Over the Edge of the World: Magellan's Terrifying Circumnavigation of the Globe

by Laurence Bergreen

The vessel they were guiding into the harbor was manned by a skeleton crew of just eighteen sailors and three captives, all of them severely malnourished. Most lacked the strength to walk or even to speak. Their tongues were swollen, and their bodies were covered with painful boils. Their captain was dead, as were the officers, the boatswains, and the pilots; in fact, nearly the entire crew had perished.

Three years earlier, Victoria had belonged to a fleet of five vessels with about 260 sailors, all under the command of Fernão de Magalhães, whom we know as Ferdinand Magellan. A Portuguese nobleman and navigator, he had left his homeland to sail for Spain with a charter to explore undiscovered parts of the world and claim them for the Spanish crown.

This circumnavigation forever altered the Western world’s ideas about cosmology—the study of the universe and our place in it—as well as geography. It demonstrated, among other things, that the earth was round, that the Americas were not part of India but were actually a separate continent, and that oceans covered most of the earth’s surface. The voyage conclusively demonstrated that the earth is, after all, one world. But it also demonstrated that it was a world of unceasing conflict, both natural and human.

On June 7, 1494, Pope Alexander VI divided the world in half, bestowing the western portion on Spain, and the eastern on Portugal.

The papal bulls granted Spain exclusive rights to those parts of the globe that lay to the west of the line; the Portuguese, naturally, were supposed to keep to the east. And if either kingdom happened to discover a land ruled by a Christian ruler, neither would be able to claim it.

In Tordesillas, the Spanish and Portuguese representatives agreed to abide by the idea of a papal division, which seemed to protect the interests of both parties. At the same time, the Portuguese prevailed on the Spanish representatives to move the line 270 leagues west; now it lay 370 leagues west of the Cape Verde Islands, at approxi mately 46° 30' W, according to modern calculations.

The new boundary gave the Portuguese ample access to the African continent by water and, even more important, allowed the Portuguese to claim the newly discovered land of Brazil. But the debate over the line—and the claims for empire that depended on its placement—dragged on for years.

To further complicate matters, the treaty failed to specify whether the line of demarcation extended all the way around the globe or bisected just the Western Hemisphere. Finally, not much was known about the location of oceans and continents. Even if the world was round, and men of science and learning agreed that it was, the maps of 1494 depicted a very different planet from the one we know today.

Cosmologists occupied prestigious chairs at universities, and were held in high regard by the thrones of Europe. Although many were skilled mathematicians, they often concerned themselves with astrology, believed to be a legitimate branch of astronomy, a practice that endeared them to insecure rulers in search of reassurance in an uncertain world.

Throughout the sixteenth century, the calculations and theories of the ancient Greek and Egyptian mathematicians and astronomers served as the basis of cosmology, even as new discoveries undermined time-honored assumptions. Rather than acknowledge that a true scientific revolution was at hand, cosmologists responded to the challenge by trying to modify or bend classical schemes, especially the system codified by Claudius Ptolemy, the Greco-Egyptian astronomer and mathematician who lived in the second century A.D.

Following Ptolemy’s example, European cosmologists disregarded the Pacific Ocean, which covers a third of the world’s surface, from their maps, and they presented incomplete renditions of the American continent based on reports and rumors rather than direct observations.

Ptolemy’s omissions inadvertently encouraged exploration because he made the world seem smaller and more navigable than it really was.

Amid the confusion, two kinds of maps evolved: simple but accurate “portolan” charts based on the actual observations of pilots, and far more elaborate concoctions of cosmographers.

Although the Treaty of Tordesillas was destined to collapse under the weight of its faulty assumptions, it challenged the old cosmological ways.

The merchants maintained a virtual monopoly by insisting these precious items came from Africa, when in fact they grew in various places in India, and China, and especially throughout Southeast Asia. Europeans came to believe that spices came from Africa, when in fact they only changed hands there.

The spice trade was central to the Arab way of life. Muhammad, the prophet of Islam, belonged to a family of prominent merchants, and for many years traded in myrrh and frankincense, among other spices, in Mecca.

They formulated elixirs and syrups derived from spices, including julāb, from which the word “julep” derives.

