BLAS DE LEZO, UN PATRIOTA IGNORADO

El Almirante Patapalo D. Blas de Lezo, General de la Armada

Nació en Pasajes (Guipúzcoa). En 1701 ingresó como guardiamarina y
en 1704, ya iniciada la Guerra de Sucesión española, entró en combate como
tripulante de la escuadra francesa que se enfrentó a las fuerzas combinadas
de Inglaterra y Holanda en batalla librada frente a Vélez Málaga y en la que
perdió la pierna izquierda por una bala de cañon, mostrando en el terrible trance tal sangre fría que admiró al mismo Almirante. Su intrepidez y serenidad en el combate fue premiado con el
ascenso a alférez de navío y luego a teniente de navío. Participó en la
defensa del castillo de Santa Catalina en Tolón donde perdió el ojo izquierdo. Ostentó el mando de diversos convoyes que socorrían a Felipe V en Barcelona burlando la
vigilancia inglesa. En uno de ellos fue rodeado por fuerzas superiores, y apurado supo salir incendiando alguno de los buques que le seguían lo que rompío el círculo que le rodeaba.

En 1713 fue ascendido a Capitán de navío,
y un año más tarde fue destinado al segundo sitio de Barcelona donde perdió el brazo derecho. En esa época, y al mando de una fragata, hizo once presas a los británicos entre ellas la del emblemático Stanhope, buque bien armado y pertrechado.Terminada la Guerra de Sucesión se le confió en 1723 el buque insignia Lanfranco y el mando de la Escuadra de los Mares del Sur,. limpiando de piratas las costas del Pacífico y capturando doce naviós holandeses e ingleses.

Contrajo matrimonio en el Perú en 1725 y en 1730 regresó a España siendo ascendido
a Jefe de la Escuadra Naval del Mediterraneo. Se trasladó a la Republica de Genova para exigir el pago de los 2.000.000 de pesos pertenecientes a España retenidos en el Banco de San Jorge, y que en desagravio se hiciera un saludo excepcional a la bandera española sopena de bombardear la ciudad. Ante la enérgica actitud el Senado genovés cedió de inmediato.

.En 1732 y a bordo del Santiago hizo una expedición a Orán comandando 54 buques y 30.000 hombres. Orán fue rendida pero Bay Hassan reunió de nuevo tropas y sitió la ciudad poniéndola en grave aprieto. Lezo acudio en socorro con seis navios y 5.000 hombres logrando ahuyentar al pirata argelino tras reñida lucha. Persiguió su nave capitana de 60 cañones que se refugio en la bahia de Mostagán defendida por dos castillos y 4.000 moros. Esto no arredró a Lezo, que entró tras la nave argelina despreciando el fuego de los fuertes incendiándola y causando además gran daño a los castillos. Patrulló luego durante meses aquellos mares impidiendo que los argelinos recibieran refuerzos de Constantinopla hasta que una epidemia le forzó a regresar a Cadiz.

En 1734 el Rey premió sus servicios promoviéndolo a General de la Armada. En 1737 regresó a América con los navios Fuerte y Conquistador y fue nombrado Comandante General de Cartagena de Indias, plaza que defendió de los embates del almirante inglés Sir Edward Vernon, página gloriosa de las armas españolas



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La Invencible inglesa contra Cartagena de Indias (1741)

La derrota de la Armada Inglesa en Cartagena de Indias en el siglo XVIII es un acontecimiento silenciado en la historia inglesa y desconcocido para la gran mayoría de españoles. La Historia está hecha de muchas mentiras, silencios y exageraciones y ésta página gloriosa de la época colonial está injustamente olvidada por el saber popular español y merece la pena contribuir a su difusión.


En Octubre de 1739 Inglaterra declara a España la guerra de la oreja de Jenkins y planea tomar la ciudad donde confluyen las riquezas de las colonias españolas, Cartagena de Indias (Colombia), dominar el comercio en el Caribe y, en una operación combinada con las fuerzas del Comodoro Anson que con el navio Septrentión y dos buques menores acosaba las colonias del Pacifico Sur, aniquilar el imperio español en América.


Aunque el origen de la guerra fue la rivalidad comercial entre las dos potencias, la causa inmediata de la conflagración fue un incidente cerca de la costa de Florida cuando el capitán de un guardacostas español, Juan León Fandiño, interceptó el Rebbeca al mando de Robert Jenkins y le hizo cortar a éste una oreja; después de lo cual le liberó con este insolente mensaje: "Ve y dile a tu Rey que lo mismo le haré si a lo mismo se atreve". Este suceso enardeció a la opinión pública inglesa y dió lugar a que su Gobierno, presidido por su Primer Ministro Mr. Walpole, declarara la guerra a España presionado por comerciantes de la City que apetecían la conquista de nuevos mercados.


El 13 de Marzo de 1741 apareció por "Punta Canoa", poniendo en vilo la ciudad de Cartagena, la mayor flota de guerra que jamás surcara los mares hasta el desembarco de Normandía: 2000 cañones dispuestos en 186 barcos, entre navíos de guerra, fragatas, brulotes y buques de transporte. La flota, muy superior a la Invencible de Felipe II que sólo disponía de 126 navíos, está dirigida por el almirante Sir Edward Vernon y transporta 23.600 combatientes entre marinos, soldados y esclavos negros macheteros de Jamaica. En la expedición vienen 4.000 reclutas de Virginia bajo las órdenes de Lawrence Washington, medio hermano del futuro libertador George.

Las defensas de Cartagena no pasaban, en cambio, de 3.000 hombres entre tropa regular, milicianos, 600 indios flecheros traídos del interior más la marinería y tropa de desembarco de los seis únicos navíos de guerra de los que dispone la ciudad: el Galicia que era la nave Capitana, el San Felipe, el San Carlos, el Africa, el Dragón y el Conquistador.


Este pequeño contingente está dirigido por hombres decididos a defenderse hasta morir: el Virrey Sebastián de Eslava, Teniente General de los Reales Ejercitos con larga experiencia militar, y bajo su mando, pero en el mar, el celebre General de la Armada D. Blas de Lezo, lobo de mar que ya ha participado en 22 batallas y expediciones navales perdiendo la pierna y el ojo izquierdo en Málaga y Toulon y quedándole lisiada la mano derecha en Barcelona. Seguían en la jerarquía el Mariscal de Campo D. Melchor de Navarrete, Gobernador de la ciudad, a cuyo cargo quedó la parte administrativa y el abastecimiento de víveres, y el Coronel D. Carlos Des Naux, Ingeniero militar y Director de obras de fortificación, quien actuó primero como Castellano del Castillo de San Luis de Bocachica y luego como Castellano de San Felipe de Barajas. Aunque con algunas discrepancias de criterio en materia estratégica entre Blas de Lezo y el Virrey los cuatro hombres lograron por fin unificar su acción baja la dirección de Eslava y resistir a pie firme el embate inglés.




Lezo frente al castillo de San Felipe, señalando al horizonte por donde apareció la flota de Vernon en 1741

Años antes Vernon ya había merodeado dos veces Cartagena, y trazando círculos de buitre se había presentado frente a la bahía, pero Lezo lo había puesto en fuga con maestría de consumado marino. En la primera ocasión cerró el puerto con cadenas y situó sus buques en Bocachica para que los ingleses no pudieran entrar sin batirse con ellos e instaló en tierra un grueso cañón de 18 libras de su nave capitana lo que sorprendió al enemigo al contestar con artillería por un lado de la ciudad que consideraban desguarnecido. En la segunda dispuso sus naves de manera que con su fuego se encerrará a los navios ingleses dentro del campo de tiro largo y corto, los cuales de nuevo sorprendidos abandonaron la zona.


Ahora Vernon, envalentonado tras una acción de rapiña en la mal defendida ciudad de Portobelo (Pánama), vuelve con efectivos considerables y escribe a Lezo cartas desafiantes. Éste, como buen vasco, es tozudo y quisquilloso en cuestiones de honor: 'Hubiera estado yo en Portobelo, no hubiera Usted insultado impunemente las plazas del Rey mi Señor, porque el ánimo que faltó a los de Portobelo me hubiera sobrado para contener su cobardía..."


