Art and Politics across the Atlantic: The Atlas maritimo del Reyno de el Perù, Chile, Costa Patagónica Oriental, y Occidental (1797)

ABSTRACT

Comprised of eight charts and eight views that map the coastline of the Americas from Ecuador to Brazil, the Atlas maritimo del Reyno de el Perù, Chile, Costa Patagónica Oriental, y Occidental is an exquisite example of eighteenth-century Spanish American manuscript cartography whose production and content contribute to understanding imperial expansion and artistic exchange in the Atlantic World. Commissioned by a pilot of the Indies fleet and produced in Montevideo, this presentation atlas highlights a confluence of local and imperial interests in the cartographic production of the River Plate region. Sources include the works of prominent European explorers, and analysis of the atlas’ elaborate trompe l’oeil cartouches suggests potential artistic links with Andalusia and France. The atlas also reflects changing imperial attitudes towards Patagonia as a geostrategic location, and advances Spanish claims to the region.

Composé de huit cartes et de huit vues qui représentent le littoral des Amériques de l'Équateur au Brésil, l'Atlas maritimo del Reyno de el Perù, Chile, Costa Patagónica Oriental, y Occidental est un exemple raffiné de cartographie manuscrite hispano-américaine du XVIIIe siècle, dont la production et le contenu contribuent à la compréhension de l'expansion impériale et des échanges artistiques dans le monde atlantique. Commandé par un pilote de la flotte des Indes et produit à Montevideo, cet atlas de présentation met en évidence la convergence des intérêts locaux et impériaux dans la production cartographique de la région du Río de la Plata. Les sources incluent les travaux d'éminents explorateurs européens, et l'analyse des cartouches en trompe-l'œil de l'atlas suggère de possibles liens artistiques avec l'Andalousie et la France. L'atlas reflète également le changement d’attitude du pouvoir impérial à l'égard de la Patagonie en tant que lieu géostratégique et fait valoir les revendications espagnoles sur la région.

Compuesto de ocho mapas y ocho vistas que representan la costa de América desde el Ecuador a Brasil, el Atlas maritimo del Reyno de el Perú, Chile, costa patagónica oriental y occidental es un ejemplo exquisito de un manuscrito cartográfico hispano americano del siglo XVIII cuya producción y contenido contribuye a entender la expansión imperial y el intercambio artístico en el mundo atlántico. Comisionado por un piloto de la flota de Indias y producido en Montevideo, la presentación de este atlas destaca una confluencia de intereses locales e imperiales en la producción cartográfica de la región del Río de la Plata. Las fuentes incluyen los trabajos de prominentes exploradores europeos, y el análisis de los elaborados trampantojos de las cartelas sugiere potenciales enlaces artísticos con Andalucía y Francia. El atlas también refleja el cambio de las actitudes imperiales sobre la Patagonia como localización estratégica y avanza las reclamaciones españolas sobre la región.

Der „Atlas marítimo del Reyno de el Perù, Chile, Costa Patagónica Oriental, y Occidental” beschreibt die Küste Südamerikas von Ecuador bis Brasilien in acht Seekarten und ebenso vielen Ansichten. Als herausragendes Beispiel spanisch-amerikanischer Manuskriptkartographie des 18. Jahrhunderts hilft die Betrachtung seiner Herstellung und seines Inhalts, die imperiale Expansion und den künstlerischen Austausch über den Atlantik zu verstehen. Dieser repräsentative Atlas, der von einem Piloten der Indienflotte in Auftrag gegeben und in Montevideo hergestellt wurde, zeigt in besonderer Weise, wie in der Kartographie der La Plata Region lokale und imperiale Interessen zusammenfließen. Unter den Quellen für den Atlas finden sich Arbeiten bedeutender europäischer Entdecker, und die Analyse der aufwendigen Trompe-l’œil-Kartuschen verweisen auf mögliche Zusammenhänge zur Kunst Andalusiens und Frankreichs. Der Atlas belegt zudem die sich verändernde imperiale Haltung zu Patagonien als geostrategischem Raum und fördert die spanischen Ansprüche auf die Region.

KEYWORDS:

• atlas
• nautical charts
• trompe l’oeil
• cartouche
• eighteenth century
• Spanish Empire
• South America
• Montevideo
• Patagonia

The rich mapping tradition of the Spanish Empire has produced valuable sources for understanding imperial expansion and artistic exchange in the Atlantic World. In the eighteenth century in particular, the publication of works in atlas format increased with notable examples including Tomás López’s Atlas geographico de la América Septentrional y Meridional [Geographical Atlas of North and South America] (1758) and, with a specifically hydrographic focus, Vicente Tofiño de San Miguel’s monumental Atlas marítimo de España [Maritime Atlas of Spain] (1789).¹ This article situates a little-studied Spanish American manuscript nautical atlas produced in Montevideo, present-day Uruguay, in 1797 in the context of eighteenth-century Spanish mapmaking: the Atlas maritimo del Reyno de el Perù, Chile, Costa Patagonia Oriental, y Occidental, co[n]struidas sobre las mejores, y mas modernas noticias de este continente, para [el] uso del capitan y piloto de la carrera de Indias Dn. Alexandro González [Maritime Atlas of the Kingdom of Peru, Chile, Eastern and Western Patagonian Coasts, constructed using the best and most modern information regarding this continent, for [the] use of Mr. Alexandro González, Captain and Pilot of the Indies Fleet].

The atlas has artistic and stylistic significance as a locally-produced perspective, highlighting a confluence of local and imperial interests in the River Plate region, divided today between Argentina and Uruguay. In the late-eighteenth century, the region became a hotbed of cartographic talent as Spain and Portugal sent commissions staffed by engineers, geographers, pilots, and engravers to assist in demarcating the roughly ten-thousand-mile boundary between Spanish South America and Portuguese Brazil.² Analysis of the Patagonian charts in particular suggests that the atlas was likely produced by a commission member or a Spanish naval officer, drawing on both French and Spanish cartographic styles and maps produced by the River Plate authorities, as well as the maps and charts included in eighteenth-century European exploration literature. In looking at toponymy and cartouche details, the study indicates how the atlas’ creator(s) negotiated the tensions between distinct representations of Patagonia to create a document that advanced Spain's claims in the region.

