth century, engraving, 33.7 x 47 cm. Yale Center for British Art ca. 1750. (Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.) Although the shops in this view are not identified, this is the area Jefferys’s shop was in. Like other fashionable stores in mid-eighteenth century London, Jefferys’s shop would have been a discursive space. Although no contemporary depictions of the interior of his store have survived, the printseller Dorothy Mercier’s trade card gives us some idea of how a mid-eighteenth century print shop was set up: prints were displayed on the walls, but the proprietor also kept extensive stock in storage, bringing it out only when required for customers to examine (Fig. 2). In addition to its display of stock, Jefferys’s store was most likely well furnished, as an elegant space was crucial to retail success. The design of a shop enhanced the appearance of goods and the reputation of the shopkeeper, and it could tacitly encourage customers to spend more time there; in addition to counters, most shops had chairs or stools for customers.21 In general, eighteenth-century shopping was a highly social experience, not only an opportunity for customers to see and acquire goods but also an opportunity to examine and discuss them, both with the shopkeeper and/or attendant and with each other.22 Jefferys’s business was recognised as one with exceptional war information: an article in the Critical Review in 1761 declared that the public was ‘greatly obliged’ to him for his endeavours ‘to advance the general interest of the nation by an exact topography, and accurate maps, charts, plans, and draughts of those countries, coasts, harbours, and cities, with which we are either concerned by war, or connected by commerce’ and noted that ‘to him we owe most of those plans of battles, sieges, and countries that have been the theatres of war since the commencement of our rupture with France’.23 Having successfully branded himself as a publisher of war information, Jefferys effectively established his shop as a space for discussing current events. Fig. 2. View largeDownload slide Jean Baptiste Chatelain after Gravelot, Trade card for Dorothy Mercier, Printseller and Stationer, ca. 1745–70, etching, 25.3 x 14.9 cm. British Museum. (© The Trustees of the British Museum.). Fig. 2. View largeDownload slide Jean Baptiste Chatelain after Gravelot, Trade card for Dorothy Mercier, Printseller and Stationer, ca. 1745–70, etching, 25.3 x 14.9 cm. British Museum. (© The Trustees of the British Museum.). Accurate and authentic war news and imagery were an important part of Jefferys’s business even before the war had officially been declared. From the moment skirmishes broke out in 1754 until the end of the war, people living in Britain were often presented with information from officers’ letters and journals. Detailed first-person narratives appeared in newspapers, periodicals, and pamphlets, and the language of these texts stressed that the officers had the authority to write about the battles; they offered readers a sense of immediacy, mentioning everything from the general’s doubts to the weather, enabling them to imagine imperial battles.24 The government could and sometimes certainly did intervene in these accounts, but for the vast majority of readers, they nonetheless would have read as authoritative reports.25 The soldier’s authority was also potent for images, whether created by himself or by other artists; after the war, painters in London consulted soldiers’ drawings to strengthen the legitimacy of their own works.26 Jefferys was committed to this type of eyewitness reportage: for example, in February 1756, he published the London edition of Samuel Blodget’s A Perspective Plan of the Battle near Lake George… with an Explanation (originally published in Boston).27 He also made a point of offering war imagery relatively quickly: on 29 January 1759, he announced A Map, Plan, and View of the Island of Goree (Senegal, Fig. 3) ‘Speedily will be published’; it appeared less than a month later.28 Accurate and up-to-date topographical information held considerable public interest because in addition to representing the war, it was intrinsic to how the war was being fought. When Jefferys published A Description of the Maritime Parts of France in 1761, a review declared that the utility of his project could be demonstrated through ‘recent fatal experience’ in which officers’ ignorance of terrain had had deadly consequences.29 The high stakes attached to geographical knowledge elevated its public profile and, by extension, its commercial potential for Jefferys. Fig. 3. View largeDownload slide Thomas Jefferys, A Plan of the Island of Goree, A View of the Island of Goree, A Map of Cap Verd, and A Description of the Island of Goree, 1759, engraving, 44 x 38 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.117.103.). Fig. 3. View largeDownload slide Thomas Jefferys, A Plan of the Island of Goree, A View of the Island of Goree, A Map of Cap Verd, and A Description of the Island of Goree, 1759, engraving, 44 x 38 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.117.103.). Jefferys’s support for military artists’ print projects would have been a natural extension of his practice of selling war imagery and information. Military view prints were typically created by a soldier with assistance from an artist but with the soldier receiving the more prominent credit: it was his claim to have made the view ‘on the spot’ that gave the image its credibility.30 Many soldiers were well prepared to make drawings in the field because they had received drawing lessons as part of their education: from 1741, the curriculum at the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich included topography and cartography (the artist Gamaliel Massiot acted as the teacher); drawing was also on the curriculum at the Naval Academy at Portsmouth Dockyard, founded in 1733.31 Topographic drawings were an essential element of intelligence gathering, and they also carried social significance. In her discussion of Lieutenant Philip Orsbridge’s naval views, Sarah Monks has argued that not only was drawing seen as a patriotic activity for officers, it was viewed as one that enabled them to demonstrate personal refinement, and thus their suitability for promotion.32 The preparation of a print or print series could help an officer cultivate his reputation with the military and the public; however, the initiatives for prints could also have come from publishers, who ‘were feeding