Vernon despliega la flota bloqueando la entrada al puerto, y tras silenciar las baterías de "Chamba", "San Felipe" y "Santiago" desembarca tropas y artillería. Es tan impresionante el despliegue de barcos en el horizonte que algunos vecinos consideran la situación perdida y procuran ponerse a salvo. Vernon ordena un cañoneo incesante que durará 16 días y noches al castillo de San Luis de Bocachica con un promedio de "62 grandes disparos por hora". El castillo está defendido por 500 hombres al mando de Coronel Des Naux. Por su parte Lezo coloca cuatro de sus navíos, el Galicia, el San Felipe, el San Carlos y el Africa del lado interior de la bahía y en las proximidades del Castillo para apoyarlo con sus cañones. Aunque la defensa de Bocachica fue heroica con Lezo y Des Naux peleando en primera fila los defensores han de evacuarlo ante la abrumadora superioridad enemiga. Lezo hace barrenar e incendiar sus buques para obstruir el canal navegable de Bocachica, cosa que consigue parcialmente ya que el Galicia no coge fuego a tiempo. Sin embargo, se ha logrado retrasar el avance inglés de forma considerable y ello favorecerá el desarrollo de epidemias entre los asaltantes.


Los defensores optaron por replegarse totalmente a la Fortaleza de San Felipe de Barajas, motivo por el cual ni siquiera intentaron la resistencia en el Castillo de Bocagrande. Y muy contra la voluntad de Lezo, que trató de evitarlo hasta el fin pero se vió obligado por disciplina, se hundieron los dos únicos navíos que quedaban, el Dragón y el Conquistador, con el ilusorio objeto de impedir la navegación por el canal de Bocagrande. Pero al igual que en Bocachica, el sacrificio resultó en vano pues los ingleses remolcaron el casco de uno de ellos para restablecer el paso y desembarcaron en las islas de Manga y Gracia dejando a un lado el Fuerte de Manzanillo. Hecho lo cual, un regimiento de colonos norteamericanos al mando de Lawrence Washington tomaron la colina de la Popa próxima ya a San Felipe de Barajas y que había sido abandonada por los españoles.

Vernon entró entonces triunfante en la bahía con su buque Almirante con las banderas desplegadas y el estandarte de General en Jefe escoltado por dos fragatas y un paquebote, y dando la batalla por ganada despachó un correo a Jamaica e Inglaterra con tan fausta noticia. Tras ello ordena el desembarco masivo de artilleria y cañonear el Castillo de San Felipe desde mar y tierra con el fin de ablandar la resistencia final.
La defensa está formada por sólo 600 hombres bajo el mando de Lezo y Des Naux. Éste ya había resistido en Bocachica e iba a batirse de nuevo contra el empuje inglés hacia la fortaleza de San Felipe.

La defensa fue numantina y la batalla violenta. Al fin Vernon resuelve que la infantería tomará fácilmente la fortaleza pues se encuentra con daños considerables. La noche del 19 al 20 de abril se dan los hechos decisivos, los atacantes al mando del General Woork avanzan entre sombras en tres columnas de granaderos y varías compañías de soldados, además de los esclavos macheteros jamaicanos que van en vanguardía. Su progresión es lenta por el pesado equipo de guerra que transportan y por el fuego de fusilería desde las trincheras y lo alto de la fortaleza. El avance se frena ante las murallas ya que por imprevisión la longitud de las escalas para salvar el foso resultan cortas y los atacantes quedan aturdidos al no disponer de fajinas y materiales para facilitar la aproximación al fuerte. Los defensores arrecian en su fuego nutrido y certero desde lo alto, lo que origina una mortalidad espantosa.

Al alba un macabro espectáculo de muertos, mutilados y heridos vagando como espectros aparece alrededor de San Felipe haciendo evidente la hecatombe inglesa. La salida de los españoles que cargan a bayoneta calada provoca la huida desordenada de los asaltantes que pierden cientos de hombres y todos sus pertrechos.

El bombardeó inglés prosigue desde el mar 30 días más sin un objetivo claro, pero el cólera y el escorbuto comienzan a provocar decenas de muertos que flotan en la bahía lo que hace la situación desesperada.
Vernon, altivo y malgeniado, recrimina al parsimonioso General Wentworth, Jefe Supremo de las tropas de desembarco, por el ignominioso fracaso y las desavenencias llegan a un punto insostenible. Al fin el Alto Mando inglés ordena la retirada, lo que se realiza de forma lenta y sin cesar de cañonear la ciudad hasta que "no quedó ninguna vela inglesa". Los últimos veleros parten el 20 de Mayo, pero los ingleses han de incendiar cinco de ellos por falta de tripulación. En el regreso a Jamaica hunden otro y cada barco parece un hospital.


Mientras en Inglaterra se supone como cierta la victoria con arrogancia y orgullosa satisfacción. Aún se desconoce el infausto final y se acuñan medallas conmemorativas mostrando a Lezo arrodillado ante Vernon entregándole la espada con la inscripción "el orgullo español humillado por Vernon". En ellas el vencido aparece con dos piernas, dos ojos y dos brazos para obviar que es un hombre lisiado. En el reverso había seis navios y un puerto, y alrededor la inscripción: quien tomo Portobelo con solo seis naviós, Noviembre de 1939. Éstas medallas, de las que se conservan algunas todavía, fueron motivo de burla durante mucho tiempo por parte de los enemigos de Inglaterra, "debiendo ser en sus autores tanta mayor la vergüenza cuanto fue mayor su ligereza y arrogancia".




Medalla inglesa con Lezo arrodillado ante Vernon, con la leyenda: "el orgullo español humillado por Vernon" (Grabado de Coverns, Amsterdam 1741)

Semanas después Lezo malherido y extenuado por la batalla se hunde en las tinieblas del olvido. Sus últimos momentos se enmarcan dentro de la ingratitud y la amnesia de un camastro en algún hospital de Cartagena. Su cuerpo cercenado se deposita sin honores y se ignora donde esta enterrado.
Vernon, sabedor de la muerte de Lezo, rondó de nuevo Cartagena en 1742 con 56 navios, pero sus espías le informaron de la reparación de las defensas y de la presencia del Virrey Eslava en la ciudad por lo que no se decidió a atacar y partió a enfrentarse al juicio de la historia. Murió en 1757 repudiado y olvidado por su pueblo, y el rey Jorge II prohibió toda publicación sobre el asalto a Cartagena que quedó así sepultado en la historia. Inglaterra no volvió a amenazar seriamente al Imperio español que subsistió un siglo más. España, en cambio, contribuyó añós más tarde al desmoronamiento de las colonias inglesas en Ámerica, hecho que también ha tratado de silenciarse: España en la Guerra de Independencia y Bernardo de Gálvez (1746-1786) .Poco después de ello los ingleses promoverían la figura de Nelson para elevar la moral y el patriotismo ante la amenaza napoleónica.




Cartagena de Indias en Marzo de 1741. Disposición de la flota inglesa de Vernon

El asalto a Cartagena de Indias pasó así a ser un anecdótico episodio de mala suerte debido a enfermedades tropicales mal conocidas. El propio Nelson fue en cierto modo víctima de esta conspiración de silencio. Poco después de afirmar que los Dons sabían hacer barcos pero no pelear tuvo que retirarse humillado y sin su brazo derecho tras el intento de captura de Tenerife (Julio de 1797), cosa que también daba por hecha, y entregar su vida en Trafalgar ante los Dons que pelearon de forma valiente bajo un inepto mando francés.

Y los españoles, por contra de los ingleses, somos tan miserables que nos avergonzamos de nuestras hazañas y hurtamos al saber popular figuras como la de Blas de Lezo y Olavarrieta, marino español y vasco de Pasajes (Guipuzcoa). Su legendaria vida, y anónima muerte, contribuyó a cambiar la historia en América y no desmerece frente al mejor guión de aventuras de Hollywood.

Todo lo que se pueda hacer por difundir esta figura silenciada por unos y olvidada por otros parece insuficiente. Su lugar en la historia ha de estar junto a los grandes nombres de la época colonial. Por mi parte sólo espero que mediante esta página contribuya, aunque fuera de forma modesta, a lograr ese objetivo.

