We are one week away from the 2019 Chicago Antiquarian Map, Book, and Ephemera Fair at the Newberry Library! We hope to see you there!
Neatline is headed back to the History Miami Museum for the 2019 Map Fair. We hope to see you there.
The 2019 Map Fair Schedule:
Friday, February 1 (Full Access Weekend registrants/Dealers only)
4:00 pm – 6:00 pm VIP Private Preview Sale and Cocktail Reception
Saturday, February 2
10:00 am – 5:00 pm – Map Fair open to the public
Map Fair: Dealer Marketplace
Free expert opinion (Limited to one map per visitor)
11:00 am – Ashley Baynton-Williams
3:00 pm – Professor Jerry Brotton
5:00 pm – Map Fair closes
5:00 pm to 6:30 pm – Collectors Circle cocktail reception (Full Access Weekend registrants/Dealers only)
Sunday, February 3
10:00 am – 5:00 pm – Map Fair open to the public
Map Fair: Dealer Marketplace
Free expert opinion (Limited to one map per visitor)
1:00 pm – Dr. William J. Pestle
3:00 pm – Matthew Toro
5:00 pm – Map Fair closes
It is an interesting aspect of the history of geology that in the 19th century scientists made significant leaps in geologic mapping and stratigraphy, but it took until the second half of the 20th century for the scientific community to accept the theory of plate tectonics and provide a unifying paradigm for so many aspects of the field of geology, from how earthquakes, mountains, and oceans are formed to the composition of the Earth.
Take the diagrams in this 1872 presentation of the Earth’s stratigraphic history, which are not that far off from ones that would be made today. It's like if meteorologists were as accurate with forecasts as they are today, but they still believed that Zeus created the weather!
In 1776, the young Alexander Mackenzie, a Scot living in New York City, was sent to Montreal when his father and uncle took arms in service of King George III. Three years later, still in Montreal, he apprenticed in a fur-trading company that would soon become part of the North West Company, rivals to (and eventually merged with) the great Hudson Bay Company.
Mackenzie’s name, however, has come to outshine the commercial empire for which he worked. Mackenzie is remembered first and foremost as the first European to travel over land to the Pacific Coast, which he accomplished in 1793, reaching the coast at the mouth of the Bella Coola river, in British Columbia.
Mackenzie’s Voyages from Montreal Through the Continent of North America to the Frozen and Pacific Oceans in 1789 and 1793 was published in 1801 and became almost immediately famous. For U.S. President Thomas Jefferson, Mackenzie’s journeys, and the consequent European claim to the land, was an immediate spur to fund the 1804 Lewis and Clark expedition, so that the U.S. might claim North American lands for itself, forestalling the European powers.
In Astoria, author Peter Stark writes that Jefferson had read Alexander Mackenzie’s 1801 warnings to his British countrymen about the urgent necessity of controlling the Columbia’s mouth and the Pacific Coast. And just as Mackenzie related to his own countrymen of the need for a Pacific seaport, so Lewis did the same when he returned from his journey.
Neatline is once again headed to London for the 2018 London Map Fair at the Royal Geographic Society. We hope to see you there!
LONDON MAP FAIR 2018
Royal Geographical Society
1 Kensington Gore
London SW7 2AR
(Entrance Exhibition Road)
Saturday 9th June 2018; 12.00 pm to 7.00 pm
Sunday 10th June 2018; 10.00 am to 6.00 pm
London Map Fair Lectures
'His Majesty's Cosmographer: John Ogilby, the Restoration and the secret agenda behind Britain's first road atlas'. Given by Author & broadcaster Alan Ereira.
Thoughts on London, style, form and function
Louis Sullivan’s famous dictum that “form follows function” became a hallmark of Modernist architecture, and claims that aesthetics are dependent upon function are commonplace. It is a compelling argument, and it contributed to the aesthetic “purity” of the Modernist era. But it also seems completely contrary to actual experience in many ways: there are many times when function and form are only loosely connected. Consider, for example, the wide variety of different clothing used to cover and protect the human body: the function is generally similar across the world, and yet there is a huge variety of formal variation in clothing.
