It’s adequate it for my purposes to relate the account of the outward voyage to Calicut only. This is sufficient to impart the main points about the Portuguese navigator. Besides, this portion uniquely demarcates the “discovery” aspect, the rest comprising a monotonous recital of imperial imperatives. On July 8, 1497 the four little ships left Lisbon and the expedition was under way. On July 26th, the fleet put in at Santiago, the largest of the Cape Verde Island, opposite West Africa’s Guinea coast. There they made necessary repairs to some storm-tossed sails, spars and rigging and took on additional stores. For reasons not readily discernible from the sources, the voyage began by swinging widely southwest from the Sierra Leone coast, far into the open sea almost within sight of the hitherto undiscovered coast of Brazil. Whatever led da Gama to take such a wide sweep – a great bulge extending almost to the South American mainland -- in doing so he charted the best sea route around the Cape of Good Hope. The meandering, lengthy, outward journey had aligned the little squadron with the most favorable winds available. It is likely that some of the Roteiros or “Rutters” – a kind of combination geographical journal and annotated chart -- kept by his forerunners may have convinced da Gama that the breezes were more favorable further to the west. Some commentators have speculated that the explorer took the great arc because of a combination of informed speculation and audacity. Whatever the reasons, this three-month long junket without any signs of land, must have been nerve-wracking. The lack of fresh produce in the diet brought on scurvy, which the superstition of the day wrongly attributed to prolonged exposure to ocean air. The affliction made those not yet stricken anxious for landfall, which was their only misplaced hope of avoiding the scourge. Several small mutinies broke out, which da Gama put down with typical brutality. Luckily for the morale of all concerned, the sight of seals, whales, coastal seaweed and other signs of an imminent landfall on October 27th gave them heart. The first landing was on November 4, at a place they called Santa Helena bay, on the northeastern (or near-side) bend of the Cape of Good Hope. There they set in to make repairs, look for water, and check their position, since the readings taken on shipboard with the astrolabe were liable to error caused by the ship’s motion. Here they were able to find wood and lobsters as well as fresh water streams. In order to determine what ethnic group lived here, da Gama sent out a raiding party to bring back some natives. This had to be done by force, since the few locals they found were frightened by the odd and fearsome appearance of the mariners. One unlucky tribesman was seized and brought to the Sao Gabriel where he was fed and dressed in gaudy Portuguese attire and allowed to return to the tribe. As da Gama had guessed, this prompted a group of curious natives – some 50 of them – to venture towards the shore party. Then there was an exchange of gifts, the cheap Portuguese bells and beads sufficing on this occasion. The sailors indulged in the time-honored sport of souvenir bargain hunting and purchased shell jewelry and fans for pennies. One of the Portuguese men-at-arms, an overbearing brash fellow named Fernand Veloso, requested permission to attend a native banquet just to satisfy his curiosity as to the local habits. In spite of his brother Paulo’s warning that Veloso could cause trouble, da Gama permitted the young warrior to make his outing. In the meanwhile Paulo almost was carried out to sea. He foolishly decided to hunt a whale they spied offshore by casting a harpoon tied to one of the small ship’s boats. The wounded whale headed towards the horizon with the boat and it’s whalers in tow. Luckily it turned back and beached itself, allowing the group to disengage the ropes before the whale was able to break free again. After this bit of nonsense, Veloso came running back to the fleet chased by angry aborigines, who rained a hail of stones and arrows upon him and the shore boat party who tried to rescue him. The missiles managed to wound a number of officers and crew, including Vasco himself, before the crossbowmen were arrayed to cover the withdrawal to the safety of the ships. It was time to weigh anchor. On November 22, the little armada rounded the Cape of Good Hope, thanks to da Gama’s able seamanship in the teeth of headwinds and gales, and reached Sao Bras (present-day Mossel Bay), Dias’s final stop of ten years earlier. As soon as they landed, numerous natives greeted them. Later, another 200 inhabitants obligingly brought them plenty of meat – in fact a whole ox -- to replenish their stockpile. Still in a hospitable frame of mind, the natives invited the Portuguese to dance and smoke with them. Once more, as the European guests lingered, the goodwill evaporated, and the Portuguese had to beat a hasty retreat on bad terms; as they put to sea they saw the natives destroy a cross they had naively erected on shore. By December 16 they had passed the Fish River and, then continued 500 miles beyond Diaz’s last land-fall, into waters unfamiliar to Europeans. As Christmas was approaching, they named the coast they were passing Natal (Portuguese for Nativity). Cultural Shock: Friendlies At this point they had been continuously at sea since December 8 and fresh water supplies had reached such a low level that the drinking rations were down to less than a pint per day; cooking