Gama would not have been everybody’s choice. A diplomat and soldier by trade, he was not a professional seaman, and although he had considerable navigational knowledge he had never travelled far. The most obvious commander would have been Dias. But Dias was an explorer, and this was not to be a journey of exploration. In anticipation that the Indies – or more precisely India – were within easy sailing distance of South Africa, King Manoel determined that this would be a voyage of trade and diplomacy. For such matters it was necessary to send a man of culture and learning.
Gama’s fleet, which left on 8 July 1497, comprised one caravel, the Berrio, commanded by a man named Nicolau Coelho, and two larger naos, the São Gabriel and the São Rafael, under Gama and his brother Paulo respectively. Heavily armed, carrying the by now traditional three stone columns, with a combined roster of maybe 180 men, including three interpreters and 36 delgradados – pardoned prisoners, who were to be used for tricky onshore operations – it had been equipped with the aid of Dias, who accompanied them for a while in a caravel bound for West Africa. (He also advised Gama on the selection of his crew, many of whom had previously sailed with him to South Africa.) On 27 July they arrived at the Cape Verde Islands, from where, in an act of great daring, Gama led his ships briefly towards Africa, then swooped out into the Atlantic, following a westward curve that brought them, on 7 November, to St Helena Bay, 100 miles north of the Cape. In the course of more than three months he had travelled 3,370 miles without seeing land, yet had brought his ships to almost precisely the place he wished to be. For the time it was an outstanding piece of navigation, unequalled even by Columbus’s crossing of the Atlantic.
Gama received much the same welcome as had Dias when he first landed in South Africa. The natives were initially friendly, but then turned on them. In an unexpected ambush several of Gama’s men were injured – Gama himself received an arrow in the leg – before a force of crossbowmen was sent ashore to exact retribution. There are no records of how many Africans were killed in this encounter, but the Portuguese learned a lesson from it. The expedition’s chronicler, an anonymous member who later published Roteiro da primeira viagem de Vasco da Gama (Journal of the first voyage of Vasco da Gama), wrote that ‘all this happened because we looked upon these people as men of little spirit, quite incapable of violence, and had therefore landed without first arming ourselves’. It was a mistake they would not make again.
Rounding the Cape, they took on food and water at Mossel Bay, where Dias had landed in 1487. They spent 13 days there, during which they purchased from the natives an ox whose meat they declared as fine as any to be found in Europe. But, as always, there were disagreements and misunderstandings. This time Gama settled matters with cannon-fire, and when the natives fled he took the opportunity to raise the first of the stone columns he carried. No sooner had the fleet left, on 6 December, than the Africans tore down both the column and the wooden cross Gama had placed on top of it.
By Christmas Day they were in new waters, passing a body of land to which Gama gave the name Natal, and by 11 January they were off Mozambique. Almost all of them now displayed the first signs of scurvy. Following standard practice, they used knives to trim their swollen gums and rubbed the wounds with urine. Fortunately, salvation was at hand. On Mozambique Island they met the southernmost Arab trading station. Initially they were welcomed with warmth, the Arabs mistaking them for Muslims and Gama doing nothing to dispel the impression. But they were soon uncovered, and as the Arabs became antagonistic Gama was forced to unleash his artillery.
The Muslims of the African coast were skilled navigators, but they were at a disadvantage when it came to naval warfare. Their vessels were not nailed together but held in place by wooden dowels and coconut fibre.* If they fired more than the smallest cannon their ships would unravel from the shock. Gama’s naos, by contrast, carried 20 cannon apiece, plus numerous lesser pieces of artillery; the crew were protected by leather jerkins, iron breastplates, armour and helmets, and were armed with crossbows, axes, spears, javelins and pikes. The Portuguese may have been few in number, but they were by far the most technologically advanced force in the Indian Ocean. Gama used his advantage to full effect. Knowing that he would be followed by others, and that he needed to show an example – knowing too that the Arabs planned to overwhelm him if he came close enough – he bombarded the port at random. Then, having kidnapped a couple of pilots and taken aboard food and water, he made his way up the coast.