Cántabros en Cartagena de Indias (1741)

D. Blas de Barreda y Campuzano. Nacido en Santillana, Capitán de fragata. Durante el sitio se condujo con notable arrojo y bizarria y tuvo el honor de ser comisionado por Lezo y Eslava para traer la noticia de la victoria a España. Tras anunciar la ventajosa noticia se le confió el Brillante que patrulló en el Mediterraneo y costas de Francia.

D. Felipe Gonzalez Haedo. De Santoña. Embarcado en el navio Europa, estuvo a las órdenes de D. Blas de Lezo en los dos intentos de invasión de Cartagena por Vernon. Obtuvo el honor de que le confiriesen el mando del baluarte de San Pedro Mártir, y tuvo la fortuna de participar en el rechazo a los ingleses en el castillo de San Felipe de Barajas. Por su conducta resuelta se le ascendió a Alferez de navio el 23 de marzo de 1741.

Marco A. Gandarillas (Junio de 2000)


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Si quieres saber más visita estas direcciones:

El ataque de Vernon a Cartagena de Indias (J. Porto)
El Almirante de la Armada D. Blas de Lezo (J. Eley)
Vernon en Cartagena de Indias en 1.741, nuevos datos (G. Vargas)
Enciclopedia Veleria (V. Duque)

El Almirante Patapalo Blas de Lezo
El asalto al Castillo
Hecatombe Inglesa en 1741

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Sugerencias: cc1036@cajacantabria.com




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Cornish Myths and Legends

The Mermaid of Zennor
The village of Zennor lies upon the windward coast of Cornwall. The houses cling to the hillside as if hung there by the wind. Waves still lick the ledges in the coves, and a few fishermen still set out to sea in their boats.

In times past, the sea was both the beginning and the end for the folk of Zennor. It gave them fish for food and fish for sale, and made a wavy road to row from town to town. Hours were reckoned not by clocks but by the ebb and flow of the tide, and months and years ticked off by the herring runs. The sea took from them, too, and often wild, sudden storms would rise. Then fish and fisherman alike would be lost to an angry sea.

At the end of a good day, when the sea was calm and each boat had returned with its share of fish safely stowed in the hold, the people of Zennor would go up the path to the old church and give thanks. They would pray for a fine catch on the morrow, too. The choir would sing, and after the closing hymn the families would go.

Now, in the choir that sang at Evensong there was a most handsome lad named Mathew Trewella. Not only was Mathew handsome to the eyes, his singing was sweet to the ears as well. His voice pealed out louder than the church bells, and each note rang clear and true. It was always Mathew who sang the closing hymn.

Early one evening, when all the fishing boats bobbed at anchor, and all the fisher families were in church and all the birds at nest, and even the waves rested themselves and came quietly to shore, something moved softly in the twilight. The waves parted without a sound, and, from deep beneath them, some creature rose and climbed out onto a rock, there in the cove of Zennor. It was both a sea creature and a she-creature. For, though it seemed to be a girl, where the girl's legs should have been was the long and silver-shiny tail of a fish. It was a mermaid, one of the daughters of Llyr, king of the ocean, and her name was Morveren.

Morveren sat upon the rock and looked at herself in the quiet water, and then combed all the little crabs and seashells from her long, long hair. As she combed, she listened to the murmur of the waves and wind. And borne on the wind was Mathew's singing.

"What breeze is there that blows such a song?" wondered Morveren. But then the wind died, and Mathew's song with it. The sun disappeared, and Morveren slipped back beneath the water to her home.

The next evening she came again. But not to the rock. This time she swam closer to shore, the better to hear. And once more Mathew's voice carried out to sea, and Morveren listened.

"What bird sings so sweet?" she asked, and she looked all about. But darkness had come, and her eyes saw only shadows.

The next day Morveren came even earlier, and boldly. She floated right up by the fishermen's boats. And when she heard Mathew's voice, she called, "What reed is there that pipes such music?"

There was no answer save the swishing of the water round the skiffs.

Morveren would and must know more about the singing. So she pulled herself up on the shore itself. From there she could see the church and hear the music pouring from its open doors. Nothing would do then but she must peek in and learn for herself who sang so sweetly.

Still, she did not go at once. For, looking behind her, she saw that the tide had begun to ebb and the water pull back from the shore. And she knew that she must go back, too, or be left stranded on the sand like a fish out of water.

So she dived down beneath the waves, down to the dark sea cave where she lived with her father the king. And there she told Llyr what she had heard.

Llyr was so old he appeared to be carved of driftwood, and his hair floated out tangled and green, like seaweed. At Morveren's words, he shook that massive head from side to side.

"To hear is enough, my child. To see is too much."

"I must go, Father," she pleaded, "for the music is magic."

"Nay," he answered. "The music is man-made, and it comes from a man's mouth. We people of the sea do not walk on the land of men."

A tear, larger than an ocean pearl, fell from Morveren's eye. "Then surely I may die from the wanting down here."

Llyr sighed, and his sigh was like the rumbling of giant waves upon the rocks; for a mermaid to cry was a thing unheard of and it troubled the old sea king greatly.

"Go, then," he said at last, "but go with care. Cover your tail with a dress, such as their women wear. Go quietly, and make sure that none shall see you. And return by high tide, or you may not return at all."

"I shall take care, Father!" cried Morveren, excited. "No one shall snare me like a herring!"

Llyr gave her a beautiful dress crusted with pearls and sea jade and coral and other ocean jewels. It covered her tail, and she covered her shining hair with a net, and so disguised she set out for the church and the land of men.

Slippery scales and fish's tail are not made for walking, and it was difficult for Morveren to get up the path to the church. Nor was she used to the dress of an earth woman dragging behind. But get there she did, pulling herself forward by grasping on the trees, until she was at the very door of the church. She was just in time for the closing hymn. Some folks were looking down at their hymnbooks and some up at the choir, so, since none had eyes in the backs of their heads, they did not see Morveren. But she saw them, and Mathew as well. He was as handsome as an angel, and when he sang it was like a harp from heaven -- although Morveren, of course, being a mermaid, knew nothing of either.

So each night thereafter, Morveren would dress and come up to the church, to look and to listen, staying but a few minutes and always leaving before the last note faded and in time to catch the swell of high tide. And night by night, month by month, Mathew grew taller and his voice grew deeper and stronger (though Morveren neither grew nor changed, for that is the way of mermaids). And so it went for most of a year, until the evening when Morveren lingered longer than usual. She had heard Mathew sing one verse, and then another, and begin a third. Each refrain was lovelier than the one before, and Morveren caught her breath in a sigh.

It was just a little sigh, softer than the whisper of a wave. But it was enough for Mathew to hear, and he looked to the back of the church and saw the mermaid. Morveren's eyes were shining, and the net had slipped from her head and her hair was wet and gleaming, too. Mathew stopped his singing. He was struck silent by the look of her -- and by his love for her. For these things will happen.

Morveren was frightened. Mathew had seen her, and her father had warned that none must look at her. Besides, the church was warm and dry, and merpeople must be cool and wet. Morveren felt herself shrivelling, and turned in haste from the door.

"Stop!" cried Mathew boldly. "Wait!" And he ran down the aisle of the church and out the door after her.

Then all the people turned, startled, and their hymn-books fell from their laps.

Morveren tripped, tangled in her dress, and would have fallen had not Mathew reached her side and caught her.

"Stay!" he begged. "Whoever ye be, do not leave!"

Tears, real tears, as salty as the sea itself, rolled down Morveren's cheeks.

"I cannot stay. I am a sea creature, and must go back where I belong."

Mathew stared at her and saw the tip of her fish tail poking out from beneath the dress. But that mattered not at all to him.

"Then I will go with ye. For with ye is where I belong."

He picked Morveren up, and she threw her arms about his neck. He hurried down the path with her, toward the ocean's edge.

And all the people from the church saw this.

"Mathew, stop!" they shouted. "Hold back!"

"No! No, Mathew!" cried that boy's mother.

But Mathew was bewitched with love for the mermaid, and ran the faster with her toward the sea.

