1600

1600 is the novel’s narrative present, joining a long ocean passage to the political and naval contests unfolding in Japan. The year is made concrete in John Blackthorne’s shipboard log, but its significance also lies in the uneven ways time and position can be measured: a date can be written down exactly even when a vessel’s longitude, and therefore its location, remains unknown.

A Date at Sea

Blackthorne’s log entry is dated April 21, 1600, at dusk, in the fifth hour. It counts 133 days since the ship left Santa Maria Island, Chile, and places the vessel on the 32-degree north line, running westward before a strong wind. He records the dull gray-green sea, reefs sighted to the northeast, and an estimated pace of about two leagues in the hour. The entry is a working record of a ship still moving through danger, not a retrospective account of a voyage whose outcome is already known.

The log also records the cost of the crossing. Three sailors—Joris, the sailmaker; Reiss, the gunner; and de Haan, the second mate—died of scurvy during the night. Blackthorne commits them to the sea without shrouds because nobody is available to make them; the boatswain, Rijckloff, dies that day as well. With the Captain-General still sick and the sun obscured at noon, Blackthorne cannot take its declination and can only estimate that the ship remains on course. He expects landfall in Japan soon, but the entry leaves that expectation uncertain.

Time Without Longitude

The date does not provide certainty about place. The available charts are too vague to be useful, and there is no way to fix longitude. In this navigational world, knowing the day and latitude cannot by themselves establish a ship’s position across the open sea. Blackthorne’s log therefore sets precise observations—course, wind, speed, reefs—beside an acknowledged gap in knowledge: the ship may be on course, but the pilot cannot verify it fully.

A rutter offers practical knowledge where general charts fail. It is a small book of a pilot’s observations, recording compass courses between ports and landmarks, soundings, water color and seabed, winds and currents, sailing times, storms, fair weather, watering places, havens, hazards, and potential friends or enemies. Yet its usefulness depends on the pilot who made it and the accuracy of its copying, printing, or translation; it may contain errors, even deliberate ones. A pilot can know for certain whether its directions hold only by going there himself.

The Year’s Maritime Stakes

That dependence on accumulated sailing knowledge shapes the encounters at sea in 1600. On the passage down the east coast of the Izu Peninsula, Vasco Rodrigues chooses speed over the safer coastal route: from Cape Ito he steers west-southwest across open water toward Cape Shinto, bound for Anjiro. His galley can maneuver freely, while the frigate Santa Theresa must tack to make the harbor mouth and is faster under sail. Near the cliffs, Blackthorne has to judge the next tack and hold the galley’s course with little sea room between success and disaster.

The navigation is also political. European ships in a hostile harbor move out into deep water when danger threatens, with guns and muskets ready and watchmen searching the horizon. Blackthorne recognizes this defensive arrangement aboard the frigate as the galley approaches. Later, as the frigate bears down on the galley, the two ships’ differing maneuverability and speed turn the passage into a tactical contest. Across these scenes, 1600 is not simply a date: it is a moment when navigational knowledge, a ship’s handling, and command of a route can determine who reaches safety and who controls the sea.