Rumours of their barbarity travelled before them. Everywhere they went, the Portuguese met – and provoked – hostility, to which they responded in kind. When they could not get food they resorted to piracy; and when they could not get information they dripped boiling oil and resin onto their prisoners to make them talk. At the port of Mombasa they were attacked first by a force of 100 well-armed men and then by saboteurs who swam alongside one night and attempted to cut their anchors. ‘These and other wicked tricks were practised upon us by these dogs,’ wrote the author of Roteiro, ‘but our Lord did not allow them to succeed, because they were unbelievers.’ Only at Malindi, which was in competition with Mombasa, and whose ruler saw an advantage in befriending a potential new trading partner, did they receive a welcome. Here Gama obtained the fruit he needed to cure his men’s scurvy and, invaluably, the services of a competent pilot whom he called the Good Moor. It has been speculated that the man was none other than Ahmad ibn Majid, one of the most famous astronomers of the age whose 12-part treatise, the Fawa’id, was one of the Islamic world’s great navigational works. Whether or not this was the case, he proved himself a loyal and exceptionally able guide, being acquainted with the Indian Ocean and possessing charts of the African and Indian coasts.
Gama left Malindi on 24 April 1498, and a month later, thanks entirely to the Good Moor, his ships were off Calicut. Outwardly it was not an imposing place, extending only a short distance inland along seven miles of muddy, crocodile-infested shore. Its houses were single-storey and the city wall was scarcely 12 feet high. It was heavily populated and, to the surprise of the Portuguese, most of its citizens, although ‘well-disposed and apparently of mild temper’, were wretchedly poor. However, there was no doubt as to its importance as a trading centre. Warehouses along the waterfront were crammed with spices, ivory, cotton and sandalwood. Gold coins from Egypt and Venice were in common usage. Up to 700 ships waited offshore to take on goods. And Gama was astounded to be greeted in his own language by an Arab merchant who came aboard with the words, ‘A lucky venture, a lucky venture! Plenty of rubies, plenty of emeralds! You owe great thanks to God, for having brought you to a country holding such riches!’ He was further heartened on 28 May when he met the Zamorin, or ruler of the port. Carried inland on a palanquin, Gama was treated with more respect ‘than is shown in Spain to a king’ before being introduced to a man bedecked with gold, diamonds and pearls. The Zamorin listened to Gama’s account of his voyage, and nodded sagely when it was explained, via interpreters, that the King of Portugal wished to form an alliance with him. He replied that he considered the king his friend and brother and would like to send ambassadors to his court.
From this promising start, their relationship deteriorated rapidly. The Zamorin had been led to believe that Gama’s ships were forerunners of a mighty Portuguese fleet. When the ships did not materialize, Gama’s stock diminished considerably. Also, after the manner in which Gama had described the wealth and power of his nation, the Zamorin was very disappointed with the gifts he received: a few lengths of striped cloth, some scarlet hoods, the odd case of sugar, oil and honey, plus a quantity of hand basins. At the same time, reports filtered across the Indian Ocean of Gama’s actions in Africa. While these were of no concern to the Zamorin, they were deeply offensive to the Muslims who were his regular trading partners and who comprised a sizeable element of the port’s population. The Zamorin was reluctant to compromise any future commercial arrangement with the Portuguese – as could be seen from their ships, they wer
e certainly powerful; and the very fact they had come to Calicut meant that others would follow – but he was unwilling to jeopardize his current situation. He therefore gave the Arabs tacit permission to take matters into their own hands. Before long Gama and several of his men were effectively under house arrest, and the stock of goods that they had brought ashore had been impounded. The Portuguese responded by taking six of the Zamorin’s subjects hostage. Complicated negotiations ensued, during which Gama managed by bluff, deception and force to obtain his freedom and to exchange some of his goods for a small quantity of spices. The Zamorin – protesting his complete innocence the while – also promised to erect one of Gama’s stone columns and wrote a letter for the King of Portugal, demonstrating his willingness to trade. However, he retained one of Gama’s officers and the rest of his merchandise as surety against the hostages’ release. Furthermore, he reminded the Portuguese that it was customary for all vessels to pay harbour taxes.
In delivering his terms, the Zamorin made a foolish mistake: he used the captive officer as an emissary. Taking him aboard Gama weighed anchor and on 29 August 1498 the Portuguese fled, ‘greatly rejoicing at our good fortune in having made so great a discovery’. They were pursued by a fleet of about 70 ships, which they soon saw off. Then, remembering that he was a diplomat, and as they were still in the vicinity of Calicut, Gama put one of the hostages ashore with a message for the Zamorin. In it he made his excuses for an abrupt departure and looked forward to a long and profitable collaboration.
