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Stories about Old World explorers going to the Americas from Europe and Africa are legion. Many accounts mention early travelers making their way across the Atlantic, but—much before C.E. 1000—supporting evidence is a little scarce, to say the least. For each story, usually preserved in a single, old manuscript or an often-copied note, there is no wealth of further evidence to indicate the story is true. Evidence becomes speculative, and those who venture out on the seas of such speculation risk their professional reputation just as early mariners risked their lives. Hubert Howe Bancroft, writing a century ago as one of the United States’ most renowned historians, likened historical fact concerning exploration to a coastline itself: The
sixteenth century is a bluff coast line bounding the dark unnavigable
sea of American antiquity. At a very few points along the long line
headlands project slightly into the waters, affording a tolerable
sure footing for a time, but terminating for the most part in dangerous
reefs and quicksands over which the adventurous antiquarian may pass
with much risk still farther from the firm land of written record,
and gaze at the flickering mythical lights attached to buoys beyond.
Those adventurous antiquarians, according to Bancroft who used the term in a beautifully insulting way, were false historians. .
. . who are continually dreaming they have found secure footing by
routes previously unknown, from rock to rock through the midst of
shifting sands . . . they carefully sift out such mythic traditions
as fit their theories, converting them into incontrovertible facts,
and reject all else as unworthy of notice . . . Continuing the metaphor, Bancroft said that this kind of speculator was one who steps
out without hesitation from rock to rock over the deep waters; to
him the banks of shifting quicksand, if somewhat treacherous about
the edges, are firm land in the central parts; to him the faintest
buoy-supported stars are a blaze of noonday sun; and only on the floating
masses of sea-weed far out on the waters lighted up by dim phosphorescent
reflections, does he admit that his footing is becoming insecure and
the light grows faint. The style is that of academic contention of over a century ago. The opinion is still most clear. Bancroft thought little of the speculative historian. But he thought that the historian who engaged in speculation—properly labeled—was doing acceptable work, indeed even desirable work. In fact, after saying that he himself wanted to write carefully documented history, Bancroft went on to say: I
would pass beyond the firm land, spring from rock to rock, wade through
shifting sands, swim to the farthest, faintest light, and catch at
straws by the way;--yet I would not flatter myself while thus employed
. . . that I am treading dry-shod on a wide, solid, and well-lighted
highway. Bancroft knew the value of speculation and imagination, but the last phrase makes a great deal of difference. One should know what one stands upon. The stories concerning the first Old World explorers traveling west to what became known as the Americas should be considered in the light of Bancroft’s cautions. And in a hundred years of modern archaeological search, few hard facts point to anyone—except the Vikings in Newfoundland just after C. E. 1000—having made landfall in the Americas before 1492. Yet the disputed facts and the questions, the possibilities and probabilities, even admittedly unproven hints have spawned scores of books and articles. The
trouble that confronts an investigator today is that what record remains
is most often an incomplete reference, a shattered clay tablet there,
a folktale with perhaps a basis in fact here, or a manuscript that is
only a fragment and perhaps quite literally moldy. But a few things do
remain. There are stories concerning arrivals in the Americas by early
sailors, priests, princes, merchants, soldiers, mercenaries, traders,
pirates, and private citizens among other explorers of unknown intent,
all bent on seeing what was beyond an ocean or perhaps accidentally blown
the wrong way much too far. Stories attesting, however unreliably, to a continent west of Europe and Africa have likewise been numerous for almost as long as humans have written. Before becoming specific concerning Texas and the Gulf of Mexico region, a few general concerns can provide the setting for explorers to the Texas area and background for deciding one’s position in Bancroft’s terms. People, some people, that is, of Europe, Africa, and the Near East always thought there was a continent to the west or at least a collection of interesting islands. But these lands were not easily attainable. Their supposed distance, the dangers of the ocean, and the fact that few seemed to return from such a place made travel apparently risky.
To most
European and African travelers, the far east and far west were either
places one visited very rarely or were entirely mythical. The west, to
the eyes of the European Old World, was the place where the sun set and
thus was poetically a place of haven, life’s end, or death. It was Hades
to some or the location of the Isles of the Blest, even the location of
the Earthly Paradise, to others. To the west might be Atlantis, the drowned
continent, among a host of other ideas people at one time or another firmly
believed in.
Yet
lands beyond the Old World were also real places. Even at the time of
classical Greek civilization, say 400 B.C.E., the world was known to be
spherical. Thus,
people looking at the picture—particularly those who could not read the
accompanying Latin text—were unaware that the simple-looking circle represented
half of a globe, and so they assumed the illustration was of a flat earth.
But even if some people knew the earth was round, there were other problems. Going to the other side was not easy. The earth, of course, consisted of various belts of climate. The northern part was obviously too cold for habitation, and the zone at the equator was just as obviously hot enough to set ablaze the sails of any ship taken there by an overzealous captain and hot enough to burn the sandals off anyone intrepid enough to try to walk that far south in Africa. A perilous world for travelers, indeed. But
the spherical shape also guaranteed that if there was any land further
south of the equator, it should be temperate. Likewise, there would be
two pleasant zones on the other side of the earth.
Europe, Asia, and North Africa were confined. There was even a moral question as to whether a person should try to cross into another zone. Why had the Lord made it so difficult? But
there is a curious thing about some men and women. They will often try
to go precisely where much difficulty lurks. Now the motive may be obstinance
or simple curiosity, gold or spices, wine or women, or men for that matter,
but they will go. The motives vary. When the only female pharoah of Egypt,
Hatshepsut, ordered an expedition through the Red Sea about 1460 B.C.E.,
she sailed for the usual gold and incense, ivory and ebony, leopard skins
and curiosity—but also for cosmetics and men. So
even though the heat of an equator promised to vaporize boats and the
oceans to mysteriously swallow ships, there were mariners who dared the
horizons and overland caravan leaders who steered by the stars.
The first known mariners in the Atlantic—the Africans, Phoenicians, and Carthaginians—found it a strange place. Unlike the Mediterranean, the ocean had obvious tides, a very uncertain western shore (if any at all), massive storms, new colors, unexpected currents, and was undoubtedly filled with monsters. But
not everything was against them, The waters could be sailed much like
other waters, and the weather and shoals, landfalls and passages could
be learned. In
the course of all this, more than a few boats were blown about considerably,
and interesting stories began to circulate about rather large lands to
the west. Some of the stories were certainly powered by myth. Some maybe
not. Early maps and charts, of course, were heavily supplemented not only
by the philosophical tradition of a western land, but also by the poetic
tradition of lands which were places of paradise, rest, and haven gained
after a life (or a voyage) of trouble. And
some of the maps began to show scraps of ideas that looked real. Islands
and shorelines flickered on the early maps limited only by cartographers’
imagination—or reputation.
Accounts
of voyages west which accompanied the charts ran the gamut from logical-sounding
narratives to the science fiction of the day. |
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2000
The University of Texas Institute of Texan Cultures at San Antonio 801 South Bowie Street San Antonio, Texas 78205-3296 (210) 458-2300 |