a market where interest in North America exceeded the information available’ and were well aware of the commercial potential in these drawings.33 Collaboration was essential to success: professional artists were often enlisted to create polished drawings or paintings based on officers’ sketches, and many of London’s most well-known engravers worked on preparing the corresponding plates. The resulting images presented officers’ views through highly polished, detailed compositions which reward careful examination. The range of war-news products Jefferys sold invited his customers to read texts and images against each other. It was not unusual, for example, for Jefferys to sell a map depicting a battle accompanied by a pamphlet written by one of the soldiers who had been present. For example, in October 1762 he published An accurate Plan of the Siege of the Havannah, shewing the Landing, Encampments, Approaches, and Batteries of the English Army, with the several Attacks and Stations of the Fleet. Drawn on the Spot, by an Officer. To which is annexed, by the same Gentleman, an Authentic Journal of the Siege.34 Many of Jefferys’s military maps combine topographical depiction with schematics of military actions, offering viewers impressions of the natural terrain, the strength of the fortifications, the movement of troops, and the firing of guns, as well as information on the locations of the battle. Perhaps the best combination of information within a single publication was that offered by Jefferys’s broadsheet about the Battle of Gorée (Fig. 3): divided into four parts, it offers viewers a plan, view, map, and description. It requires a complex, somewhat disjointed viewing process in which the description provides crucial information about the plan and map, the plan and map enable the reader to identify and situate the landmarks shown in the view, and the view brings to life the moment in which the British ships attacked the island, which is the climax of the text. The viewer must constantly look between the different elements in order to fully grasp their significance, a process that provides excellent information but undercuts the pictorial impact of the view. Commenting on different approaches to representations of battles, James Clifton has argued that while ‘the use of keys and maps … helps to establish the truth claims’ of war imagery, at the same time ‘the shifting of attention back and forth between text and image disrupts a total immersion in the image’, such that the viewer is given an intellectual analysis of the battle rather than an emotional connection to it.35 This disruption is most acute when a single object presents a picture with a legend, key, or cartographic information alongside it because it is the picture that has the greatest dramatic potential, the potential to immerse the viewer. While the broadsheet of the Battle of Gorée is somewhat unusual in presenting four distinct parts on a single sheet, the same type of juxtapositions between maps and views and texts could easily be made by viewing the different items in Jefferys’s shop. It was an environment that prided itself on selling topographical accuracy and military strategy, and it is through these frames that customers would have viewed the military artists’ prints. Views of French Colonies General Wolfe’s victory on the Plains of Abraham at Quebec was the climax of a long campaign in New France and a crucial victory for the British. Following this triumph, Jefferys sold two sets of views of the region by military artists. The first, dedicated to William Pitt, was created from drawings by Hervey Smythe, who most likely worked with the artist Francis Swaine to turn his sketches into formal preparatory images for engraving.36 Paul Sandby, Peter Paul Benazech, William Elliott, and Peter Mazell prepared the plates, and Jefferys published the set in November 1760. Advertised as ‘Six elegant Views of the most remarkable Places in the River and Gulph of St Laurence [sic]’, it consisted of views of Quebec, Montmorency Falls, Cap-Rouge, the Bay of Gaspé, Miramichi, and the so-called Pierced Island (an enormous rock in the St Lawrence River), all places that had been important locations for the campaign.37 It is a remarkably fine set, carefully composed and filled with a wide range of textures, from crisp sails to feathery trees, which imbue the prints with tactile pleasure. The second set of views of Quebec depicted the city itself. In March 1760, Richard Short issued ‘Proposals for Engraving and publishing by subscription, Twelve views of the principal buildings in Quebec, from drawings taken on the spot at the Command of Vice-admiral Saunders’; people in London were invited to subscribe through Jefferys, and when the prints were published in September 1761, inscriptions identified his shop as the site the prints were being sold at.38 This series began with a view of Quebec, as seen from the river, but most of its images showed sites in the city after the battle, including the Cathedral, the Jesuit College, the Recollect Friars Church, the Ursuline convent, the Church of Notre-Dame-des-Victoires, the Intendant’s Palace, and the Treasury. Exactly how Short arranged the production of the series is unclear, but four surviving paintings by Dominic Serres, all dated 1760 and all similar in size to their engraved counterparts, suggest that Short collaborated with Serres to create the images he wanted engraved.39 Like Smythe, Short then worked with several engravers. The series represents Quebec as a politely vibrant place: although the buildings are its main subject, each scene is populated with combinations of soldiers, townspeople, children, or animals, most of whom share the spaces harmoniously, as if the aftermath of the battle were merely interesting, as opposed to traumatic. Smythe’s and Short’s prints have been described as depictions of a post-conquest Canada, but when they were first published, the future of Quebec was far from certain and the prints appeared in the middle of an ongoing debate unfolding in the British press.40 The initial enthusiastic response to the victory at Quebec had quickly given way to controversy over its future: as people began to contemplate what kind of peace might be achieved, they considered what they wanted to secure for Britain, and some argued that Britain should prioritise retaining Guadeloupe (another French colony the British had taken in 1759) over Quebec. This argument has sometimes been described as the ‘Canada versus