Setting sail from Gujarat across the western Indian Ocean, Chapter 2 disembarks on Mauritius, an island of sugar plantations located between South Asia, Africa, and Australia. At the heart of the chapter is Bel Ombre, a sugar plantation owned by a Gujarati merchant from the port city of Rander and the site of his residence in the late nineteenth century. In Gujarat, old merchant homes erase the wider oceanic context of plantation capitalism, slavery, and indentured labor. An emphasis on family itineraries displaces economic profits and proscribed intimacies. To track these points of contact in the late nineteenth century, the chapter analyzes colonial records of plantation ownership in the notarial records in autopsies, letters of helps, and other documents from the Protector of Immigrations records in the Mauritius National Archive in order to understand the broader context of racial capitalism that shaped life in Gujarat’s ports. The chapter argues that plantations – paradigmatic sites of colonial capital – were intimately connected to Gujarat’s havelis. In doing so it provides a critical understanding of family and belonging beyond the endogamous merchant family.

This chapter explores the major auction landscapes before 1914 and also describes the defining elements of the fin-de-siècle European market: integration, free trade, and cosmopolitanism. Examining societies’ approaches to artwork acquisition unveils contradictions and frictions within a milieu united by an international collecting class. France contended with an international, yet conservative, nationalist art world, while Germany’s bourgeoisie tried to control the world of luxury and consumption. In contrast, Britain grappled with questions about free trade and the preservation of art that challenged its laissez-faire tradition. It is precisely these tensions, which directly reflect the challenges posed by the commercialisation of art, that provide a framework for analysing the impact of the war. By emphasising the shared features of an integrated trade sphere, this chapter paints a balanced portrayal of a European market, where art mirrored the complex integration of both socioeconomic and cultural frameworks.

This chapter scrutinises the British Longitude Act of 1714 and its immediate aftermath. It shows, first, the extent to which the wording of the Act drew on precedents from the previous century. Second, it argues that the Act was never intended to create a ‘Board of Longitude’ as a formal, standing committee with regular meetings. Rather, it nominated a number of individuals – by name or by virtue of their official role – seen fit to judge potential ideas. This is a powerful example of the way in which longitude legislation was revisable and open-ended. With this in mind, the chapter shows that the Act did indeed foster considerable activity and discussion around longitude matters over the next two decades. This activity was marked by considerable continuity in the persistence of schemes already being discussed before 1714: eclipses, lunar distances, artificial timekeepers, magnetic variation and dip, signalling, and dead reckoning.

Focusing on the period from the early 1760s to the resolution of the John Harrison affair in 1773, this chapter argues that it was only in this period that the ‘Board of Longitude’ came into being. This was largely in response to the debates surrounding the sea trials of Harrison’s fourth marine timekeeper (H4) and two other longitude schemes – Tobias Mayer’s tables and method for lunar distances and Christopher Irwin’s marine chair for observing Jupiter’s satellites. The transformation into a standing board manifested in regular rather than sporadic meetings and the appointment of a secretary to keep the Board’s papers in order as the Commissioners, for whom astronomer Nevil Maskelyne would become a central figure, sought to defend their decisions over the allocation of monetary rewards. The debates with Harrison, which focused on questions of adequate testing and the judging of trials, disclosure and replicability, and accusations of self-interest, would see the Board harden its stance through the use of legislation to ensure resolution. The Harrisons and their supporters, by contrast, sought to bolster support through lobbying and publication of their claims.

In 1896 the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) published two volumes, titled On the Muhammadan Architecture in Gujarat, to “present a pretty comprehensive view of the Muslim remains in the British districts of Gujarat.”1 The two volumes, which covered the major Gujarati city of Ahmedabad as well as the coastal ports of Bharuch, Khambhat (Cambay), and several others, were chock full of grainy photographs and detailed architectural illustrations, with translations of various Arabic and Persian plaques.

In the port city of Khambhat, a team of archaeologists, enumerators, sketch artists, and photographers walked through the Jami Masjid, built 500 years earlier, in 1325. The photographs the team produced show snapshots of different architectural elements in the compound, zooming in on the carved pillars of the mosque, the domes, the courtyard, and various graves that dotted the mosque complex.

The fragmentation of the European art market after the First World War resulted not only from the war itself but also from deliberate legislative choices. Post-1918 legislation was enacted in a climate of emergency, influenced by the imperative to generate fiscal revenue and protect art. Paris’s decline as an art hub was exacerbated by well-meaning but ill-conceived export and tax regulations, hindering its ability to regain pre-war prominence. Fears of economic and political seizure influenced Weimar policymakers, worsening German isolation. In contrast, Britain opted for minimal postwar intervention. These legislative approaches reflected different economic trajectories as much as they did postwar mentalities. The state’s attempt to protect art, extract profit from it, and avoid economic and cultural expropriation was a symptom of postwar nationalisation. It dealt the final blow to an already weakened European auction system.

The First World War marked a shift from liberalism and internationalism to a period characterised by nationalisation, ethnicisation of citizenship, and economic protectionism. The art market’s history aligns with these narratives, highlighting the fragmentation of a European trade zone and the disruption of a transnational trade equilibrium. The war prompted significant structural transformations in these markets, with Germany seeing a surge in art investment as a hedge against inflation. In Britain, art sales were driven by tax obligations and national service investments. Conversely, the French market struggled, facing stagnation and a focus on preserving existing collections due to the threat of destruction. Neutral countries such as the Netherlands and Switzerland maintained stable art markets, fostering avant-garde movements and serving as hubs for buyers and sellers. The year 1914 catalysed structural transformations in these markets, highlighting how modern warfare altered art’s perception, value, and trade.

This chapter explores the long- and short-term roots of the British Longitude Act 1714, highlighting the degree of continuity with earlier precedents. It first explores the nature and impact of developments in navigational techniques and instruments, astronomy, timekeeping, the finding of longitude on land and the judging and funding of longitude proposals in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Europe. It then delves into the chain of events and written and verbal discussions which gave rise to the new British rewards in 1713–1714. These saw the self-interested lobbying of two projectors gain momentum through a confluence of national and political interests, before becoming enshrined in law as rewards open to all comers.