By focusing on the atlas’ foregrounding of Patagonia—the subject of the first three charts—I elucidate how this region was understood by Spain's late-eighteenth-century government, mariners, and mapmakers. Long considered a backwater of empire, the South American region of Patagonia has recently come to the attention of map and historical scholars for its strategic role as the gateway to the Pacific.³ Furthermore, since maps of Patagonia from this period were usually made for navigation, locating resources for colonisation, or facilitating catechisation, the region’s inclusion in a decorative presentation atlas, I argue, attests to Spain’s renewed interest in Patagonia in the second half of the eighteenth century.⁴

Spanish Mapping in the Eighteenth Century

The Atlas maritimo is a product of the substantial changes to Spanish cartographic production that took place over the course of the eighteenth century. The Spanish Bourbon monarchs’ emphasis on scientific exploration and improved imperial defence ushered in a ‘systematisation’ of Spanish science that greatly improved the quality and quantity of map and chart production into the second half of the century.⁵ Expertly-trained mapmakers were central to this endeavour, and the Spanish authorities often looked to French models for guidance. With this in mind, the Marqués de la Ensenada, a key architect of Spanish Enlightenment reforms, sent a group of promising students to Paris in 1752 to study under the renowned French geographer Jean Baptiste Bourguignon d’Anville. Among them were Juan de la Cruz Cano y Olmedilla, creator of the monumental Mapa geográfico de América Meridional [Geographical Map of South America] (1775), and Tómas López, who was appointed Royal Geographer in 1780.⁶

Systematisation efforts went hand-in-hand with an overhaul of naval education via the creation of naval training schools, including the Real Academia de Guardias Marinas [Academy of Sea Cadets] in Cádiz, Andalusia, in 1717. From 1752, the Academy was directed by the former student and renowned naval engineer Jorge Juan y Santacilia, who oversaw a review of the existing practical curriculum to privilege mathematical and scientific study in line with French naval practices.⁷ Thanks to Juan’s reforms, the Spanish navy trained a generation of mariners who were responsible for the improved hydrographic mapping of the Spanish coastlines. They also ensured that there were men sufficiently equipped to undertake Spain's extensive mapping expeditions in America and the Pacific between 1785 and 1810, which included the Malaspina expedition (1789–94).⁸ The atlas under examination here appears at the height of this period, reflecting the growing importance placed upon charting both in Spain and the Americas, as well as the substantial impact of French methods on eighteenth-century Spanish maps and charts.

The atlas also appears during a period of ‘transformation’ for the European atlas, which saw mapmakers negotiating the new information that arrived from scientific expeditions such as those undertaken by Cook, Vancouver, and Lapérouse during the second half of the eighteenth century.⁹ In line with this development, the Atlas maritimo draws upon prominent contemporary works of exploration literature and hydrographic mapping. Port views and decorative motifs, for example, have been copied from the Relación histórica del viage a la America Meridional [A Voyage to South America] (1748), the account of Jorge Juan and fellow naval officer Antonio de Ulloa’s years spent in South America as part of the French Geodesic Mission. The trompe l’oeil cartouches and legends of Tofiño’s Atlas marítimo de España constitute another key source of artistic inspiration, reflecting the importance placed upon artistry as well as geographical information in eighteenth-century Spanish sea charting. In what follows, I offer an overview of the atlas’ transnational sources, including Spanish, French, and British printed works. I also reflect upon the position and significance of this atlas in relation to other eighteenth-century atlases, situating it as an ambitious work that makes reference to some of the most renowned European atlases of the period.

Commission and Assembly

Measuring 53 by 77 centimetres, the Atlas maritimo is a large item that would most likely have been made as a presentation piece. It is currently in the collection of the Library of Congress’ Geography and Map Division, and was probably acquired by Philip Lee Phillips, the library’s first Superintendent of Maps (1897–1924), on a collecting trip in Europe.¹⁰ Unfortunately, the Library does not have a record of the atlas’ provenance or seller, or when it entered the collection; it is mentioned for the first time in Phillips’ 1909 catalogue of the Library's geographical atlases.¹¹ The entry incorrectly lists Alexandro González as the atlas’ creator, a misattribution also lettered in gold on the spine of the dark red, cloth binding. González is named on the frontispiece as the individual for whom the atlas has been made, which indicates that it was his commission; the error suggests that the work was rebound, likely by a non-Spanish speaker, sometime between its construction and arrival in the United States (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1. Anonymous, frontispiece of the Atlas maritimo del Reyno de el Perù, Chile, Costa Patagónica Oriental, y Occidental, c. 1797. 51 × 39 cm. Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division, G1701.P5 A8 1797 (hereafter, Atlas maritimo, LOC). The contents omit the final three charts and two port views included in the atlas depicting the coast of Southern Brazil and the River Plate.

I could not find further information on the commissioner, Alexandro González, but his position as a captain and pilot of the Indies route may explain the South American focus of the atlas. The second half of the eighteenth century saw increased mercantile traffic sailing via the Cape Horn route following the destruction of Portobelo during the War of Jenkins’ Ear (1739–48).¹² The 1778 free trade laws that relaxed restrictions on commerce between Spanish and American ports including Montevideo, Buenos Aires, Valparaíso, Concepción, Arica, Callao and Guayaquil, further facilitated commerce in the region.¹³ A Carrera pilot such as González, then, would have been more likely than his forebears to be familiar with these American ports and perhaps sought to commission a piece that reflected his navigational experience.

The frontispiece of the Atlas maritimo lists eleven original items, corresponding to twelve images, with the chart of Chiloé as the final entry.¹⁴ In its current form, the atlas has a frontispiece, eight maritime charts showing stretches of South America's coastline, one coastal profile, and eight views of ports, primarily in Chile. Four sheets – three charts and two port views of Brazil and the River Plate – appear to have been added to the atlas at a later stage, perhaps on the request of González, to increase its scope. The charts that include dates were made no earlier than 1789. The first two charts of Patagonia are dated 1796, and the legends for the charts of Brazil and the River Plate state that they are based on Portuguese charts dating from between 1789 and 1796.

Order and Numbering

The atlas’ charts depict the coastline of South America between Salvador de Bahía and Guayaquil and are organised geographically in an unusual sequence. In succession, they show the eastern coast of Patagonia, southern Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego; the western coast of Patagonia, the coast from northern Chile to Lima (Peru), the coast from Lima to Guayaquil (Ecuador) beside a view of the port of Arica and a coastal profile of Valparaíso (Chile), a view of the port of Callao (Peru), a view of the port of Valparaíso, a view of the port of Concepción (Chile), a view of the port of Valdivia (Chile), and a view of the port of San Carlos de Chiloé (Chile), before switching to the eastern seaboard, showing the coast of Brazil from Salvador de Bahía to Rio de Janeiro, views of the ports of Maldonado (Uruguay) and Rio de Janeiro, the coast of Brazil south of Rio de Janeiro, and the northern bank of the River Plate including the Banco Inglés, a well-known rock formation that was often troublesome to navigate.¹⁵

The order of the first six charts is straightforward, suggesting a sailing route from the River Plate to Guayaquil via Cape Horn or the Strait of Magellan, reflecting contemporary Carrera de Indias routes. The Carrera comprised ‘a highly dynamic maritime network built upon a regime of fleets and navies’ that sailed between Spain and the Americas.’¹⁶ Following the port views, which are ordered north-south, the atlas returns to the Atlantic coast where the charts descend southwards from Salvador de Bahía to the River Plate. The fact that these supplementary charts appear at the end of the atlas, rather than at the beginning, where they would chart the coast continually from Salvador de Bahía to Cape Horn, implies that the current format is not original. The fact that the views are grouped together further supports this theory, as similar contemporary atlases like the Atlas marítimo de España interspersed port views with coastline charts to reflect the order of naval campaigns.¹⁷

Multiple signs of pagination within the document suggest reordering at some point in its history. Starting with the frontispiece, each page is numbered from 1 to 15 in the top-right corner. Some numbers are in ink in the same hand as the charts, while others appear in pencil, completing the sequence in an additional hand. Visible edits have been made to this ordering: an erased number 3 is visible beneath the pencil number of chart 4, and the ink number of chart 5 has been written over a number 4, again accommodating the additions. The consistent handwriting of the sequential ink numbers is supported by the maps’ materiality. The vertical fold lines visible on each page of the atlas suggest a previous and smaller binding of the charts, with the alternative numbers representing page numbers in this format.