The Good Moor guided them up the west coast of India, where they alternately attacked, and were attacked by, local navies, before reprovisioning not far south of Goa. Then, against his advice, they insisted on sailing across the Indian Ocean – unwisely because, as the Moor explained, one could only cross the ocean with the aid of the monsoons. In spring they blew west to east, and in autumn they blew in the opposite direction. Typically the east-west winds did not arrive until November. But Gama was impatient. He sailed on 5 October for Portugal.
Considering the pressures of the journey, and his understandable eagerness to get home, Gama can be forgiven for his decision. But it might have been better to listen to the Good Moor. Tacking doggedly against the wind, they made such slow progress that scurvy once more took a grip. ‘Our people again suffered from their gums,’ wrote the author of Roteiro, ‘which drew over their teeth so that they could not eat. Their legs also swelled, and other parts of the body, and these swellings spread until the sufferers died, without exhibiting symptoms of any other disease. Thirty of our men died in this manner.’ At least 30 had died on the journey out, and with this extra loss Gama’s ships were seriously undermanned. ‘Those able to navigate each ship were only seven or eight,’ the Roteiro continued, ‘and even these were not as well as they ought to have been ... We had come to such a pass that all bonds of discipline had gone.’
It was almost three months before they reached Africa, on 2 January 1499. The port of Mogadishu was not far off but, too exhausted to face the inevitably hostile reception, they merely bombarded it from a distance before continuing to Malindi. Here, on 5 January, with the aid of huge sacks of oranges, they began their slow recovery. Even so, several more men died on arrival. Once again remembering, belatedly, that his was a diplomatic mission, and realizing the importance to future expeditions of having at least one friendly port in East Africa, Gama concocted a rudimentary alliance with the ruler of Malindi. The tokens they exchanged were somewhat uneven: the ruler gave Gama a large ivory tusk for the King of Portugal; in return, Gama gave the ruler permission to erect one of his stone columns on a nearby hill. If the ruler thought this a one-sided bargain he politely did not mention it. Five days later the Portuguese were on their way.
Wisely, Gama avoided the ports he had previously visited, stopping instead at isolated towns and villages. The death toll, however, continued to rise, and without enough men to manage the fleet he burned the São Rafael, transferring its crew and contents to the other two ships. The São Gabriel and the São Miguel landed on a small island off Mozambique, where they placed another of their columns, before proceeding to Mossel Bay, which they reached on 3 March 1499. By now the survivors were in better health, but after the heat of India and Malindi they were ‘nearly dead’ from cold. They spent nine days salting anchovies, seals and penguins, then sailed for the Cape and for home. On 16 April they were off the Cape Verde Islands, the ships so worm-eaten from the tropics that their crews worked the pumps around the clock. Then, with safety just a day or two away, they were hit by a storm that blew them north. The two ships lost sight of each other and, despite searching for more than 24 hours, Gama could not find the Berrio. (Coelho had, in fact, headed for Lisbon, where he arrived on 10 July 1499.) Sailing north to the Azores, where his brother Paulo died of tuberculosis, he then turned east. The São Gabriel docked in Lisbon just a few weeks after the Berrio.
The ordeal Gama and his men had undergone was reflected in their casualties. According to some accounts only 44 men out of an original 180 survived the journey. Their achievement, however, had been momentous: in the course of their 23,000-mile journey they had spent periods of up to 90 days without seeing land; and they had successfully navigated the Indian Ocean. Moreover, they had forged a link between east and west, breaking forever the Muslim stranglehold. The spices Gama brought with him were small in quantity – apparently no more than could fit in a biscuit barrel – but they proved the value of his discoveries. Within six months another, more powerful expedition was on its way east.
By 1510 the Portuguese had established their supremacy in the Indian Ocean, conquering all the major ports in Africa, Arabia and India – including Goa, which would remain theirs until 1961 – and annexing the Moluccas, the very heart of the spice trade. In Angola and Mozambique they created colonies to ease their passage around Africa. For a while Portugal was the wealthiest nation in Europe. As for Gama, he was given so many titles and estates that he could have spent the rest of his life in ease. But he chose not to, sailing on two further expeditions to the Far East as Admiral of India. He died in Cochin, in 1525. His remains were later brought back to Lisbon, to lie in the country he had set on the road to empire.
