Reflections on the Red Sea: Part 2

The first part of this story introduced a question made by some Portuguese sailors: what was the reason behind the name of the Red Sea? At the end, it was mentioned that Afonso de Albuquerque had provided King Manuel with an explanation, after passing through the strait of Aden. “The riddle was solved” – or so it seemed.

In 1541, it was João de Castro who joined another expedition, this time going all the way to the Gulf of Suez. Castro wrote a comment about the name of the Red Sea, refuting all the ideas that were mentioned previously: the water was not red; the storms did not seem to carry any red dust; and the sand was brownish, rather dark. This was not to say that the color red was entirely missing in this region. João de Castro continues to explain that it was only north of Sawakin (where Albuquerque’s expedition had not reached) that coral reefs started to appear: some were red, some were green and some were white. “Now, we should have in mind that the water of this sea, especially north of Sawakin, is the clearest that has ever been seen.” Whenever the coral or the algae around it were red, the red colour showed through the crystal-clear waters. Given that most reefs seemed to be red, Castro believes that it should be the reason why the sea gained the name red, instead of green or white.

Like Albuquerque, João de Castro also enquired Muslim pilots about the name of this sea. They were surprised by the question – Castro writes – for they themselves used the name Sea of Mecca, and none had ever seen or heard of red dust being brought by the wind. “Despite all this, I do not disapprove of the opinion of the Portuguese, but I do state that – having gone through this sea longer than they have gone, and knowing all of its length when they only knew a fragment – I have not seen in the whole of it what they claim to have seen in a little part.” [Inês Bénard]

Reflections on the Red Sea: Part 1

One of the most immediate effects that 16th-century oceanic voyages had on the European population was the emergence of new kinds of questions. Long-distance expeditions exposed sailors to completely new information and, apart from that, it also enabled many of them to confront theories and descriptions which had been hitherto known only through ancient authorities.

One of the many examples of these questions was the reason for the name of the Red Sea. João de Castro mentioned in his rutter that Pliny provided two explanations: the first was that it used to be called Erythraean Sea after a king called Erythras – a name akin to the classical Greek term for red; the second explanation was that the sun in that sea was so strong, that it made it turn reddish. João de Castro added that some people also held that its name “was due to the color of the sand and the earth that went through it”; while others claimed that the water itself was red.

https://medea.fc.ul.pt/view/chart/1/viewer

In 1513, Afonso de Albuquerque organized an expedition to the south of the Red Sea, going as far as the Dahlak Islands. The Portuguese governor wrote to King Manuel I claiming to have seen big red spots on the water, right at the strait of Aden. According to Albuquerque, some of his sailors enquired Muslim pilots about such phenomenon and were told that the earth on the mainland was red. Strong winds would bring dust into the sea, and then heavy currents would generate the spots. The riddle was solved – or so it seemed... (to be continued) [Inês Bénard]

Negotiating a Cosmographer for a King: the case of Bartolomeu Velho

Following our previous blog posts on the circulation of maritime experts in Europe (Travelling Cosmographical Knowledge between Elizabethan England and Valois France and Fernão de Oliveira: a Globalization Agent of Iberian Maritime Knowledge), it is impossible not to mention the case of Portuguese cosmographer Bartolomeu Velho.

A renowned cartographer and mathematician, Bartolomeu Velho designed in 1561, for King Sebastian of Portugal (1557-1578), a world map known as the Carta Geral da Orbe. His works caught soon the attention of Valois France. Raymond de Forqueveaux, the French ambassador to Philip  II’s court between 1565 and 1572, used a contact in France to negotiate Velho’s entry into the service of French King Charles IX (1560-1574). Through the commercial networks that Francesco d’Albagno, an Italian merchant from Luca, had in Lisbon, Velho was offered conditions to come to France. Velho would provide the French monarchy with cosmographical information relating to an unoccupied land (by the Portuguese and the Spanish) that France was likely to explore in South America. In exchange, he was offered valuable conditions to pass to Valois France in 1566, including the possibility of bringing all his family.

Almost at the same time, a deal was struck to have Father Fernão de Oliveira, who at that time was also completing his Ars Nautica, the first European treatise on nautical construction, enter Valois service too. The maneuver was avoided by the Spanish ambassador in Lisbon, who managed to hire Oliveira for Spain’s service (although there is no sign that Oliveira ever left Portugal). In the meantime, owing to Velho’s arrival in France, Portugal asked Philip II to imprison Velho, who was already in Spain on his way to France. This effort, however, did not succeed.

Velho arrived in France in 1567 and soon finished his famous Cosmographia (preserved today at the Bibliothéque Nationale de France), dedicated to King Charles IX. He also brought with him a new instrument that was to help France in the preparation for a French expedition to explore unknown lands. A full inventory of all the goods that Velho brought to France is also known. Still, Charles IX did not have much time to profit from the Portuguese cosmographer’s work and expertise, as he died in 1568 at Nantes, and it is unknown if Velho had time to make further contributions to that planned French expedition.

Velho’s story was not a unique case, even in his time. However, it is an enlightening example of the key role played by information networks used by ambassadors, to successfully acquire the rival’s maritime knowledge. The consequent globalization of cosmographical knowledge in sixteenth-century Europe, as Velho’s case illustrates, was, thus, an unstoppable process, and ambassadors played a pivotal role in this reality. [Nuno Vila-Santa]