had to be done with seawater. On January 11, 1498 they found a suitable mooring at the mouth of a small river. Luckily, the natives who greeted them were able to communicate with one of the crewmembers that had previously lived in the Congo and knew certain dialects that were very similar to this tribe’s. This people were dissimilar to the diminutive African bushmen and Hutus (Hottentots) that Portuguese already knew. These were a tall folk -- the Bantu tribe. Unlike their earlier experiences, the crew was destined to remain on good terms with the Bantus. Alfonso, da Gama’s interpreter, and his small party were invited to sleep in the village. The Portuguese gave them gifts – gaudy clothes and bracelets, which were well received. The natives reciprocated by giving them fowl for the commander and even carried fresh water out to the ships. The geniality of the tribe caused da Gama to name this place the Terra da Boa Gente, or “Land of the Good People” and the river was called the River of Copper because the natives wore jewelry made from this metal. They were off again and on January 25 landed in the mouth of the Quelimmane River, once more greeted by good-natured Bantus. da Gama was very pleased when he met two of their chiefs, because one wore silk, the other satin, and one of their attendants had seen large sailing vessels before. Evidently, the sailing ships had been oceangoing dhows and the silks & satins were acquired from the Asian subcontinent. This, to da Gama was a sure sign that India was near. While here, the sailors took 32 days off and scrubbed, recaulked, and repainted their vessels. Unfortunately, another scurvy epidemic broke out while they were on shore. Thanks to this affliction, much of the crew died and the rest were left fighting over their water rations and were tormented by swollen gums. They did get some citrus fruit from the Indians, and so managed to get well again, but in a bit of improvised folk medicine, da Gama attributed their recovery to their respite from the salt-water air. There was a persistent myth that scurvy was caused by prolonged exposure to the sea air, which had led to the aforementioned earlier mini-mutinies during the three-month wide circle route. They picked up and left on February 24, and as the ailing explorers sailed north up the east coast of Africa, they entered unknown territory, sailing to the northeast for over three hundred miles through the Mozambique Channel, between Africa and Madagascar. Wary of becoming beached on shoals along this uncharted coast, which had already occurred too often, they sailed well offshore and lay- to during the hours of darkness. Unexpectedly, in early March 1498, they discovered civilization at Mozambique when they observed seagoing ships moored before stone warehouses. Although the people of the town were black, light-skinned Arabs from the north garrisoned the ships in the harbor.. This Arab-controlled territory on the East African coast was part of the Indian Ocean's trade network. This society was quite different from the earlier aboriginal cultures they encountered. Having been exposed to regular tradesmen from Arabia, Persia and India, this culture was on a level of sophistication with the Portuguese. Worse Cultural Shock: the Not-So-Friendlies Like the Arabs, the local black people were Muslims. Not wanting to test their luck with another armed escape, they professed that they too were of the Islamic faith. Having thus set the stage for some sly chicanery, the adventurers proceeded to bungle things badly and embarrass themselves. Vasco learned that the magnificently dressed local sheikh, the Sultan of Mozambique, was used to receiving gifts from visiting merchants. Having nothing better to offer, Vasco da Gama, with a solemn show of generosity, gave the urbane sheikh a red hood, tin bells and copper bracelets – in other words junk. So irritated was the sheik that he had the temerity to indeed ask for something better. After that, relations between the Sultan and the explorers deteriorated quickly. The Sultan, one sailor wrote in his diary, "treated all that we gave him with contempt, and asked for scarlet cloth, of which we had none." Proceeding from bad to worse, after a few days, rumors started circulating that the foreigners were not really Muslims at all, but rather a gang of Christian buccaneers. This suspicion had been aroused when some Christian captives were taken out to meet Vasco on board the Sao Gabriel. The slaves were brought to him to satisfy the incessant (and bizarre for self-proclaimed Muslims) Portuguese inquiries about the fabled Christian kingdom of Prester John. The Muslim guards noticed that da Gama seemed to take pleasure in conversing with the captives. Further, the slaves genuflected before the image of the Angel Gabriel – the flag-ship’s figurehead, which had appeared innocuous enough until then. It dawned upon them that these fellows were not Muslims at all, but rather a gang of Christian pirates. There followed a trading of insults and ugly brawls in the marketplace between the Portuguese seamen and the inhabitants. As tensions mounted, da Gama hastened his preparations to set sail again. As they got ready to leave, one of the natives they had hired to accompany them as a pilot – or so they thought-- skipped out, so they chased after him. A battle ensued, and the Portuguese made a quick withdrawal, continuing up the coast. Of all things, prevailing winds blew them back down below the point from which they had just beat a hasty