Guadeloupe’ debate, but it would be an oversimplification to characterise Britain’s options as keeping one or the other.41 It must be stressed that the debate in the press did not mirror the actual negotiations (though there were some connections). While the negotiators would have followed the debate closely, for them the issue of Quebec at least was settled more quickly; what most people in Britain could not have known was that the French did not really want Quebec back.42 What the public knew was that it was typical to negotiate the return or exchange of territories at the end of a war; for instance, the British had captured Louisbourg in 1745 (during the War of the Austrian Succession), and then returned it to France in 1748. Theoretically, then, different combinations of keeping and returning territories were possible, and the options inspired over sixty pamphlets, as well as numerous newspaper and magazine articles, some extolling the strategic advantages of keeping Quebec, others stressing the exponentially greater economic potential of Guadeloupe.43 Jefferys had his own contribution to make to the debate on the value of Quebec. In the years leading up to the battle, he had published numerous maps of the region, and in January 1760 he published The Natural and Civil History of the French Dominions in North and South America, with an Historical Detail of the Acquisitions, and Conquests, made by the British Arms in those Parts.44 The book presented itself as offering readers information now essential in light of current events, declaring that although it had always been important for the British to understand the strength and resources of a ‘natural Enemy’, ‘Knowledge of this Territory is now become yet more important, as Providence has thought fit by a Series of Successes almost miraculous, to make it our own’.45 Jefferys’s extra emphasis is in the original text on British possession, as well as a declaration in the dedication that the reduction of Quebec ‘can neither be overlooked nor forgotten’, suggests that he was well aware that the long-term future of the French conquests would not be settled by battles alone.46 Throughout the book, he returns to the issue of colonial potential: in introducing his section on the natural history of Canada, he notes that he does not intend to be thorough but simply to ‘give a short sketch of such parts of the produce as are peculiar or of most consequence to this colony’; in concluding his account of Louisiana, he outlines the commercial advantages available to whoever controls the territory.47 Customers looking at Smythe’s and Short’s views, then, could admire the sights of the French colony and they could review a catalogue of the resources they could expect to extract from it: these were landscape views charged with political potential. Seen in this light, Smythe’s depictions of sites along the St Lawrence River represent the region as a place where wildness is a military challenge rather than merely a manifestation of sublime nature. Each plate displays exceptional details and subtle lighting: delicate ripples in the river contrast sharply with gnarly trees and rocks, dappled shadows over forest hills are echoed by soft clouds which might almost be described as Claudean, and the eye is repeatedly drawn to the horizon. All this is indicative of the London artists’ knowledge of landscape as a genre; yet, regardless of any interventions the engravers might have made in creating plates based on Smythe’s sketches, the British military attempts on Quebec were at the core of the set. It was Smythe’s viewpoint that defined it: the first plate declared that he had ‘taken’ the views, partly from Pointe-au-Père, a navigational look out on the St Lawrence, and partly while on board HMS Vanguard, a man-of-war ship.48 Though it has strong imperial undertones, the description of the scene as ‘taken on the spot’ likely refers to the drawing rather than the territory, as the phrase was also used to describe domestic topographical views. Here, it emphasises the visual authenticity of the image and it places viewers in Smythe’s position, so that they, too view Quebec from a warship.49 The captions explain how scenes relate to military movements; for example, that for Cap-Rouge informs viewers that ‘From this place 1500 chosen Troops at the break of Day fell down the River on the Ebb of Tide to the Place of Landing’ (Jefferys had published a plan of the battle on which these actions could be located).50 The views also incorporate military actions: in the view of the waterfall at Montmorenci (Fig. 4), British ships are firing their guns; in the view of Miramichi (Fig. 5), landing parties are approaching the shore to destroy the French settlement there; in the view of Gaspé Bay, soldiers stand in their boat with guns at the ready.51 For viewers who were thus well prepared to read the images in the context of war, the landscape itself might be implicated: in the view of Miramichi, for instance, the dark shadows and violent waves along the riverbank make it seem not merely aesthetically interesting but potentially menacing and clearly difficult for the landing parties to overcome. The underlying message, then, is not about the land itself but about the British military achievement in taking it from the French. Fig. 4. View largeDownload slide William Elliott after Hervey Smythe, A view of the fall of Montmorenci and the attack made by General Wolfe on French Intrenchments near Beauport, 1760, etching/engraving, 36.4 x 53 cm. British Museum. (© The Trustees of the British Museum.). Fig. 4. View largeDownload slide William Elliott after Hervey Smythe, A view of the fall of Montmorenci and the attack made by General Wolfe on French Intrenchments near Beauport, 1760, etching/engraving, 36.4 x 53 cm. British Museum. (© The Trustees of the British Museum.). Fig. 5. View largeDownload slide Peter Paul Benazech and Paul Sandby after Hervey Smythe, A view of Miramichi, a French settlement in the Gulf of St Lawrence, 1760, etching/engraving, 36.3 x 52.8 cm. British Museum. (© The Trustees of the British Museum.). Fig. 5. View largeDownload slide Peter Paul Benazech and Paul Sandby after Hervey Smythe, A view of Miramichi, a French settlement in the Gulf of St Lawrence, 1760, etching/engraving, 36.3 x 52.8 cm. British Museum. (© The Trustees of the British Museum.). In depicting Quebec after the British siege, Short could hardly have avoided displaying the might of the British military. The series had been made from sketches