The Deadliest Enemy (II)

The era of oceanic navigation was concurrent with the prevalence of scurvy, often referred to as the “plague of the sea.” Prior to the 14th-15th centuries, sailors used to navigate fairly close to the coast, and only brief periods of time were spent far from land and fresh food (and vitamin C).

Remedies to alleviate symptoms and to cure scurvy were known, but largely ignored. For instance, Chinese used to cultivate ginger in pots on their ships since the fifth century, an infusion of spruce needles provided by native populations proved able to cure French explorers in Quebec, lemon juice kept Captain Lancaster’s crew healthy, and the medicinal virtues of the Drymis winteri bark to deal with scurvy were discovered by Drake’s Vice-Admiral John Winter.

If knowledge of how to prevent and cure scurvy has been present in various historical periods and regions, why didn’t official medicine recognize it for such a long time?

Stephen Bown, the author of “Scurvy: How a surgeon, a mariner, and a gentleman solved the greatest medical mystery of the age of sail” primarily attributes this oversight to the narrow-minded stance of the scientific authorities of that era, particularly within the British context.

They relied on unfounded theories related to humoral imbalance or putrefaction, and medical philosophies looked for comprehensive explanations for bodily functions and diseases. This emphasis on unified theories may have disregarded the importance of specific nutritional factors in preventing scurvy. Additionally, the hierarchical structure of the medical profession and the reluctance to question prevailing beliefs hindered the dissemination and acceptance of alternative knowledge on scurvy prevention and treatment.

As a result, despite the existence of effective practices used by sailors and native populations, it took an extended period for official medicine to recognize and adopt these methods in the prevention and cure of scurvy.

It was only in 1747 that the first clinical trial was conducted by the Scottish naval surgeon James Lind on sailors in the Salisbury. His experiment tested the effects of various supplements on twelve members of the crew suffering from scurvy. After few days, the men supplied with orange and lemon were completely recovered. Despite this significant finding, Lind’s recommendations were largely overlooked, as they clashed with the prevailing theories of the time.

It took some decades more for the antiscorbutic properties of citrus juice to be fully recognized and for the devastating toll of the disease that characterized the Age of Discovery to come an end. [Silvana Munzi]

When the Moon Wanes, Don’t Start Anything

In this post, we delve into a specific voyage undertaken by the ship “São Pantaleão” in 1596, sailing from Kochi to Lisbon, under the skilled guidance of the pilot Gaspar Ferreira Reimão (fl. 1612). With thirty years of experience navigating the India Run and playing various roles, from second pilot to pilot-major, Reimão meticulously recorded daily life aboard his ship, including measurements, annotations about the magnetic needle’s variation, and astronomical observations. One intriguing aspect to explore is the moon’s role during this voyage.

Reimão’s logbook contains references to nearly every phase of the moon, including what is called “conjunção da lua” (conjunction of the moon) in Portuguese. This refers to the moment when sunlight hits only the part of the moon that is hidden from human view (“new moon”). However, it’s worth noting that in the 16th century mariner jargon, the term “conjunction” could refer to any moon phase. Additionally, the phases of the moon were and are perceived differently in the northern and southern hemispheres, a significant factor for a long-distance voyage.

The majority of the pilot’s textual references to the moon had negative connotations, as they often reflected adverse meteorological conditions. For instance, leaving the Maldives on the 28th of January, the weather worsened, and Reimão explicitly attributed it to the new moon’s weakness, leading to relentless heavy rainfall. The pilot used expressions like “we were rotting with water” (“andamos podres com água”), “new moon, bad moon” (“lua nova, má lua”), and “never-ending rainfall” (“tanta infinda chuva”). On February 24th, a month later, while near the Cargados Carajol Shoals (or Saint Brandon) still in the Indian Ocean, the moon’s appearence coincided again with deteriorating weather, characterized by heavy downpours and strong south winds. Near Cape Agulhas on the 20th of March, Reimão encountered what he considered the worst of all possible moon conjunctions, with waning moon, contrary winds, and frequent lightning flashes signaling severe storms (“é quarteirão de minguante… é conjunção [de lua] que eu tenho por pior que todas a que tem a lua”). In the explanation of the phenomena, he did not forget to add that these signs were exactly the same that “mathematicians declare”. Approaching Saint Helena Island in Atlantic waters on the 5th of April, Reimão called the moon “lua chorosa” (“the weeping moon”), associated with atmospheric vapor and westerly winds. The personification of the moon was the beginning of a series of references. The continuous changes in winds and rough seas caused by this moon (“trabalhosa”,“malíssima”, “Lua do Sueste” (Southeast Moon)) brought additional challenges to the navigation. The pilot complained categorically: “This moon has me tired and dead” (“traz-me cansado e morto esta lua”), indicating that the west winds had not changed for twenty-five days, and the southeast winds had not entered; instead, a marine waterspout was produced. Not by chance, the pilot made mention of the presence of wandering albatross (“mangas-de-veludo”), sea birds also known nowadays as storm petrels.

