A Salty Satire on Pilots

Travelling through time, the sound of laughter triggered by sixteenth-century comedies brings us echoes of what was considered witty in Early Modern societies. Perceiving the topics that resonated in the imaginary of theatre audiences as jokes allows the historian to grasp what was seen as embarrassing by the public. Thus, it may be of interest for those wondering about the social status of pilots in the Iberian world to listen to the chuckling that Gil Vicente (1465–1535), the forefather of Portuguese theatre, must have provoked with this dialogue from Triunfo do Inverno (1529):

Pilot –

Where do you think we are?

Sailor –

You are asking me
What is yours to know.
You pilot from Alcochete
Used to the river of eels,
To navigate these routes
Requires having a head and a helmet.

Set in the South Atlantic Ocean, this scene displays a very unusual conversation between a pilot who never sailed south of the Gulf of Guinea,and a sailor. The first, unable to calculate latitude, asks for his subordinate’s help. Inverting the hierarchy aboard an oceanic voyage–where the pilot had full control over the route and instructed the sailors–, this tragicomedy ridicules those who were chosen for pilots on the India Run not because of their nautical knowledge, but due to having a benefactor.

The Tagus estuary.

Besides this satirical device, Gil Vicente goes the distance to create comicality, and achieves so in the most traditional way: old-style insulting the character. His invective could not have been harsher for an oceanic pilot, since the author is making a salty sailor call him a “pilot from Alcochete used to the river of eels.” That is, a freshwater pilot whose only experience is to sail a fishing boat in the Tagus estuary. That is, someone without the “head and helmet”, the intelligence and skills necessary for oceanic navigation, where the ability to calculate latitude is crucial—altogether different from roaming around in a river calmly fishing eel. Certainly, one of the worst insults a pilot could hear.

Evoking a society where astronomical knowledge was crucial for navigating the globe, the laughter following this dialogue–and the occurrences of this exact insult in later theatre plays by different authors–will have something to say about how pilots were perceived in Iberia. It is a sound yet to be fully recorded by the History of Science. [Joana Lima]

How to Establish a Maritime Route: The Case of the Strait of Magellan (1520-1620)

Satellite image of the Strait of Magellan

The Strait of Magellan, with its cold temperatures, unexpected geography, and unpredictable currents and winds seemed to be a great challenge for sailors and pilots at the beginning of the 16th century. Magellan's inaugural voyage had made it clear that this sea passage was the Door to the Pacific that Charles V had longed for, so getting to know and mastering its navigation appeared to be the key to systematizing access to the Moluccas. Consequently, between 1522 and 1540, the Spanish crown promoted a series of expeditions aimed at crossing the Strait and entering Pacific waters, either to reach the desired Spice Islands—Garcia Jofre de Loaísa and Sebastian Cabot—or to populate and make profitable the current Chilean territory—Simão de Alcazaba and Alonso de Camargo. It seems that in the 1520s, in addition to the Spanish fleets, other vessels flying Genoese, French and Portuguese flags clandestinely approached the Strait. All these expeditions, despite sharing an essentially commercial and economic motivation, advanced substantially in the knowledge of the navigation conditions of the Strait of Magellan. Proof of this are the many documents with technical-scientific content that they produced, among which stands out the rutter written by Martín de Uriarte, one of Loaísa’s fleet pilots.

Strait of Magellan in Diogo Ribeiro’s Castiglione Map (1525)

During the 1550s both the driving force and the port of departure of the expeditions changed; now it was the governors of Chile, first Pedro de Valdivia and then García Hurtado de Mendoza, who sent two fleets from the ports of Concepción and Valdivia respectively, with the sole objective of exploring and recognizing the Strait. The expedition promoted by Valdivia departed in 1553, and had as its main protagonist Hernando Gallego, who commanded his ship to enter the Strait for the first time from the western mouth, reached the Atlantic entrance, and returned to Chile as the first man to travel the Fuegian channel in both directions. The enterprise sponsored by Hurtado de Mendoza raised sails in 1557, with Juan Ladrillero at the command; he became the second man to cross the Strait in both directions, and left for posterity an outstanding rutter which surpassed the one produced by Martín de Uriarte. Thanks to this document, the Door to the Pacific looked much more open to the Spanish crown, but the discovery of the Pacific Tornaviaje in 1565 pushed the Fuegian channel into the background… until the entrance onto the stage of the Pelican, captained by Francis Drake. To be continued… [José María Moreno]

