Age of Exploration

My name is Ferdinand Magellan, and I have always been a man with saltwater in my veins and a map of the world in my heart. I was born in Portugal in a time of great discovery, the early 1500s. The air itself seemed to crackle with tales of new lands and unimaginable riches. The most coveted of these treasures were spices—cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg from the faraway Moluccas, or Spice Islands. These spices were worth more than gold, but the journey east around Africa to get them was long and controlled by my own country, Portugal. I had a different idea, a bolder one. I had studied the maps and listened to the sailors, and I was convinced the world was a sphere. If it was round, I reasoned, then a ship could reach the East by sailing west. It was a path no one had ever completed, a direct route across a vast, unknown ocean. I presented my plan to the King of Portugal, but he dismissed me. My dream, however, was too strong to be ignored. So, I took my audacious plan to the young King of Spain, Charles I. In his court, I laid out my maps and calculations. I spoke of glory for Spain and a new route to the greatest treasures on Earth. It was a tremendous risk, but he saw the fire in my eyes. On August 10, 1519, he granted me his support, and my impossible dream was about to set sail.

On September 20, 1519, our fleet of five ships—my flagship the Trinidad, along with the San Antonio, the Concepción, the Victoria, and the Santiago—finally left the shores of Spain. Watching the familiar coastline disappear was a moment filled with both excitement and a deep, quiet fear. We were a crew of over 270 men, sailing into a world that existed only on my maps and in my imagination. The Atlantic Ocean was not a gentle host. It threw monstrous storms at us, with waves that tossed our wooden ships like toys and winds that ripped our sails. As weeks turned into months, the mood on board began to sour. The Spanish captains under my command grew suspicious of me, their Portuguese leader. Their whispers turned to open defiance. When we anchored for the winter in a desolate bay we called Port St. Julian in what is now Argentina, their discontent erupted into a full-blown mutiny. It was the most difficult test of my leadership. I had to be stern and decisive to regain control, knowing that our entire mission hung in the balance. With order restored, we continued our search south along the strange, cold coast. We lost one ship, the Santiago, which was wrecked while scouting ahead. Another, the San Antonio, deserted us in the night, taking many of our supplies and turning back for Spain. But we pressed on, and in October of 1520, our perseverance was rewarded. We found it: a narrow, winding passage through the treacherous tip of the continent. For 38 days, we navigated the dangerous channel, which would one day be known as the Strait of Magellan, and finally emerged into a new, impossibly vast body of water.

After the violent, churning waters of the strait, the ocean before us was so remarkably calm that I named it the Mar Pacífico—the Peaceful Sea. The name, however, would soon feel like a cruel joke. We had no idea of the true size of this ocean. For 99 long days, we sailed without sight of land. Our food ran out, and the fresh water turned foul. We were forced to eat sawdust mixed with worms and the tough leather hides from the ship’s rigging, which we soaked in the sea for days just to soften them. A terrible disease called scurvy spread through the ships, caused by a lack of fresh fruit and vegetables, and many of my brave men perished. It was a time of unimaginable hardship, a true test of the human spirit. Yet, every sunrise brought a sliver of hope. I looked at the stars, guided our way, and encouraged my men to hold on to the belief that we would succeed. Finally, in March of 1521, we spotted land and reached the island of Guam, and soon after, we arrived in the vibrant islands known today as the Philippines. We were greeted by local leaders, and I worked to build alliances for Spain. It was here, however, that my own personal journey came to an end. Believing I was securing an alliance for my king, I joined a local chieftain in the Battle of Mactan on April 27, 1521, and I fell. My dream of returning to Spain was over, but the voyage itself was not.

From a place beyond sight or sound, I watched as my remaining crew, heartbroken but resolute, carried on the mission. They managed to reach the Spice Islands, filling the one remaining seaworthy ship, the Victoria, with a precious cargo of cloves. The challenge now was to complete the circle. Under the brilliant command of Juan Sebastián Elcano, the Victoria began the final, perilous leg of the journey home. They sailed across the Indian Ocean and bravely rounded Africa’s Cape of Good Hope, constantly hiding from Portuguese ships that would have seen them as rivals. The voyage was long and grueling, and more men were lost to starvation. Finally, on September 6, 1522, almost three years to the day after we had departed, the battered Victoria limped into a Spanish harbor. Only 18 of the original crew remained, but they had done it. They had achieved the impossible. They had sailed all the way around the world, proving once and for all that it was round. My journey may have ended on a distant shore, but our expedition gave humanity a new and true picture of our planet. It stands as a timeless reminder that with courage, perseverance, and a willingness to sail beyond the horizon, there is nothing humanity cannot achieve.