Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold

by Andrew Rowen

  Cristoforo gazed upward along the masts to where the highest booms were wrapped in sail and then downward along the ropes— some tautly stretched from the masts like a spider’s web—back to the bulwark. He scanned the deck, where sailors walked, stood, and sat, all purposefully engaged in some task to ready the ship to sail. He sensed enormity, design, alignment, energy, common purpose, and resolve, and was smitten by them.

  They arrived at a stairwell descending into the hull, where— Antonio explained—sailors and a few tradesmen were lowering the merchant cargo, including finished silk cloth, barrels of olive oil and fine wine, jars of mastic, and crates of glassware. The sailors also were loading the crew’s provisions for the voyage, barrels of cheap wine and crates of salted pork and hardtack (baked wheat biscuit). Two men sat at a table nearby, Antonio’s master—the trader employed by the merchant family—and the ship’s captain. The trader shrewdly inspected each piece of cargo loaded and accounted for it in a logbook. The captain greeted Cristoforo heartily and asked if he was a new ship’s boy and then laughed without waiting for an answer, advising him to come back in a few years’ time. Cristoforo was surprised how deeply the wind and sea had wrinkled, crusted, and faded the captain’s skin and clothing.

  The boys continued to the bow and forecastle, and, for the first time, Cristoforo gazed back across the entire ship from bow to stern, startled. While from the quay it appeared a large structure, he now realized the ship was small for the number of sailors on board, not much longer than three or four houses on the street where he lived, and that it would be tiny on the sea beyond the harbor. He asked Antonio where he and the crew slept and ate, and Antonio explained there was a cook and firebox on deck and that each sailor just ate and slept where he wanted, typically on deck. It could be very hot or cold, sometimes awfully wet.

  Antonio’s master called and ordered him to return to the table to inventory the load. The boys returned to the stairwell, and Cristoforo watched Antonio count and complete the logbook as sacks of silk were loaded. They descended into the hold to monitor that the sacks were properly secured, and Cristoforo gazed forward and aft, impressed at the thickness of the arched beams from which the hull had been constructed. He was shocked that the sailors followed Antonio’s stowage instructions.

  When the trader returned, the boys climbed to the stern castle, and Antonio related that the captain typically stood there when commanding the crew. Cristoforo gazed into the wind, observed the sailors working below, and marveled at the importance and prestige of directing them. An old sailor sat on a barrel nearby, and Antonio made an introduction.

  “Cristoforo, this is the pilot who will navigate the ship when it sails tomorrow morning.”

  “It’s brisk today, isn’t it?” said the pilot, shaking his head. “It’s nice the merchants think we’ll sail in the morning, but that isn’t necessarily so.”

  “Why not?” Antonio asked. Cristoforo was surprised that a sailor would disagree with a nobleman.

  “The ship can’t sail directly into the wind.” He rose slowly and motioned for the boys to follow him to the rail. “This wind bears directly over the bow. The sails must catch wind for the ship to move forward, and they won’t do that unless the ship points at least thirty-five or forty degrees off the wind.”

  The pilot saw Cristoforo didn’t understand. “If the wind holds its present course and force tomorrow morning, the ship would have to be pulled to face directly across the harbor to sail on its own, an impossible course with all the other ships anchored there, and the wind’s too strong to bother asking the crew to row us out of the harbor. It’d be simpler to wait patiently for the wind to shift or abate, which it always does.” The pilot turned to Antonio. “But don’t worry. If we can’t sail in the morning, we can drink the wine.”

  Antonio grinned, and Cristoforo saw it was safe to grin, as well. The pilot smirked and continued. He pointed to the masts and booms above and asked Cristoforo, “Can you see the birds perched there?”

  “Yes.” Cristoforo puzzled over what came next.

  “Do you know the four things the birds tell us sailors?”

  Cristoforo shrugged. “No.”

  “When they fly away, you know where land is. When they dive, you know fish can be caught. When they hunker down, as they are now, you know a storm’s coming.”

  After a long pause, Cristoforo was led to ask, “What’s the fourth?”

  “When your ship’s sinking, they tell you good-bye.” The boys laughed.