But aesthetic variation is even yet another thing: individual items with essentially identical function may show wide variety in aesthetic presentation. Consider the variation amongst maps. Two different maps of the same place may in theory share a similar function, yet they can be worlds apart in terms of aesthetic presentation. A map drawn in the seventeenth century is a depiction of spatial geography in the same way as a map drawn in the twentieth, but their aesthetics are likely vastly different. Maps from earlier generations were highly decorated, with especial effort given to decorating areas of the map that did not affect the map’s function, such as elaborate borders, and highly decorated cartouches to present the map’s title and maker. A shift in aesthetics to less decorated forms was one of the main characteristics of the Modern era, and is one that still influences everyday functional objects.
By the middle of the 18th century, European explorers had visited and mapped most of the world, and yet there was unknown terrain close to home. Mountaineering, which is now a pastime leisure activity, was unknown, and the residents of high-elevation terrain (in Europe, at least), did not venture into the heights that surrounded their homes.
Mont Blanc, for example, the highest of the Alps, had never been climbed and there was doubt that humans could survive the thin air. It was a distant, dangerous world, and yet also right there in plain sight. In the present day, Mont Blanc is actually considered a relatively simple climb, little more than a strenuous hike. Compared to the famed alpine challenges of the Matterhorn or the north face of the Eiger, Mont Blanc is a mountain for amateurs or children—literally: the youngest person to reach the summit was 10 years old.
But in the 18th century, the mountain had never been climbed.
Horace-Bénédict de Saussure, a resident of Geneva, was fascinated with the mountains and with Mont Blanc. As a young man, he visited the town of Chamonix and was inspired to offer a reward for a successful ascent of the peak. He also offered to pay the costs of failed attempts. Nonetheless, it would be over 25 years before the reward was claimed in 1786.
When it finally was claimed, Saussure was not satisfied. The mountain had been climbed, but Saussure wanted more than just the ascent: he wanted scientific data that could only be collected at (or near) the summit, and as a result, Saussure himself would lead an expedition that would make an ascent the year after the mountain was first summited, and would remain near the peak for two weeks.
Saussure’s journals and expedition became famous, and their glowing descriptions of the alpine peak are now viewed as the spark that inspired the new sport/recreation of alpine mountaineering in 19th century Europe.
“The soul is uplifted,” he wrote, “the powers of the intelligence seem to widen and in the midst of this majestic silence, one seems to hear the voice of Nature and to become the confidant of her most secret workings.”
By the time Saussure’s fascination with Mont Blanc inspired mountaineering, Europeans had been sailing around the world for centuries, mapping and exploring much of the inhabited world. Icy wildernesses remained, but one of those—the Alps—the wilderness close to home—were soon to become familiar terrain.
For centuries, the dominant political entity in Europe was the Holy Roman Empire, which encompassed large tracts of Central Europe from northern Italy to the shores of the Baltic. However, following the Peace of Westphalia in 1648, much of the center of that empire became independent principalities. At the time that the great European colonial empires were expanding, the many small, independent principalities and duchies in the lands that we now recognize as Germany, as well as the Austrian Empire (which, in 1867, would merge with the Kingdom of Hungary, to form the Austro-Hungarian Empire), and Prussia, were in a difficult position to pursue colonial expansion. Additionally, these nations had long focused their military power on the land.
Thus it was that in the middle of the nineteenth century, they had little to show in the way of their own explorers. In 1869, an expedition was mounted to explore towards the north pole. The plan was to follow the Gulf Stream/North Atlantic Drift, which flowed up the Scandinavian coast, in hopes that the warm current would provide ice-free access to the pole, and perhaps to lands in polar regions.
The expedition included two ships: the Germania, an iron-clad steamship intended for the dangerous explorations, captained by the expedition’s leader Carl Koldewey, and the Hansa, a wooden sailing ship carrying supplies, captained by Paul Hegemann. The expedition was as much one for national pride as it was for scientific discovery. Koldewey wrote that they hoped to “show that German sailors are as qualified, as bold, and as persevering” as those of other nations. And perhaps they did. Their explorations are not particularly notable: they explored the east coast of Greenland, but not much more. But, they did, at least, manage to survive the arctic exploration with few casualties, which was a success in itself, given how often and how badly polar expeditions often turned out.