taken at the request of an admiral, creating the impression that this was an official military record, and some of the buildings shown had suffered significant damage during the bombardment. If Quebec is considered as a site of strategic importance rather than a new colony, however, Short’s representations are not straightforward depictions of British triumph. The strength of the buildings encourages the viewer to appreciate the considerable force of French colonial power, as well as the British action. In many scenes, the viewer is confronted with a screen of solid, monumental structures which are rather pointedly still standing. In A View of the Treasury and Jesuit College (Fig. 6), the rubble almost looks decorative in comparison to the planar strength of the buildings, and even the badly damaged church in the distance has a very strong silhouette. The impression of a power with its core intact is most explicit in the series’ depictions of the interiors of churches: in A View of the Inside of the Recollect Friars Church (Fig. 7), the roof and the floor have been badly damaged—there are bits of wood everywhere, and a few skulls have emerged from the burial area—but the altar itself, with its extraordinarily lavish architectural frame, crisply detailed ornament, and grand painting of the Madonna, is in remarkably good condition, giving it a self-contained, coherent glory which is contrasted with and removed from the mess in the foreground. Short has shown his viewers a powerful adversary, one whose defeat was clearly an achievement, though not necessarily a permanent one. Fig. 6. View largeDownload slide Charles Grignion after Richard Short, A View of the Treasury, and Jesuit College, 1761, etching/engraving, 36.6 x 53 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.119.39.a.11.). Fig. 6. View largeDownload slide Charles Grignion after Richard Short, A View of the Treasury, and Jesuit College, 1761, etching/engraving, 36.6 x 53 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.119.39.a.11.). Fig. 7. View largeDownload slide Charles Grignion after Richard Short, A View of the Inside of the Recollect Friars Church, 1761, etching/engraving, 36.6 x 53.3 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.119.39.a.3.). Fig. 7. View largeDownload slide Charles Grignion after Richard Short, A View of the Inside of the Recollect Friars Church, 1761, etching/engraving, 36.6 x 53.3 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.119.39.a.3.). Jefferys’s final military prints of the French colonies in Canada appeared near the end of the war, but they nonetheless invited viewers to see these sites through military eyes. An East View of Montreal, in Canada was based on a watercolour drawing by Thomas Patten, a British officer who had participated in the 1760 campaign against that city. In his view, the city is surrounded by the British navy, and the viewer has been provided with a key to identify all the major buildings.52 Patten’s view was published alongside Ince’s A View of Louisburg, in North America, taken near the Light House when that City was besieged in 1758 (Fig. 8). As its title implies, this is a topographical view with the military in action: the foreground shows officers viewing the fleets and soldiers moving a cannon, and Ince has provided a key to enable the viewer to identify the city and the bay, the English camp, the French fleet, and the Island Battery, which is surrounded by clouds of smoke. In Jefferys’s shop, the Canadian colonies were represented as sites of conflict long after the battles had ended. Fig. 8. View largeDownload slide Pierre Charles Canot after Charles Ince, A View of Louisburg in North America, taken near the Light House when that City was besieged in 1758, 1762, etching/engraving, 35.8 x 53 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.119.95.c.). Fig. 8. View largeDownload slide Pierre Charles Canot after Charles Ince, A View of Louisburg in North America, taken near the Light House when that City was besieged in 1758, 1762, etching/engraving, 35.8 x 53 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.119.95.c.). Views of British American Colonies In May 1761, Jefferys published another print series depicting sites in North America. These sites, however, were British colonies. The title of the series was Six Remarkable Views in the Provinces of New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. Based on drawings by Thomas Pownall, who arranged for Paul Sandby to use his sketches as sources for paintings which were then engraved, the series featured views of the entrance to the Topan Sea, the Falls on the Passaick, the Catskill Mountains, the Cohoes Falls on the Mohawk River, Bethlehem (a Moravian settlement), and a design for an American settlement. Unlike the soldiers who drew the French colonies, Pownall was not directly participating in military action when he made his sketches. As a government agent in the colonies, however, he was deeply concerned about French strategies for moving into the interior of North America; he wrote a paper on this subject that was read at the Albany Congress in July 1754 and published in the Gentleman’s Magazine in May 1756.53 Pownall had made some of his drawings while on reconnaissance missions, examining the land with a view to its military possibilities, and as a colonial leader during the war he had significant influence on the military. Sandby he may have demanded close attention to topographical details.54 Through publishing with Jefferys, Pownall aligned his project with Jefferys’s store of geographical knowledge, including important maps of the American colonies. In this context, every scene is potentially implicated in contemporary tensions over the boundaries of the wilderness in America. Pownall’s series sharply contrasts nature and settlement. The first four plates, the viewer is confronted with enormous trees, jagged cliffs, and turbulent waterfalls; the environment is almost overwhelmingly rugged and might easily be described as sublime, particularly in light of the powerful shading that exploits the medium by employing dense lines in key areas to create a rich darkness (Fig. 9). Writing about these scenes later in life, Pownall himself noted that, while sketching, he had sometimes found it challenging to accurately convey the scale of the sight he was encountering.55 Even in the final two scenes, which depict settlements, the landscape is still on a monumental scale: enormous trees seem to overpower the houses built just