Chapter I (1)

THE GEOGRAPHICAL KNOWLEDGE OF THE ANCIENTS CONSIDERED IN RELATION TO THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA.

BY WILLIAM H. TILLINGHAST,

_Assistant Librarian of Harvard University._

AS Columbus, in August, 1498, ran into the mouth of the Orinoco, he little thought that before him lay, silent but irrefutable, the proof of the futility of his long-cherished hopes. His gratification at the completeness of his success, in that God had permitted the accomplishment of all his predictions, to the confusion of those who had opposed and derided him, never left him; even in the fever which overtook him on the last voyage his strong faith cried to him, “Why dost thou falter in thy trust in God? He gave thee India!” In this belief he died. The conviction that Hayti was Cipangu, that Cuba was Cathay, did not long outlive its author; the discovery of the Pacific soon made it clear that a new world and another sea lay between the landfall of Columbus and the goal of his endeavors.

The truth, when revealed and accepted, was a surprise more profound to the learned than even the error it displaced. The possibility of a short passage westward to Cathay was important to merchants and adventurers, startling to courtiers and ecclesiastics, but to men of classical learning it was only a corroboration of the teaching of the ancients. That a barrier to such passage should be detected in the very spot where the outskirts of Asia had been imagined, was unexpected and unwelcome. The treasures of Mexico and Peru could not satisfy the demand for the products of the East; Cortes gave himself, in his later years, to the search for a strait which might yet make good the anticipations of the earlier discoverers. The new interpretation, if economically disappointing, had yet an interest of its own. Whence came the human population of the unveiled continent? How had its existence escaped the wisdom of Greece and Rome? Had it done so? Clearly, since the whole human race had been renewed through Noah, the red men of America must have descended from the patriarch; in some way, at some time, the New World had been discovered and populated from the Old. Had knowledge of this event lapsed from the minds of men before their memories were committed to writing, or did reminiscences exist in ancient literatures, overlooked, or misunderstood by modern ignorance? Scholars were not wanting, nor has their line since wholly failed, who freely devoted their ingenuity to the solution of these questions, but with a success so diverse in its results, that the inquiry is still pertinent, especially since the pursuit, even though on the main point it end in reservation of judgment, enables us to understand from what source and by what channels the inspiration came which held Columbus so steadily to his westward course.

Although the elder civilizations of Assyria and Egypt boasted a cultivation of astronomy long anterior to the heroic age of Greece, their cosmographical ideas appear to have been rude and undeveloped, so that whatever the Greeks borrowed thence was of small importance compared with what they themselves ascertained. While it may be doubted if decisive testimony can be extorted from the earliest Grecian literature, represented chiefly by the Homeric and Hesiodic poems, it is probable that the people among whom that literature grew up had not gone, in their conception of the universe, beyond simple acceptance of the direct evidence of their senses. The earth they looked upon as a plane, stretching away from the Ægean Sea, the focus of their knowledge, and ever less distinctly known, until it ended in an horizon of pure ignorance, girdled by the deep-flowing current of the river Oceanus. Beyond Oceanus even fancy began to fail: there was the realm of dust and darkness, the home of the powerless spirits of the dead; there, too, the hemisphere of heaven joined its brother hemisphere of Tartarus.[259] This conception of the earth was not confined to Homeric times, but remained the common belief throughout the course of Grecian history, underlying and outlasting many of the speculations of the philosophers.

That growing intellectual activity which was signalized by a notable development of trade and colonization in the eighth century, in the seventh awoke to consciousness in a series of attempts to formulate the conditions of existence. The philosophy of nature thus originated, wherein the testimony of nature in her own behalf was little sought or understood, began with the assumption of a flat earth, variously shaped, and as variously supported. To whom belongs the honor of first propounding the theory of the spherical form of the earth cannot be known. It was taught by the Italian Pythagoreans of the sixth century, and was probably one of the doctrines of Pythagoras himself, as it was, a little later, of Parmenides, the founder of the Eleatics.[260]

In neither case can there be a claim for scientific discovery. The earth was a sphere because the sphere was the most perfect form; it was at the centre of the universe because that was the place of honor; it was motionless because motion was less dignified than rest.

Plato, who was familiar with the doctrines of the Pythagoreans, adopted their view of the form of the earth, and did much to popularize it among his countrymen.[261] To the generation that succeeded him, the sphericity of the earth was a fact as capable of logical demonstration as a geometrical theorem. Aristotle, in his treatise “On the Heaven,” after detailing the views of those philosophers who regarded the earth as flat, drum-shaped, or cylindrical, gives a formal summary of the grounds which necessitate the assumption of its sphericity, specifying the tendency of all things to seek the centre, the unvarying circularity of the earth’s shadow at eclipses of the moon, and the proportionate change in the altitude of stars resulting from changes in the observer’s latitude. Aristotle made the doctrine orthodox; his successors, Eratosthenes, Hipparchus, and Ptolemy, constituted it an inalienable possession of the race. Greece transmitted it to Rome, Rome impressed it upon barbaric Europe; taught by Pliny, Hyginus, Manilius, expressed in the works of Cicero, Virgil, Ovid, it passed into the school-books of the Middle Ages, whence, reinforced by Arabian lore, it has come down to us.[262]

That the belief ever became in antiquity or in the Middle Ages widely spread among the people is improbable; it did not indeed escape opposition among the educated; writers even of the Augustan age sometimes appear in doubt.[263]