The moon’s influence on navigation compelled pilots like Reimão to wait for the right moon (“esperando a lua que será amanhã”) and favourable travel conditions to continue or begin their voyage. Gaspar Ferreira Reimão’s sailing directions, published in 1612, reveal his navigational experience, including practical reccomendations related to the better moon’s conjunction. The moon’s impact on the voyage of “São Pantaleão” provides valuable insights into oceanic practices and the challenges faced by skilled pilots like Reimão. His numerous references to the moon highlight the richness of maritime technical documents, encompassing climate, global wind patterns, ornithology, tides, astrology, and science at sea, while also resonating with a poweful proverbial cultural heritage. In fact, the timeless Portuguese proverb seems to echo: “When the Moon wanes, don’t start anything” (Quando a Lua minguar, não deves começar). [Luana Giurgevich]

Spying With Humanism? Ambassador Jean Nicot and his Nautical Goals in Portugal

Known as a father of the modern French language (owing to his Trésor de la langue française) and also as the promoter of the widespread use of the tobacco at the Valois court (named after him as Nicotiana), Jean Nicot was also the French ambassador in Portugal between 1559 and 1561. It was during his tenure in Lisbon that Nicot did more than simply sending to France several scientific specimens: he created a network, between humanism and espionage, to achieve France’s nautical goals.

Arriving in Lisbon to a much desired welcome (owing to a French-Portuguese royal marriage negotiation), Nicot engaged in contacts with important Portuguese intellectuals who held the maritime knowledge that he so desired to acquire. Such are the cases of his likely contacts with Portuguese humanists João de Barros, Damião de Góis and Fernando de Oliveira, from whom he received Portuguese knowledge related to Portuguese and European history, as well as nautical matters. All of Nicot’s acquisitions are documented by the contents of his later personal library in France, shared with La Pléiade members.

Before leaving from France, Nicot had received a particular request from Admiral Gaspard de Coligny and the Cardinal of Lorraine: to recruit two good Portuguese oceanic pilots that could guide a French expedition to Asia or the Moluccas. The request was made to Nicot in the middle of the French-Portuguese confrontation in Brazil known as France Antarctique (a project supported by King Henry II to create a permanent French colony in Brazil). Nicot replied that this was a hard objective to accomplish owing to Portuguese vigilance, but managed to send those two anonymous Portuguese pilots to France, where they later helped fulfill Coligny’s overseas ambitions.

Jean Nicot

In the meantime, Nicot took every opportunity he had, while in Lisbon, to speak with Portuguese pilots. It was likely as a consequence of those conversations that he acquired the nautical compilation of André Pires, one of the most up-to-date at the time. He also came across Pedro Nunes’s main opus: the Tratado em defensam da carta de marear (1537), which he sent to France and recommended for a full translation into French, so that French seamen could profit from it. The translation was made but the death of the printer halted the publication.

Therefore, during his tenure as ambassador in Lisbon, Nicot utilized his humanist persona to achieve maritime and nautical goals for France. His tenure as ambassador was successful in this regard, even though France Antarctique collapsed in 1560. Understanding that a French defeat in Brazil was about to come, the ambassador redoubled his efforts to acquire Portuguese maritime knowledge (pilots, nautical works and rutters) to send to France to help plan new expeditions overseas. Thus, the ambassador mixed humanism with nautical goals in those challenging days for French-Portuguese maritime relations. However, his action is not much different from other ambassadors across Europe, who were always eager to lay hands on nautical and geographical novelties and knowledge. To find out more about Nicot’s embassy and the importance of the French-Portuguese maritime rivalry and scientific interchange of nautical information, see my recently published article Diplomacy and Humanism: ambassador Jean Nicot and the French-Portuguese maritime rivalry (1559-1561). [Nuno Vila-Santa]

Squeaky Drama

It is well known that rats have always been among the most undesirable travel companions for seafarers. The consequences of allowing just a couple of them to embark could be catastrophic. I have come across some Early Modern stories lamenting such an eventuality, with the one told by the English seaman Richard Hawkins (1562-1622) being my favorite. It is narrated in his celebrated The observations of Sir Richard Hawkins, Knight, in his Voyage into the South Sea in the year 1593 (ed. 1622), which recounts the voyage he commanded from Plymouth to the Pacific, via the Strait of Magellan:

Here [at the Strait of Magellan] we made also a survey of our victuals; and opening certain barrels of oaten meal, we found a great part of some of them, as also of our pipes and vats of bread, eaten and consumed by the rats; doubtless, a fifth part of my company did not eat so much as these devoured, as we found daily in coming to spend any of our provisions. When I came to the sea, it was not suspected that I had a rat in my ship; but with the bread in cask, which we transported out of the Hawke, and going to and again of our boats unto our prise (though we had diverse cats and used other preventions), in a small time they multiplied in such a manner as is incredible. It is one of the general calamities of all long voyages; and would be carefully prevented, as much as may be. For besides that which they consume of the best victuals, they eat the sails; and neither pack nor chest is free from their surprises. I have known them to make a hole in a pipe of water, and saying the pump, have put all in fear, doubting lest some leak had been sprung upon the ship. Moreover, I have heard credible persons report, that ships have been put in danger by them to be sunk, by a hole made in the bulge. All which is easily remedied at the first, but if once they be somewhat increased, with difficulty they are to be destroyed. And although I propounded a reward for every rat which was taken and sought means by poison and other inventions to consume them, yet their increase being so ordinary and many, we were not able to clear ourselves from them [quoted in Moreno Madrid, José María & Henrique Leitão, Atravessando a Porta do Pacifico. Roteiros e relatos da Travessia do Estreito de Magalhães, 1520-1620 (Lisboa: ByTheBook), p.209].

If you are about to set sail, take a good note of Hawkins’ advice and revise carefully your ship… you do not want to start hearing squeaks in the middle of the ocean! [José María Moreno Madrid]