Additional sequential numbers in ink appear in the margins of several charts: the Tierra del Fuego chart (today's 3) features a number ‘11’ in the bottom-right corner, the subsequent chart of Chile (today's 4) has a ‘12’ near the top-left corner, the verso of page 5 showing Arica and the profile of Valparaíso is numbered ‘15’, and the recto of page 6 showing the chart from Lima to Guayaquil has a ‘19’ in the bottom-right corner. The ensuing port views (pages 7–11) are all individually numbered in the bottom margin, with numbers ascending from 20 to 29, while the views of Rio de Janeiro and Maldonado are numbered 16 and 17 respectively. The gaps in this sequence may therefore reflect an alternate binding of the charts alongside other materials, which perhaps included port views from the River Plate or Patagonian Atlantic coast in charts 1-10.

Cartouches and Trompe l’Oeil

While the frontispiece indicates where and when the atlas was assembled—Montevideo, 1797—sadly, it offers little direct information about who made the maps within the cartographic material. All maps appear to be in the same hand on account of the consistent handwriting, colour schemes, and recurrent cartouche motifs. Perhaps unsurprisingly, then, the information presented on each map is similarly detailed. For example, there is a large number of toponyms spread across the area shown in both charts and port views. The port views include features such as sounding depths, settlement layout plans, fortifications, and pasturage locations. Each pen-and-ink chart is enhanced by skilfully applied watercolour and decorated with elaborate trompe l’oeil cartouches on almost every page, a testament to the skill and expense that the creation of such an object required. However, there are some differences in production. The inclusion of features on port views is not uniform across the charts, implying the use of distinct sources.

The style and content also offer strong hints regarding the mapmaker's profession. The trompe l’oeil cartouches and numerous port views, which were often drafted to facilitate military engagement, are consistent with the mapmaking undertaken by naval engineers in the early modern Spanish context.¹⁸ Taken together, this circumstantial evidence suggests that the atlas is likely to have been constructed by someone who was in the River Plate in connection with the border demarcation.

Trompe l’oeil cartouches are well documented in eighteenth-century Spanish military cartography.¹⁹ For example, the use of curled-up papers and draped canvases is identifiable across maps produced by hydrographic expeditions sent to Patagonia in the late-eighteenth century, including the intricate designs by the Spanish naval pilot and mapmaker Alejo Berlinguero de la Marca. Berlinguero was an accomplished navigator who taught at the naval school in Cartagena (Spain) from 1785 to 1791, and was made director of the Royal School of Pilots in Ferrol in 1791. He participated in the reconnaissance expedition to the Patagonian Atlantic coast led by Domingo Perler from 1767–8, which included a voyage to the Falkland-Malvinas Islands. Berlinguero subsequently joined the expedition led by Francisco Rubalcava during the 1770–1 Falkland-Malvinas crisis to scope out the British presence in Port Egmont, which was contested by the Spanish.²⁰

Berlinguero’s 1768 ‘Plano de la costa oriental de los Patagones … [Plan of the eastern coast of the Patagonians …],’ for example, features the map title on a rippling double-ended swallowtail banner.²¹ To the right, there is an unfurled scroll depicting the Pillars of Hercules with a Spanish ship sailing through, a clear assertion of Spanish sovereignty in the region. Berlinguero repeats the banner and pillar motifs on his 1769 map of Port Desire on the eastern Patagonian coastline, and the scroll appears again on his 1770 ‘Plano del establecimiento que tenían los ingleses en el Puerto de la Cruzada … [Plan of the establishment that the English have in Port Egmont …],’ and on the 1770 ‘Descripción del Puerto de la Cruzada … [Description of Port Egmont …].’²² The 1770 documents feature the coat of arms of the Spanish King, Charles III, on fluttering draped canvases, which further attests to the need to assert Spanish claims in a region that was under threat from rival imperial powers.

The cartouches found on the atlas’ Brazil charts are also similar to the work of contemporary Platine military engineer José Custodio de Sá y Faría (1710–92). On Sá y Faría’s ‘Mappa que Contem o Pais conhecido da Colonia … [Map that includes the known lands of Colonia …]’ (1750), for example, trompe l'oeil papers depict conflicts between the Portuguese and the Indigenous tolderías (local and itinerant encampments) in the Banda Oriental (Fig. 2).²³

Fig. 2. Jose Custodio de Sá y Faría, Mappa que contem o Pais conhecido da Colonia … , 1750. 78 × 58. Biblioteca Nacional de Uruguay, Biblioteca Digital. This is an undated imprint of the original issued by Imprenta Lahure (Paris). The inset trompe l’oeil details show conflicts that took place between the Portuguese and the Indigenous population in the region.

While this inset scene is directly related to the content of the map, the cartouche on the Atlas maritimo’s first Patagonian chart, the most intricate trompe l’oeil image in the document, seems to bear no relation to the geographical region it is positioned next to. Comprising a scattering of Spanish playing cards, an English horn-handled clip point knife, and a small, printed booklet with the chart’s title, this image may reference both French and Spanish artistic contexts (Fig. 3).²⁴

Fig. 3. Chart of Eastern Patagonia, 1796, from the Atlas maritimo, LOC. 50 × 70 cm. The elaborate trompe l’oeil cartouche includes an array of Spanish playing cards, or naipes, a clip point knife, and a printed pamphlet.

Understanding the context in which the map was made offers the possibility of the cartouche serving as a metaphor or commentary, and not just a stylistic flourish. The trompe l’oeil or trampantojo still life painting that was popular in Seville throughout the eighteenth century often featured playing cards.²⁵ The cartouche may more specifically allude to the Real Fábrica de Naipes [Royal Playing Card Factory], which was founded by Minister of the Indies José de Gálvez in his hometown of Macharaviaya (Andalusia) in 1776. This factory had a monopoly on the production of cards destined for the Indies, making them an important regional product in the late-eighteenth century.²⁶ Perhaps equally relevant is that Gálvez helped to establish the new Viceroyalty of the River Plate that same year and was a key architect of the Bourbon Reforms, which sought to secure and exploit the empire’s frontier regions.²⁷ Gálvez also ordered the Patagonian Coast colonisation project, which installed Spanish settlers on the Atlantic coastline beginning in 1778.²⁸ Gálvez was therefore familiar with this region of the Americas, and would have been aware of the extensive hydrographic mapping that took place as part of the colonisation project. Are the playing cards beside the Patagonian coast, then, a subtle and supportive nod to Gálvez's work and an extension of Spanish imperial authority in the region?

