Ferdinand Magellan

**20 September 1519 – Sanlúcar de Barrameda** Loaded this day: 508 pipes of wine, 2,200 quintals of sea biscuit, 1,500 quintals of salt beef, 800 quintals of pork, 400 quintals of dried fish, 200 pipes of olive oil, 100 pipes of vinegar, 50 barrels of anchovies, 30 barrels of sardines, 20 pipes of honey, 10 barrels of figs, 10 barrels of raisins, 5 barrels of almonds, 5 barrels of cheese, 2 barrels of garlic, 2 barrels of onions, 1 barrel of mustard seed. Also 12 brass cannon, 6 iron falconets, 300 arquebuses, 200 pikes, 100 crossbows, powder and shot. (Marginal note: The captains argued over space. Tristán wanted more wine. I insisted on biscuit. I won, but grudgingly. The barrels are the true master of this voyage; they decide what sails and what stays.) **11 January 1520 – Rio de la Plata** No passage here. Fresh water found, thank God. But the biscuit—already half the barrels show signs of weevils. I ordered the coopers to air the stores, but the damp seeps. The men complain of broken teeth from hardtack. We traded with the natives for dried meat and fish, but not enough. The wine is turning sour in the heat. (Marginal note: The grand vision of reaching the Spice Islands—how small it feels when a single cask of water leaks and you watch the last of your sweet ration drip into the bilge.) **21 October 1520 – Entrance to the Strait** We have found the passage. But the fleet is diminished: the Santiago lost to a storm, the San Antonio deserted. That leaves three ships, and the provisions are now stretched. I ordered double rations of biscuit for the men who will explore the channel, but reduced wine to half a pint per man per day. The beef is so salt-cured it must be soaked for a day before it can be chewed. The barrels, staved and hooped, are our tyrants. (Marginal note: The astrolabe tells me latitude; the barrel tells me how many days we have left. The second is more honest.) **28 November 1520 – Out of the Strait, into the Pacific** We enter the sea I have named Pacific, but it is a desert. I ordered the cooper to estimate remaining stores: perhaps six months of biscuit at half-rations, three months of wine, two months of meat. The men already show signs of scurvy—gums bleeding, joints aching. I have a supply of quince paste, but it will not last. (Marginal note: The grand map I carry in my head—it means nothing if the barrels are empty. We will be reduced to eating the leather off the yardarms, as the older sailors whisper.) **6 March 1521 – Guam** Three months without land. The men are skeletons. We ate the last of the biscuit yesterday—it was mostly weevils and dust. The water is foul, the wine long gone. We caught turtles and birds on an island, but the natives stole our skiff. I ordered a raid to retrieve it. They are not to be trusted. (Marginal note: The vision of Molucca—gold, cinnamon, nutmeg—is a mockery. I would trade all the spices in the East for a barrel of fresh water.) **27 April 1521 – Mactan, Philippines** We have made landfall in these islands. The locals are friendly, some hostile. I have allied with the rajah of Cebu, but the chieftain Lapu-Lapu refuses tribute. Tomorrow I lead a small force to punish him. The provisions: three barrels of freshwater, two barrels of wine captured from a native village, a handful of dried fish, and the last of the quince paste. The fleet is dispersed; the Trinidad leaks and the Concepción is at anchor. The grand expedition—once five ships, now a shadow. I write this in my cabin, the ink thin from seawater. (Marginal note: The barrel that held our lives is empty. The astrolabe still points west, but the men no longer look at the stars. They look at the shore and see only the end.)