Ferdinand Magellan

I was born under Portugal and learned my trade in India and Malacca; in Morocco I took a wound and a lesson: favor fails quicker than flesh heals. When King Manuel turned his face, I went to Seville and set my case before young Charles. I asked to seek the Moluccas by a western strait no map had yet marked.

In 1519 I left with five ships—Trinidad, San Antonio, Concepción, Victoria, Santiago. Winter at Port St. Julian brought snow, hunger, and mutiny. Mendoza died by my order; Quesada lost his head; Cartagena I left on the coast with a priest for company. The little Santiago wrecked scouting the Patagonian shore.

In October 1520 we entered a twisting channel of tide and squall. Thirty‑six days later three ships faced a wide, mild sea. I named it Mar Pacífico and then learned its deceit: three months and twenty days without fresh food. We boiled leather, trapped rats, buried men with gums like sponges. Guam at last, then Cebu—where Enrique of Malacca could speak for us.

On Mactan I stepped ashore to honor a pledge to our new friends at Cebu. Armor dragged at the knee; their lances did not tire. I fell there on 27 April 1521, and others steered on. Elcano brought Victoria home in 1522 with cloves in her hold and a day missing from the calendar. I did not close the circle, but I cut the gate that made it possible.