The playing-card cartouche’s positioning on this chart may also offer a comment on life at sea in this region, since playing cards were prevalent in maritime lore and had a storied history in colonial Latin America.²⁹ Their presence on a ship was often regarded with suspicion as it was thought that they could bring about a storm.³⁰ Further, the violence that could result from gambling in a confined space meant that they were often banned altogether.³¹ The appearance of this object, then, drawn over the South Atlantic and off the coast of Patagonia, could reflect the nature of sailing in this famously turbulent region: either showing how one could while away the time until the next port (which this far south of Buenos Aires and depending on the weather could be months) or in reference to the common occurrence of tempests. The cartouche can be seen to fulfil both the artistic ambitions of the atlas’s creator, as well as offering a means of including an object that is significant in the histories of both Andalusia and Spanish America.

The playing card cartouche may also have a connection to French mapmaking. At the École Nationale des Ponts et Chaussées [National School of Bridges and Roads] in Paris, which had trained France's civil engineers since its founding in 1747, a high value was placed on learning to draw maps.³² From 1775, students were encouraged to enter a map-making contest which asked them to develop ideal territories, complete with elaborate overlaid trompe l’oeil features.³³ As the historian of architecture Antoine Picon describes it,

[t]he subject of the exercise was still a map, but it was a map upon which other maps, or a set of documents mentioning the word ‘map’ or evoking this magically resonant term, were superimposed. Thus, playing cards, instruments for surveying a plan, and even those butterflies known at the time as ‘geographical maps’ because of the markings of their wings, might feature.³⁴

Playing cards were not a common cartographic feature in this period, and so their presence in the Atlas maritimo may again offer a clue as to the formation of its creator, especially given the influence of French textbooks at Spanish naval schools.³⁵ The French wordplay observed by Picon (carte [playing card]/carte [chart/map]) also works in Spanish (carta [playing card]/ carta [chart/map]), meaning that the Patagonian cartouche might be tautological, a tongue-in-cheek reference to the mapmaker’s art itself that reflects the significant impact of French art and architecture on eighteenth-century Spanish visual culture.

An additional influence on the scope and style of the atlas may be the work of the Spanish mapmaker Luis de Surville, who worked as an archivist for the Secretaría de Estado y del Despacho Universal de Indias [Secretary of State of the Indies], and taught mathematics at the Real Seminario de Nobles [Royal Seminary of Nobles] in Madrid. In particular, his geographical treatise, the Descripción de la situación de los puertos, ensenadas, caletas, y sondas, de Cartagena, Portovelo, Perico de Panamà, Guayaquil, Payta, Callao de Lima, Ilo, Arica, Cobija, Coquimbo, Valparayso, la Concepción de Chile, Baldivia, Chacào de Chiloé, y la Isla de Juan Fernández, situados en la America [sic] Meridional, con sus respectivos Planos formados por D. Luis de Surville (1778). Held at the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, the Descripción consists of written accounts and views of important Pacific and Spanish Main ports, with a focus on reviewing their defence.³⁶ The atlas was donated to the Museum’s collection by Sir James Caird, who purchased it from London booksellers Maggs Bros. in 1928.³⁷ No commissioner is named, with only Surville appearing on the frontispiece, but the use of the third person plural throughout the text implies a collective endeavour. Derek Howse and Michael Sanderson have noted Surville’s use of ‘realistic embellishment’ as significant even in the context of the ‘superb draughtsmanship’ that characterises late-eighteenth-century Spanish maritime charts.³⁸

Similar in scope and style to the Atlas maritimo, each of Surville’s charts features an elaborate trompe l’oeil illustration. These include a printed book motif with a black French-style border on a view of Portobelo which recalls the pamphlet on the Atlas maritimo’s eastern Patagonia chart, and comparably positioned folded paper cartouches on Surville’s views of the ports of Perico and Guayaquil. The resemblance of Surville’s elaborate trompe l’oeil cartouches to those of the Atlas maritimo therefore suggest the mapmaker's likely familiarity with his work. The reason for that familiarity is less obvious, and might have come via the anonymous creator's possible training in Spain.

Further stylistic influences on the Atlas maritimo can be identified across printed works. Its format, combining coastal and port views with larger-scale charts, is in line with contemporary productions such as Jean-Baptiste d’Après de Mannevillette’s Neptune Oriental (Paris, 1745) and Joseph Frederick Wallet Des Barres’s Atlantic Neptune (London, 1774–84).³⁹ The clearest source of inspiration, though, appears to have been Vicente Tofiño de San Miguel’s Atlas marítimo de España. One of the most comprehensive hydrographic atlases of the period, the Atlas marítimo de España features geometric cartouche borders that have been closely replicated on many of the South American Atlas maritimo’s charts. The cartouche border on the map of Valparaíso in the South American atlas is the same as that on Tofiño’s map of Gibraltar, for example (Fig. 4), and the Spanish coat of arms on the plate showing Tierra del Fuego appears to have been copied from Tofiño’s chart of Mahón (Balearic Islands). Similarly, the bead pattern that borders the legend on the Atlas maritimo's map of Chile echoes the one found on Tofiño’s map of the Galician coast. The fact that so many of the American Atlas maritimo’s geometric borders can be identified in the Tofiño atlas single it out as a primary stylistic source. This detail adds a further interesting facet to the artistic choices behind the atlas: the creator seems to have favoured the neat, geometric designs of Tofiño’s work as opposed to the Rococo-style cartouches of the maps found in Juan and Ulloa’s account, the main source of information for the atlas’s port views.

Fig. 4. Left: Title cartouche of the Gibraltar Strait chart in Vicente Tofiño de San Miguel, Atlas maritimo de España (Madrid, 1789). Biblioteca Nacional de España, Biblioteca Digital Hispánica. Right: Title cartouche of the plan of Valparaíso, 1786, in the Atlas maritimo, LOC. Compare the geometric borders included on Tofiño's Gibraltar Strait chart and the view of Valparaíso in the Atlas maritimo. Similar geometric designs can be identified across cartouches and legends in both works.