beyond them (Fig. 10). In light of the narrative between the six views, it is possible to read the series as a comment on the potential of the American wilderness and the opportunities for ambitious settlers.56 Yet, while in isolation it might be possible to view this set as a promise of the pastoral harmony that could be created in a raw and bracing terrain, placed alongside the maps Jefferys published, the colonial potential in these images would have been linked to the very human threats against British settlement in the American interior. Although wild nature and an open horizon might be seen as invitations, viewers in Jefferys’s shop knew very well that the boundaries of the colonies could not be expanded easily. Fig. 9. View largeDownload slide Paul Sandby after Thomas Pownall, A view in Hudson’s River of Pakepsey & the Catts-Kill Mountain, from Sopos Island in Hudson’s River, 1761, etching/engraving, 36.5 x 53.2 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.121.116.b.). Fig. 9. View largeDownload slide Paul Sandby after Thomas Pownall, A view in Hudson’s River of Pakepsey & the Catts-Kill Mountain, from Sopos Island in Hudson’s River, 1761, etching/engraving, 36.5 x 53.2 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.121.116.b.). Fig. 10. View largeDownload slide James Peake after Thomas Pownall and Paul Sandby, A design to represent the beginning and completion of an American settlement or farm, 1761, etching/engraving, 36.6 x 53.3 cm. British Museum. (© The Trustees of the British Museum.). Fig. 10. View largeDownload slide James Peake after Thomas Pownall and Paul Sandby, A design to represent the beginning and completion of an American settlement or farm, 1761, etching/engraving, 36.6 x 53.3 cm. British Museum. (© The Trustees of the British Museum.). 1758, Jefferys published a map that not only located the points of interest Pownall would identify in his print series but also encapsulated the tensions exploding along the American frontier (Fig. 11). One of several American maps Jefferys sold, its full title was A General Map of the Middle British Colonies in America: Viz. Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, Pensilvania, New-Jersey, New-York, Connecticut and Rhode-Island: Of Aquanishuonîgy the Country of the Confederate Indians, Comprehending Aquanishuonigy [sic] proper, their Places of Residence, Ohio and Thuchsochruntie their Deer Hunting Countries, Couchsachrage and Skaniadarade their Beaver Hunting Countries, Of the Lakes Erie, Ontario and Champlain, Exhibiting the Antient and Present Seats of the Indian Nations. This map goes far beyond merely labelling places: although it does not have any pictures and does not have the same dramatic potential as a military view would, it is sprinkled with written comments about the American colonies, and it touches on the rich natural resources available, the threat of French expansion, and the potential for violent conflict with indigenous people as settlers moved westwards. Fig. 11. View largeDownload slide Lewis Evans, Thomas Jefferys and Robert Sayer, A general map of the middle British colonies in America, 1758, engraving (with hand-coloured details), 49 x 67 cm. Library of Congress. (Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division.). Fig. 11. View largeDownload slide Lewis Evans, Thomas Jefferys and Robert Sayer, A general map of the middle British colonies in America, 1758, engraving (with hand-coloured details), 49 x 67 cm. Library of Congress. (Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division.). French aggression and imperial ambitions became important elements of Jefferys’s business years before the British victory at Quebec. During this period, many news reports, books, and pamphlets expressed concerns over French threats to British settlements in North America, especially after the French were victorious in a series of confrontations in the Ohio region in 1754–5.57 Territorial disputes over the boundaries of Acadia and Nova Scotia played out in part through competing maps, including some published by Jefferys; in 1756, he printed Remarks on the French Memorials Concerning the Limits of Acadia, which included maps of both the French and the British positions.58 By 1758, mapping the American colonies was an equally charged project because the security of American frontier settlements and the threat of the French presence in the region were among the issues that were being fought over—they had in fact been some of the flashpoints that ignited hostilities.59 The map explicitly reminds viewers of this. A comment on the side of the map, floating in the Atlantic Ocean and conveniently parallel with the contested Pennsylvania frontier, reads: Were there nothing at Stake between the Crown of Great Britain and France but the Lands on the Ohio, we may reckon it as great a Prize as has ever been contended for between two Nations. For this Country is of that vast Extent Westward as to exceed in good Land all the European Dominions of Great Britain France and Spain … It is impossible to conceive that had his Majesty been made acquainted with its Value and great Importance, the large Strides the French have been making for several Years past in their Incroachments on his Dominions, that his Majesty would sacrifice one of the best Gems in his Crown to their Usurpation and boundless Ambition. Jeffreys’s customers would thus have been confronted with the military threats to the American landscape even while they looked at Pownall’s views of it. The map also makes clear that the French are not the only threat to American settlers. In the middle of the eighteenth century, although indigenous peoples were under pressure from colonists, they still had tremendous political and military force; the presence of indigenous warriors was instrumental to the outcome of virtually all the major battles in North America during the war. It was in this context that the British press began to report on indigenous people more than ever before, and while the amount of information was significant, it was consistently focused on violence.60 In 1755, before the war had been formally declared, General Edward Braddock had led an expedition to Fort Duquesne; before his forces even arrived, a French-led force primarily made up of indigenous warriors had ambushed them, killing or wounding two-thirds of the British troops, Braddock included.61 Over the next few years, the British press regularly published gruesome accounts of the horrific violence meted out by