“On the Trees that are Used for Wood”

From oxygen production to precious active principles used in medicine, from food to wood, trees have always provided important resources for all the animals on Earth.

The discovery of a new land or a new territory meant access to new species and to a new knowledge mainly learnt from uses and traditions of local populations.

The Portuguese Jesuit Fr. Fernão Cardim (1540–1625) witnessed the luxurious natural environment of Brazil in the 16th century and left us detailed descriptions in his “On the climate and land of Brazil and on some remarkable things that can be found on land as well as at sea”, written around 1584 (Do clima e terra do Brasil e de algumas cousas notaveis que se achão assi na terra como no mar).

In a short paragraph of this text, Fr. Fernão lists a variety of uses known for wood. The first aspect he highlights is the presence of “trees of remarkable thickness” that were used to build canoes and planks of timber for engines. “There are many varieties of timber,” he says, “that don’t rot when placed in the ground, and others that become greener and tougher every time they are put in water.” Then he mentions the “Pau Santo”, “Pau do Brasil” and other kinds of wood that were highly appreciated to produce furniture and dyes. Some trees were so common and strong enough to be used for shipbuilding, while others could release wonderful fragrances. Finally, spices could be found there that, although “not as delicate and smelly as those from India, are little far and are of great price and esteem.”

Page of the manuscript “On the trees that are used for wood”

The editorial history of this Portuguese text, like others of its kind, is symptomatic of a more general problem in accessing knowledge. Leaving Salvador de Bahía in 1601, Fernão Cardim, who carried with him his well-informed and fresh Brazilian report, was captured by the English pirate Francis Cook. Through this channel, for the first time, the narrative of Cardim became available to the European audience. The English version of the manuscript, presented as sold by Francis Cook to Richard Hakluyt, was published in the travel collection Purchas his Pilgrimes (London, 1625) and only three centuries later deserved an edition in its original language (Rio de Janeiro, 1925). [Silvana Munzi & Luana Giurgevich]

Paubrasilia echinate – Pau do Brasil

A Magellanic Christmas: Celebrating Around the World

In the complex and varied story of the first circumnavigation of the world, religious life has received less attention than other aspects of daily routine. However, religious rites were very important for early modern sailors and seafarers. During the voyage undertaken by Ferdinand Magellan and ended by Juan Sebastián Elcano, which lasted three years, some important holy recurrences emerge from the sources. For example, the celebration of Easter 1520 in the Bay of San Julián, prior to the infamous mutiny. The celebrations of Christmas, however, go largely unnoticed, perhaps because of the exceptional circumstances in which they took place.

Christmas 1519, the first after departure, for example, was celebrated in the Land of Verzin (Terra del Verzin, today’s Brazil), where Magellan’s ships arrived on December 13th. Antonio Pigafetta informs us that the fleet left thirteen days later, for the feast of St. Stephen, on December 26th. In his narrative, Pigafetta makes no mention of Christmas celebrations. His attention was probably focused on the local populations, and their traditions. The tropical climate, so different from the cold European winters, did not contribute to the Christmas spirit, but surely the priests aboard the ships celebrated the holiday for all the crews, and it was no coincidence that the departure took place after December 25th.

The second Christmas, in 1520, was celebrated under tragic circumstances. In the month of December, Magellan's ships were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, facing death from starvation and scurvy. Also in this case Pigafetta does not mention celebrations or masses on board, but it is very plausible that religious rites were celebrated as the only comfort for the sailors in their dire hours. The third Christmas experienced in 1521 by the sailors, now few in number after the death of their captain and of many companions, was probably the loneliest and most uncertain. On December 21st, 1521, in fact, the two remaining ships, the Victoria and the Trinidad, had to separate. The Victoria left alone to return to Spain via the Indian Ocean, the Trinidad had remained in the Moluccas to repair damage, waiting to resume the route to the Pacific. By this time many of the religious who had left in 1519 had died, and the weary sailors probably remembered the birth of Jesus in their hearts alone.

At this point we can wonder why Christmas is never mentioned by Pigafetta, who instead mentions Easter and several times the apparitions of the holy bodies, as proof of the importance of the religious dimension in oceanic navigation. Christmas was considered less important than Easter, but this silence was probably due to the exceptional occasions overshadowing the celebratory aspect of Christmas in the eyes of the chronicler of Vicenza. The fact remains that for centuries religion remained an central aspect of life on board, a scansion of time, a tool for rationalizing the unknown, a way of making sense of the new. [David Salomoni]

Nautical Rutters and the Notion of a Global Earth in Early Modern Europe

In 1596, Jan Huygen van Linschoten published within his Itinerario, a section named the Reys-gheschrift. It contained the first published compilation of nautical rutters comprising the navigation made on those days in the Atlantic, Indian and Pacific Oceans.