The Patagonian Charts

The atlas is as significant in its content as in its form. Although the hydrographic mapping of the region undertaken by Spanish naval personnel like Berlinguero did increase the number of manuscript charts and plans of the Patagonian coastlines during the second half of the century, I have not been able to identify another contemporary manuscript or print atlas with a focus on Patagonia.⁴⁰ The atlas’ charts of Patagonia are therefore noteworthy for a late-eighteenth-century Spanish document and reflect burgeoning imperial interest in mapping and representing this region. In particular, analysis of the toponymy used on the eastern Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego charts reveals tensions between Spanish and British knowledge of the region. Together, these charts make a clear case for dominion in the region by foregrounding Spanish exploits in Patagonia and using Spanish symbols across the cartouches.

The atlas draws from maps of Patagonia that circulated in contemporary printed voyage narratives. We can identify a negotiation of local geographical knowledge and terminology. The atlas title, which includes the term ‘Costas Patagónicas,’ references the toponym used by local Spanish officials to describe the region. Significantly this toponym was used in the Costa Patagónica [Patagonian Coast] colonisation project spearheaded by Gálvez. The term ‘Patagonia’ was more commonly used in British printed sources, most notably in the title of the Jesuit Thomas Falkner’s 1774 A Description of Patagonia, the publication of which hastened the implementation of Galvez’s project.⁴¹

Several local maps produced for the colonisation project use the toponym, including Navy pilot Basilio Villarino’s 1780 Demonstracion geografica de la Costa Oriental Patagonica … [Geographical Demonstration of the Eastern Patagonian Coast …], and Sá y Faría’s 1786 Mapa geografico que comprehende todos los modernos descubrimientos de la Costa Patagonica … [Geographical Map that includes all of the most modern discoveries from the Patagonian Coast …].⁴² The Patagonian charts in the atlas all use this term, highlighting knowledge of local toponymy. The first chart describes the ‘Costa oriental patagónica [Eastern Patagonian Coast],’ whereas the second chart, the ‘Carta reducida del extremo de la América Meridional, o costas patagónicas [Reduced Chart of the Extreme Part of South America, or Patagonian Coasts]’ (Fig. 5), displays the term in the centre of the continent. This toponym is further described in the legend as a synonym for ‘el extremo de la América Meridional [the tip/end of South America]’. The third chart, the ‘Carta reducida que contiene la costa de Chile … [Reduced Chart that Includes the Coast of Chile …]’ (Fig. 6), depicts the ‘Costa occidental patagónica [Western Patagonian Coast].’

Fig. 5. Chart of Southern Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego, 1796, from the Atlas maritimo, LOC. 50 × 70 cm. The chart is primarily based on James Cook’s chart of South America published in A Voyage Towards the South Pole, and Around the World (London: W. Strahell and T. Cadell, 1777).

Fig. 6. Undated chart of Western Patagonia from the Atlas maritimo, LOC. 70 × 49 cm. This architectural motif may recall the Pillars of Hercules, a common image in Spanish imperial ornamentation.

Despite the familiarity with local toponymy, the atlas does not incorporate the updated hydrographic information produced by project pilots like Villarino. The first chart covers the area where the colonies were established, but without including them. Although Puerto San Julián, the southernmost colony, had been abandoned in 1783, forts were maintained at Puerto Deseado, on the Golfo San Jorge, and at Carmen de Patagones. The scarce number of toponyms on a chart that cites no specific sources reflects the dearth of printed information available about this coastline. Further, the chart shows the Golfo San Jorge as incomplete, even though it was mapped in detail before 1797 as part of the colonisation project.⁴³ This cartographic silence indicates that those behind the atlas did not have access to this more sensitive geopolitical information, with the incomplete gulf indicating an awareness of impending material.

Prior to the Patagonian coast project and the major mapping expeditions undertaken by Spanish mariner Antonio de Córdoba from 1785–86 and 1788–89, the Strait of Magellan region had been more successfully mapped by the British and the French.⁴⁴ In response to this, the atlas’ second and third Patagonian charts use Spanish toponymy and symbols to assert sovereignty. The legend of the second chart tells us that it has been compiled ‘según los últimos prolixos reconocimientos, y descubrimientos hechos, por el celebre viajero Ynglés Mr. Santiago Cook [according to the most recent and detailed explorations and discoveries made by the celebrated English traveller Mr. James Cook].’ The primary source is ‘A Chart of the Southern Extremity of America’ (1775), included in the account of Cook’s second voyage (1777).⁴⁵ This similarity can be corroborated by features such as the representation of the Falkland-Malvinas Islands, which on the atlas chart differs notably from contemporary Spanish print descriptions. For example, on Córdoba’s 1788 chart the islands’ form is similar to that found in Berlinguero’s work.⁴⁶

The distinctive representation of the Fuegian coastline’s rocky outcrops on the second chart is closer to that depicted on the map of the Strait of Magellan included in the account of French navigator Louis-Antoine de Bougainville’s 1766-69 circumnavigation.⁴⁷ That said, the form of Tierra del Fuego is certainly copied from Cook, including the tentative rendering of the fabled channels that were thought to cross the main island, depicted most famously on Cruz Cano’s 1775 Mapa geográfico de América Meridional [Geographical Map of South America], as well as on Cruz Cano’s earlier Mapa maritimo del Estrecho de Magallanes [Maritime Map of the Strait of Magellan], which was published in the 1769 Spanish translation of Byron’s voyage.⁴⁸ While Cruz Cano’s map is not mentioned explicitly, it can be identified as a further key source on account of the similar descriptions on the atlas chart of the feats of Spanish mariner Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa, who was charged with founding two colonies on the Strait of Magellan in 1581. The two descriptions of Bahía de la Gente on the northern coastline of the Strait are also almost identical on each map, as are further descriptions of Byron and English mariner Thomas Cavendish’s exploits near the western mouth. While Cook’s chart serves as a foundation, the inclusion of Cruz Cano’s historical details assert sustained Spanish presence in Patagonia.

Although the Atlas maritimo relies on foreign accounts for its chart of Tierra del Fuego, it clearly reminds the viewer that this is considered a Spanish territory. The contested toponymy, such as islands called the ‘Islas Bernavelas by us, and Diego Ramírez [Islands] by Cook,’ situate Cook’s accounts within the broader Spanish hydrographic knowledge of the region. The cartouche reinforces this message. Recalling the coat of arms on Tofiño’s chart of Mahón, and Berlinguero’s usage in his 1770s work, the Spanish King’s coat of arms perches atop the legend of the Tierra del Fuego chart. Interestingly, the castle and the lion are incorrectly positioned: they should be in the opposite squares, perhaps indicating a lack of familiarity with the seal. This order may have been copied from Cruz Cano’s map of South America, which features the coat of arms of the city of Tunja (Colombia), where the castle and lion are positioned in the same way. While the impact of Cook’s voyages is recognised on the chart, the arms assert Spanish dominion, an important claim in the face of contested Spanish sovereignty in Patagonia.⁴⁹

The chartmaker shows the Spanish perspective in other details. They note the location of Gamboa’s failed settlements on the Strait, paraphrasing from Cruz Cano, and label the Le Maire Strait, the ‘Estrecho de San Vicente o de Maire [Le Maire or Saint Vincent’s Strait],’ leading with the appellation given in 1619 by the Spanish García de Nodal brothers which displaced the Strait’s Dutch name. Although their rebranding attempt quickly fell out of use, its resuscitation here revisits several Spanish episodes in the Strait of Magellan’s history. They include the presence of the subantarctic islands recorded by Nodal expedition pilot Diego Ramírez de Arellano, the southernmost landmass that had been charted by the Spanish prior to Cook’s second voyage. With these additions, the Spanish claim to the region is therefore maintained by the atlas despite acknowledgment of Cook’s cartographic and navigational endeavours.