retreat. They stopped again at the scene of their inglorious evacuation, not because they were gluttons for punishment, but because they had yet to replenish their dwindling water supply. Naturally, the natives again put up a fight. This time the Portuguese decided to use all that superior firepower they had been packing. The trained cannoneers loaded small “bombards” (most likely the swivel-mounted small-bore guns) onto rowboats and drew close to the wooden palisades behind from which stones, arrows, assegais and spears were flung at them. The Portuguese firepower easily overwhelmed the Arabs and bought the Portuguese enough time to finish restocking their water supply. Meanwhile, da Gama unveiled his mean streak by way of his remorseless pursuit of navigational and strategic intelligence. His own Arab pilot, recaptured after the shore bombardment, had incorrectly informed the commander that some islands were in fact the mainland, which has all the appearance of being an honest mistake. He had the poor man flogged nearly to death before he was convinced that the man was not deliberately deceiving him. Da Gama next overtook a small coastal vessel carrying an Arab and some black men. He proceeded to torture these poor innocents in order to pry information from them about the strength and disposition of local towns and trading posts. Sailing north to what is now Kenya, the explorers began attacking and looting Arab merchant ships. Unlike Vasco da Gama's ships, the Arab dhows of the Indian Ocean were not armed with heavy cannon. As they proceeded northwards, parallel to the coast of what is now Kenya, the explorers were delighted to discover that they could easily overawe and pilfer any ship they could intercept. Incidents such as these gave rise to the plausible image of da Gama as a racist exploiter. Perhaps a supremacist bigot, but no fool, his experiences to date had taught da Gama that the African intercoastal grapevine was swift and effective, if prone to embellishment. He had every reason to suspect that his reputation was preceding him northwards. As the crew approached the beautiful and opulent natural harbor at Mombasa on April 17, they were nostalgically reminded of their own Lisbon and gleefully anticipated dropping anchor there. Their chief only permitted them to berth outside the confines of the port, suspecting that his reception would be strained. He refused to grant anyone permission to go ashore. Shortly after the ship’s appearance outside the harbor, a zavra (dhow) approached and several Arabs and local Africans boarded to inquire who the expedition representative and what business they had in Mombasa. The local Arabs appeared to greet them as friends. The greetings were ostentatiously friendly, more than these avaricious Caucasians had any reason to expect. Their obsequious demeanor signaled da Gama that the runners and swift boats travelling up from Mozambique had already done their work. When a few Arabs were intercepted while attempting to creep aboard that night, while another 100 armed men crouched in the dhow below, the commodore’s suspicions were confirmed. The fleet commander had ordered all sick men below, to conceal the extent of illness among his crew, and had the healthiest appear on deck armed to the teeth. Despite their protestations of innocence, it was obvious to da Gama that this was a reconnoitering party sent to test his alertness and the strength of armaments. The sheikh, continuing the pretense of amicability, sent a sheep plus a large quantity of oranges, lemons and sugar cane to the ship along with assurances that if the captain would be so good as to inform him of any other provisioning requirements, his subjects would gladly comply. Once again, in almost deliberate, studied insult, da Gama returned the favor by sending this munificent, and obviously rich sheikh, a necklace of coral beads in return, borne by a couple of his most brutish convicts. Nonetheless, the sultan, with extravagant courtesy, wined and dined the two thugs and sent them back to the ship with a sampling of cloves, pepper and other spices to depict the cargo he was prepared to furnish to his Portuguese visitors. Ultimately, da Gama was cocksure about the sultan’s treachery when, on the occasion of a near-collision with a local dhow as his ships entered the harbor, the Arabs on board, including the two rascally pilots he took on at Mozambique, used the resultant chaos as a cover to jump ship. That night, da Gama displayed his cruelty anew when he tortured two hapless blacks his brother Paolo had captured at Mozambique. Vasco intended to extort the true designs of the Mombassans against him. The torture was particularly fiendish: searing the skin inch by inch with drops of boiling oil and resin. The narrator of this pitiful scene, the keeper of da Gama’s logbook, or roteiro, almost manifests exultation in describing the suffering. The two poor victims were forced to “confess” that the sultan planned to avenge the attacks on their kinsmen in Mozambique by stealthily attacking when the ships were unguarded. When they were rewarded for their disclosure with more torture, the two victims were able to bolt for freedom. In the event, when darkness arrived, two small dugouts loaded with natives stealthily pulled alongside, respectively, the Berrio and the Sao Rafael, and the natives were starting to hack away at the anchor cables, rigging and mizzenmasts when the alerted crew members drove them off and shouting warnings to the other ships. Not quite