indigenous warriors, depicting their approach to warfare as one of acts of extermination which did not differentiate between soldiers and non-combatants, a message that reflected a common lack of understanding of indigenous warfare.62 There was also a longer history of indigenous warriors taking soldiers and settlers, including women and children, as prisoners; after the outbreak of the Seven Years’ War, stories written by former captives attracted unprecedented attention in London.63 Although it is difficult to quantify these encounters, the actual threat was not really the issue: in a study of the captivity narratives, Linda Colley has argued that while there were certainly hundreds of people taken captive, the real impact was the ‘dimensionless fear’ that their stories inspired.64 Jefferys’s map offers a micro-history of one of these encounters: in a small passage below the Kentucky River, it reports: ‘The Outawais or Tarvas under Pretence of Leave from the Confederates to hunt on the Sth Side of Lake Erie, being instigated by the French in 1752 fell upon the English Tawichtwi Town where they killed 22 Tawichtwi Warriors, and one Englishman, and carried away six Englishmen Prisoners with all their Effects to the French.’ In this account, while the motivation for the attack is attributed to the French, they have no direct involvement: the threat to the British is clearly the indigenous warriors. Viewed while juxtaposed with these narratives, Pownall’s prints are not simply glimpses of an unprecedentedly wild and vast terrain, they are depictions of the limitations of Britain’s position in America. Each scene is a form of frontier, whether it shows a small boat sailing upriver or a man chopping wood on a farm. Yet, the series also invites the viewer to question the idea of an open frontier: in the view of the Great Cohoes Falls (Fig. 12), the waterfall has forced travellers to halt; in A view in Hudson’s River of Pakepsey & the Catts-Kill Mountain, small boats seem to be sailing directly into a mountain range. In A design to represent the beginning and completion of an American settlement or farm, the farm is hemmed in by forest on all sides, and the forest seems to be winning—the woodcutter is tiny in comparison with the trees soaring above him, which threaten to crush the mill and the cabin he has built. Purely in visual terms, this is an ambitious but fragile settlement; viewed in Jefferys’s shop, it is a bold but tenuous claim for Britain’s future in the American interior. Fig. 12. View largeDownload slide William Elliot after Thomas Pownall and Paul Sandby, A view of the great Cohoes Falls, on the Mohawk river, 1761, etching/engraving, 36.5 x 53 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.121.117.). Fig. 12. View largeDownload slide William Elliot after Thomas Pownall and Paul Sandby, A view of the great Cohoes Falls, on the Mohawk river, 1761, etching/engraving, 36.5 x 53 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.121.117.). In Thomas Howdell’s views of New York, Jefferys offered visitors views of what the British had achieved in America, and what they stood to lose if they did not successfully defend their colonies there. Howdell’s views are more tranquil than anything Pownall drew, showing a calm landscape with the city in the distance (Fig. 13). For each print, Howdell provided keys along the bottom which enable viewers to identify the modest buildings on the horizon and thus to recognise their importance: small numbers label sites such as the New College, the Old English Church, and the City Hall in the south-east view of the city; a busy harbour fills the skyline in the south-west view. In both, the city’s towers cluster together as emblems of urbanity and in pointed contrast to the trees nearby. This ground does not appear to be threatened by nature or an enemy, but simply seeing the city through an image made by an artillery officer would have reminded viewers of the need for the British military presence in the region. Fig. 13. View largeDownload slide Pierre Charles Canot after Thomas Howdell, A South East View of the City of New York in North America, 1763, etching/engraving, 36 x 52.6 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.121.38.c.). Fig. 13. View largeDownload slide Pierre Charles Canot after Thomas Howdell, A South East View of the City of New York in North America, 1763, etching/engraving, 36 x 52.6 cm. British Library. (© British Library Board, Maps K.Top.121.38.c.). Conclusion Jefferys’s advertisement of February 1763 brought all these views together under the heading ‘American Views’: with the war over, they were now paper monuments to military achievements.65 This memorialising role is underscored by the middle lines of the advertisement, which read ‘And speedily will be published, Four Views in Guadeloupe and Dominica’. This series was created by Lieutenant Archibald Campbell, a military engineer, and it included three views of the British fort at Guadeloupe, and one of the attack on Dominica—all views of the past by 1763, as these colonies had been returned to the French. Another similar series was still to come: in 1764, Elias Durnford, an engineer who had served at Havana, published a set of six views of that city. Like Short’s series on Quebec, his project began as a subscription before being made available for general sale, but by 1765 Jefferys had added Durnford’s prints to a new advertisement for ‘American Views’.66 The military and colonial challenges that all these prints were associated with were still fairly current: although the European powers had signed a treaty in 1763, the British had struggled to maintain peace in the American colonies, facing substantial challenges from indigenous forces until well into 1765.67 More importantly, many people in Britain assumed that while they had dealt France an extraordinary defeat, it would not be a permanent one and it was likely only a matter of time until war broke out.68 When it did, there was every reason to believe that the future for any of the American or West Indian colonies might be to get drawn into war once again. Viewed in this space of global tensions and imperial instabilities, military artists’ prints offered people in Britain something unique: authentic views of the challenges posed by colonial ambitions, as seen by the very people who would be responsible for overcoming them. Footnotes 1 Lloyd’s Evening Post and British Chronicle, 18–21 February 1763; Issue 875. 