Spanish imagery is also present on the third chart. Showing western Patagonia, this chart depicts a region that at this time was far less well-known to Europeans than the areas in the immediate vicinity of the Strait shown in the second chart. European voyages of exploration would usually travel through the Strait or round the Horn before entering the Pacific, and mapping of this region was further complicated by the fact that the Humboldt current and wind systems made travel southwards from Spanish possessions on the Pacific coastline both lengthy and extremely dangerous.⁵⁰ Representations of Chiloé and the islands that lie southwards therefore vary dramatically in early modern European cartography, and reflect the poor charting of the area prior to the 1780s.⁵¹

Spanish sovereignty is asserted via the cartouche, which takes the form of a broken Doric column. Columns were a common decorative feature in seventeenth-century European cartography, although they were usually complete.⁵² They were an important device in neoclassical architecture, which was popular in both Spain and France in the late-eighteenth century, hinting at the mapmaker’s possible familiarity with architectural draughting. In the Spanish context, this image also recalls the Pillars of Hercules, the outcrops flanking the Strait of Gibraltar and the ‘famous device’ of Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain Charles V which represented Spain’s connection with its overseas empire.⁵³ The Pillars of Hercules also appear in the elaborate decorative cartouche on Cruz Cano’s map of South America, where they serve as an image of ‘Spanish authority and control’ in the region.⁵⁴

The chart continues the atlas’ navigation of foreign sources. The legend highlights the use of observations made by the French Royal Academy of Sciences. Although I have not yet been able to identify a primary source chart, the representation of the Guaitecas archipelago south of Chiloé as a tight cluster of tiny islands is traceable throughout seventeenth- and eighteenth-century French cartography, including in the maps of Nicolas Sanson (1656) and Henri Chatelain (1719).

Spanish sources have also been drawn on to construct the chart. Written observations along the Pacific coastline add Spanish historical context to the chart, and pinpoint where British Commodore George Anson’s ship was wrecked in 1741 during the War of Jenkins’ Ear, plus the location where a ship named the Santo Domingo was lost in 1781. Although not named, the chart of the Pacific published in Juan and Ulloa’s 1748 Relación histórica is another key source. Juan and Ulloa’s depiction covers the American coastline from Cape Horn to Acapulco, features a French-style Guaitecas, and also mentions Anson’s exploits. The port views of Valparaíso and Concepción included in the atlas are further based on the Relación's charts of these locations (Fig. 7 and Fig. 8). This speaks to the importance of Juan and Ulloa’s work as a source for knowledge about the cartography of the Pacific coast, especially for mapmakers working in the Americas. Although the larger number of toponyms included on the atlas’ chart indicate consultation of multiple other sources, the atlas’ recourse to the Relación to provide the outline for several of its charts makes a strong case for the continued importance of Spanish printed knowledge of this region in the face of foreign cartographic incursions.

Fig. 7. Plan of Valparaíso, c. 1797, from the Atlas maritimo, LOC. 45 × 67 cm. This chart features intricate geometric designs on both the cartouche and legend.

Fig. 8. Jorge Juan and Antonio de Ulloa, ‘Plan of the Cove and Port of Valparaíso,’ 1744, in Juan and Ulloa, Relación histórica del viage a la América Meridional (Madrid: Antonio Marín, 1748). AECID, Biblioteca Digital. The profile and perspective of the Valparaíso chart included in the Atlas maritimo are almost identical to those prepared by Juan and Ulloa.

Formulated against a backdrop of heightened tensions in the South Atlantic and a changing imperial landscape that brought increased attention to Patagonia, the Atlas maritimo positions this region as a worthy focus for an elaborate and costly mapmaking enterprise. The negotiation of British, French, and Spanish sources in a manner that bolsters Spanish claims and interests in Patagonia may reflect a local sensibility to imperial competition in austral South America that, while not representative of the most current mapping, still makes a compelling case for the importance of the region to the Spanish colonial project. The atlas’ intertextuality is especially significant in this regard; the details that are taken from the Atlas marítimo de España clearly position this document among the upper echelons of late-eighteenth-century Spanish maritime cartography and point to the region’s projected future as a locale that would see increased transit as improved maps and more southerly outposts facilitated safer and more frequent passages to the Pacific. Although the failure of the Patagonian Coast project and the imminent Napoleonic Wars directed Spain’s attentions elsewhere, González’s commission indicates an increased interest among pilots in knowing Patagonia, and his choice of a local or locally-based mapmaker, perhaps over one based in Spain, speaks to the discrepancy between knowledge of the region in the metropolis and the River Plate. While many questions about the atlas’ history and provenance remain unanswered, this impressive manuscript provides an important case study for the transfer of both geographical knowledge and artistic styles across the Atlantic, highlighting the key role played in the heart and outskirts of the empire in furthering metropolitan interests on the map.

Acknowledgements

This work was supported by the Arts and Humanities Research Council International Placement Scheme Fellowship under Grant number AH/S000488/1 and an Arts and Humanities Council Doctoral Fellowship Grant number 515892. I would like to thank Tony Mullan for his enduring assistance while I was working on the atlas at the Library of Congress, and Dave Weimer for bringing the Surville atlas and Harvard Map Library online exhibition of trompe l’oeil cartouches to my attention. I am also grateful to Katie Parker and Natalia Gándara for their helpful comments, and to the anonymous reviewers and Imago Mundi editors whose insights greatly improved this piece.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1 Vicente Tofiño de San Miguel, Atlas marítimo de España (Madrid: Dirección de Hidrografía, 1789). The first volume of the atlas was published in 1787, followed by the second in 1789, when a complete edition was also published.

2 Jeffrey Alan Erbig Jr., Where Caciques and Mapmakers Met: Border Making in Eighteenth-Century South America (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2020), 1. See Chapter 3 for a comprehensive overview of the demarcation process.

3 Natalia Gándara, ‘Mapeando los pasos interoceánicos australes: la producción y circulación de conocimiento hidrográfico y cartográfico en las expediciones españolas a fines del siglo XVIII,’ Magallania (Punta Arenas) 48, no. especial, El viaje de Magallanes, 1520-2020 (2020): 167–88; Katherine Parker, ‘Pepys Island as a Pacific Stepping Stone: The Struggle to Capture Islands on Early Modern Maps,’ The British Journal for the History of Science 51, no. 4 (December 2018): 659–77; María Ximena Urbina Carrasco, ‘El frustrado fuerte de Tenquehuen en el archipiélago de los Chonos, 1750: dimensión chilota de un conflicto hispano-británico,’ Historia (Santiago) 47, no. 1 (June 2014): 133–55.