The sphericity of the earth once comprehended, there follow certain corollaries which the Greeks were not slow to perceive. Plato, indeed, who likened the earth to a ball covered with party-colored strips of leather, gives no estimate of its size, although the description of the world in the _Phaedo_ seems to imply immense magnitude;[264] but Aristotle states that mathematicians of his day estimated the circumference at 400,000 stadia,[265] and Archimedes puts the common reckoning at somewhat less than 300,000 stadia.[266] How these figures were obtained we are not informed. The first measurement of the earth which rests on a known method was that made about the middle of the third century B.C., by Eratosthenes, the librarian at Alexandria, who, by comparing the estimated linear distance between Syene, under the tropic, and Alexandria with their angular distance, as deduced from observations on the shadow of the gnomon at Alexandria, concluded that the circumference of the earth was 250,000 or 252,000 stadia.[267] This result, owing to an uncertainty as to the exact length of the stade used in the computation, cannot be interpreted with confidence, but if we assume that it was in truth about twelve per cent. too large, we shall probably not be far out of the way.[268] Hipparchus, in many matters the opponent of Eratosthenes, adopted his conclusion on this point, and was followed by Strabo,[269] by Pliny, who regarded the attempt as somewhat over-bold, but so cleverly argued that it could not be disregarded,[270] and by many others.

Fortunately, as it resulted, this overestimate was not allowed to stand uncontested. Posidonius of Rhodes (B.C. 135-51), by an independent calculation based upon the difference in altitude of Canopus at Rhodes and at Alexandria, reached a result which is reported by Cleomedes as 240,000, and by Strabo as 180,000 stadia.[271] The final judgment of Posidonius apparently approved the smaller number; it hit, at all events, the fancy of the time, and was adopted by Marinus of Tyre and by Ptolemy,[272] whose authority imposed it upon the Middle Ages. Accepting it as an independent estimate, it follows that Posidonius allowed but 500 stadia to a degree, instead of 700, thus representing the earth as about 28 per cent. smaller than did Eratosthenes.[273]

To the earliest writers the known lands constituted the earth; they were girdled, indeed, by the river Oceanus, but that was a narrow stream whose further bank lay in fable-land.[274] The promulgation of the theory of the sphericity of the earth and the approximate determination of its size drew attention afresh to the problem of the distribution of land and water upon its surface, and materially modified the earlier conception. The increase of geographical knowledge along lines of trade, conquest, and colonization had greatly extended the bounds of the known world since Homer’s day, but it was still evident that by far the larger portion of the earth, taking the smallest estimate of its size, was still undiscovered,—a fair field for speculation and fantasy.[275]

We can trace two schools of thought in respect to the configuration of this unknown region, both represented in the primitive conception of the earth, and both conditioned by a more fundamental postulate. It was a near thought, if the earth was a sphere, to transfer to it the systems of circles which had already been applied to the heavens. The suggestion is attributed to Thales, to Pythagoras, and to Parmenides; and it is certain that the earth was very early conceived as divided by the polar and solstitial circles into five zones, whereof two only, the temperate in either sphere, so the Greeks believed, were capable of supporting life; of the others, the polar were uninhabitable from intense cold, as was the torrid from its parching heat. This theory, which excluded from knowledge the whole southern hemisphere and a large portion of the northern, was approved by Aristotle and the Homeric school of geographers, and by the minor physicists. As knowledge grew, its truth was doubted. Polybius wrote a monograph, maintaining that the middle portion of the torrid zone had a temperate climate, and his view was adopted by Posidonius and Geminus, if not by Eratosthenes. Marinus and Ptolemy, who knew that commerce was carried on along the east coast of Africa far below the equator, cannot have fallen into the ancient error, but the error long persisted; it was always in favor with the compilers, and thus perhaps obtained that currency in Rome which enabled it to exert a restrictive and pernicious check upon maritime endeavor deep into the Middle Ages.[276]

Upon the question of the distribution of land and water, unanimity no longer prevailed. By some it was maintained that there was one ocean, confluent over the whole globe, so that the body of known lands, that so-called continent, was in truth an island, and whatever other inhabitable regions might exist were in like manner surrounded and so separated by vast expanses of untraversed waves. Such was the view, scarcely more than a survival of the ocean-river of the poets deprived of its further bank by the assumption of the sphericity of the earth, held by Aristotle,[277] Crates of Mallus, Strabo, Pliny, and many others. If this be called the oceanic theory, we may speak of its opposite as the continental: according to this view, the existing land so far exceeded the water in extent that it formed in truth the continent, holding the seas quite separate within its hollows. The origin of the theory is obscure, even though we recall that Homer’s ocean was itself contained. It was strikingly presented by Plato in the _Phaedo_, and is implied in the Atlantis myth; it may be recalled, too, that Herodotus, often depicted as a monster of credulity, had broken the bondage of the ocean-river, because he could not satisfy himself of the existence of the ocean in the east or north; and while reluctantly admitting that Africa was surrounded by water, considered Gaul to extend indefinitely westward.[278] Hipparchus revived the doctrine, teaching that Africa divided the Indian Ocean from the Atlantic in the south, so that these seas lay in separate basins. The existence of an equatorial branch of the ocean, a favorite dogma of the other school, was also denied by Polybius, Posidonius, and Geminus.[279]

The reports of traders and explorers led Marinus to a like conclusion; both he and Ptolemy, misinterpreting their information, believed that the eastern coast of Asia ran south instead of north, and they united it with the eastern trend of Africa, supposing at the same time that the two continents met also in the west.[280] The continental theory, despite its famous disciples, made no headway at Rome, and was consequently hardly known to the Middle Ages before its falsity was proved by the circumnavigation of Africa.[281]