In a Europe starved for gold (much of it controlled by the Arabs), spices became more valuable than ever, a major component of European economies.

An Indonesian ruler was said to have boasted to a trader who wanted to grow spices in Europe, “You may be able to take our plants, but you will never be able to take our rain.”

Along the way, spices went through as many as twelve different hands, and every time they did, their prices shot up. Spices were the ultimate cash crop.

The global spice trade underwent an upheaval in 1453, when Constantinople fell to the Turks, and the time-honored overland spice routes between Asia and Europe were severed. The prospect of establishing a spice trade via an ocean route opened up new economic possibilities for any European nation able to master the seas.

If a sailor devoted years of his life to getting there and back, and if he managed to bring home a small sack stuffed with spices such as cloves or nutmeg, legitimately or not, he could sell it for enough to buy a small house; he could live off the proceeds for the rest of his life.

As a young soldier, Prince Henry had fought against Arabs, and he was determined to drive them from the Iberian peninsula and from North Africa. At the same time, he learned much from his avowed enemy: their trade routes, their science and mapmaking, and most of all, their navigational techniques.

Until this time, European vessels such as galleys relied on oarsmen or fixed sails for power. With their shallow draught and movable sails, Henry’s caravels could set a course close to the wind, and they could tack, that is, shift their course to take advantage of the wind from one direction and then from another, zigzagging against the wind toward a fixed point.

Prince Henry sent no less than fourteen expeditions to Cape Bojador within twelve years, and they all failed. He convinced Gil Eannes, a Portuguese explorer, to try once more, and in 1434, Eannes finally accomplished what so many had said was impossible: He sailed safely past Cape Bojador.

Every captain sponsored by Prince Henry was under orders to record the tides, the currents, and the winds, and to compile accurate charts of the coastlines. Voyage by voyage, these charts added to the Portuguese knowledge of the oceans and of the world beyond the Iberian peninsula.

In 1488, during the reign of João II, Bartolomeu Dias reached the southernmost point of Africa and rounded what is now known as the Cape of Good Hope; his voyage opened new possibilities for Portuguese trade and conquest. On his return, Dias attempted to claim a reward for his feat, but received practically none.

King Manuel’s indifference to those who had risked their lives to advance the cause of the Portuguese empire had much to do with his ingrained fear of rivals within Portugal.

King Manuel was no adventurer, and he lacked an appreciation beyond the strictly commercial aspects of what his explorers had done for the Portuguese empire.

In 1496, when King Manuel wished to take the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella as his wife, he was told that he could do so only on condition that he “purify” Portugal by expelling the Jews, as Spain had done four years earlier. Rather than lose this valuable segment of the population, Manuel encouraged conversions to Christianity—forced conversions, in many cases.

In pursuit of this goal, daring, even reckless mariners presented themselves to the king to seek backing for their journeys of exploration to these exotic and dangerous new worlds. Most met with frustration, for the Portuguese court was a place of intrigue, suspicion, double-dealing, and envy.

Even these basic outlines about Magellan’s ancestry are in doubt. In 1567, his heirs began squabbling over his estate, and questions arose over his exact place in the Magalhães family tree.

For example, until the eighteenth century, males usually assumed their father’s last name, but the females often chose other surnames for themselves. They took on their father’s name, or their mother’s, or even a saint’s name. And some children assumed a grandfather’s name, or their mother’s last name, or still other family names.

Magellan seemed destined to become a captain himself, but in 1495, his patron, King João, the leader of a faction with only tenuous claims to the throne, suddenly died. João’s successor, Manuel I, mistrusted young Magellan, who had, after all, been allied with the opposition.

Finally, in 1505, after a decade of anonymous service at the palace, Ferdinand and Diogo Magellan received dual assignments aboard a mammoth fleet consisting of twenty-two ships bound for India, all of them under the command of Francisco de Almeida.

In this, the first phase of his career abroad, Magellan had displayed remarkable bravery and toughness, but in the end his foreign service proved a mixed adventure. He invested most of his fortune with a merchant who soon died; in the ensuing confusion, Magellan lost most of his assets. He petitioned King Manuel for restitution, but the king refused the request.