Then the fishermen of Zennor gave chase, and all others, too, even Mathew's mother. But Mathew was quick and strong and outdistanced them. And Morveren was quick and clever. She tore the pearls and coral from her dress and flung them on the path. The fishermen were greedy, even as men are now, and stopped in their chase to pick up the gems. Only Mathew's mother still ran after them.

The tide was going out. Great rocks thrust up from the dark water. Already it was too shallow for Morveren to swim. But Mathew plunged ahead into the water, stumbling in to his knees. Quickly his mother caught hold of his fisherman's jersey. Still Mathew pushed on, until the sea rose to his waist, and then his shoulders. Then the waters closed over Morveren and Mathew, and his mother was left with only a bit of yarn in her hand, like a fishing line with nothing on it.

Never again were Mathew and Morveren seen by the people of Zennor. They had gone to live in the land of Llyr, in golden sand castles built far below the waters in a blue-green world.

But the people of Zennor heard Mathew. For he sang to Morveren both day and night, love songs and lullabies. Nor did he sing for her ears only. Mathew learned songs that told of the sea as well. His voice rose up soft and high if the day was to be fair, deep and low if Llyr was going to make the waters boil. From his songs, the fishermen of Zennor knew when it was safe to put to sea, and when it was wise to anchor snug at home.

There are some still who find meanings in the voices of the waves and understand the whispers of the winds. These are the ones who say Mathew sings yet, to them that will listen.

Conociendo a Joshua Slocum

En el año 1893, un viejo capitán de veleros que contaba con 49 años de edad, Joshua Slocum, paseaba por la playa de Fairhaven, en la costa Atlántica de los Estados Unidos, cuando se encontró con su amigo el capitán Eben Pierce, el cual le regaló un barco.
Slocum era un marino experimentado que se enamoró de aquella balandra y decidió reconstruirla (completamente solo) desde cero.

Mientras lo hacía se propuso navegar con el "Spray" (del inglés: espuma), completamente solo alrededor del mundo. La idea era entonces atrevida por varios motivos:

nadie antes había intentado semejante empresa, porque no se conocía aún el timón automático y otros elementos de navegación que hoy facilitan la navegación solitaria
además era la época de declive de los grandes barcos de vela, que eran sustituídos rápidamente por los de vapor, y los viejos lobos de mar como él estaban retirados (y se dedicaban en muchos casos a sus granjas) o trabajaban de pescadores
no menos importante, en la concepción cultural de la época nadie navegaba por placer, sino para trabajar
la intención de Joshua era hacer semejante viaje en solitario, sin nadie que lo ayudara a guiar su barco (lo cual era inaudito para esos tiempos, dado el tamaño del mismo).
y por último, Joshua no sabía nadar.
Una vez terminado, las dimensiones del Spray fueron las siguientes:

eslora entre perpendiculares: 11,2 metros
manga: 4,32 metros
puntal en la bodega: 1,27 metros
arqueo neto: 9 toneladas
toneladas brutas: 12,71


Cómo él mismo cuenta en el libro surgido de esta aventura, el viaje inaugural lo hizo en la bahía de Buzzard, junto con el capitán Pierce. Y la preocupación de sus amigos, que los miraban desde la orilla, era si todo esto, los 533,62 dólares empleados en la construcción de barco, junto con los 13 meses de trabajo propio invertidos en la tarea, iba a "compensar".


El 24 de Abril de 1895 levó anclas en Boston, y comenzó su histórico viaje que lo llevaría a navegar en solitario 72000 km, y regresar a Estados Unidos el 27 de Junio de 1898 a la una de la madrugada, tras una ausencia de 3 años, 2 meses y 2 días.


"Había decidido hacer un viaje alrededor del mundo, y con el viento en la mañana del 24 de abril 1895, fue justo, al mediodía, cuando subí el ancla, e icé la vela. Deje Boston, donde el Spray había sido amarrado perfectamente todo el invierno. El viento soplaba y notaba como la balandra tiro para delante a toda vela. Un bordo corto hizo hasta dejar el puerto, amurado a babor, Un fotógrafo en el muelle del Este de Boston, saca una foto del barco, con su bandera en la cumbre mostrando sus sus pliegues. Mi pulso emocionado latía en mí, sentí que no podía haber vuelta atrás, y que yo quería participar en una aventura, un sentido que he entendido perfectamente.


Desde este momento no menos importante, nace una nueva concepción cultural de la época, ya que nadie navegaba por placer en aquellos tiempos, sino más, bien era solo para trabajar, como oficio. Joshua Slocun se puede decir que es el padre de todos nosotros navegantes deportivos y aficionados y que ahora vuelve a dar otra vuelta el tema, con los deportistas profesionales, pero aquel ito fue a caballo de 1800 y principios de 1900.


Su itinerario lo llevó primero a las islas Azores, de allí a España, y luego a las islas Canarias, Islas Azores, para luego cruzar el Atlántico en sentido contrario y arribar a Pernambuco, Brasil.
Desde allí bordeó América del Sur, y cruzó en solitario, y por 2 veces (ya que un vendaval williwaw contrario lo obligó a volver hacia atrás y a repetir el trayecto) el Cabo de Hornos.
Sus aventuras en este lugar estuvieron llenas de peligros, y no fue el menor de ellos el intento de los indios patagones por abordar su barco, y en un caso por matarlo (una flecha pasó a escasos centímetros de su cabeza y se clavó a su lado, en el mástil).
Su pericia marinera, tesón y caridad hacia sus semejantes lo salvó y le ayudó a superar todos los obstáculos... también con la ayuda oportuna de concejos que le daban amigos desinteresados que encontró en cada puerto en donde estuvo.
Quizá una nota que pinta su viaje fue la negativa que puso a recibir una bolsa de polvo de oro que uno de esos amigos le quizo dar en Punta Arenas, justo antes de aventurarse a cruzar el Cabo de Hornos, pero al mismo tiempo si aceptó un paquete con tachuelas que le regaló otro, lo que él describió luego que le resultó "de mas valor que el oro".

Slocum dice de esta parte del mundo:

aquí, en el Estrecho de Magallanes, encontré gran cantidad de mejillones, de excelente calidad. Me regalé magníficamente con ellos. Había una especie de cisne, más pequeño que el pato almizclado, que pude haber derribado con el rifle, pero, dada la parquedad de vida de aquel melancólico país, no tuve ánimo, a no ser en defensa propia, para suprimir vida alguna.

En su cruce del oceáno Pacífico hizo escala, entre otros lugares, en la isla de Juan Fernández, donde naufragó Alexander Selkirk, cuya peripecia inspiró a William Defoe las aventuras de Robinson Crusoe, y en la isla de Vailima, donde visitó a la viuda de Robert Louis Stevenson.
Allí formula Slocum una de las pocas reflexiones marginales que se permite:

A medida que me fui alejando del centro de la civilización, cada vez oí hablar menos de lo que compensaba o no compensaba. Al relatarle mi viaje, la señora Stevenson no me preguntó ni una sola vez qué provecho material pensaba sacarle. Cuando visité una aldea samoana, el jefe no quiso saber el precio de la ginebra, ni dijo: "¿Cuánto pagarás por el cerdo asado?", sino: "¡Dólares, dólares, el hombre blanco sólo quiere saber de dólares!".

En casi cada puerto que visitó siempre fue recibido con honores por el gobernador del lugar y por los mismos lugareños. Aprovechaba cada puerto para dar conferencias sobre su viaje, y así conseguir un poco de dinero para poder continuar el viaje y pagar los gastos de puerto (en los pocos casos en que se los cobraron).
En algunas ocasiones, habiendo sufrido el Spray algún daño, fue llevado a dique seco y reparado sin que se le cobrara nada. Tal era la admiración que causaba su viaje de circunnavegación.



El Spray se demostró como un barco con una capacidad marinera extraordinaria, capaz de mantener el rumbo sin desviarse y sin tener nadie al timón (con éste atado). Al respecto, Joshua dice:

[...] desde la isla de Thursday a las Cocos, a 2700 millas marinas de distancia [5000 kilómetros], navegadas en 23 días, sin nadie al timón en dicho tiempo, de tierra a tierra, excepto aproximadamente durante 1 hora. Ningún otro barco en la historia de la navegación realizó alguna vez, en circunstancias similares y durante un viaje tan largo y prolongado, semejante hazaña.