That portion of Europe, Asia, and Africa known to the ancients, whether regarded as an island, or as separated from the rest of the world by climatic conditions merely, or by ignorance, formed a distinct concept and was known by a particular name, _ἡ οἰκουμένη_. Originally supposed to be circular, it was later thought to be oblong and as having a length more than double its width. Those who believed in its insularity likened its shape to a sling, or to an outspread chlamys or military cloak, and assumed that it lay wholly within the northern hemisphere. In absolute figures, the length of the known world was placed by Eratosthenes at 77,800 stadia, and by Strabo at 70,000. The latter figure remained the common estimate until Marinus of Tyre, in the second century a.d., receiving direct information from the silk-traders of a caravan route to China, substituted the portentous exaggeration of 90,000 stadia on the parallel of Rhodes, or 225°. Ptolemy, who followed Marinus in many things, shrank from the naïveté whereby the Tyrian had interpreted a seven months’ caravan journey to represent seven months’ travelling in a direct line at the rate of twenty miles a day, and cut down his figures to 180°, or 72,000 stadia.[282] It appears, therefore, that Strabo considered the known world as occupying not much over one third of the circuit of the temperate zone, while Marinus, who adopted 180,000 stadia as the measure of the earth, claimed a knowledge of two thirds of that zone, and supposed that land extended indefinitely eastward beyond the limit of knowledge.

What did the ancients picture to themselves of this unknown portion of the globe? The more imaginative found there a home for ancient myth and modern fable; the geographers, severely practical, excluded it from the scope of their survey; philosophers and physicists could easily supply from theory what they did not know as fact. Pythagoras, it is said, had taught that the whole surface of the earth was inhabited. Aristotle demonstrated that the southern hemisphere must have its temperate zone, where winds similar to our own prevailed; his successors elaborated the hint into a systematized nomenclature, whereby the inhabitants of the earth were divided into four classes, according to their location upon the surface of the earth with relation to one another.[283]

This system was furthest developed by the oceanic school. The rival of Eratosthenes, Crates of Mallus (who achieved fame by the construction of a large globe), assumed the existence of a southern continent, separated from the known world by the equatorial ocean; it is possible that he introduced the idea of providing a distinct residence for each class of earth-dwellers, by postulating four island continents, one in each quarter of the globe. Eratosthenes probably thought that there were inhabitable regions in the southern hemisphere, and Strabo added that there might be two, or even more, habitable earths in the northern temperate zone, especially near the parallel of Rhodes.[284] Crates introduced his views at Rome, and the oceanic theory remained a favorite with the Roman physicists. It was avowed by Pliny, who championed the existence of antipodes against the vulgar disbelief. In the fine episode in the last book of Cicero’s _Republic_, the younger Scipio relates a dream, wherein the elder hero of his name, Scipio Africanus, conveying him to the lofty heights of the Milky Way, emphasized the futility of fame by showing him upon the earth the regions to which his name could never penetrate: “Thou seest in what few places the earth is inhabited, and those how scant; great deserts lie between them, and they who dwell upon the earth are not only so scattered that naught can spread from one community to another, but so that some live off in an oblique direction from you, some off toward the side, and some even dwell directly opposite to you.”[285] Mela confines himself to a mention of the _Antichthones_, who live in the temperate zone in the south, and are cut off from us by the intervening torrid zone.[286]

From _Macrobii Ambrosii Aurelii Theodosii in Somnium Scipionis, Lib. II._ (Lugduni, 1560).]

Indeed, the southern continent, the other world, as it was called,[287] made a more distinct impression than the possible other continents in the northern hemisphere. Hipparchus thought that Trapobene might be a part of this southern world, and the idea that the Nile had its source there was widespread: some supposing that it flowed beneath the equatorial ocean; others believing, with Ptolemy, that Africa was connected with the southern continent. The latter doctrine was shattered by the discovery of the Cape of Good Hope; but the continent was revived when Tierra del Fuego, Australia, and New Zealand were discovered, and attained gigantic size on the maps of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries only within the last two centuries has it shrunk to the present limits of the antarctic ice.

From _Avr. Theodosii Macrobii Opera_ (Lipsiæ, 1774).]

The oceanic theory, and the doctrine of the Four Worlds, as it has been termed,[288]_ terra quadrifiga_, was set forth in the greatest detail in a commentary on the Dream of Scipio, written by Macrobius, probably in the fifth century a.d. In the concussion and repulsion of the ocean streams he found a sufficient cause for the phenomena of the tides.[289]

Such were the theories of the men of science, purely speculative, originating in logic, not discovery, and they give no hint of actual knowledge regarding those distant regions with which they deal. From them we turn to examine the literature of the imagination, for geography, by right the handmaid of history, is easily perverted to the service of myth.

After Santarem’s _Atlas_, as a “mappemonde tirée d’un manuscrit de Macrobe du Xème siècle.”]

The expanding horizon of the Greeks was always hedged with fable: in the north was the realm of the happy Hyperboreans, beyond the blasts of Boreas; in the east, the wonderland of India; in the south, Panchæa and the blameless Ethiopians; nor did the west lack lingering places for romance. Here was the floating isle of Æolus, brazen-walled; here the mysterious Ogygia, navel of the sea;[290] and on the earth’s extremest verge were the Elysian Fields, the home of heroes exempt from death, “where life is easiest to man. No snow is there, nor yet great storm nor any rain, but always ocean sendeth forth the breeze of the shrill west to blow cool on men.”[291] Across the ocean river, where was the setting of the sun, all was changed. There was the home of the Cimmerians, who dwelt in darkness; there the grove of Persephone and the dreary house of the dead.[292]

In the Hesiodic poems the Elysian Fields are transformed into islands, the home of the fourth race, the heroes, after death:—