The Germania had little difficulty, and its explorations make an bland story. But the Hansa suffered a different fate. In late July 1869, the two ships were separated in a fog, and soon after, the Hansa was trapped by ice floes. For a ship like the Hansa, getting trapped in the ice was a death warrant, and indeed, the Hansa itself was destroyed that October.
But Hegemann and his crew had already evacuated the ship and, using their ample supplies, had built themselves a chalet on the ice. For the next six or seven months, they lived on the ice floe, though at one point they were forced to evacuate their chalet and rebuild it when the floe itself split through the building’s middle.
In May of 1870, with their floe shrinking, they began their attempt to escape, dragging their ship’s side boats across ice floes until, in early June, they came to open water, upon which they launched their boats, and within a week had made it to a Danish settlement at Friedrichstahl, at the southern end of Greenland. Their survival was assured and they returned home without loss of life.
Although their expedition did not meet fatal failure, their return was greeted with little acclaim: by the time they reached Bremerhaven in August, Prussia and the German states were at war with France, which had initiated hostilities in July. Within a year, after their rapid military defeat of France, the newly formed German empire would unite the German states with Prussia under the guidance of Otto von Bismark.
Frenchman René-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de la Salle explored the Mississippi River in the 1780s -- an endeavor which, according to the rules of European exploration of the new world, meant claiming the entire watershed for France.
La Salle is perhaps notable amongst famed explorers for being particularly harsh in his treatment of subordinates. Many of the famed explorers were known as harsh masters, and many faced mutinies. Columbus, Magellan and others faced mutinies. Mutineers famously set Henry Hudson adrift in a boat with his son and a few loyal others.
La Salle was apparently so difficult that he was constantly facing desertion from his expeditions. In one incident, he hunted down his deserters, perhaps to recover supplies they had stolen.
La Salle's intention was to set up a colony at the mouth of the Mississippi in 1685 CE. The colonists landed at the mouth of the wrong river (near present-day Matagorda Bay, Texas, about 500 miles west of the Mississippi—the problem of determining longitude would not be solved for almost another century), and due to La Salle’s conflicts with the captain of the ships that carried his expedition, the ships departed immediately after landing the colonists. Thus, when they discovered that their settlement was not on the mouth of the Mississippi, they had to scout for their desired location overland.
La Salle lost his life on one of these expeditions to find the Mississippi overland from his settlement. While decoyed by one of his command, Jean L'Archevêque, La Salle was shot from ambush by Pierre Duhaut, one of the men in his command. Plenty of dangers awaited explorers of territories unknown, getting shot in the back by one’s own associates was not one of the common ones.
Many of the great explorers died on the missions for which they were famous. Magellan did not circumnavigate the globe, even though his expedition did.
Consider, for example, the Muscovy Company (originally the Mystery and Company of Merchants Adventurers for the Discovery of Regions, Dominions, Islands, and Places unknown), which sought the Northeast Passage—a sailing route to Cathay (China) north of Russia, through the arctic seas to the Pacific. Their first mission, in 1554, sent out three ships. Two of them, under command of Sir Hugh Willoughby, did not return. Willoughby’s ships were found in 1556, but the expedition that was trying to recover them was lost with few survivors.
In the 1590s, William Barents (or Barentz) led three expeditions into arctic waters in search of the northeast passage. In those expeditions, he mostly sailed in the waters near the islands of Novaya Zemlya, west of which is the section of the arctic oceans now given Barents’s name. In the third of those expeditions, he lost his ship, his life, and many of his crew.
The explorers did not fill their ships with conscripted sailors forced to serve by law and fear of the lash, but with sailors hoping for riches, however small their share of a successful voyage might have been. The working conditions were terrible, but it should be remembered that the rewards were great: the few survivors of Magellan’s expedition became rich.
When Vitus Bering, a Dane in the employ of Imperial Russia (under the Tsars Peter I, Catherine I, Peter II, Anna, and Ivan VI) set out on his first journey to explore the eastern limits of the Russian empire, and to determine whether or not there was land connecting Asia with North America, he was in his mid-forties. Most of the rest of his life was spent in harrowing exploration.