Esto hizo que desde entonces mas de ochocientas reproducciones del mítico velero han surcado y surcan los mares de hoy en día.

Slocum no solo fue la primera persona que circunnavegó el globo solo, sino que fue el primero en construir un puente entre las masas y el navegar.
Él hizo del navegar algo popular, al escribir libros maravillosos sobre el tema, lo que hizo que la gente los lea con la misma emoción y fascinación desde el siglo 19 hasta ahora.

En 1899 contó todo su viaje en el libro "Navegando Solo Alrededor del Mundo" (Plaza y Janés, ISBN 84-01-54056-9), que fue un best-seller traducido en numerosas lenguas y que aún hoy se imprime, y ahora es considerado un clásico de la literatura de viajes. Es una maravillosa historia de aventuras, un texto de navegación con calidad literaria.
En 1902, con el dinero que le proporcionó este libro y una serie de conferencias, Slocum pudo comprar una granja en West Tisbury, Massachusetts, a la que llamó "Fag End" (El Último Tramo).

A la vuelta de su viaje declaró sentirse 10 años mas joven. Pero además, el "viaje interior" que surgió fruto de esta aventura también lo hizo cambiar. Él dice:

[...] un espíritu de caridad, incluso de benevolencia, había crecido con fuerza en mi naturaleza a través de las meditaciones de aquellos días supremos pasados en la mar.

Y agrega:

en las soledades de la triste comarca que rodea al Cabo de Hornos me sentí incapaz de suprimir una vida en el mundo, excepto en defensa propia, y al navegar, este rasgo de carácter eremita fue creciendo, hasta el punto de llegar a revolverme la sola mención de matar animales para mi alimentación.

En Noviembre de 1909 Slocum anunció que estaba listo para navegar por el Río Orinoco... y nunca mas se supo nada de él ni del Spray... lo cual lo convirtió en una leyenda, e hizo que hoy en día cualquier persona que conozca su aventura no pueda dejar de emocionarse al leer la frase "¡Ah del Spray!", habitual saludo marinero que le hacía la gente cuando quería comunicarse con la "tripulación" de tan famoso barco.

Quizás el destino le reservó como mo podría haber sido de otra forma, este final, sólo propio de un hombre excepcional, hijo de la mar que tanto amó, para en ella, sólo en ella, desaparecer. Qué mejor epitafio que las palabras con que cierra su libro:

" Donde quiera que estuviésemos mi barco y yo, los días pasaban ligeros y alegres. "





Technorati : Joshua Slocum, Spray, balandra, circunnavegación

celtic tales

Conall Yellowclaw


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Conall Yellowclaw was a sturdy tenant in Erin: he had three sons. There was at that time a king over every fifth of Erin. It fell out for the children of the king that was near Conall, that they themselves and the children of Conall came to blows. The children of Conall got the upper hand, and they killed the king's big son. The king sent a message for Conall and he said to him - " Oh, Conall ! what made your sons go to spring on my sons till my big son was killed by your children ? but I see that though I follow you revengefully, I shall not be much better for it, and I will now set a thing before you, and if you will do it, I will not follow you with revenge. If you and your sons will get me the brown horse of the king of Lochlann, you shall get the souls of your sons."

"Why," said Conall, "should not I do the pleasure of the king, though there should be no souls of my sons in dread at all. Hard is the matter you require of me, but I will lose my own life, and the life of my sons, or else I will do the pleasure of the king."

After these words Conall left the king, and he went home: when he got home he was under much trouble and perplexity. When he went to lie down he told his wife the thing the king had set before him. His wife took much sorrow that he was obliged to part from herself, while she knew not if she should see him more.

"Oh, Conall," said she, "why didst not thou let the king do his own pleasure to thy sons, rather than be going now, while I know not if ever I shall see thee more ?"

When he rose on the morrow, he set himself and his three sons in order, and they took their journey towards Lochlann, and they made no stop but tore through ocean till they reached it. When they reached Lochlann they did not know what they should do. Said the old man to his sons, "Stop ye, and we will seek out the house of the king's miller."

When they went into the house of the king's miller, the man asked them to stop there for the night. Conall told the miller that his own children and the children of his king had fallen out, and that his children had killed the king's son, and there was nothing that would please the king but that he should get the brown horse of the king of Lochlann.

"If you will do me a kindness, and will put me in a way to get him, for certain I will pay ye for it."

"The thing is silly that you are come to seek," said the miller; "for the king has laid his mind on him so greatly that you will not get him in any way unless you steal him; but if you can make out a way, I will keep it secret."

"This is what I am thinking," said Conall, "since you are working every day for the king, you and your gillies could put myself and my sons into five sacks of bran."

"The plan that has come into your head is not bad," said the miller.

The miller spoke to his gillies, and he said to them to do this, and they put them in five sacks. The king's gillies came to seek the bran, and they took the five sacks with them, and they emptied them before the horses. The servants locked the door, and they went away.

When they rose to lay hand on the brown horse, said Conall, "You shall not do that. It is hard to get out of this; let us make for ourselves five hiding holes, so that if they hear us we may go and hide." They made the holes, then they laid hands on the horse. The horse was pretty well unbroken, and he set to making a terrible noise through the stable. The king heard the noise. "It must be my brown horse, said he to his gillies ; " find out what Is wrong with him."

The servants went out, and when Conall and his sons saw them coming they went into the hiding holes. The servants looked amongst the horses, and they did not find anything wrong; and they returned and they told this to the king, and the king said to them that if nothing was wrong they should go to their places of rest. When the gillies had time to be gone, Conall and his sons laid their hands again on the horse. If the noise was great that he made before, the noise he made now was seven times greater. The king sent a message for his gillies again, and said for certain there was something troubling the brown horse. "Go and look well about him." The servants went out, and they went to their hiding holes. The servants rummaged well, and did not find a thing. They returned and they told this.

"That is marvellous for me," said the king: "go you to lie down again, and if I notice it again I will go out my self."

When Conall and his sons perceived that the gillies were gone, they laid hands again on the horse, and one of them caught him, and if the noise that the horse made on the two former times was great, he made more this time.

"Be this from me," said the king ; "it must be that some one is troubling my brown horse." He sounded the bell hastily, and when his waiting-man came to him, he said to him to let the stable gillies know that something was wrong with the horse. The gillies came, and the king went with them. When Conall and his sons perceived the company coming they went to the hiding holes.

The king was a wary man, and he saw where the horses were making a noise.

"Be wary," said the king, " there are men within the stable, let us get at them somehow."

The king followed the tracks of the men, and he found them. Every one knew Conall, for he was a valued tenant of the king of Erin, and when the king brought them up out of the holes he said, "Oh, Conall, is it you that are here ?"

"I am, O king, without question, and necessity made me come. I am under thy pardon, and under thine honour, and under thy grace." He told how it happened to him, and that he had to get the brown horse for the king of Erin, or that his sons were to be put to death. "I knew that I should not get him by asking, and I was going to steal him."

"Yes, Conall, it is well enough, but come in," said the king. He desired his look-out men to set a watch on the sons of Conall, and to give them meat. And a double watch was set that night on the sons of Conall.

"Now, O Conall," said the king, '' were you ever in a harder place than to be seeing your lot of sons hanged tomorrow ? But you set it to my goodness and to my grace, and say that it was necessity brought it on you, so I must not hang you. Tell me any case in which you were as hard as this, and if you tell that, you shall get the soul of your youngest son."