“Them on earth’s utmost verge the god assign’d
A life, a seat, distinct from human kind:
Beside the deepening whirlpools of the main,
In those blest isles where Saturn holds his reign,
Apart from heaven’s immortals calm they share
A rest unsullied by the clouds of care:
And yearly thrice with sweet luxuriance crown’d
Springs the ripe harvest from the teeming ground.”[293]

“Those who have had the courage to remain stedfast thrice in each life, and to keep their souls altogether from wrong,” sang Pindar, “pursue the road of Zeus to the castle of Cronos, where o’er the isles of the blest ocean breezes blow, and flowers gleam with gold, some from the land on glistering trees, while others the water feeds; and with bracelets of these they entwine their hands and make crowns for their heads.”[294]

The Islands of the Blest, _μακάρων νῆσοι_, do not vanish henceforward from the world’s literature, but continue to haunt the Atlantic through the Roman period and deep into the Middle Ages. In the west, too, were localized other and wilder myths; here were the scenes of the Perseus fable, the island of the weird and communistic sisters, the Graeae, and the Gorgonides, the homes of Medusa and her sister Gorgons, the birthplace of the dread Chimaera.[295] The importance of the far west in the myths connected with Hercules is well known. In the traditionary twelve labors the Greek hero is confused with his prototype the Tyrian Melkarth, and those labors which deal with the west were doubtless borrowed from the cult which the Greeks had found established at Gades when trade first led them thither. In the tenth labor it is the western isle Erytheia, which Hercules visits in the golden cup wherein Helios was wont to make his nocturnal ocean voyage, and from which he returns with the oxen of the giant Geryon. Even more famous was the search for the apples of the Hesperides, which constituted the eleventh labor. This golden fruit, the wedding gift produced by Gaa for Hera, the prudent goddess, doubtful of the security of Olympus, gave in charge to the Hesperian maids, whose island garden lay at earth’s furthest bounds, near where the mysterious Atlas, their father or their uncle, wise in the secrets of the sea, watched over the pillars which propped the sky, or himself bore the burden of the heavenly vault. The poets delighted to depict these isles with their shrill-singing nymphs, in the same glowing words which they applied to the Isles of the Blessed. “Oh that I, like a bird, might fly from care over the Adriatic waves!” cries the chorus in the Crowned Hippolytus,

“Or to the famed Hesperian plains, Whose rich trees bloom with gold, To join the grief-attuned strains My winged progress hold: Beyond whose shores no passage gave The ruler of the purple wave;

“But Atlas stands, his stately height
The awfull boundary of the skies:
There fountains of Ambrosia rise,
Wat’ring the seat of Jove: her stores
Luxuriant there the rich soil pours
All, which the sense of gods delights.”[296]

When these names first became attached to some of the Atlantic islands is uncertain. Diodorus Siculus does not apply either term to the island discovered by the Carthaginians, and described by him in phrases applicable to both. The two islands described by sailors to Sertorius about 80 B.C. were depicted in colors which reminded Plutarch of the Isles of the Blessed, and it is certain that toward the close of the republic the name _Insulae Fortunatae_ was given to certain of the Atlantic islands, including the Canaries. In the time of Juba, king of Numidia, we seem to distinguish at least three groups, the _Insulae Fortunatae_, the _Purpurariae_, and the _Hesperides_, but beyond the fact that the first name still designated some of the Canaries identification is uncertain; some have thought that different groups among the Canaries were known by separate names, while others hold that one or both of the Madeira and Cape de Verde groups were known.[297] The Canaries were soon lost out of knowledge again, but the Happy or Fortunate Islands continued to be an enticing mirage throughout the Middle Ages, and play a part in many legends, as in that of St. Brandan, and in many poems.[298]

Beside these ancient, widespread, popular myths, embodying the universal longing for a happier life, we find a group of stories of more recent date, of known authorship and well-marked literary origin, which treat of western islands and a western continent. The group comprises, it is hardly necessary to say, the tale of Atlantis, related by Plato; the fable of the land of the Meropes, by Theopompus; and the description of the Saturnian continent attributed to Plutarch.

The story of Atlantis, by its own interest and the skill of its author, has made by far the deepest impression. Plato, having given in the _Republic_ a picture of the ideal political organization, the state, sketched in the _Timaeus_ the history of creation, and the origin and development of mankind; in the _Critias_ he apparently intended to exhibit the action of two types of political bodies involved in a life-and-death contest. The latter dialogue was unfinished, but its purport had been sketched in the opening of the _Timaeus_. Critias there relates “a strange tale, but certainly true, as Solon declared,” which had come down in his family from his ancestor Dropidas, a near relative of Solon. When Solon was in Egypt he fell into talk with an aged priest of Saïs, who said to him: “Solon, Solon, you Greeks are all children,—there is not an old man in Greece. You have no old traditions, and know of but one deluge, whereas there have been many destructions of mankind, both by flood and fire; Egypt alone has escaped them, and in Egypt alone is ancient history recorded; you are ignorant of your own past.” For long before Deucalion, nine thousand years ago, there was an Athens founded, like Saïs, by Athena; a city rich in power and wisdom, famed for mighty deeds, the greatest of which was this. At that time there lay opposite the columns of Hercules, in the Atlantic, which was then navigable, an island larger than Libya and Asia together, from which sailors could pass to other islands, and so to the continent. The sea in front of the straits is indeed but a small harbor; that which lay beyond the island, however, is worthy of the name, and the land which surrounds that greater sea may be truly called the continent. In this island of Atlantis had grown up a mighty power, whose kings were descended from Poseidon, and had extended their sway over many islands and over a portion of the great continent; even Libya up to the gates of Egypt, and Europe as far as Tyrrhenia, submitted to their sway. Ever harder they pressed upon the other nations of the known world, seeking the subjugation of the whole. “Then, O Solon, did the strength of your republic become clear to all men, by reason of her courage and force. Foremost in the arts of war, she met the invader at the head of Greece; abandoned by her allies, she triumphed alone over the western foe, delivering from the yoke all the nations within the columns. But afterwards came a day and night of great floods and earthquakes; the earth engulfed all the Athenians who were capable of bearing arms, and Atlantis disappeared, swallowed by the waves: hence it is that this sea is no longer navigable, from the vast mud-shoals formed by the vanished island.” This tale so impressed Solon that he meditated an epic on the subject, but on his return, stress of public business prevented his design. In the _Critias_ the empire and chief city of Atlantis is described with wealth of detail, and the descent of the royal family from Atlas, son of Poseidon, and a nymph of the island, is set forth. In the midst of a council upon Olympus, where Zeus, in true epic style, was revealing to the gods his designs concerning the approaching war, the dialogue breaks off.