His orders from Peter I instructed him to build two ships on the east (Pacific) coast of Russia, and then sail north along the coast of Kamchatka to determine whether any land linked Asia and America (“You are to search for where it is joined to America,” said the orders). But first he had to cross the vast Asian steppes and tundra. In his first expedition, The First Kamchatka Expedition, he decided that one party would travel overland and another would travel by boat, mapping rivers. The overland party set out in January 1725, and it was not until August or October 1726 that they reached Okhotsk, on the Sea of Okhotsk, west of the Kamchatka Peninsula (sources differ on the date). They met such hardship that they apparently left a trail of dead horses in their wake, which, apparently, was just as well for the party that had planned to travel by river, for whom problems had forced them to follow Bering’s overland route, on which Bering’s dead horses became a crucial source of food, only reaching Okhotsk in January of 1727.
The next steps according to Bering’s plan: build boats to cross the sea of Okhotsk, and then, cross the Kamchatka peninsula overland, with their boats and supplies, to the Kamchatka River, which they would follow to the ocean, where they would then build two new ships. They launched their boat from Okhotsk in August 1727, but difficulties on the overland journey meant that they did reach the east coast of Kamchatka until early 1728.
Next was to build a new ship—a task that was accomplished by July 1728. They sailed north along the coast and rounded the Chukotsk Peninsula, at which point following the coast meant sailing west. Bering chose to sail north on the premise that if there were a land connection between Asia and America, the expedition would necessarily meet it. They met no land, however, and the approaching winter forced them to turn back. They returned to Kamchatka, where they spent the winter. Explorations through the summer of 1729 convinced Bering that Asia and America were not connected, but that America was not far. He did not, however, find America, and in the fall set out on the return journey across Asia to St. Petersburg, where he arrived in early 1730.
Bering advocated further exploration—he may have shown that there was no land connecting Asia and America, but he had not found America. The Russian bureaucracy finally approved a new expedition on much the same lines as the previous, and in 1733, Bering’s expedition began the eastward journey across Asia. It was a massive undertaking that included several parties exploring possible overland routes and building huts and roads for support. This time, Bering did not reach Okhotsk until 1737.
Problems again beset the expedition, including increasing pressure and demands from the Russian government, who had expected the expedition to be completed in four years (whereas Bering had not even set out yet). It was not until 1741—another four years—that Bering would sail, and that year he did indeed land on the American continent. But, at this point, Bering, now sixty years old, was sick and despairing. He turned for home. He would not make it, however. Storms forced the expedition to land on an uninhabited island—now named Bering Island—not far from the coast of Kamchatka (though Bering and his crew did not know this). In December of 1741, Bering passed away, most likely from the effects of scurvy.
His explorations are, perhaps, not that profound—other Russians had explored the east coast of Russia and had sighted America before he did. Nonetheless, it is he whose name has been given to the strait separating Asia from America, as well as to the island where he met his death. He had spent the last quarter of his life exploring the far north in conditions of great hardship.
This map from half a century later shows the route of Captain Cook's 3rd Voyage into the Bering Straight and past the island grave of his predecessor:
Christopher Columbus famously set out to sail to China and instead found the Americas. The riches of China and India drew traders, but the difficulty of known routes inspired explorers. When the Americas were found, the southern route around the Cape Horn proved an even more difficult route than the southern route around the Cape of Good Hope at the southern tip of Africa.
Lacking any quick southern route, explorers sought northern routes through Arctic seas—the Northeast passage, north of Russia and the great Asian Steppes, and the Northwest passage, across the north of the Americas. Sea ice made these routes impracticable for sailing ships, but that was not known until these routes were explored.
Perhaps the most famous of these explorers was Henry Hudson, who at different times, sought both the Northwest and Northeast passages. In 1609, working for the Dutch East India Company, Hudson explored the great river that reaches the ocean at what is now New York City—a river he explored in the hope that it might prove to be the elusive passage west—in doing so, he played a crucial role in the foundation of New Netherland and New Amsterdam.
But most of his journeys were farther north. In 1611, sailing westward, to the north of the Labrador Peninsula, he passed through the difficult waters at the entry of what is now named the Hudson Strait—waters perilous enough that English explorer Martin Frobisher had called it the “Furious Overfall”—and into the vast bay that now bears his name.
