The Bianco Map of 1436
The Bianco map of 1436[258] ([Fig. 25]) was the first of the Antillia maps to attract attention in quite modern times but has suffered far worse than Roselli’s in the matter of limitation. The border of the material cuts off all but Antillia and the lower end of Salvagio, to which Bianco has given the strange name of La Man (or Mao) Satanaxio, generally translated “The Hand of Satan” but believed by Nordenskiöld to be rather a corruption of a saint’s name, perhaps that of St. Anastasio. It remains a mystery, though one hypothesis connects it with a grisly Far Eastern tale of a demon hand. The initial “S” is all that Satanaxio has in common with the names for this island on the other maps that show it; and, as nearly all of these present very slight changes from Salvagio, easily to be accounted for by carelessness or errors in copying, the latter name is fairly to be regarded as the legitimate one, while Satanaxio remains unique and grimly fanciful, perhaps to be explained another day. The most that can be said for its generally accepted meaning is that it corroborates Salvagio in so far as it intensifies savagery to diabolism. One is tempted to speculate as to whether any very cruel treatment from the natives had formed part of the experience of the visitors along that shore; but there is no known fact or assertion upon which to base such an idea. As to the delineation of the islands, it is quite evident that Bianco showed the same group as Beccario and Roselli so far as circumstances permitted; and there is no reason to believe that the islands for which he had no room would have differed from theirs in his showing, if admissible, any more than his Antillia differs; that is to say, hardly at all.
Humboldt was so impressed by this map of Bianco that he took the pains of measuring upon it the distance of Antillia from Portugal, making this about two hundred and forty leagues: an unreliable test, one would say, for the distances over the western waste of waters probably were not drawn to scale nor supposed to approach exactness. For that matter, the interval between Portugal and the Azores, as shown on maps for nearly a hundred years, was greatly underestimated, and the discrepancy becomes more glaring as the islands lie farther westward, Flores and Corvo being conspicuous examples. We should naturally expect to find the West Indies reported much nearer than they really are by anyone mapping a record of them. Perhaps the explanation lies in a disposition of cartographers to expect and allow for a great deal of nautical exaggeration in the mariners’ yarns that reached them. A careful man might come at last to believe in the existence of an island but doubt if it were really so very far away.
The Pareto Map of 1455
Pareto, 1455, has a very interesting and elaborate map[259] ([Fig. 21]) showing Antillia, Reylla, and I in Mar (the latter without name) in the orthodox size, shape, and position, but with a great gap between Antillia and I in Mar where Salvagio should be. Very likely it was there once. Perhaps this is another case of fading away. One doubts whether the loss might not still be retrieved by more powerful magnifying glasses and close study of the significant interval. Pareto is unmistakably disclosing the same series of islands as the others. It may be that from him Roselli borrowed the inaccurate “roella” for Reylla, since Pareto is earlier in using a similar form (Roillo).
Fig. 21—Section of the Pareto map of 1455 showing the Antilles, St. Brendan’s Islands, Daculi, and others. (After Kretschmer’s hand-copied reproduction.)
The Benincasa Map of 1482
Benincasa’s map of 1482[260] ([Fig. 22]) presents Salvagio as Saluaga, and I in Mar without name, but omits Reylla, both name and figure. The islands shown are in their accepted form and arrangement, except that Saluaga has but two bays on the western side, and his map adds a novelty in a series of names applied to the several bays, or the regions adjoining them, of the two larger islands. These names ([Fig. 22]) are twelve in number and seem like the fanciful work of some Portuguese who was haunted by a few Arabic sounds in addition to those of his native tongue. Several of them, like Antillia, begin with “An,” perhaps another illustration of the law of the line of least resistance. I cannot think that there is any significance in these bits of antiquated ingenuity, though, as we have seen in Chapter V, some have believed they found in them a relic of the Seven Cities legend.