Section of a map given in _Briefe über Amerika aus dem Italienischen des Hn. Grafen Carlo Carli übersetzt, Dritter Theil_ (Gera, 1785), where it is called an “Auszug aus denen Karten welche der Pariser Akademie der Wissenschaften (1737, 1752) von dem Herrn von Buache übergeben worden sind.”]

The annexed cut is an extract from Sanson’s map of America, showing views respecting the new world as constituting the Island of Atlantis. It is called: _Atlantis insula à Nicolao Sanson, antiquitati restituta; nunc demum majori forma delineata, et in decem regna juxta decem Neptuni filios distributa. Præterea insulæ, nostræq. continentis regiones quibus imperavere Atlantici reges; aut quas armis tentavere, ex conatibus geographicis Gulielmi Sanson, Nicolai filii_ (Amstelodami apud Petrum Mortier). Uricoechea in the _Mapoteca Colombiana_ puts this map under 1600, and speaks of a second edition in 1688, which must be an error. Nicholas Sanson was born in 1600, his son William died in 1703. Beside the undated Amsterdam print quoted above, Harvard College Library possesses a copy in which the words _Novus orbis potius Altera continent sive_ are prefixed to the title, while the date MDCLXVIIII is inserted after _filii_. This copy was published by Le S. Robert at Paris in 1741.]

From a map in Bory de St. Vincent’s _Essais sur les isles Fortunées_, Paris [1803]. A map in Anastasius Kircher’s _Mundus Subterraneus_ (Amsterdam, 1678), i. 82, shows Atlantis as a large island midway between the pillars of Hercules and America.]

Sketched from the colored map of the United States Hydrographic office, as given in Alexander Agassiz’s _Three Cruises of the Blake_ (Cambridge, 1888), vol. i. The outline of the continents is shown by an unbroken line. The 500 fathom shore line is a broken one (—— —— —— ——). The 2,000 fathom shore line is made by a dash and dot (——.——.——.——). The large areas in mid-ocean enclosed by this line, have this or lesser depths. Of the small areas marked by this line, the depth of 2,000 fathoms or less is within these areas in all cases except as respects the small areas on the latitude of Newfoundland, where the larger areas of 2,000 fathoms’ depth border on the small areas of greater depth. Depths varying from 1,500 to 1,000 fathoms are shown by horizontal lines; from 1,000 to 500 by perpendicular lines; and the crossed lines show the shallowest spots in mid-ocean of 500 fathoms or less. The areas of greatest depth (over 3,500 fathoms) are marked with crosses.]

Such is the tale of Atlantis. Read in Plato, the nature and meaning of the narrative seem clear, but the commentators, ancient and modern, have made wild work. The voyage of Odysseus has grown marvellously in extent since he abandoned the sea; Io has found the pens of the learned more potent goads than Hera’s gadfly; but the travels of Atlantis have been even more extraordinary. No region has been so remote, no land so opposed by location, extent, or history to the words of Plato, but that some acute investigator has found in it the origin of the lost island. It has been identified with Africa, with Spitzbergen, with Palestine. The learned Latreille convinced himself that Persia best fulfilled the conditions of the problem; the more than learned Rudbeck ardently supported the claims of Sweden through three folios. In such a search America could not be overlooked. Gomara, Guillaume de Postel, Wytfliet, are among those who have believed that this continent was Atlantis; Sanson in 1669, and Vaugondy in 1762, ventured to issue a map, upon which the division of that island among the sons of Neptune was applied to America, and the outskirts of the lost continent were extended even to New Zealand. Such work, of course, needs no serious consideration. Plato is our authority, and Plato declares that Atlantis lay not far west from Spain, and that it disappeared some 8,000 years before his day. An inquiry into the truth or meaning of the record as it stands is quite justifiable, and has been several times undertaken, with divergent results. Some, notably Paul Gaffarel[299] and Ignatius Donnelly,[300] are convinced that Plato merely adapted to his purposes a story which Solon had actually brought from Egypt, and which was in all essentials true. Corroboration of the existence of such an island in the Atlantic is found, according to these writers, in the physical conformation of the Atlantic basin, and in marked resemblances between the flora, fauna, civilization, and language of the old and new worlds, which demand for their explanation the prehistoric existence of just such a bridge as Atlantis would have supplied. The Atlantic islands are the loftiest peaks and plateaus of the submerged island. In the widely spread deluge myths Mr. Donnelly finds strong confirmation of the final cataclysm; he places in Atlantis that primitive culture which M. Bailly sought in the highlands of Asia, and President Warren refers to the north pole. Space fails for a proper examination of the matter, but these ingenious arguments remain somewhat top-heavy when all is said. The argument from ethnological resemblances is of all arguments the weakest in the hands of advocates. It is of value only when wielded by men of judicial temperament, who can weigh difference against likeness, and allow for the narrow range of nature’s moulds. The existence of the ocean plateaus revealed by the soundings of the “Dolphin” and the “Challenger” proves nothing as to their having been once raised above the waves; the most of the Atlantic islands are sharply cut off from them. Even granting the prehistoric migration of plants and animals between America and Europe, as we grant it between America and Asia, it does not follow that it took place across the mid-ocean, and it would still be a long step from the botanic “bridge” and elevated “ridge” to the island empire of Plato. In short, the conservative view advocated by Longinus, that the story was designed by Plato as a literary ornament and a philosophic illustration, is no less probable to-day than when it was suggested in the schools of Alexandria. Atlantis is a literary myth, belonging with _Utopia_, the _New Atlantis_, and the _Orbis alter et idem_ of Bishop Hall.