Trapped by ice in the southern extension of Hudson Bay—now known as James Bay, for a later English explorer—Hudson and his crew were forced to overwinter. Although he survived the hard winter, when he wished to sail west again as the ice thawed, his crew mutinied and Hudson, along with his son and a few others of the crew, was sent away from the ship in a small boat—and nothing more is known of Hudson’s fate.
Twenty years after Hudson set out, two other English ships set out to find the Northwest passage, and they, too, explored Hudson Bay extensively. One under the command of Foxe returned the same fall, to little acclaim, though his explorations and notes of the Hudson Bay were extensive. The other, James’s Henrietta Marie (named for King Charles I’s wife) overwintered and returned to great acclaim. James Bay at the southern end of Hudson Bay is named for him. Neither ship was able to discover a Northwest passage.
Although these explorers did not find a route to the riches of China, they discovered a rich land. By the time of the voyages of Foxe and James, colonies had been established by England, France, and the Dutch on the eastern seaboard of North America, and the riches of this unexplored continent were beginning to drive colonial expansion. The French had been trading fur in Canada for decades, claiming much of the land west of the English and Dutch colonies. For the English, the explorations of Hudson, Foxe, and James surveyed the lands that would become controlled by the Hudson’s Bay Company, formed in England in 1670 (and still an operating business concern, though no longer trading furs or wielding the military power they once held).
By the end of the 19th century, most of the inhabited world had been explored and much of it made subject to the European imperialist powers. Conquest and wealth through trade were no longer motivating factors for explorers.
The motivation for exploration might have been what Sir Edmund Hilary expressed about Everest: “because it’s there.”
Luigi Amadeo Giuseppe Mario Fernando Francisco di Savoia-Aosta, the Duke of Abruzzi, was an adventurer. Young, powerful and wealthy, prince of the House of Savoy (which had been established in the year 1006 CE), third son of the King of Spain, and cousin to the King of Italy, Abruzzi was an accomplished mountaineer, who had climbed the Matterhorn in 1894 (only 29 years after the first ascent of that mountain, which is so difficult that it was not until 1931 that its north face was scaled, and not until 1962 that its west face was scaled) and in 1897 was the first person to ascend Mt. St. Elias, the third highest peak in North America (after Denali and Mount Logan).
In 1899, he set his aim to reach the North Pole. He spoke with Fritjof Nansen, who (with Hjalmar Johansen) had more closely approached the pole than any other person. He bought sled dogs from Russia. He bought a steamship, which he renamed the Stella Polaris (Pole Star). He recruited a team of Italians to make the over-ice trek, including Captain Umberto Cagni, who had been a mountaineering companion.
In August 1899, they landed on Franz Josef Land, to prepare for the spring, when their over-ice journey would begin. During the winter, the plan was to practice traveling over ice, and it went wrong in only one aspect: Abruzzi himself met an accident that resulted in his losing the tips of two fingers to frostbite. As a result Abruzzi himself never set out with his sledge teams. They were led by Cagni, instead.
Cagni and his teams would beat Jansen’s approach to the pole by about 20 miles.
Compared to the disasters that had met many previous polar expeditions, Abruzzi’s was highly successful: he lost only three men—one of the support teams that had set out with Cagni’s attempt had turned back when their supplies were exhausted (according to plan) failed to return.
For Abruzzi, though, the loss was too great. He returned to mountaineering and never again attempted the pole.
“Plus ultra,” Francis Bacon’s motto for the Age of Discovery is the fitting emblem for this 1567 map based on Spanish explorations of the New World. The “Ne plus ultra” (“nothing more beyond the Pillars of Hercules”) of the classical period was replaced by the “Plus ultra” of the Renaissance.
On November 1, 1520, All-Saints’ Day — in the South American spring — Ferdinand Magellan entered the strait that he named for the day: Estrecho de Todos los Santos (Strait of All Saints), but which now bears his name. The channel was relatively narrow and currents and wind were strong and treacherous, but Magellan and most of his fleet were able to navigate it successfully, on their way to circumnavigating the earth.