  With that, Antonio took Cristoforo back to the quay and Father. Cristoforo realized Father had been paid because he stood well apart from the nobleman, who was surrounded by others seeking favor. Father urged him to thank the nobleman again, and Cristoforo called and waved but wasn’t noticed. They started home.

  Domenico asked what he had done on board, and Cristoforo recounted the tour from bow to stern with enthusiasm. Domenico listened, but his mind quickly drifted to anxious reflections on his trade, the nobleman’s fine wool coat, and how, since his youth, the market for Genoese wool had declined to become purely local.

  When they arrived home, Susanna had the three boys’ lunch of the remaining fish laid on the table.

  “What did you do?” she asked.

  Cristoforo related the walk to port and that he’d been invited aboard the Centuriones’ carrack. He noted that the pilot doubted the ship would sail the next morning and tried explaining why.

  “What did you learn?” Domenico interrupted.

  “It’s important to be polite and respectful of the nobility,” Cristoforo knew to respond. He paused, reflected, and faced his father. “I’d like to learn to read and write.”

  Genove la Superba, engraving from the Nuremberg Chronicle of 1493.

  PRINCE HENRIQUE OF PORTUGAL (HENRY THE NAVIGATOR)

  Raposeira, Southern Portugal (Spring 1460)

  Prince Henrique had chosen to build his palace and exercise his governorship in the small village of Raposeira, which lay nestled in a valley of forest, grassland pastures, and farms, a serene oasis sheltered from strong northern winds by a ridge on its northern edge. He had remained unmarried and celibate his entire life, free from a king’s preoccupation to father a male successor, and Raposeira was removed from the daily life of King Afonso V’s court, which resided in northern cities and towns. Instead, it was central to places that had become important to Henrique’s goal—and he believed destiny—of establishing a Portuguese maritime empire under his control and bringing Christian salvation to the heathens in the lands possessed or reclaimed from the infidel.

  The port of Lagos was some miles east on Portugal’s southern shore, where ships were built, captains and crews recruited, and voyages dispatched and unloaded under Henrique’s authority and license. To the west lay Cape St. Vincent, the windswept plateau on mortally high cliffs jutting defiantly into the Ocean Sea where the coast turned north. All ships sailing between the Mediterranean Sea and France, England, or other points north rounded the cape. Just east of Cape St. Vincent lay Cape Sagres, an equally forlorn sister plateau jutting south, and then—closest to Raposeira—Sagres Bay, where ships frequently took refuge from the winds and Henrique had established a small village, the “Infante’s town,” to service them.

  The prince was keenly aware of the geographical significance of Cape St. Vincent, recognized since the time of ancient mariners and geographers as the western endpoint of the earth’s landmass, “terra firma,” which stretched through Europe to Jerusalem and then to the Indies and Cathay. Ptolemy (ca. AD 100–170) had taught that the land from the Cape to the farthest point in Asia known to him stretched across half the globe, and the scriptures held that Jerusalem lay at terra firma’s very center (Ezekiel 5:5). Terra firma also extended south of the Cape into Africa, with Egypt, Libya, and other Mohammedan kingdoms bordering the Mediterranean and Ethiopia farther southeast and Guinea southwest, their southern limits unknown to Henrique. Beyond the Cape to the west lay the vast Ocean Sea, whos
e extent was unknown, as well, and its forbidding inhospitality perhaps rendered it unknowable. For centuries, men had referred to it as the Sea of Darkness.

  While aging at sixty-six, Henrique rose early for breakfast and was briefed by his secretary as to developments at Afonso’s court and the known whereabouts of the ships sailing under his license. He learned that a few Genoese carracks en route to London had harbored in Sagres Bay to shelter from an approaching storm, and he dispatched a messenger inviting their ranking merchants and captains to dine with him there. He would ply them for news of Liguria and entice them to trade at his colony on Madeira. If the weather held, he would worship at the village’s small church.

  After breakfast, Henrique and his retinue mounted their horses and departed, passing through countryside Henrique frequently had hunted in his youth. He was strong and tall, with dark hair closely cut, and his black cape fluttered southward in the breeze. He enjoyed the ride and the memories it evoked, and his thoughts wandered over the course of a lifetime that had grown increasingly focused and purposeful and, he sensed, neared its end.