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Of the same type is a narrative which has come down indirectly, among the flotsam and jetsam of classic literature: it is a fragment from a lost work by Theopompus of Chios, a historian of the fourth century B.C., found in the _Varia Historia_ of Aelian, a compiler of the third century A.D.[301] The story is told by the satyr Silenus to Midas, king of Phrygia, and is, as few commentators have refrained from remarking, worthy the ears of its auditor.[302] “Selenus tolde Midas of certaine Islands, named Europa, Asia, and Libia, which the Ocean Sea circumscribeth and compasseth round about. And that without this worlde there is a continent or percell of dry lande, which in greatnesse (as hee reported) was infinite and unmeasurable, that it nourished and maintained, by the benifite of the greene medowes and pasture plots, sundrye bigge and mighty beastes; that the men which inhabite the same climats, exceede the stature of us twise, and yet the length of there life is not equale to ours.” Many other wonders he related of the two cities, Machimus, the warlike, and Euseues, the city of peace, and how the inhabitants of the former once made an attack upon Europe, and came first upon the Hyperboreans; but learning that they were esteemed the most holy of the dwellers in that island, they “had them in contempte, detesting and abhorring them as naughty people, of preposterous properties, and damnable behauiour, and for that cause interrupted their progresse, supposing it an enterprise of little worthinesse or rather none at al, to trauaile into such a countrey.” The concluding passage relating to the strange country inhabited by the Meropes, from whose name later writers have called the continent Meropian, bears only indirectly upon the subject, as characterizing the whole narrative.[303]

Without admitting the harsh judgment of Aelian, who brands Theopompus as a “coyner of lyes and a forger of fond fables,” it is clear that we are dealing here with literature, not with history, and that the identification of the land of the Meropes, or, as Strabo calls it, Meropis, with Atlantis or with America is arbitrary and valueless.[304]

The same remark applies to the account of the great Saturnian continent that closes the curious and interesting dialogue “On the Face appearing in the Orb of the Moon,” attributed to Plutarch, and printed with his _Morals_:

“‘An isle, Ogygia, lies in Ocean’s arms,’” says the narrator, “about five days’ sail west from Britain; and before it are three others, of equal distance from one another, and also from that, bearing northwest, where the sun sets in summer. In one of these the barbarians feign that Saturn is detained in prison by Zeus.” The adjacent sea is termed the Saturnian, and the continent by which the great sea is circularly environed is distant from Ogygia about five thousand stadia, but from the other islands not so far. A bay of this continent, in the latitude of the Caspian Sea, is inhabited by Greeks. These, who had been visited by Heracles, and revived by his followers, esteemed themselves inhabitants of the firm land, calling all others islanders, as dwelling in land encompassed by the sea. Every thirty years these people send forth certain of their number, who minister to the imprisoned Saturn for thirty years. One of the men thus sent forth, at the end of his service, paid a visit to the great island, as they called Europe. From him the narrator learned many things about the state of men after death, which he unfolds at length, the conclusion being that the souls of men ultimately arrive at the moon, wherein lie the Elysian Fields of Homer. “And you, O Lamprias,” he adds, “may take my relation in such part as you please.” After which hint there is, I think, but little doubt as to the way in which it should be taken by us.[305]

That Plato, Theopompus, and Plutarch, covering a range of nearly five centuries, should each have made use of the conception of a continent beyond the Atlantic, is noteworthy; but it is more naturally accounted for by supposing that all three had in mind the continental hypothesis of land distribution, than by assuming for them an acquaintance with the great western island, America. From this point of view, the result of our search into the geographical knowledge and mythical tales of the ancients is purely negative. We find, indeed, well-developed theories of physical geography, one of which accords remarkably well with the truth; but we also find that these theories rest solely on logical deductions from the mathematical doctrine of the sphere, and on an aesthetic satisfaction with symmetry and analogy. This conclusion could be invalidated were it shown that exploration had already revealed the secrets of the west, and we must now consider this branch of the subject.