done with physically abusing the natives, and still hoping to snare some local pilots to guide them across the Indian Ocean, the ships moved to a safer anchorage eight miles offshore and pounced on a small coasting vessel with 17 men in it the next morning. The Portuguese autocrats kept the cargo of gold and silver and, for good measure, an elderly Arab passenger and his wife. Content that his new hostages would yield him if not new information, then confirmation of any that he might come across, the flotilla sailed northward and proceeded about 220 miles along the coast until they dropped anchor at Malindi on April 14th. No Provocation Too Great Having traveled thus far on his own considerable navigational skills, and failing to kidnap a trustworthy navigator on the last few tries, da Gama was ultimately obliged to take on a native pilot at Malindi. The next leg, across vast open stretches of the Indian Ocean, was too perilous given the depleted state of his crews. This was yet another Muslim town, but among the Arab ships in the harbor the Portuguese noted four ships of a different, exotic design. Aboard these unusual-looking ships were "strange, tawny men with long hair" who wore nothing but loincloths. Anticipating that these tawny men might be the Indian Christians from Prestor John’s kingdom for whom he had been searching, da Gama tried to make friends with them. This was the anti-Islamic trade alliance that King Manuel had projected. He invited their officers aboard his ship, where he showed them an altarpiece with a figure of the Virgin Mary. The tawny men bowed before the image and made an offering of cloves and pepper. Da Gama mistakenly thought he heard these “Christians” murmuring something about “Maria” in homage to the Virgin, but it was most likely an utterance about the Hindu goddess Mari, for these men were Hindus. Vasco da Gama then firmly declared that these men must be Indian Christians. "These Indian Christians are very odd," one explorer wrote in his diary. "They do not eat beef." It seems in retrospect a miracle that the Portuguese managed to avoid getting into a fight with the Muslims of Malindi. In Malindi, the natives were quite pleased to learn of da Gama’s disputes with the Mombasans, since the Malindans likewise were great rivals to these other Africans, and they perceived a powerful ally in the well armed Portuguese. It’s good and well that he found common cause with the Malindans, because once again, da Gama tried to acquire favors on the cheap. The elderly Arab he had taken into custody in Mombasa was pressed into service as ambassador to the local sheikh, with a request that the ruler furnish a pilot to guide the expedition to Calicut, India. The Arab returned with one of the sheikh’s officers bearing three sheep and a message that his master offered the Portuguese his friendship, provisions for the journey, and most importantly the services of an experienced pilot for the crossing to India. Once again da Gama, true to form, repaid this generous offer (not to mention the mutton) with chintzy presents: an ecclesiatical cloak (which obviously the caliph had no use for), a couple of strings of coral beads, a diminutive cap, three tiny bells and two strips of striped dyed linen. No doubt da Gama thought he was emptying his coffers this time! Notwithstanding this miserly dole of trinkets, the sheikh sent in return six sheep and a wide variety of precious and savory spices and an offer to visit with da Gama and his company aboard the Portuguese ships. For some reason, the explorer felt he was not permitted to come ashore – an odd assertion since he had no problems making social calls ashore up to this time, and the Malindans appear infinitely more hospitable than any of the preceding folks along the African littoral. Perhaps he at last recognized that his and his crews’ haughty demeanor tended to get them all in trouble beyond the beach. The pilot was not immediately forthcoming, however. It seems that the sheikh was determined to cement his alliance with the Portuguese, doubtless valuing the formidable firepower he observed peering through the gunports of the little armada. So a week of feasts and banquets ensued, all of which only served to infuriate the impatient and imperious da Gama. Tiring of the endless social whirl, the commodore, with typical boorishness, took one of the sheikh’s gift-bearers hostage and sent a curt message back to his palace that the pilot should be sent to them forthwith and let them get on their way. The Malindan notable must have been bedazzled by Portuguese power indeed, for, instead of sending out a raiding party to set fire to the Portuguese ships as one might have expected, he immediately dispatched one of the most capable navigators of the age, exceeding even the skills of the vaunted southwest Europeans; although the Portuguese were under the mistaken impression that this man was a Christian from their wondrous lost Christian kingdom -- he was, in fact, an Arab from Jufar. More Will the Real Vasco de Gama Please Stand Up Introduction Scientific Foundations: Prince Henry The Navigator And His Disciples Underway – Headed for the World’s Extremities Calcutta at Last Map: Vasco de Gama's Route (slow: 129K) Back to Cry Havoc #39 Table of Contents Back to Cry Havoc List of Issues Back to MagWeb Master Magazine List © Copyright 2002 by David W. Tschanz. This article appears in MagWeb (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. 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