2 The literature on the Seven Years’ War is extensive; among the most recent major studies are Fred Anderson’s Crucible of War: The Seven Years’ War and the Fate of Empire in British North America, 1754–1766 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2000), and Daniel Baugh’s The Global Seven Years War, 1754–1763: Britain and France in a Great Power Contest (Harlow: Pearson Education, 2011). 3 Kathleen Wilson, The Sense of the People: Politics, Culture and Imperialism in England, 1715–1785 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 198. 4 Peter Harrington, British Artists and War: The Face of Battle in Paintings and Prints, 1700–1914 (London: Greenhill Books, 1993), p. 25. John Bonehill and Geoff Quilley, ‘Introduction’, pp. 1–14 in John Bonehill and Geoff Quilley (eds), Conflicting Visions: War and Visual Culture in Britain and France c. 1700–1830 (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, 2005), p. 1. 5 David Solkin, Painting for Money: The Visual Arts and the Public Sphere in Eighteenth-Century England (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1992), pp. 191–9. Mark Hallett, Reynolds: Portraiture in Action (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2014), pp. 165–91. Joan Coutu, Persuasion and Propaganda: Monuments and the Eighteenth-Century British Empire (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2006), pp. 103–46. 6 For a discussion of the contemporary response to West’s The Death of General Wolfe and a recent bibliography of the extensive literature on the painting, see Emily Ballew Neff, ‘At the Wood’s Edge: Benjamin West’s “The Death of Wolfe” and the Middle Ground’, pp. 64–103 in American Adversaries: West and Copley in a Transatlantic World (Houston: The Museum of Fine Arts, 2013). 7 Donald F. Clark, ‘Six Remarkable Views, 1761: The Collaboration of Governor Pownall and Paul Sandby’, Imprint: Publication of the American Historical Print Collectors Society, Inc., vol. 4, no. 1, April 1979, pp. 23–8 (pp. 23–4). 8 Bruce Robertson, ‘Venit, Vidit, Depinxit: The Military Artist in America’, pp. 83–103 in Views and Visions: American Landscape before 1830 (Washington: The Corcoran Gallery of Art, 1986), p. 84. 9 Anderson, Crucible, pp. 421–2. 10 John E. Crowley, Imperial Landscapes: Britain’s Global Visual Culture, 1745–1820 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2011), p. 63. Robertson, ‘Venit, Vidit, Depinxit’, p. 86. 11 Miles Ogborn and Charles W.J. Withers, ‘Introduction: Georgian Geographies?’, pp. 1–23 in Miles Ogborn and Charles W.J. Withers (eds), Georgian Geographies: Essays on Space, Place and Landscape in the Eighteenth Century (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004), p. 10. For more on cultural spaces in London, see John Brewer, The Pleasures of the Imagination: English Culture in the Eighteenth Century (London: HarperCollins, 1997), pp. 56–69. 12 Ann Bermingham, ‘Introduction. The consumption of culture: image, object, text’, pp. 1–20 in Ann Bermingham and John Brewer (eds) The Consumption of Culture, 1600–1800: Image, Object, Text (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), p. 15. 13 Thomas Mortimer, The Universal Director (London: J. Coote, 1763), p. 15. 14 J.B. Harley, ‘The Bankruptcy of Thomas Jefferys: An Episode in the Economic History of Eighteenth Century Map-making’, Imago Mundi, vol. 20, 1966, pp. 27–48 (pp. 37–8). 15 Mary Sponberg Pedley, The Commerce of Cartography: Making and Marketing Maps in Eighteenth-Century France and England (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), p. 33. Public Advertiser, 7 January 1754; Issue 5987. Whitehall Evening Post or London Intelligencer, 3–5 April 1755; Issue 1388. 16 Joan Winearls, ‘Thomas Jefferys’s Map of Canada and the Mapping of the Western Part of North America, 1750–1768’, The British Library Journal, vol. 22, no. 1, Spring 1996, pp. 27–54 (p. 27). 17 Public Ledger or The Daily Register of Commerce and Intelligence, 9 December 1760; Issue 285. Sheila O’Connell, London 1753 (London: The British Museum Press, 2003), pp. 171–4. Thomas Major, A Catalogue of Prints, 1754 (British Museum, 1953, 0924.19). I was directed to this document by Timothy Clayton, The English Print, 1688–1802 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997), p. 115. 18 Margaret Beck Pritchard and Henry G. Taliaferro (eds), Degrees of Latitude: Mapping Colonial America (Williamsburg, Virginia: The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, 2002), p. 156. 19 Anthony Walker, DRAFT Trade Card of Thomas Jefferys, c. 1760–71 (British Museum, D, 2.3728). 20 Matthew H. Edney, ‘John Mitchell’s Map of North America (1755): A Study of the Use and Publication of Official Maps in Eighteenth-Century Britain’, Imago Mundi, vol. 60, no. 1, 2008, pp. 63–85 (p. 68). Margaret Beck Pritchard, ‘“Useful & elegant furniture for screens, halls, large rooms, stair cases”: Maps as Symbolic Objects’, pp. 43–53 in Degrees of Latitude, pp. 46, 49. 21 Claire Walsh, ‘Shop Design and the Display of Goods in Eighteenth-Century London’, Journal of Design History, vol. 8, no. 3, 1995, pp. 157–76 (pp. 167, 166). 22 Claire Walsh, ‘Shops, Shopping, and the Art of Decision Making in Eighteenth-Century England’, pp. 151–77 in John Styles and Amanda Vickery (eds), Gender, Taste, and Material Culture in Britain and North America, 1700–1830 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2006), pp. 157–8, 169–70. 23 ‘Art. V. A Description of the Maritime Parts of France’, Critical Review, vol. 11, 1761, pp. 205–7 (pp. 205, 206). 24 Nicholas Rogers, ‘From Vernon to Wolfe: Empire and Identity in the British Atlantic World of the Mid-Eighteenth Century’, pp. 25–52 in Frans de Bruyn and Shaun Regan (eds), The Culture of the Seven Years’ War: Empire, Identity, and the Arts in the Eighteenth-Century Atlantic World (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014), p. 27. 25 Coutu, Persuasion and Propaganda, p. 110. 26 Douglas Fordham, British Art and the Seven Years’ War: Allegiance and Autonomy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), p. 220. 27 Gazetteer and London Daily Advertiser, 4 February 1756; Issue 4488. 28 Public Advertiser, 29 January 1759; Issue 7559. Public Advertiser, 19 February 1759; Issue 7581. 29 ‘Art. V. A Description of the Maritime Parts of France’, p. 206. 30 See, for instance, William Elliott after Hervey Smythe, A view of the fall of Montmorenci and the attack made by General Wolfe on French Intrenchments neat Beauport, 1760 (British Museum, 1917, 1208.4289). 