One of Magellan’s captains, Estêvão Gomes, mutinied in the straits, and turned his ship, the San Antonio, back, returning to Spain across the Atlantic. Magellan had already faced and suppressed a previous attempt at mutiny, and if the strait had not reached the Pacific Ocean, Magellan’s expedition might never have completed its circumnavigation.
On maps of South America, the Strait of Magellan is hardly visible because it is so narrow. The sweep of the South American continent appears unbroken down to the tip of the island of Tierra del Fuego. The east coast of Tierra del Fuego runs southeast and then east in a curve over 150 miles in length—a great barrier to the small sailing ships of Magellan’s fleet. South of Tierra del Fuego are the narrow Beagle Passage and the perilous Drake’s Passage. The clipper ships of the 19th century would choose the wide and stormy Drake’s Passage, but for a long time, the Strait of Magellan was the best passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
“Pacific,” incidentally, was the name that Magellan gave the ocean for the calm waters into which the ships sailed after passing through the Strait. The first European to sight the Pacific was Vasco Núñez de Balboa, who on crossing the Isthmus of Panama, saw the ocean to the south and named it “Mar del Sur” or South Sea.
On antique maps, the two names are used interchangeably, or together, well into the 18th century; a classic example being this 1691 map by Vincenzo Coronelli, Mare Del Sud detto altrimenti Mare Pacifico ("South Sea also called the Pacific Sea"):
Neatline is headed to Miami for the 25th anniversary edition of the Miami Map Fair. We hope to see you there.
Map Fair schedule:
Friday, February 2 (Full Access Weekend Registrants/Dealers Only)
5:30 pm – VIP Private Cocktail Reception and preview of Antillean Visions: Maps & the Making of the Caribbeanat Lowe Art Museum.
Saturday, February 3
9 am -10 am – Map Fair VIP Preview (Full Access Weekend Registrants Only)
10 am – 5 pm – Map Fair open to public
- Map Fair: Dealer Marketplace
- Free expert opinion (Limited to one map per visitor)
- 11 am – Speaker: Chet Van Duzer – Sea Monsters on Medieval and Renaissance Maps
- 3 pm – Speaker: Neal Asbury – Why I Collect Maps and What I Have Learned
- 5 pm – Map Fair closes
- 5 pm to 7 pm – VIP cocktail reception (Full Access Weekend Registrants Only)
Sunday, February 4
10 am – 4 pm – Map Fair open to public
- Map Fair: Dealer Marketplace
- Free expert opinion (Limited to one map per visitor)
- 2 pm – Speaker: Neil Safier – From the Andes to the Amazon: A Librarian’s Life in Maps
- 4 pm – Map Fair closes
The sixth edition of the Milano Map Fair will be held on January 20th, 2018 at Hotel Michelangelo in Milan. We hope to see you there!
World maps display the surface of a sphere on a flat surface, necessarily introducing distortion. In the Mercator projection, named for 16th century Flemish cartographer Gerardus Mercator, the lines of longitude are represented as parallel vertical lines, even though on the surface of the earth, the lines of longitude approach each other, until they meet at the poles. Objects near the poles are expanded relative to objects near the equator. Greenland appears as large as, or larger than, Africa; Africa, which straddles the equator, appears deceptively small.
The Niger River, with a drainage basin about two-thirds that of the Mississippi, is tucked into the bulge of Africa, arising in the Guinea Highlands, only about 150 miles (240 km) from the Atlantic— quite close to an ocean for a river that is over 2,500 miles (about 4,000km) long. From its source, the Niger flows east-northeast, away from the ocean, towards the Sahara, before turning southeast and then south, to flow into the Gulf of Benin.
As the 19th century dawned, even though European ships had been sailing down the west coast of Africa for centuries, the Niger’s actual course was unknown to Europeans. Europeans had knowledge of the river from ancient times — its existence had been reported by the Greeks, Phoenicians, and others — but its route was a mystery. Some Europeans speculated that it was linked to the Nile, others to the Congo, and others offered other alternatives.