Returning to Lisbon, Magellan, still bristling with ambition, commenced a new phase in his career. Seeking to make himself useful to the crown, he involved himself with the Portuguese struggle to dominate North Africa. In 1513, he seemed to find an ideal opportunity to demonstrate his loyalty and usefulness to the crown when the city of Azamor, in Morocco, suddenly refused to pay its annual tribute to Portugal.

Among the hordes of soldiers sent to defend the honor of Portugal was Ferdinand Magellan, along with an aging steed, the only mount he could afford on his drastically reduced budget.

Displaying a hotheadedness and tactlessness that bedeviled his entire career, Magellan wrote directly to King Manuel, insulting numerous ministers by circumventing their jealously guarded authority, and insisted on receiving full compensation for the horse.

Magellan showed himself to be a fearless warrior, engaging in hand-to-hand combat with the enemy on a daily basis. In one confrontation, he received a serious wound from an Arab lance, which left him with a shattered knee and a lifelong limp; it also ended his career as a soldier.

At last, he received a taste of recognition he craved when his service in battle and war wounds earned him a promotion to the rank of quartermaster. The position entitled him to a share of the spoils of war, which proved to be his undoing. In a subsequent battle, Arabs surrendered a immense herd of livestock, over 200,000 goats, camels, and horses. Magellan was among the officers responsible for distributing the spoils in an equitable fashion, and he decided to pay off tribal allies with some of the captured animals.

Magellan did not apologize for his conduct in Morocco, but demanded an increase in the allowance he received as a member of the royal household, his moradia. Making a bad situation even worse, he lectured the king, reminding him that he, Ferdinand Magellan, was a nobleman, and had rendered lifelong service to the crown, and had the wounds to show for it. Nothing but a more generous moradia would suffice to acknowledge his stature, his sense of honor, and his idealism.

King Manuel’s judgment, when it came, was swift and sure: The insolent and foolish Magellan was to return to Morocco immediately to face charges for treason, corruption, and leaving the army without authorization. This he did. After investigating the evidence, a tribunal in Morocco dismissed all charges against him, and he returned to Lisbon clutching a letter of recommendation from his commanding officer.

Magellan was entering middle age, with a bad leg and an unfairly tarnished reputation. Short and dark, and teetering on the brink of poverty, he looked nothing like the aristocrat he thought himself to be.

Acknowledging that he needed help to persuade King Manuel, Magellan brought a prominent personage with him: Ruy Faleiro, a mathematician, astronomer, and nautical scholar.

Faleiro was a brilliant but unstable man who impressed his colleagues with his demonic personality; like many scholars of the day, he may have been a converso. He often worked closely with his brother Francisco, an influential scholar in his own right and the author of a well-regarded study of navigation, and it was likely that each Faleiro brother planned to play a major role in the expedition.

By the time Magellan made his case for a voyage, King Manuel, then fifty-one years old, had entered the throes of a personal crisis. He believed that his long reign was coming to an end; his adored wife had recently died in childbirth, and he decided to abdicate in favor of his son. But when the young man proved ungrateful, Manuel abruptly changed his mind, decided to remain on the throne, and arranged to marry his son’s fiancée, Leonor, the twenty-year-old sister of King Charles of Spain.

Finally, in September of 1517, Magellan asked if he could offer his services elsewhere, and, to his astonishment, the king replied that Magellan was free to do as he pleased. And when Magellan knelt to kiss the king’s hands, as custom dictated, King Manuel concealed them behind his cloak and turned his back on his petitioner.

After he received the final rebuff from the Portuguese king, he suddenly found direction in his life, and he moved quickly, carried along by his own ambitions and by the tides of history. By October 20, 1517, he had arrived in Seville, the largest city in Andalusia, in southwestern Spain. Ruy Faleiro, and possibly Francisco, joined him there in December, the three of them forming a close-knit team of Portuguese expatriates seeking their fortune in a rowdy and energetic new land.

Portugal had long been notoriously secretive about its empire, almost as secretive as the Arabs had been. By an edict of the Portuguese king, announced on November 13, 1504, anyone revealing discoveries or plans for missions of exploration could be executed. From 1500 to about 1550, not one book concerning Portuguese discoveries was published, at least in Portugal itself.