  In his thirties, he had sponsored the colonization of Madeira and Porto Santo and encouraged captains that the Sea of Darkness could be sailed south along the African coast. Sailors had feared the northeasterly winds and southern currents encountered there would make return impossible and that the earth became uninhabitable toward the equator. Aristotle (384–322 BC) had taught the earth was a globe and warned that the sun bore so excessively on the earth’s equatorial zones that they were a burning zone. St. Augustine (AD 354–430) had believed that water alone covered the earth’s southern portions. But, with Henrique’s prodding, crews could now be recruited to continue south toward the equator to explore for the point at which the Guinean coast turned east to Ethiopia and the Indies. Henrique believed his success was due to the choice of younger men as merchants and captains, such as Ca’ da Mosto, because they were better able to question or ignore the ancient learning.

  At fifty, he had presided triumphantly at the quay at Lagos to witness one of his ships unloading a cargo of African Mohammedans who would receive baptism and salvation in Christ in return for a lifetime of servitude. The pope asserted responsibility for the salvation of all men and authority to regulate their relations, including their conquest and enslavement, both among Christians and between Christians and unbelievers. Henrique was permitted to conquer non-Christian territories held by Mohammedans and heathens, and the permission to conquer Mohammedans had always included permission to enslave them. But Pope Eugenius IV had indicated (1434) that enslavement of heathens who wished to become Christians was forbidden because heathens, unlike Mohammedans and Jews, didn’t affirmatively deny Christ.

  The Guineans purchased by Henrique’s mariners did include heathens, and Henrique and King Afonso had pushed Eugenius to reverse his position to allow their enslavement, too. They had also persuaded Eugenius’s successor, Pope Nicholas V, to recognize Henrique’s zealous efforts to convert men to Christianity by granting Portugal exclusive jurisdiction through all of Guinea south of Cape Bojador (Western Sahara) (1455), precluding Castilian and other competition. A year later, Pope Calixtus III had clarified that this exclusive jurisdiction and permission extended not only to points south of Bojador but all the way to the Indies.

  Toward the end of the ride, Sagres Bay came into view, and the men bore the full force of the wind. In the distance, the Ocean Sea churned with whitecaps surging south in a fury that would terrify any sailor. Henrique understood this terror and grasped as well as any prince that, before underwriting or enlisting on a voyage, merchants and sailors had to be convinced the ship, the provisions, the route planned, the experience of the captain and his pilot, and the risks and rewards of the intended trade were sound and that they and their merchandise wouldn’t perish.

  In his youth, most sailors had feared sailing out of sight of land for any significant length of time. But Henrique had promoted the development of navigational and shipbuilding know-how and geographic knowledge under his schooling at Sagres, and many seamen now were comfortable sailing modern caravels far at sea. His crews had discovered, or rediscovered, the Azorean archipelago, nine islands lying between eight hundred and twelve hundred miles west of Lisbon, far distant and remote in the Sea of Darkness.

  The Genoese merchants and captains had been entertained in the small town’s only tavern. Henrique’s arrival was announced, he entered, and they knelt. He bade them rise in a calm, gentle tone, and they presented an ivory carving of the Virgin purchased in Carthage as a gift on behalf of the patriarch of the Genoese family for whom they sailed. The merchants and captains knew some Portuguese, and an interpreter finished each thought when necessary.

  Henrique put them at ease with pleasantries, and they feasted on beef, squid, and, although Henrique abstained, fine Madeiran wine. He invited them to discuss the doge, the pope, the French, the Aragonese, and the advance of the infidel Mehmed II west from Constantinople, which Mehmed had conquered seven years earlier (1453).

  The eldest merchant grittily summarized the march of Mehmed’s army into Serbia. “The butchering horde took Smederevo without a battle [1459], leaving the entire kingdom to be plundered. All say the rape of the Hungarians follows.”

  “Do the colonies at Pera, Phocaea, and Scio still function?” Henrique asked, referring to the Genoese trading colonies remaining within Mehmed’s conquered territories.6

  “They do,” replied the merchant, with transparent unease. “Subject to Mehmed’s grace. The annual tributes they pay him are steep.”