This lack of European knowledge was at least partly due to the many who did know the Niger: it passed through lands populated by a variety of peoples, many of whom were hostile to outsiders. In 1795, the explorer Mungo Park found the Niger, but did not follow it. He returned in 1805, leading an expedition that included a troop of 44 redcoats. They never returned, reportedly killed by locals. Disease, too, preyed upon explorers.
In the early decades of the 19th century, the British Lords of the Admiralty sent several expeditions to map the Niger. Most failed, with many casualties, but by 1831, the last portions of the river were mapped by an Englishman named Richard Lander, setting the stage for the expansion of European imperial control in the 1870s and 1880s.
In 1498, the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama, landed at present-day Kozhikode, India, which was then Calicut, “The City of Spices,” capital of the independent Samoothiri (Zamorin) kingdom, which was then a rising power on India’s western Malabar coast.
During the 14th century, the city grew into a center of the spice trade between Asia and the Middle East, serving as a major destination port on the sea route across the Arabian Sea from ports in northeast Africa, Egypt, and on the Arabian Peninsula. When the Portuguese fleet led by da Gama arrived at Kozhikode, there were reportedly 700 ships waiting to offload goods, and da Gama was greeted by an Arab merchant who spoke Portuguese. It also was an important producer of the cloth named for the city: calico.
The Portuguese went to great lengths to keep their geographic knowledge secret, but evidence of their explorations is soon found on maps. This map, printed from a woodblock in 1541, is an important early document of Portuguese voyages to South India:
For the Portuguese and other Europeans, da Gama’s successful journey was a rich opportunity to expand a spice trade that had always been dangerous and expensive, and had, after the fall of Constantinople in 1453, become increasingly costly and difficult, as the Ottoman empire closed off the traditional trade routes that had made Venice and other Italian maritime city-states wealthy. The rise of Portuguese power followed on the success of da Gama’s voyage, which proved the viability of maritime trade over routes around the south of Africa and across the Indian Ocean. And with the spice trade came the rise of European imperial power in Asia.
For Kozhikode, da Gama’s success was rather less pleasant. In 1500, a Portuguese fleet led by Pedro Álvares Cabral became embroiled in violence with Arab merchants, and then traveled to the nearby kingdom of Cochin, an unwilling vassal of the Zamorin, who would ally with the Portuguese. In 1502, da Gama returned with a Portuguese fleet of 15 ships, and demanded that the Zamorin (the ruler) expel all Muslim merchants, and, when this order was refused, da Gama bombarded the city, before sailing to Cochin, where the Portuguese were welcomed.
Despite the Portuguese aid to the Cochin rebellion, Kozhikode remained a powerful local state. It was not until the next century that Dutch and then British forces began to dominate the city.
The basic facts around the explorations of Christopher Columbus are known to most: under the patronage of Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand of Castille, Columbus set off across the Atlantic in search of the East Indies (South and Southeast Asia), but instead landed in what would later be known as the West Indies, specifically the Bahamas archipelago and an island he named San Salvador.
Most histories of Columbus offer an extra layer of historical context, demonstrating that it was no accident that Columbus’s journey was financed by the newly-ascendant Spanish crown, which had just completed the Reconquest of the Iberian peninsula.
But the devastating 2017 hurricane season, including Harvey, which led to massive flooding in Houston, and Irma, which ravaged Puerto Rico and neighboring islands, reminds us that a negative fact played a crucial role in the Columbian narrative: Columbus did not report meeting any storms during the fall of 1492 as he sailed through the Bahamas to Cuba and along the coast of Cuba and Hispaniola. The Bahamas had first been sighted on October 7, 1492, and Columbus’s fleet did not head east for Spain until January, 1493. Although the Atlantic hurricane season peaks in late September, it is generally considered to run from June 1 to November 30. For almost two full months, Columbus sailed in hurricane territory without facing a major storm. Hurricanes struck Hispaniola in late September 1494 and late October 1495.
Ships like Columbus’s Niña, Pinta, and Santa Maria certainly could survive a hurricane, but their chance of being lost in a great storm was hardly small. In fact, on the return journey, after the Santa Maria was lost running aground, the caravels Niña and Pinta both survived a big February storm that reportedly sank a fleet of 100 similar ships.
Columbus, spurred by a miscalculation in the size of the Earth, benefitted from much good fortune; a quiet 1492 hurricane season should be included on the list.