"I will tell a case as hard in which I was," said Conall. "I was once a young lad, and my father had much land, and he had parks of year-old cows, and one of them had just calved, and my father told me to bring her home. I found the cow, and took her with us. There fell a shower of snow. We went into the herd's bothy, and we took the cow and the calf in with us, and we were letting the shower pass from us. Who should come in but one cat and ten, and one great one-eyed fox-coloured cat as head bard over them. When they came in, in very deed I myself had no liking for their company. ' Strike up with you,' said the head bard, 'why should we be still ? and sing a cronan to Conall Yellowclaw.' I was amazed that my name was known to the cats themselves. When they had sung the cronan, said the head bard, 'Now, O Conall, pay the reward of the cronan that the cats have sung to thee.' 'Well then,' said I myself, ' I have no reward whatsoever for you, unless you should go down and take that calf.' No sooner said I the word than the two cats and ten went down to attack the calf, and in very deed, he did not last them long. ' Play up with you, why should you he silent? Make a cronan to Conall Yellow,' said the head bard. Certainly I had no liking at all for the cronan, but up came the one cat and ten, and if they did not sing me a cronan then and there! ' Pay them now their reward,' said the great fox-coloured cat. 'I am tired myself of yourselves and your rewards,' said I. ' I have no reward for you unless you take that cow down there." They betook themselves to the cow, and indeed she did not last them long.

"'Why will you be silent? Go up and sing a cronan to Conall Yellowdaw,' said the head bard. And surely, oh, king, I had no care for them or for their cronan, for I began to see that they were not good comrades. When they had sung me the cronan they betook themselves down where the head bard was. ' Pay now their reward, said the head bard ; and for sure, oh king, I had no reward for them and I said to them, 'I have no reward for you.' And surely, oh king, there was caterwauling between them. So I leapt out at a turf window that was at the back of the house. I took myself off as hard as I might into the wood. I was swift enough and strong at that time ; and when I felt the rustling toirm of the cats after me I climbed into as high a tree as I saw in the place, and one that was close in the top ; and I hid myself as well as I might. The cats began to search for me through the wood, and they could not find me ; and when they were tired, each one said to the other that they would turn back. ' But,' said the one-eyed fox-coloured cat that was commander-in-chief over them, 'you saw him not with your two eyes, and though I have but one eye, there's the rascal up in the tree.' When he had said that, one of them went up in the tree, and as he was coming where I was, I drew a weapon that I had and I killed him.


' Be this from me !' said the one-eyed one - ' I must not be losing my company thus gather round the root of the tree and dig about it, and let down that villain to earth.' On this they gathered about the tree, and they dug about the root, and the first branching root that they cut, she gave a shiver to fall, and I myself gave a shout, and it was not to be wondered at. There was in the neighbourhood of the wood a priest, and he had ten men with him delving, and he said, 'There is a shout of a man in extremity and I must not be without replying to it.' And the wisest of the men said, ' Let it alone till we hear it again.' The cats began again digging wildly, and they broke the next root; and I myself gave the next shout, and in very deed it was not a weak one. ' Certainly,' said the priest, 'it is a man in extremity - let us move.' They set themselves in order for moving. And the cats arose on the tree, and they broke the third root, and the tree fell on her elbow. Then I gave the third shout. The stalwart men hastened, and when they saw how the cats served the tree, they began at them with the spades; and they themselves and the cats began at each other, till the cats ran away. And surely, oh king, I did not move till I saw the last one of them off. And then I came home. And there's the hardest case in which I ever was; and it seems to me that tearing by the cats were harder than hanging to-morrow by the king of Lochlann."

"Och ! Conall," said the king, "you are full of words. You have freed the soul of your son with your tale ; and if you tell me a harder case than that you will get your second youngest son, and then you will have two sons."

"Well then," said Conall, "on condition that thou dost that, I will tell thee how I was once in a harder case than to be in thy power in prison to-night."

"Let's hear," said the king.

"I was then," said Conall, " quite a young lad, and I went out hunting, and my father's land was beside the sea, and it was rough with rocks, caves, and rifts. When I was going on the top of the shore, I saw as if there were a smoke coming up between two rocks, and I began to look what might be the meaning of the smoke coming up there. When I was looking, what should I do but fall; and the place was so full of heather, that neither bone nor skin was broken. I knew not how I should get out of this. I was not looking before me, but I kept looking overhead the way I came - and thinking that the day would never come that I could get up there. It was terrible for me to be there till I should die. I heard a great clattering coming, and what was there but a great giant and two dozen of goats with him, and a buck at their head. And when the giant had tied the goats, he came up and he said to me, ' Hao O ! Conall, it's long since my knife has been rusting in my pouch waiting for thy tender flesh.' 'Och !' said I, 'it's not much you will be bettered by me, though you should tear me asunder; I will make but one meal for you. But I see that you are one-eyed. I am a good leech, and I will give you the sight of the other eye.' The giant went and he drew the great caldron on the site of the fire. I myself was telling him how he should heat the water, so that I should give its sight to the other eye. I got heather and I made a rubber of it, and I set him upright in the cauldron. I began at the eye that was well, pretending to him that I would give its sight to the other one, till I left them as bad as each other; and surely it was easier to spoil the one that was well than to give sight to the other.

"When he saw that he could not see a glimpse, and when I myself said to him that I would get out in spite of him, he gave a spring out of the water, and he stood in the mouth of the cave, and he said that he would have revenge for the sight of his eye. I had but to stay there crouched the length of the night, holding in my breath in such a way that he might not find out where I was.

"When he felt the birds calling in the morning, and knew that the day was, he said - ' Art thou sleeping? Awake and let out my lot of goats.' I killed the buck. He cried, 'I do believe that thou art killing my buck.'

"'I am not,' said I, ' but the ropes are so tight that I take long to loose them.' I let out one of the goats, and there he was caressing her, and he said to her, 'There thou art thou shaggy, hairy white goat, and thou seest me, but I see thee not.' I kept letting them out by the way of one and one, as I flayed the buck, and before the last one was out I had him flayed bag-wise. Then I went and I put my legs in place of his legs, and my hands in place of his forelegs, and my head in place of his head, and the horns on top of my head, so that the brute might think that it was the buck. I went out. When I was going out the giant laid his hand on me, and he said, 'There thou art, thou pretty buck; thou seest me, but I see thee not.' When I myself got out, and I saw the world about me, surely, oh, king ! joy was on me. When I was out and had shaken the skin off me, I said to the brute, 'I am out now in spite of you.'

"'Aha!' said he, 'hast thou done this to me. Since thou wert so stalwart that thou hast got out, I will give thee a ring that I have here ; keep the ring, and it will do thee good.'

"'I will not take the ring from you,' said I,' but throw it, and I will take it with me.' He threw the ring on the flat ground, I went myself and I lifted the ring, and I put it on my finger. When he said me then, ' Is the ring fitting thee ?' I said to him, 'It is.' Then he said, 'Where art thou, ring ?' And the ring said, 'I am here.' The brute went and went towards where the ring was speaking, and now I saw that I was in a harder case than ever I was. I drew a dirk. I cut the finger from off me, and I threw it from me as far as I could out on the loch, and there was a great depth in the place. He shouted, 'Where art thou, ring?' And the ring said, 'I am here,' though it was on the bed of ocean. He gave a spring after the ring, and out he went in the sea. And I was as pleased then when I saw him drowning, as though you should grant my own life and the life of my two sons with me, and not lay any more trouble on me.

"When the giant was drowned I went in, and I took with me all he had of gold and silver, and I went home, and surely great joy was on my people when I arrived. And as a sign now look, the finger is off me."

"Yes, indeed, Conall, you are wordy and wise," said the king. "I see the finger is off you. You have freed your two sons, but tell me a case in which you ever were that is harder than to be looking on your son being hanged to-morrow, and you shall get the soul of your eldest son."