A PASSAGE TO THE PACIFIC
Ferdinand Magellan (1519–22)
When Vasco da Gama returned in 1499 from his epic voyage to India there was scarcely a man in Portugal who did not wish to sail east to make his fortune in the spice trade. Nineteen-year-old Ferdinand Magellan, third son of a provincial noble, and a lowly member of King Manoel I’s court, was no different from the rest of his countrymen. Unfortunately, he had neither the wealth nor the political influence to become involved in an expedition – which was maybe as well, because the passage was so arduous that half those who left never returned. In 1504, however, Francisco d’Almeida was appointed Viceroy of India and given instructions to establish a series of fortified bases along the African coast, which it was hoped would make the passage easier, and to find, if possible, the islands from which the spices came. To this end he was allotted 22 ships and 1,980 men. Tired of waiting, Magellan resigned his appointment at court, offered his services as an unpaid seaman and thus, in 1505, became part of the largest fleet ever to have left Lisbon.
Magellan served in the Orient for eight years, taking part in the series of battles, massacres and invasions that established Portugal’s presence in Africa, Arabia and India. The plunder was staggering: from the capture of Goa alone King Manoel received the equivalent in modern terms of 7 million US dollars; even the average seaman grabbed two years’ worth of pay. And the brutality was on a similar scale: wherever they went, the Portuguese made an example of Arabs, cutting off the men’s right hands and the ears and noses of the women. At Goa they forsook such niceties and simply slaughtered every Muslim they met: it took them three days to hack their way through 8,000 people. As the fleet pushed eastward it reached Malacca, the capital of the spice trade on the Malay Peninsula. Again the riches were magnif
icent. ‘Truly,’ wrote one captain, ‘there are more ships in this harbour than in any place on earth. More riches too: for its warehouses are crammed with spice from the Moluccas, rubies from Ceylon, ivory from Thailand, silk and jade from China.’ There were also slaves with sticks through their noses who came from ‘the great island in the east’ (probably New Guinea). A few bombardments later Malacca, like Goa, submitted to Portuguese rule. By this time, in a meteoric rise through the ranks, Magellan had been given command of his own caravel. He sought, and received, permission to take his new command east. His exact destination remains a mystery. It might have been the Moluccas, or Spice Islands, which Portugal had already reached and where his cousin Serrano was ensconced as advisor to the local ruler, writing that ‘I have found a New World, richer, greater and more beautiful than that of Vasco da Gama.’ More probably he sailed to the Philippines. Wherever he went, he reported that it lay outside Portugal’s sphere of influence. By the Tordesillas Treaty of 1494 Portuguese and Spanish interests had been separated by a line drawn through the Atlantic. Following Vasco da Gama’s voyage, that line had been extended across the Poles to include the Indies. Magellan’s report was not what the authorities wanted to hear. In 1513 he was sent back to Lisbon.
The former courtier cut an unimpressive figure in royal circles. He was considerably older than when he had left and, limping from a wound received at Malacca, was given the nickname ‘Clubfoot’. Above all, he attracted opprobrium for his attempts to raise money for a new expedition to the Indies. It was not the goal itself that caused people to sneer but the manner in which he sought it, for what Magellan proposed was ridiculous: a voyage to the East Indies via the west. By now it was common knowledge that Columbus had found, not the Indies, but a collection of islands in what was called the Sea of Attilia. Several explorers had already reached South America, one of whom, Pedro Alvares Cabral, had raised the Portuguese flag on Brazil. Yet there was no certainty that South America did not continue to the bottom of the world and, with a passage already operating via the Cape of Good Hope, Magellan’s project appeared both expensive and unnecessary. When Magellan put his plan to Manoel he was told, brusquely, that he could take his dreams elsewhere. Which he did. Using connections he had gathered during his stay in the east, he married the daughter of a Spanish noble, inveigled his way into the court of Madrid and persuaded King Charles of Spain to sponsor his expedition. Having learned from its experience with Columbus, who had suffered a similar rejection, Spain was eager to support any navigators who escaped Portugal’s clutches. Thus, Magellan sailed under the Spanish flag with five vessels: the San Antonio, the Trinidad, the Victoria, the Concepción and the Santiago. Heavily armed and heavily provisioned, they were laden with trade goods – bars of copper, flasks of mercury, combs, knives, mirrors, bells, bracelets, scissors, crystals and cloth – and carried a total of 277 men, of whom a sizeable minority, including the captain of the Santiago, were Portuguese. They carried, too, a slave, Enrique, whom Magellan had purchased in the Indies, as well as a Venetian nobleman named Antonio Pigafetta, who at the last moment had expressed an urgent desire to ‘see the wonders of the world’ (he was probably a spy) and who became the expedition’s unofficial chronicler.
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