In the 21st century, it’s possible that the conquistador Francisco de Orellana is best known from the film Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, in which Orellana is said to have sought the fictional city of Akator, and in whose grave Jones finds the titular crystal skull. But Orellana’s adventures make a good story without adding any fictional elements.
Orellana was a conquistador in the army of Francisco Pizarro in the conquest of the Inca. When Pizarro’s brother, Gonzalo, set out to find the Land of Cinnamon (cinnamon was rare and expensive), Orellana was in his command.
In 1541, Gonzalo Pizarro’s command set out from Quito, in command of about 300 conquistadores and a support train including 4,000 native porters and a herd of 2,000 pigs. It was heavy going crossing the Andes, and then the jungles east of the Andes. At one point, having come to a river—the Coca—Pizarro had a boat built, the San Pedro, to help move supplies. As conditions grew more dire, Orellana was sent ahead to scout downstream, in command of a party of 57, intending to return after a few days.
Orellana did not return to Pizarro’s expedition. Having sailed downstream to the junction of the Coca and Napo rivers, Orellana found the current too strong to return up river. In the face of possible mutiny, Orellana and the expedition decided to continue downstream (with the exception of one man, Hernán Sanchez de Varga, who had made his way through the jungles back upstream to Pizarro’s camp). Fortunately for us, a priest named Gaspar de Carvajal accompanied Orellana and chronicled the journey.
It was December, 1541. The Napo River joins the Amazon. Orellana and his crew continued downstream. It took eight months to reach to open sea at the mouth of the Amazon. In so doing, Orellana and his men were the first Europeans to travel the length of that great river.
Along the way, in June of 1542, Orellana’s expedition fought the Tapuyas, a tribe in which women fought alongside the men. These women warriors recalled the Amazons of Greek myth, and the great river that Orellana traveled—which was named “Rio de Orellana” for a time—was given the name “Amazon.”
Gonzalo Pizarro returned to Quito with about 80 survivors of an expedition that had started with over 4,000 people. By contrast, Orellana was able to return to Spanish possession in Venezuela with 47 of his original command of 57, sailing along the Atlantic coast until reaching Cubagua Island —one of the great feats of survival in the history of exploration.
In 1324, Musa Keita I, the mansa (king or sultan) of the Malian empire, set out upon the Hajj—the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca. Along the way, he gave gold to the poor—so much gold, in fact, that he devalued the metal, as prices for all things increased. This display of wealth contributed to the legend of his capital, Timbuktu.
Word of Timbuktu filtered slowly to Europeans through Islamic sources, and by the time European explorers were mapping the world and dividing it up for their colonial empires, the city had, in the European imagination, become a byword for the distant and fantastic. In truth, its power and wealth had declined. Located in the heart of Sub-Saharan Africa, near the Niger River (which had itself never been mapped by Europeans), Timbuktu was accessible either across the Sahara, through lands controlled by Muslims hostile to Christian Europeans, or through the tropical jungles of West Africa. Starting in the 17th century, European expeditions had set out in search of the fabled city, but expedition after expedition failed, and many or most did not return.
In this map by William Berry published in London in 1680, we see only a generalized Kingdome of Tombut with a stylized representation of the city of Tombut situated on the Niger River.
In the early 19th century, an American sailor claimed to have been to Timbuktu after being shipwrecked and enslaved, but his account of a poor, dull, and dirty city was not believed.
In August of 1826, a British explorer, Alexander Gordon Laing, sent a letter from Timbuktu, having become the first European to cross the Sahara from north to south. Laing’s journey had taken 13 months of great hardship—including the loss of his right hand to Tuareg raiders. In September, shortly after setting out north to recross the Sahara, Laing was killed, and his papers never recovered.
Two years later, a Frenchman, René Caillé, arrived in Timbuktu, having made the journey in disguise as an Egyptian Muslim who had been raised in France. On his return, Caillé was able to claim the prize offered by Geographical Society of Paris for the first person to reach the city. Like the American sailor, Caillé reported that Timbuktu was small and poor. The myth of the city of vast wealth was dispelled, and it would be a quarter century before another European would set foot there.