Van Linschoten’s goal in organizing all these nautical rutters was to try to simplify as much as he could the technical information of rutters to mariners (shallows, tides, nautical dangers, geographical signs and descriptions of several places). Meanwhile, he attempted to make available to the Dutch audience sixty-three Portuguese and four Spanish nautical rutters, detailing the main sailing routes that both Iberian Crowns always tried to keep secret from their maritime rivals. For the Indian Ocean section, this comprised rutters detailing the Portuguese India Run navigation and the technical details of the routes between the Cape of Good Hope and the Indian subcontinent, as well as routes from India to Sri Lanka, Siam and Malacca. Regarding the Pacific Ocean, Van Linschoten printed rutters on the navigation to China and Japan, and also recent nautical routes such as the Manila Galleon’s route and a pioneering route that sailed directly from Macau to Mexico, first tested in the 1580s. In the Atlantic Ocean section, Van Linschoten published rutters detailing navigation to the Caribbean and Brazilian coasts, to Angola and the Strait of Magellan. These three sections were supplemented by a more technical one in which a regiment of the nautical compass in the voyage between Lisbon and Goa, a list of latitude of ports worldwide and a quick set of questions and answers for sailors were also printed.

But who aided Van Linschoten in this titanic and encyclopaedic task? What were the original sources he used? Did he introduce changes to them? These are some of the questions I attempted to answer in my recent article Jan Huygen van Linschoten and the Reys-gheschrift: Updating Iberian Science for Dutch Expansion. The Reys-gheschrift impacted the Dutch maritime expansion, but also the French and English ones (due to several 17th century translations). However, Van Linschoten’s publication played also a role in fuelling an idea already being developed through the 16th century: humans lived in a Global Earth that could all be known by the technical mastery of the rutters for voyages into the Indian, Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. One of the bases for this idea was precisely the nautical rutters that Van Linschoten published, which through their rich information, not only ensured a safe navigation and successful maritime expansion to the Dutch, the English and the French in the 17th century, but also made a contribution to the development of the so-called Scientific Revolution. [Nuno Vila-Santa]

Locating Land: In a Swarm of Butterflies

The observation of land signs was a priority of life on board. The presence or absence of a specific sign, or the combination of a number of them, could define with precision the location of the vessel, the proximity to the coast or even the weather conditions. The natural signs were rather diversified and went from marine mammals to seabirds, from algae to insects. Sometimes, a natural sign could be very controversial. Knowledge only came with the practice of navigation, the repetition of voyages and the improvement of descriptions.

An example of the serious difficulties in interpretation of a land sign is given by the Portuguese pilot Vicente Rodrigues. In 1591, Rodrigues warned the readers of his Roteiro da Carreira da Índia about the presence of butterflies in the Laccadive Sea. The pilot underlined the danger of misinterpreting such an indicator. In fact, the butterflies were not an indicator of proximity to the continental coast, as generally expected, on the contrary, they signified the presence of islands, the Laccadive Islands. Around 1621, another pilot, Aleixo da Mota, was observing the presence of butterflies in a zone far from the same islands 60 nautical miles westwards. Aleixo da Mota explained the phenomenon as a result of the wind force. Butterflies and wasps were easily carried by the wind, and for this reason, concluded the pilot, “they were so far from them” (Roteiro da navegação da carreira da Índia, c. 1621).

“Departure of The Winged Ship”, by Vladimir Kush

From the beginning of expeditions, butterflies were considered an interesting element. Sometimes, observations were quite impressive. Approaching Cuba, Christopher Columbus and his crew entered literally in a whirl of butterflies. The narrative of the logbook highlighted countless myriads of insects: “[...] the day after came to the vessels such a vast number of butterflies that obscured the air, which lasted until night, when they were dispersed by a heavy rain” (Historie del S. D. Fernando Colombo, Venezia: 1571). Centuries later, the naturalist Charles Darwin witnessed a similar phenomenon. After passing through the Strait of Magellan, 10 nautical miles from the Bay of San Blas, his ship was invaded by butterflies. “The seaman cried out ‘it was snowing butterflies’”, while Darwin was confirming that “even with the aid of a glass it was not possible to see a space free from butterflies” (Journal of Researches into the Geology and Natural History of the Various Countries Visited by H. M. S. Beagle, London: 1840).

Delving deeper into this rich, varied, and representative set of nautical sources, every observed and gathered natural element, like butterflies, gains a broader sense and reflects the particular relevance attributed to each one of these signs in navigators’ experience. [Luana Giurgevich]

An Atlas for a French or an English King? Cosmographical Knowledge and Maritime Expansion

Following our previous post on Travelling Cosmographical Knowledge between Elizabethan England and Valois France, we could not resist mentioning an interesting previous case of Anglo-French cosmographical exchange: that of the Dieppe cartographer Jean Rotz.

Born to a Scottish father and a French mother, Jean Rotz became one of the most well-known French Renaissance cartographers at the Dieppe cartographical school. This school was created at the beginning of the sixteenth century to support French maritime expeditions. One of such expeditions was that of the Parmentier brothers to Asia in 1529. It is unclear whether Rotz participated in it. Still, he became acquainted, either by personal experience or by availing himself of important testimonies from crew members, with important knowledge of several parts of Asia, including the East African coasts, the Persian Gulf, the Indian sub-continent, the Indonesian archipelago and the China sea. Rotz’s knowledge was later enlarged when he made a trip to Brazil in 1539 that allowed him to collect information about South America, the Strait of Magellan, the Caribbean and Africa.