"Then went my father," said Conall "and he got me a wife, and I was married. I went to hunt. I was going beside the sea, and I saw an island over in the midst of the loch, and I came there where a boat was with a rope before her, and a rope behind her, and many precious things within her. I looked myself on the boat to see how I might get part of them. I put in the one foot, and the other foot was on the ground, and when I raised my head what was it but the boat over in the middle of the loch, and she never stopped till she reached the island. When I went out of the boat the boat returned where she was before. I did not know now what I should do. The place was without meat or clothing, without the appearance of a house on it. I came out on the top of a hill. Then I came to a glen ; I saw in it, at the bottom of a hollow, a woman with a child, and the child was naked on her knee, and she had a knife in her hand. She tried to put the knife to the throat of the babe, and the babe began to laugh in her face, and she began to cry, and she threw the knife behind her. I thought to myself that I was near my foe and far from my friends, and I called to the woman, 'What are you doing here?' And she said to me, 'What brought you here?' I told her myself word upon word how I came. 'Well then,' said she, 'it was so I came also.' She showed me to the place where I should come in where she was. I went in, and I said to her, 'What was the matter that you were putting the knife on the neck of the child?' 'it is that he must be cooked for the giant who is here, or else no more of my world will be before me.' Just then we could be hearing the footsteps of the giant, 'What shall I do? what shall I do?' cried the woman. I went to the cauldron, and by luck it was not hot, so in it I got just as the brute came in. 'Hast thou boiled that youngster for me ?' he cried. ' He's not done yet,' said she, and I cried out from the cauldron, 'Mammy, mammy, it's boiling I am.' Then the giant laughed out HAl, HAW, HOGARAICH, and heaped on wood under the caldron.

"And now I was sure I would scald before I could get out of that. As fortune favoured me, the brute slept beside the cauldron. There I was scalded by the bottom of the cauldron. When she perceived that he was asleep, she set her mouth quietly to the hole that was in the lid, and she said to me 'was I alive?' I said I was. I put up my head, and the hole in the lid was so large, that my head went through easily. Everything was coming easily with me till I began to bring up my hips. I left the skin of my hips behind me, but I came out. When I got out of the caldron I knew not what to do; and she said to me that there was no weapon that would kill him but his own weapon. I began to draw his spear and every breath that he drew I thought I would be down his throat, and when his breath came out I was back again just as far. But with every ill that befell me I got the spear loosed from him. Then I was as one under a bundle of straw in a great wind for I could not manage the spear. And it was fearful to look on the brute, who had but one eye in the midst of his face; and it was not agreeable for the like of me to attack him. I drew the dart as best I could, and I set it in his eye. When he felt this he gave his head a lift, and he struck the other end of the dart on the top of the cave, and it went through to the back of his head. And he fell cold dead where he was; and you may be sure, oh king, that joy was on me. I myself and the woman went out on clear ground, and we passed the night there. I went and got the boat with which I came, and she was no way lightened, and took the woman and the child over on dry land ; and I returned home."

The king of Lochlann's mother was putting on a fire at this time, and listening to Conall telling the tale about the child.

"Is it you," said she, " that were there ?"

"Well then," said he, " 'twas I."

"Och! och ! " said she, " 'twas I that was there, and the king is the child whose life you saved ; and it is to you that life thanks should be given." Then they took great joy.

The king said, "Oh, Conall, you came through great hardships. And now the brown horse is yours, and his sack full of the most precious things that are in my treasury."

They lay down that night, and if it was early that Conall rose, it was earlier than that that the queen was on foot making ready. He got the brown horse and his sack full of gold and silver and stones of great price, and then Conall and his three sons went away, and they returned home to the Erin realm of gladness. He left the gold and silver in his house, and he went with the horse to the king. They were good friends evermore. He returned home to his wife, and they set in order a feast ; and that was a feast if ever there was one, oh son and brother.

Wonderful Nature Scenery

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Wonderful Nature Scenery

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YOSEMITE

People in Yosemite: A TimeLapse Study from Steven M. Bumgardner on Vimeo.

DESCUBRIENDO AL PENSADOR AUSTRÍACO IVAN ILLICH

Ivan Illich: writing on the web

Silence is a Commons by Ivan Illich

Computers are doing to communication
what fences did to pastures
and cars did to streets.by Ivan Illich

Minna-san, gladly I accept the honour of addressing this forum on Science and Man. The theme that Mr. Tsuru proposes, "The Computer-Managed Society," sounds an alarm. Clearly you foresee that machines which ape people are tending to encroach on every aspect of people's lives, and that such machines force people to behave like machines. The new electronic devices do indeed have the power to force people to "communicate" with them and with each other on the terms of the machine. Whatever structurally does not fit the logic of machines is effectively filtered from a culture dominated by their use.

The machine-like behaviour of people chained to electronics constitutes a degradation of their well-being and of their dignity which, for most people in the long run, becomes intolerable. Observations of the sickening effect of programmed environments show that people in them become indolent, impotent, narcissistic and apolitical. The political process breaks down, because people cease to be able to govern themselves; they demand to be managed.

I congratulate Asahi Shimbun on its efforts to foster a new democratic consensus in Japan, by which your more than seven million readers become aware of the need to limit the encroachment of machines on the style of their own behaviour. It is important that precisely Japan initiate such action. Japan is looked upon as the capital of electronics; it would be marvellous if it became for the entire world the model of a new politics of self-limitation in the field of communication, which, in my opinion, is henceforth necessary if a people wants to remain self-governing.

Electronic management as a political issue can be approached in several ways. I propose, at the beginning of this public consultation, to approach the issue as one of political ecology. Ecology, during the last ten years, has acquired a new meaning. It is still the name for a branch of professional biology, but the term now increasingly serves as the label under which a broad, politically organized general public analyzes and influences technical decisions. I want to focus on the new electronic management devices as a technical change of the human environment which, to be benign, must remain under political (and not exclusively expert) control. I have chosen this focus for my introduction, because I thus continue my conversation with those three Japanese colleagues to whom I owe what I know about your country - Professors Yoshikazu Sakamoto, Joshiro Tamanoi and Jun Ui.

In the 13 minutes still left to me on this rostrum I will clarify a distinction that I consider fundamental to political ecology. I shall distinguish the environment as commons from the environment as resource. On our ability to make this particular distinction depends not only the construction of a sound theoretical ecology, but also - and more importantly - effective ecological jurisprudence Minna-san, how I wish, at this point, that I were a pupil trained by your Zen poet, the great Basho. Then perhaps in a bare 17 syllables I could express the distinction between the commons within which people's subsistence activities are embedded, and resources that serve for the economic production of those commodities on which modem survival depends. If I were a poet, perhaps I would make this distinction so beautifully and incisively that it would penetrate your hearts and remain unforgettable. Unfortunately I am not a Japanese poet. I must speak to you in English, a language that during the last 100 years has lost the ability to make this distinction, and - in addition - I must speak through translation. Only because I may count on the translating genius of Mr. Muramatsu do I dare to recover Old English meanings with a talk in Japan.

"Commons" is an Old English word. According to my Japanese friends, it is quite close to the meaning that iriai still has in Japanese "Commons," like iriai, is a word which, in preindustrial times, was used to designate certain aspects of the environment. People called commons those parts of the environment for which customary law exacted specific forms of community respect. People called commons that part of the environment which lay beyond their own thresholds and outside of their own possessions, to which, however, they had recognized claims of usage, not to produce commodities but to provide for the subsistence of their households. The customary law which humanized the environment by establishing the commons was usually unwritten. It was unwritten law not only because people did not care to write it down, but because what it protected was a reality much too complex to fit into paragraphs. The law of the commons regulates the right of way, the right to fish and to hunt, to graze, and to collect wood or medicinal plants in the forest.

An oak tree might be in the commons. Its shade, in summer, is reserved for the shepherd and his flock; its acorns are reserved for the pigs of the neighbouring peasants; its dry branches serve as fuel for the widows of the village; some of its fresh twigs in springtime are cut as ornaments for the church - and at sunset it might be the place for the village assembly. When people spoke about commons, iriai, they designated an aspect of the environment that was limited, that was necessary for the community's survival, that was necessary for different groups in different ways, but which, in a strictly economic sense, was not perceived as scarce.

When today, in Europe, with university students I use the term "commons" (in German Almende or Gemeinheit, in Italian gli usi civici) my listeners immediately think of the eighteenth century. They think of those pastures in England on which villagers each kept a few sheep, and they think of the "enclosure of the pastures" which transformed the grassland from commons into a resource on which commercial flocks could be raised. Primarily, however, my students think of the innovation of poverty which came with enclosure: of the absolute impoverishment of the peasants, who were driven from the land and into wage labour, and they think of the commercial enrichment of the lords.