The history of maritime discovery begins among the Phœnicians. The civilization of Egypt, as self-centred as that of China, accepted only the commerce that was brought to its gates; but the men of Sidon and Tyre, with their keen devotion to material interests, their almost modern ingenuity, had early appropriated the carrying trade of the east and the west. As they looked adventurously seaward from their narrow domain, the dim outline of Cyprus beckoned them down a long lane of island stations to the rich shores of Spain. Even their religion betrayed their bent: El and Cronos, their oldest deities, were wanderers, and vanished in the west; on their traces Melkarth led a motley swarm of colonists to the Atlantic. These legends, filtering through Cyprus, Crete, or Rhodes, or borne by rash adventurers from distant Gades, appeared anew in Grecian mythology, the deeds of Melkarth mingling with the labors of Hercules. We do not know when the Phœnicians first reached the Atlantic, nor what were the limits of their ocean voyages. Gades, the present Cadiz, just outside the Straits of Gibraltar, was founded a few years before 1100 B.C., but not, it is probable, without previous knowledge of the commercial importance of the location. There were numerous other settlements along the adjacent coast, and the gold, silver, and tin of these distant regions grew familiar in the markets of Egypt, Mesopotamia, and India. The trade with Tartessus, the El Dorado of antiquity, gave the Phœnician merchant vessels a name among the Jews, as well in the tenth century, when Solomon shared the adventures of Hiram, as in the sixth, when Ezekiel depicted the glories of Tyrian commerce. The Phœnician seamanship was wide-famed; their vessels were unmatched in speed,[306] and their furniture and discipline excited the outspoken admiration of Xenophon. Beside the large Tarshish ships, they possessed light merchant vessels and ships of war, provided with both sails and oars, and these, somewhat akin to steamships in their independence of wind, were well adapted for exploration. Thus urged and thus provided, it is improbable that the Phœnicians shunned the great ocean. The evidence is still strong in favor of their direct trade with Britain for tin, despite what has been urged as to tin mines in Spain and the prehistoric existence of the trade by land across Gaul.[307]

* * * * *

Whether the Tyrians discovered any of the Atlantic islands is unknown; the adventures and discoveries attributed to Hercules, who in this aspect is but Melkarth in Grecian raiment, points toward an early knowledge of western islands, but these myths alone are not conclusive proof. Diodorus Siculus attributes to the Phœnicians the discovery, by accident, of a large island, with navigable rivers and a delightful climate, many days’ sail westward from Africa. In the compilation _De Mirabilibus Auscultationibus_, printed with the works of Aristotle, the discovery is attributed to Carthaginians. Both versions descend from one original, now lost, and it is impossible to give a date to the event, or to identify the locality.[308] Those who find America in the island of Diodorus make improbabilities supply the lack of evidence. Stories seldom lose in the telling, and while it is not impossible that a Phœnician ship might have reached America, and even made her way back, it is not likely that the voyage would have been tamely described as of many _days’_ duration.

When Carthage succeeded Tyre as mistress of the Mediterranean commerce, interest in the West revived. In the middle of the fifth century B.C., two expeditions of importance were dispatched into these waters. A large fleet under Hanno sailed to colonize, or re-colonize, the western coast of Africa, and succeeded in reaching the latitude of Sierra Leone. Himilko, voyaging in the opposite direction, spent several months in exploring the ocean and tracing the western shores of Europe. He appears to have run into the Sargasso Sea, but beyond this little is known of his adventures.[309]

Ultimately the Carthaginians discovered and colonized the Canary Islands, and perhaps the Madeira and Cape Verde groups; the evidence of ethnology, the presence of Semitic inscriptions, and the occurrence in the descriptions of Pliny, Mela, and Ptolemy of some of the modern names of the separate islands, establishes this beyond a doubt for the Canaries.[310] There is no evidence that the Phœnicians or Carthaginians penetrated much beyond the coast islands, or that they reached any part of America, or even the Azores.

The achievements of the Greeks and Romans were still more limited. A certain Colaeus visited Gades towards the middle of the seventh century B.C., and was, according to Herodotus, the first Greek who passed outside of the columns of Hercules. His example could not have been widely followed, for we find Pindar and his successors referring to the Pillars as the limit of navigation. In 600 B.C., Massilia was founded, and soon became a rival of Carthage in the western Mediterranean. In the fourth century we have evidence of an attempt to search out the secrets of the ocean after the manner of Hanno and Himilko. In that century, Pytheas made his famous voyage to the lands of tin and amber, discovering the still mysterious Thule; while at the same time his countryman Euthymenes sailed southward to the Senegal. With these exceptions we hear of no Grecian or Roman explorations in the Atlantic, and meet with no indication that they were aware of any other lands beyond the sea than the Fortunate Isles or the Hesperides of the early poets.[311]

About 80 B.C., Sertorius, being for a time driven from Spain by the forces of Sulla, fell in, when on an expedition to Baetica, with certain sailors who had just returned from the “Atlantic islands,” which they described as two in number, distant 10,000 stadia from Africa, and enjoying a wonderful climate. The account in Plutarch is quite consistent with a previous knowledge of the islands, even on the part of Sertorius. Be this as it may, the glowing praises of the eye-witnesses so impressed him that only the unwillingness of his followers prevented his taking refuge there. Within the next few years, the Canaries, at least, became well known as the _Fortunatae Insulae_; but when Horace, in the dark days of civil war, urged his countrymen to seek a new home across the waves, it was apparently the islands of Sertorius that he had in mind, regarding them as unknown to other peoples.[312]

As we trace the increasing volume and extent of commerce from the days of Tyre and Carthage and Alexandria to its fullest development under the empire, and remember that as the drafts of luxury-loving Rome upon the products of the east, even of China and farther India, increased, the true knowledge of the form of the earth, and the underestimate of the breadth of the western ocean, became more widely known, the question inevitably suggests itself, Why did not the enterprise which had long since utilized the monsoons of the Indian Ocean for direct passage to and from India essay the passage of the Atlantic? The inquiry gains force as we recall that the possibility of such a route to India had been long ago asserted. Aristotle suggested, if he did not express it; Eratosthenes stated plainly that were it not for the extent of the Atlantic it would be possible to sail from Spain to India along the same parallel;[313] and Strabo could object nothing but the chance of there being another island-continent or two in the way,—an objection unknown to Columbus. Seneca, the philosopher, iterating insistence upon the smallness of the earth and the pettiness of its affairs compared with the higher interests of the soul, exclaims: “The earth, which you so anxiously divide by fire and sword into kingdoms, is a point, a mere point, in the universe.... How far is it from the utmost shores of Spain to those of India? But very few days’ sail with a favoring wind.”[314]