4 Notable examples of maps created to facilitate Indigenous conversion include the map of Chile, ‘Tabula Geographica Regni Chili,’ published in Jesuit Alonso de Ovalle’s Histórica relación del Reyno de Chile (Rome: Francisco Caballo, 1646), and the map engraved by Thomas Kitchin and published in Thomas Falkner’s A Description of Patagonia: containing an account of the soil, produce, animals, vales, mountains, rivers, lakes, &c. of those countries; the religion, government, policy, customs, dress, arms, and language of the Indian inhabitants; and some particulars relating to Falkland’s Islands (Hereford: C. Pugh, 1774), opposite title page.

5 Almudena de la Caridad Ródenas Valero, ‘Arte y Ciencia: El Atlas Marítimo de España de Vicente Tofiño de San Miguel,’ Imafronte 24 (2015): 75.

6 Antonio López Gómez, ‘El método cartográfico de Tomás López. El interrogatorio y los mapas de España,’ Estudios Geográficos 57, no. 225 (1996): 669.

7 Juan Pimentel, ‘A Southern Meridian: Astronomical Undertakings in the Eighteenth-Century Spanish Empire,’ in Navigational Enterprises in Europe and Its Empires, 1730–1850, eds. Richard Dunn and Rebekah Higgitt (London: Palgrave Macmillan UK, 2015), 19.

8 Pimentel, ‘A Southern Meridian,’ 22.

9 Luisa Martín-Merás, Catálogo analítico de los atlas del Museo Naval de Madrid, vol. I (Madrid: Ministerio de Defensa, 2007), 30.

10 The atlas is currently catalogued as item number G1701.P5 A8 1797. For details of Phillips’ early collecting trips, see Cheryl Fox, ‘The King of Maps: Philip Lee Phillips’ First Acquisitions Trips in the Deep South 1903 and Europe 1905,’ The Occasional Papers. A Philip Lee Phillips Map Society Publication, no. 11 (2016): iii–37.

11 Philip Lee Phillips, A List of Geographical Atlases in the Library of Congress, vol. 2 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1909), 1244.

12 John Lynch, Bourbon Spain 1700–1808 (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 2008), 153.

13 María Luisa Laviana Cuetos, ‘La organización de la Carrera de Indias, o la obsesión del monopolio,’ El comercio marítimo ultramarino. Cuadernos Monográficos del Instituto de Historia y Cultura Naval, no. 52 (2006): 31.

14 The items are numbered 1–11 but the coastal profile of Valparaíso and the view of Arica are listed together as item 5.

15 The atlas has not been analysed as a material object. However, to accompany a discussion of Spain's eighteenth-century prioritisation of Chilean defence, Gabriel Guarda reproduces three views in Flandes indiano: las fortificaciones del Reino de Chile, 1541–1826 (Santiago de Chile: Ediciones Universidad Católica de Chile, 1990), (Concepción) 119, (Chiloé) 133, and (Valdivia) 166. The Valdivia view is also reproduced, but not discussed, in Gabriel Guarda and Rodrigo Moreno Jeira, Monumenta Cartographica Valdiviensae. Territorio y Defensa 1521–1850 (Santiago de Chile: Corporación Amigos del Patrimonio Cultural de Chile, 2010), 229.

16 Marta García Garralón, ‘The Nautical Republic of the Carrera de Indias: Commerce, Navigation, Casos Fortuitos and Avería Gruesa in the Sixteenth Century,’ in General Average and Risk Management in Medieval and Early Modern Maritime Business, eds. Maria Fusaro, Andrea Addobbati, and Luisa Piccinno (Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2023), 216.

17 Carlos Almonacid Ramiro, ‘Atlas Marítimo de España de Vicente Tofiño. Año 1789,’ Servicio de Cartografía de la Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, 9 December 2016, http://guiadigital.uam.es/SCUAM/documentacion/1789Atlas.php.

18 Richard L. Kagan and Benjamin Schmidt, ‘Maps and the Early Modern State: Official Cartography,’ in The History of Cartography, Volume 3: Cartography in the European Renaissance, Part 1, ed. David Woodward (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2007), 662.

19 Juan Miguel Muñoz Corbalán, ‘La imagen versátil de la ciudad fortificada. Cartografía fantaseada hispánica en los siglos XVI–XVIII,’ Revista de História da Arte 13 (2018): 161. See also the online exhibition by Harvard Map Library, ‘Look But Don’t Touch: Tactile Illusions on Maps,’ [n.d.], http://arcg.is/1XXqOH.

20 Carmen Martínez Martín, ‘Un Plano del Río de la Plata por Alexo Berlinguero en la Biblioteca del Palacio Real,’ Reales Sitios 32, no. 126 (1995): 5.

21 Alejo Berlinguero, ‘Plano de la costa oriental de los Patagones correjida i enmendada por el Capitán de Fragata y Comandante del chambequín Andalus, D. Domingo Perler según la nabegación hecho desd[e] el Rio d[e] la Plata a la boca del Estrecho de Magallanes y Yslas Malvinas, año de 1768,’ 1768, Archivo del Museo Naval de Madrid, AMN.045-C-01.

22 Alejo Berlinguero, ‘Descripción del Puerto Deseado nueuamente levantado, corregido i emendado por el theniente de fragata i comandante de las dos embarcaciones de la expedición a las Tierras del Fuego, don Manuel de Pando, en el mes de Enero de 1769,’ 1769, Archivo General de Indias, Buenos Aires 77; ‘Plano del establecimiento que tenían los ingleses en el Puerto de la Cruzada situado en la latitud austral de 51 grados 22 minutos i en 316 grados 16 minutos de longitud de Tenerife, según última recopilación,’ c. 1770, Archivo General de Indias, Buenos Aires 89.

23 Erbig uses this collective term to reflect the ‘complex interethnic landscape’ of the River Plate. See Where Caciques and Mapmakers Met, 9.

24 The knife was kindly identified by Mariana de Pascual López of the Museo Municipal de la Cuchillería de Albacete in e-mail correspondence on 12 April 2019.

25 See, for example, Pedro de Acosta’s 1741 painting, Trampantojo, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, 1349, which includes the frontispiece of a well-known comedia by Antonio Coello and a sketch of some postage stamps. Valencian sculptor Antonio Marzal similarly includes scatterings of playing cards on a c. 1802 scagliola tabletop held at the Museo Nacional de Artes Decorativas, Madrid, item number CE28082.