In their immediate reaction, my students think of the rise of a new capitalist order. Facing that painful newness, they forget that enclosure also stands for something more basic. The enclosure of the commons inaugurates a new ecological order: Enclosure did not just physically transfer the control over grasslands from the peasants to the lord. Enclosure marked a radical change in the attitudes of society towards the environment. Before, in any juridical system, most of the environment had been considered as commons from which most people could draw most of their sustenance without needing to take recourse to the market. After enclosure, the environment became primarily a resource at the service of "enterprises" which, by organizing wage-labor, transformed nature into the goods and services on which the satisfaction of basic needs by consumers depends. This transformation is in the blind spot of political economy.

This change of attitudes can be illustrated better if we think about roads rather than about grasslands. What a difference there was between the new and the old parts of Mexico City only 20 years ago. In the old parts of the city the streets were true commons. Some people sat on the road to sell vegetables and charcoal. Others put their chairs on the road to drink coffee or tequila. Others held their meetings on the road to decide on the new headman for the neighbourhood or to determine the price of a donkey. Others drove their donkeys through the crowd, walking next to the heavily loaded beast of burden; others sat in the saddle. Children played in the gutter, and still people walking could use the road to get from one place to another.

Such roads were not built for people. Like any true commons, the street itself was the result of people living there and making that space liveable. The dwellings that lined the roads were not private homes in the modern sense - garages for the overnight deposit of workers. The threshold still separated two living spaces, one intimate and one common. But neither homes in this intimate sense nor streets as commons survived economic development.

In the new sections of Mexico City, streets are no more for people. They are now roadways for automobiles, for buses, for taxis, cars, and trucks. People are barely tolerated on the streets unless they are on their way to a bus stop. If people now sat down or stopped on the street, they would become obstacles for traffic, and traffic would be dangerous to them. The road has been degraded from a commons to a simple resource for the circulation of vehicles. People can circulate no more on their own. Traffic has displaced their mobility. They can circulate only when they are strapped down and are moved.

The appropriation of the grassland by the lords was challenged, but the more fundamental transformation of grassland (or of roads) from commons to resource has happened, until recently, without being subjected to criticism. The appropriation of the environment by the few was clearly recognized as an intolerable abuse By contrast, the even more degrading transformation of people into members of an industrial labour force and into consumers was taken, until recently, for granted. For almost a hundred years the majority of political parties has challenged the accumulation of environmental resources in private hands. However, the issue was argued in terms of the private utilization of these resources, not the distinction of commons. Thus anticapitalist politics so far have bolstered the legitimacy of transforming commons into resources.

Only recently, at the base of society, a new kind of "popular intellectual" is beginning to recognize what has been happening. Enclosure has denied the people the right to that kind of environment on which - throughout all of history - the moral economy of survival had been based. Enclosure, once accepted, redefines community. Enclosure underlines the local autonomy of community. Enclosure of the commons is thus as much in the interest of professionals and of state bureaucrats as it is in the interest of capitalists. Enclosure allows the bureaucrats to define local community as impotent - "ei-ei schau-schau!!!" - to provide for its own survival. People become economic individuals that depend for their survival on commodities that are produced for them. Fundamentally, most citizens' movements represent a rebellion against this environmentally induced redefinition of people as consumers.

Minna-san, you wanted to hear me speak on electronics, not grassland and roads. But I am a historian; I wanted to speak first about the pastoral commons as I know them from the past in order then to say something about the present, much wider threat to the commons by electronics.

This man who speaks to you was born 55 years ago in Vienna. One month after his birth he was put on a train, and then on a ship and brought to the Island of Brac. Here, in a village on the Dalmatian coast, his grandfather wanted to bless him. My grandfather lived in the house in which his family had lived since the time when Muromachi ruled in Kyoto. Since then on the Dalmatian Coast many rulers had come and gone - the doges of Venice, the sultans of Istanbul, the corsairs of Almissa, the emperors of Austria, and the kings of Yugoslavia. But these many changes in the uniform and language of the governors had changed little in daily life during these 500 years. The very same olive-wood rafters still supported the roof of my grandfather's house. Water was still gathered from the same stone slabs on the roof. The wine was pressed in the same vats, the fish caught from the same kind of boat, and the oil came from trees planted when Edo was in its youth.

My grandfather had received news twice a month. The news now arrived by steamer in three days; and formerly, by sloop, it had taken five days to arrive. When I was born, for the people who lived off the main routes, history still flowed slowly, imperceptibly. Most of the environment was still in the commons. People lived in houses they had built; moved on streets that had been trampled by the feet of their animals; were autonomous in the procurement and disposal of their water; could depend on their own voices when they wanted to speak up. All this changed with my arrival in Brac.

On the same boat on which I arrived in 1926, the first loudspeaker was landed on the island. Few people there had ever heard of such a thing. Up to that day, all men and women had spoken with more or less equally powerful voices. Henceforth this would change. Henceforth the access to the microphone would determine whose voice shall be magnified. Silence now ceased to be in the commons; it became a resource for which loudspeakers compete. Language itself was transformed thereby from a local commons into a national resource for communication. As enclosure by the lords increased national productivity by denying the individual peasant to keep a few sheep, so the encroachment of the loudspeaker has destroyed that silence which so far had given each man and woman his or her proper and equal voice. Unless you have access to a loudspeaker, you now are silenced.

I hope that the parallel now becomes clear. Just as the commons of space are vulnerable, and can be destroyed by the motorization of traffic, so the commons of speech are vulnerable, and can easily be destroyed by the encroachment of modem means of communication.

The issue which I propose for discussion should therefore be clear: how to counter the encroachment of new, electronic devices and systems upon commons that are more subtle and more intimate to our being than either grassland or roads - commons that are at least as valuable as silence. Silence, according to western and eastern tradition alike, is necessary for the emergence of persons. It is taken from us by machines that ape people. We could easily be made increasingly dependent on machines for speaking and for thinking, as we are already dependent on machines for moving.

Such a transformation of the environment from a commons to a productive resource constitutes the most fundamental form of environmental degradation. This degradation has a long history, which coincides with the history of capitalism but can in no way just be reduced to it. Unfortunately the importance of this transformation has been overlooked or belittled by political ecology so far. It needs to be recognized if we are to organize defense movements of what remains of the commons. This defense constitutes the crucial public task for political action during the eighties. The task must be undertaken urgently because commons can exist without police, but resources cannot. Just as traffic does, computers call for police, and for ever more of them, and in ever more subtle forms.

By definition, resources call for defense by police. Once they are defended, their recovery as commons becomes increasingly difficult. This is a special reason for urgency.


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Ivan Illich is doing to computers what he did to education (De-Schooling Society, 1971), to energy (Energy and Equity, 1974), to medicine (Medical Nemesis, 1975), and to sex roles (Vernacular Gender, 1983). Each time it has been radical analysis that changes our perception of what is really going on. Each time, and with growing clarity, it is an economic/historical analysis having to do with the idea of scarcity as a means of exploitation. This article is from Illich's remarks at the "Asahi Symposium Science and Man - The computer-managed Society," Tokyo, Japan, March 21, 1982. The ideas here are part of a book Illich is working on, The History of Scarcity.

- Stewart Brand

The CoEvolution Quarterly, Winter 1983

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Que este hermoso soneto del gran creyente Miguel de Unamuno os ayude a encontraros con el Amor de Cristo:

Tú que callas, Oh Cristo, para oirnos,
oye de nuestos pechos los sollozos,
gemidos de este valle de lágrimas.
Clamamos a Tí, Cristo Jesús, desde la sima
de nuestro abismo de miseria humana.
Ven y ve, mi Señor, mi seno hiede.
Ve como yo a quien quieres adolezco.
Tú eres resurección y luego vida.
Llámame a mi tu amigo como a Lázaro.
Dame, Señor, que cuando al fin salga
de esta noche tenebrosa,
me entre en el claro día que no acaba,
fijos mis ojos en tu blanco cuerpo,
Hijo del Hombre, Humanidad completa,
en la increada Luz que nunca muere.
Mis ojos fijos en tus ojos, Cristo,
mi mirada anegada en Tí, Señor.

Nana del Caballo Grande por Adrian Humanes

Nana del Caballo Grande