Strait of Magellan in Nuño García de Toreno’s Salviati Planisphere (c.1525)

The Untold Story of Acrobatic Relief on Board Sixteenth Century Ships

When we think of the early modern globalization process kickstarted by oceanic explorations, the mind easily runs towards romantic ideas of great adventures in exotic paradises or bloody battles between enemy ships and against ruthless exotic populations. However, as it is easy to imagine, life aboard the vessels that sailed the seven seas in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was not only made of adventures but also of a very uncomfortable daily life due to the narrow spaces and the cramped living conditions. In such an environment a proof of true dexterity was given by the mere accomplishment of daily physiological needs.

The ways to meet such needs could vary significantly. For example, the beautiful carved and decorated bows of the ships, works of art for nowadays observers, contained simple holes used by common sailors as toilets. To use such primitive means required great physical skill since these rudimentary bathrooms were but holes above the open sea, where sailors could easily fall into the water if a strong wave pushed the ship a little harder than expected. While evacuating, the sailors would hang on to a simple rope to avoid falling into the sea. As time went by, these spaces became more sheltered, to avoid unpleasant incidents, but the privacy we cherish today would have seemed then an illusion, and it took a long time to come true.

Of course, naval officers had much more comfortable places where they could take care of their needs. In the aft of the ships there were often double deck and well-equipped toilet rooms with real baths, sinks and latrines.

This post, although it may rightly provoke a little laughter, just wants to shed some light on an aspect of everyday life aboard early modern ships that is fully part of the history of the body and medicine (just think about the conditions on board a ship during an epidemic of dysentery!). The hope is that in the history of navigation, medicine, and naval archaeology too, this important aspect can be more considered. [David Salomoni]

Translating and Updating Iberian Knowledge in the Renaissance

Was Jan Huygen van Linschoten a genius traveller and writer?

Reading the Itinerario, the massive operation of knowledge transmission becomes patent. Maritime, commercial, botanical, political, economic, social, ethnographical and nautical knowledge are mixed to such an extent that one wonders about the sources used in such a detailed encyclopedia.

In order to write the Itinerario, Linschoten was assisted by his editor Cornelis Claesz, who ensured him access to several non-Dutch books. Such are the Spanish cases of Arte de navegar by Pedro de Medina, Compendio de la arte de navegar by Rodrigo Zamorano, Historia de las Indias by Bartolomé de Las Casas, Historia natural y moral de las Indias by José de Acosta, Historia del gran reyno de la China by Juan González de Mendoza and Historia general y natural de las Indias by Gonzalo Férnandez de Oviedo. On the Portuguese side, Linschoten also relied on Colóquio dos simples by Garcia de Orta, a book he owned. He also “discovered” other books at Goa such as Lusíadas by Luís de Camões, História do descobrimento e conquista da Índia by Fernão Lopes de Castanheda, Décadas by João de Barros and Desengano de perdidos by D. Gaspar de Leão Pereira. As for Italian sources, he consulted Relatione del reame di Congo by Filippo Pigafetta, Decades by Peter Martyr and Della navigatione et viaggi by Giovanni Baptista Ramussio. On the French side, he accessed Historia navigationis in Brasiliam by Jean de Léry.

Some of these works were translated into Dutch by Claesz, while Linschoten was working on the Itinerario. Such are the cases of the books by Mendoza, Las Casas, Pigafetta, Léry and the reedition of Medina. Linschoten also translated into Dutch Acosta’s book. In the Itinerario, information from these books was mixed with Linschoten’s narrative. This massive operation of translation helped trigger the Dutch overseas expansion, exactly as it had happened with the French and the English since the beginning of the sixteenth century.

The transformations that scientific knowledge went through in these processes meant that it lost its original “nationality” and became increasingly European, spreading like wildfire the Renaissance appetite for knowledge. Iberian books on the marvellous New Worlds and sailings gave a boost to these translations and shaped decisively European identity. [Nuno Vila-Santa]