26 María José Nestares Pleguezuelo, ‘La Real Fábrica de Naipes de Macharaviaya,’ Péndulo: Revista de Ingeniería y Humanidades, no. 19 (2008): 249.

27 David J. Weber, Bárbaros: Spaniards and Their Savages in the Age of Enlightenment (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), 5.

28 Archivo General de Indias, Buenos Aires 326, José de Gálvez to the Marqués de Loreto, 24 March 1778.

29 Jorge Cañizares-Esguerra, ‘Spanish Deck,’ in New World Objects of Knowledge: A Cabinet of Curiosities, eds. Mark Thurner and Juan Pimentel (London: University of London Press, 2021), 77.

30 Fletcher Bassett, Legends and Superstitions of the Sea and of Sailors (Chicago and New York: Bedford, Clarke & Co., 1885), 142.

31 The sixteenth-century Portuguese navigator Pedro Fernandes de Queirós, for example, banned playing cards on his ships. See Pedro Fernandes de Queirós, The Voyages of Pedro Fernandez de Quiros, 1595–1606, ed. Clements R. Markham (London: The Hakluyt Society, 1904), 233.

32 Antoine Picon, French Architects and Engineers in the Age of Enlightenment, trans. Martin Thom (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 212.

33 An example of a ‘utopian map’ drawn for the 1784 contest can be seen as part of the Bibliothèque nationale de France’s online exhibition ‘Histoire de la cartographie,’ 2007, http://expositions.bnf.fr/globes/bornes/it/45/07.htm.

34 Picon, French Architects and Engineers, 212–13.

35 Marta García Garralón, ‘The Education of Pilots for the Indies Trade in Spain during the Eighteenth Century’. International Journal of Maritime History 21, no. 2 (December 2009): 192.

36 Description of the location of the ports, inlets, coves and sounds of Cartagena, Portobello, Perico (Panama), Guayaquil, Paita, Callao (Lima), Ilo, Arica, Cobija, Coquimbo, Valparaíso, Concepción, Valdivia, Chacao (Chiloé), and Juan Fernández Island, located in South America, with their respective plans created by Mr. Luis de Surville. The entire atlas (item ID P/18) is available to view online: https://www.rmg.co.uk/collections/archive/rmgc-object-492492.

37 The Surville atlas is listed in Maggs Bros., Bibliotheca Nautica Part I. Catalogue No. 508 (Leamington Spa and London: Courier Press, 1928), item 337, 157. I am grateful to Gareth Bellis for pointing me to this entry.

38 Derek Howse and Michael Sanderson, The Sea Chart: An Historical Survey Based on the Collections in the National Maritime Museum (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1973), 107.

39 Jean-Baptiste-Nicolas-Denis d'Apres de Mannevillette, ‘Le Neptune oriental ou Routier général des côtes des Indes Orientales et de la Chine, enrichi de cartes hydrographiques tant générales que Particulières …’ (Paris: Demonville, 1745); Joseph Frederick Wallet Des Barres, The Atlantic Neptune, Published for the Use of the Royal Navy of Great Britain, by Joseph F. W. Des Barres Esq., Under the Directions of the Right Honourable the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, 4 vols (London: 1774–84).

40 For example, there are no atlases with a similar focus listed in the Catálogo analítico de los atlas del Museo Naval de Madrid (Madrid: Ministerio de Defensa: 2007).

41 Thomas Falkner, A Description of Patagonia, and the Adjoining Parts of South America (Hereford: C. Pugh, 1774), 49; María Ximena Senatore, Arqueología e historia en la colonia española de Floridablanca (Buenos Aires: Editorial Teseo, 2007), 38.

42 Basilio Villarino, ‘Demonstracion Geografica de la Costa Oriental Patagonica comprehendida entre 39 y 43° de Latitud Sur y 310 ° 42', y 315° 26' de Longitud de Tenerife,’ c. 1780, Archivo General de Indias, Buenos Aires 135; José Custodio de Sá y Faría, ‘Mapa geografico que comprehende todos los modernos descubrimientos de la Costa Patagonica y sus Puertos, desde el Rio de la Plata hasta el Puerto del Rio Gallegos, junto al Cabo de las Virgenes, la porcion descubierta del Rio Negro y caminos por la campaña de Buenos Ayres,’ 1786, Archivo General de Simancas, MPD, 01, 005.

43 Marcia Bianchi Villelli, ‘Mapeando la Patagonia colonial. Las cartografías de la costa patagónica a finales del siglo XVIII,’ in Fronteras conceptuales, fronteras patagónicas, ed. Paula Núñez (Viedma: Universidad Nacional de Río Negro, 2016), 90.

44 Rodrigo Moreno Jeira, ‘Magallanes entre los siglos XVI al XVIII: Cartografía hispana para un estrecho incógnito,’ Anales de Literatura Chilena, no. 33 (30 June 2020): 122.

45 James Cook, ‘A New Chart of the Southern Extremity of America,’ in Cook, A Voyage towards the South Pole, and Round the World, Performed in His Majesty’s Ships the Resolution and the Adventure, in the Years 1772, 1773, 1774, and 1775, Volume 2 (London: W. Strahan and T. Cadell, 1777), between pages 198 and 199.

46 Antonio de Córdoba, ‘Carta esférica de la parte sur de la América meridional,’ in José Vargas Ponce, Relación del último viage al Estrecho de Magallanes de la fragata de S.M. Santa María de la Cabeza en los años 1785 y 1786 (Madrid: por la viuda de Ibarra, hijos y Compañía, 1788), xvij.

47 Louis-Antoine de Bougainville, ‘Carte du Détroit du Magellan avec les routes de la Boudeuse et de l’Étoile,’ in Bougainville, Voyage autour du monde, par la frégate du roi La Boudeuse, et la flûte L’Étoile; en 1766, 1767, 1768 & 1769 (Paris: Saillant & Nyon, 1771).

48 Juan de la Cruz Cano y Olmedilla, ‘Mapa marítimo del Estrecho de Magallanes,’ in John Byron, Viage del Comandante Byron al rededor del mundo, hecho últimamente de orden del Almirantazgo de Inglaterra, trans. Casimiro de Ortega (Madrid: En casa de Francisco Mariano Nipho, 1769).

49 Anthony Pagden, Lords of All the World: Ideologies of Empire in Spain, Britain and France, 1492-1830 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998), 46.

50 Ranier Buschmann, Iberian Visions of the Pacific Ocean, 1507-1899 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 117.

51 Gándara, ‘Mapeando los pasos interoceánicos australes,’ 180.

52 Anna Makrostergiou, ‘Artistic Decorations in Early Modern Cartography: A Study Case of Maps of the Dutch Golden Age’ (Master’s Thesis, Technische Universität Wien, 2015), 66.

53 Kagan and Schmidt, ‘Maps and the Early Modern State,’ 671.

54 Chet Van Duzer, Frames That Speak: Cartouches on Early Modern Maps (Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill, 2023), 213.