  The grim specter of Mehmed’s advances and the might of his armies cast a pall on the conversation for some moments, as he and other Mohammedan princes now ruled from Serbia to Athens to Constantinople to Jerusalem to Alexandria, and then across Africa and into Hispania’s own kingdom of Grenada. To lighten the discussion, Henrique cordially shifted the topic to Liguria and the pope, and, after learning what he could, promoted his island and Guinean possessions.

  “My Madeiran wine rivals your own and can fetch good prices. The island’s timber and sugar are readily accessible to port.” He turned to his secretary.

  “The strength and endurance of our black Guinean slaves is unsurpassed,” the secretary chimed in. “They can command the highest prices of any, and the cargoes available are limited only by the ships to be dispatched.” The merchants listened carefully and promised to inform their patriarch. When the meal was over, and gracious salutations complete, Henrique departed.

  The sky was ominously dark, blanketed to all horizons with massive thunderheads sweeping rapidly south. Henrique’s staff cautioned that he return to Raposeira, but he instructed them to wait as he worshipped at the village church. He was fond of the small church’s austerity and berth above the sea, the most fitting site to pray for the safety and success of his crews and ships. He rode from the tavern to the church with his horseman and personal servant, buffeted by strong winds. The church friar was surprised to receive them in such weather, and Henrique invited his horseman and servant to shelter and worship inside.

  Henrique prayed for the Lord to guide his mariners to shelter from the approaching storm and, ultimately, to achieve his lifelong quest—to reach Ethiopia by circumventing the southern limit of Guinea in order to locate the reputed sovereign of the Christian Indians many believed to reign there.7 He beseeched the Lord to grant his ultimate aspiration, that the Christian kingdoms of Europe and Ethiopia then unite and surround and defeat the Mohammedans to retake Jerusalem.

  Henrique’s personal servant, a Guinean who had been baptized in Lagos years before, mimicked his master’s devotion and prudently recited a prayer to Christ, too. He had long since forgotten his introduction to Mohammedanism. As he prayed, he fought to suppress his incredulity that the prince believed worshipping Christ was a just return for a life of servitude and his bitterness that the prince’s men merely used Christ as an excuse for gain. For all their piety, the ships Henrique d
ispatched to Guinea were packed with merchants, soldiers, and slave masters but few priests or monks. The servant recalled the spirits of his youth and prayed for his father and mother, brothers and sisters, and wife and children, whom he missed dearly.

  The gale howled fiercely about the church, reminding Henrique of the Lord’s awesome power over earth and man and that he conferred both life and death. In the beginning, the Lord had blessed man’s creation and the very earth to live on, separating terra firma from the seas, lighting the sky with the sun, moon, and stars, and providing man beast and fish to eat, all in but six days. Yet when man had sinned, he had destroyed them all, flooding terra firma beneath the seas again, leaving only Noah, his sons, and their wives to replenish the world. When man had sinned again—seeking to build a tower to Heaven—the Lord had punished them all a second time, scattering them into many nations and tribes throughout terra firma, confounding them to speak different languages so as to be unable to communicate. He shattered Henrique’s ships and drowned the crews whenever that fit his purpose.

  Henrique requested that the service be closed. The three men said farewell to the friar and stepped into the tempest. Henrique looked south over Cape Sagres at the enormous expanse of gray ocean undulating ceaselessly to the horizon as if an inferno of cold, boiling water. With trepidation, he turned west to behold Cape St. Vincent jutting into the sea. The ocean swept past it with an immense force, massive swells, froth, and spray violently contorted by the wind. The current curling around the Cape was extraordinary, as if Job’s serpent dragon Leviathan were rapidly advancing on its prey just below the ocean’s surface. To the northwest, a wall of rain approached.

  Catalan World Map, 1450.

  Henrique had seen this countless times before, but it never ceased to astound him. The Ocean Sea held the fury of hell! It was the Ocean Sea, not the cliffs of Cape St. Vincent, that ruled their juncture and defiantly ended the habitable world. No caravel would be safe in this tumult during daylight, no less the dark of night. Aristotle, Seneca (ca. 4 BC–AD 65), and other ancients had thought it possible to sail west from Cape St. Vincent to the Indies. But no man who witnessed this hell could seriously contemplate such a journey, no less venture so far from land.