Adding this knowledge of the world to European cartography and general rules for Oceanic navigation, Rotz built up a work entitled Book of Hydrography that he intended to present to the French King Francis I. As the Valois monarch did not appreciate Rotz for his work, the celebrated cartographer crossed the border to England, where he ended up dedicating it to Henry VIII. Rotz’s book is still today preserved (and accessible online) in the British Library. Although Henry VIII did not use immediately the amount of knowledge that Rotz was offering him, he understood the importance of keeping such knowledge in his hands, and he protected Rotz until his death in 1547. Only after this date did Rotz return to France due to the French King Henry II’s patronage of the Dieppe cartographical school.

Rotz’s story is, thus, another episode of this Anglo-French exchange of information. If England did not take immediately Rotz’s knowledge to plan maritime expeditions, one should not forget the importance of such acquisitions to the creation of a scientific milieu favourable to maritime expansion. This was precisely what happened when Henry VIII’s successors supported a full-restart of English maritime plans from the 1550’s onwards. Rotz’s case also underscores the historiographical importance of linking history of science and knowledge approaches with imperial maritime histories, in order to have wider and clear perspectives of the different stages of European maritime expansion. After all, English maritime expansion, like the previous French, Spanish and Portuguese, would hardly have happened without these critical episodes of circulation and acquisition of cosmographical knowledge needed to support such a global endeavour. [Nuno Vila-Santa]

Writing To the Rhythm of the Tides

As we work on a digital edition of the exceptional Esmeraldo de situ orbis, an early 16th-century work on cosmography and overseas exploration, we would like to record what seems to be a spectacular literary device employed by its author, Duarte Pacheco Pereira. In book 1, chapter 12, speaking of the tides and the relation between compass points and time measurement, Pacheco Pereira writes:

Because the moon in every twenty-four hours, after its conjunction, recedes from the sun one quarter point of the compass, it was fitting that we should explain in the first section of this twelfth chapter why we began to calculate the tides at nine o’clock in the morning when the sun and moon were in conjunction in the southeast; and now having gone through all the points of the compass and explained about the tides, and twenty-four hours having passed since we began this work, and the moon being three-quarters of an hour behind the sun… Because of this it is well that what we have explained should be known and we will end in the southeast where we began.

So, he is not only establishing a relation between the number of the chapter and the theme he is discussing in it, but also relating his work, as if in real time, with the topic of time measurement by the lunar movements. This surprising glimpse into his working process feels like the breaking of the fourth wall in the scenic arts, when the actor suddenly speaks directly to the audience.

Some questions naturally arise upon this, which looks like an impressive feat of literary craftsmanship: had he planned it? Did he deliberately take a given number of hours to complete the section, and did he sleep meanwhile? or is he masterfully taking advantage of a perceived coincidence to throw this flourish at his readership?

In any case, as we confirm time and again working on our rutters and supposedly boring technical literature, there is no dull moment when poring with attention and care over early modern and medieval sources. Reader, you are invited to come and join us in our explorations! [J. Acevedo / S. Munzi]

Matelotage 1. An Unusual Type of Early Modern Same-Sex Civil Union

In the collective imagination, the world of Early Modern oceanic sailing is still shrouded in an aura of virility and machismo. This perception leaves little room for much more complex and fluid affective and sexual dimensions. Generally, the issue of homosexuality in Renaissance and Early Modern long-range travels is described as a rather widespread but often tolerated transgression. The most common understanding is that homosexual behaviors were merely a diversion from prolonged distance from the female presence. During the 16th and 17th centuries, however, long before civil unions and same-sex marriages became legally accepted, seafarers had created an institution that anticipates these types of unions. It was called matelotage.

Matelotage comes from the French word matelot, meaning sailor or seafarer. It was a type of contract which united two men who decided to share their fate. This included a vast range of things, from battles to booty to the ship’s hammock. The matelotage offered mainly guarantees in case of death of one of the two. The survivor received a share of the booty due to the deceased companion and inherited his property, minus the part due to any of the dead’s relatives. It must be said that the matelotage did not necessarily imply a sexual or love relationship. However, and this is the unexpected thing, especially among pirates, the amorous component was not uncommon.

Why the pirates? If we think about it, compared to sailors aboard military or commercial vessels (although the distinction was often blurred), the lives of pirates offered much less certainty from the point of view of legal guarantees. Certainly their activities were not protected by the comfort of the law, nor did they have families to return (peacefully) at the end of their activities. Among pirates, therefore, there were those who decided to enter into a civil union, celebrated like a marriage, with the exchange of golden rings and promises of fidelity: from that moment on, the two men would share everything, possibly even women. No one was forced to engage in a relationship of this type, even if it often involved somewhat unbalanced couples: an older pirate took under his protection a young man, the matelot, who would inherit his property and in the meantime could enjoy a certain security and have money available. [David Salomoni]