Holding these views of the possibility of the voyage, it is improbable that the size of their ships and the lack of the compass could have long prevented the ancients from putting them in practice had their interest so demanded.[315] Their interest in the matter was, however, purely speculative, since, under the unity and power of the Roman empire, which succeeded to and absorbed the commercial supremacy of the Phœnicians, international competition in trade did not exist, nor were the routes of trade subject to effective hostile interruption. The two causes, therefore, which worked powerfully to induce the voyages of Da Gama and Columbus, after the rise of individual states had given scope to national jealousy and pride, and after the fall of Constantinople had placed the last natural gateway of the eastern trade in the hands of Arab infidels, were non-existent under the older civilization. It is certain, too, that the ancients had a vivid horror of the western ocean. In the Odyssey, the western Mediterranean even is full of peril. With knowledge of the ocean, the Greeks received tales of “Gorgons and Chimeras dire,” and the very poets who sing the beauties of the Elysian or Hesperian isles dwell on the danger of the surrounding sea. Beyond Gades, declared Pindar, no man, however brave, could pass; only a god might voyage those waters. The same idea recurs in the reports of travellers and the writings of men of science, but here it is the storms, or more often the lack of wind, the viscid water or vast shoals, that check and appall the mariner. Aristotle thought that beyond the columns the sea was shallow and becalmed. Plato utilized the common idea of the mudbanks and shoal water of the Atlantic in accounting for the disappearance of Atlantis. Scylax reported the ocean not navigable beyond Cerne in the south, and Pytheas heard that beyond Thule sea and air became confounded. Even Tacitus believed that there was a peculiar resistance in the waters of the northern ocean.[316]

Whether the Greeks owed this dread to the Phœnicians, and whether the latter shared the feeling, or simulated and encouraged it for the purpose of concealing their profitable adventures beyond the Straits, is doubtful. In two cases, at least, it is possible to trace statements of this nature to Punic sources, and antiquity agreed in giving the Phœnicians credit for discouraging rivalry by every art.[317]

To an age averse to investigation for its own sake, ignorant of scientific curiosity, and unimpelled by economic pressure, tales like these might seem decisive against an attempt to sail westward to India. Rome could thoroughly appreciate the imaginative mingling of science and legend which vivified the famous prophecy of the poet Seneca:

Venient annis saecula seris
Quibus Oceanus vincula rerum
Laxet, et ingens patebit tellus
Tethysque novos deteget orbes
Nec sit terris ultima Thule.[318]

But even were it overlooked that the prophecy suited better the revelation of an unknown continent, such as the theory of Crates and Cicero placed between Europe and Asia, than the discovery of the eastern coast of India, mariners and merchants might be pardoned if they set the deterrent opinions collected by the elder Seneca above the livelier fancies of his son.[319]

The scanty records of navigation and discovery in the western waters confirm the conclusions drawn from the visions of the poets and the theories of the philosophers. No evidence from the classic writers justifies the assumption that the ancients communicated with America. If they guessed at the possibility of such a continent, it was only as we to-day imagine an antarctic continent or an open polar sea. Evidence from ethnological comparisons is of course admissible, but those who are best fitted to handle such evidence best know its dangers; hitherto its use has brought little but discredit to the cause in which it was invoked.

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The geographical doctrines which antiquity bequeathed to the Middle Ages were briefly these: that the earth was a sphere with a circumference of 252,000 or 180,000 stadia; that only the temperate zones were inhabitable, and the northern alone known to be inhabited; that of the southern, owing to the impassable heats of the torrid zone, it could not be discovered whether it were inhabited, or whether, indeed, land existed there; and that of the northern, it was unknown whether the intervention of another continent, or only the shoals and unknown horrors of the ocean, prevented a westward passage from Europe to Asia. The legatee preserved, but did not improve his inheritance. It has been supposed that the early Middle Ages, under the influence of barbarism and Christianity, ignored the sphericity of the earth, deliberately returning to the assumption of a plane surface, either wheel-shaped or rectangular. That knowledge dwindled after the fall of the empire, that the early church included the learning as well as the religion of the pagans in its ban, is undeniable; but on this point truth prevailed. It was preserved by many school-books, in many popular compilations from classic authors, and was accepted by many ecclesiastics. St. Augustine did not deny the sphericity of the earth. It was assumed by Isidor of Seville, and taught by Bede.[320] The schoolmen buttressed the doctrine by the authority of Aristotle and the living science which the Arabs built upon the Almagest. Gerbert, Albert the Great, Roger Bacon, Dante, were as familiar with the idea of the earth-globe as were Hipparchus and Ptolemy. The knowledge of it came to Columbus not as an inspiration or an invention, but by long, unbroken descent from its unknown Grecian, or pre-Grecian, discoverer.

Sketched in the _Bollettino della Società geografica italiana_ (Roma, 1882), p. 540, from the original in the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana in Florence. The representation of this sketch of the earth by Cosmas Indicopleustes more commonly met with is from the engraving in the edition of Cosmas in Montfaucon’s _Collectio nova patrum_, Paris, 1706. The article by Marinelli which contains the sketch given here has also appeared separately in a German translation (_Die Erdkunde bei den Kirchenvätern_, Leipzig, 1884). The continental land beyond the ocean should be noticed.]