31 Ann Bermingham, Learning to Draw: Studies in the Cultural History of a Polite and Useful Art (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2000), pp. 83–4. R.H. Hubbard, ‘The Art of Thomas Davies’, pp. 12–43 in R.H. Hubbard (ed.), Thomas Davies, c. 1737–1812 (Ottawa: The National Gallery of Canada, 1972), p. 12. Kim Sloan, ‘A Noble Art’: Amateur Artists and Drawing Masters c. 1600–1800 (London: British Museum Press, 2000), p. 105. 32 Sarah Monks, ‘Our man in Havana: Representation and reputation in Lieutenant Philip Orsbridge’s Britannia’s Triumph (1765)’, pp. 85–114 in Conflicting Visions, pp. 97, 94. 33 Sloan, ‘A Noble Art’, pp. 139–40. 34 Gazetteer and London Daily Advertiser, 2 October 1762; Issue 10466. 35 James Clifton, ‘Mediated War’, pp. 40–50 in James Clifton and Leslie M. Scattone (eds), The Plains of Mars: European War Prints, 1500–1825 (Houston: Museum of Fine Arts, 2009), pp. 43, 49. 36 Alain Parent, Entre Empire et nation: Les représentations de la ville de Québec et de ses environs, 1760–1833 (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval, 2005), p. 67. 37 Public Ledger or The Daily Register of Commerce and Intelligence, 9 December 1760; Issue 285. 38 Public Ledger or The Daily Register of Commerce and Intelligence, 15 March 1760; Issue 55. 39 Sylvia Antoniou (ed.), The Painted Past: Selected Paintings from the Picture Division of the Public Archives of Canada (Ottawa: Public Archives of Canada, 1985), p. 17. Alan Russett, Dominic Serres, R.A.: 1719–1793, War Artist to the Navy (Woodbridge: Antique Collectors’ Club, 2001), pp. 22–6. 40 Crowley, Imperial Landscapes, pp. 56–9. 41 Philip Lawson, The Imperial Challenge: Quebec and Britain in the Age of the American Revolution (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1989), p. 9. 42 Colin G. Calloway, The Scratch of a Pen: 1763 and the Transformation of North America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), p. 8. Lawson, Imperial Challenge, pp. 16–17. 43 Lawson, Imperial Challenge, p. 9. Marie Peters, Pitt and Popularity: The Patriot Minister and London Opinion during the Seven Years’ War (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), pp. 165–7, 199–200. 44 See, for instance, Public Advertiser, 31 January 1758; Issue 7252. 45 Thomas Jefferys, The Natural and Civil History of the French Dominions in North and South America (London: Thomas Jefferys, 1760), ‘Introduction’. 46 Jefferys, Natural and Civil History, ‘Dedication’. 47 Jefferys, Natural and Civil History, pp. 20, 168. 48 Peter Paul Benazech after Hervey Smythe, A View of the City of Quebec, the Capital of Canada, 1760 (British Museum, 1917, 1208.4297). 49 John Crowley, ‘“Taken on the Spot”: The Visual Appropriation of New France for the Global British Landscape’, Canadian Historical Review, vol. 86, no.1, March 2005, pp. 1–28 (p. 1). 50 Peter Mazell after Hervey Smythe, A view of Cape Rouge or Carouge, nine miles above the City of Quebec, 1760 (British Museum, 1917, 1208.4294). Thomas Jefferys, A Correct Plan of the Environs of Quebec, c. 1759. 51 Peter Mazell after Hervey Smythe, A view of Gaspe Bay, in the Gulf of St Lawrence, 1760 (later edition) (British Museum, 1877, 0609.1944). 52 Gloria-Gilda Deák, Picturing America: Prints, Maps, and Drawings Bearing on the New World Discoveries and on the Development of the Territory that is now the United States, 1497–1899, 2 vols (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), I, p. 71. 53 Charles A.W. Pownall, Thomas Pownall, M.P., F.R.S. Governor of Massachusetts Bay, Author of the Letters of Junius (London: Henry Stevens, Son & Stiles, 1908), p. 52. 54 Pownall, Thomas Pownall, pp. 280–1. E. McSherry Fowble, Two Centuries of Prints in America: 1680–1880, A Selective Catalogue of the Winterthur Museum Collection (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1987), pp. 79–80. 55 Clark, ‘Six Remarkable Views’, p. 25. 56 Robertson, ‘Venit, Vidit, Depinxit’, p. 87. 57 Wilson, The Sense of the People, pp. 178–9. See also Eliga H. Gould, The Persistence of Empire: British Political Culture in the Age of the American Revolution (Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 2000), pp. 37, 52. 58 Christine Marie Petto, Mapping and Charting in Early Modern England and France (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2015), pp. 136–52. 59 For a discussion of the tensions over the New York frontier and the Ohio region, see Baugh, Global Seven Years War, pp. 44–66. 60 Troy O. Bickham, Savages within the Empire: Representations of American Indians in Eighteenth-Century Britain (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005), p. 80. 61 Anderson, Crucible, p. 105. 62 Bickham, Savages, pp. 80–1. Linda Colley, Captives: Britain, Empire and the World, 1600–1850 (London: Jonathan Cape, 2002), p. 180. 63 Colley, Captives, p. 161. 64 Colley, Captives, p. 147. 65 Lloyd’s Evening Post and British Chronicle, 18–21 February 1763; Issue 875. 66 Public Ledger, 9 August 1765; Issue 1746. 67 Anderson, Crucible, p. 626. 68 Stephen Conway, War, State, and Society in Mid-Eighteenth-Century Britain and Ireland (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), p. 235. Acknowledgements The research presented in this article was developed in part through studying works in the King George III Topographical Collection at the British Library and the King’s Military Maps Collection at the Royal Library at Windsor, and I thank Felicity Myrone, Kate Heard, and Carly Collier for their support with and kind advice about these collections. I first presented some of this material at Superpowers in the Global Eighteenth Century: Empire, Colonialism, and Cultural Contact, at the College Art Association Conference in February 2017, and I am grateful to Tara Zanardi for inviting me to take part in this panel and for her feedback; I also received very helpful comments from the other participants, Joanna Gohmann, Amelia Rauser, and Michael Yonan. I should also like to thank Jack Hartnell for his feedback about a later draft of the article, the anonymous reviewers for helpful recommendations, and Katie Scott and Olivia Tait for wonderful editorial guidance. © The Author(s) 2018. Published by Oxford University Press; all rights reserved This article is published and distributed under the terms of the Oxford University Press, Standard Journals Publication Model (https://academic.oup.com/journals/pages/about_us/legal/notices)
Oxford Art Journal – Oxford University Press
Published: Mar 1, 2018
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