This first truly global history of the suppression of piracy links maritime raiding to empire building in the nineteenth century   In the middle decades...

Esse texto discute a relação entre os agentes comuns e as políticas de defesa contra a predação marítima. Reflito sobre a agência desses grupos subalternos (pescadores e comunidades costeiras) nas rel...

Welcome to the first instalment of our new series on “Health at Sea in the Age of Sail”! Every month, we will post a new article discussing common or not-so-common afflictions encountered below decks on the wooden sailing ships of the day. This first instalment addresses a less well-known condition, known as erysipelas, which—although usually not fatal—was quite traumatising to the common sailor nevertheless. In the medical lexicon of the early modern world, few diseases from the Age of Sail—roughly the mid-sixteenth to the mid-nineteenth century—were as immediately alarming in appearance or as poorly understood as erysipelas. Known as St. Anthony’s Fire, ignis sacer, or simply ‘the rose’, it announced itself dramatically: a sudden fever followed by a sharply demarcated, vivid red swelling of the skin, hot to the touch and often exquisitely painful. It spread across a sailor’s face, limbs, or trunk, creeping across the skin and sometimes advancing inch by inch within hours. Its fiery aspect inspired dread among patients and surgeons alike, who interpreted the disease as an external manifestation of internal corruption. In the confined, unhygienic, and injury-prone environments of wooden sailing vessels, erysipelas was both common and dangerous, capable of progressing rapidly to delirium, gangrene, or death. It afflicted sailors, soldiers, convicts, and surgeons alike, leaving a trail of morbidity—and often mortality—across the maritime empires of Europe. Early modern interpretation Although modern medicine identifies erysipelas as an acute streptococcal infection of the superficial dermis (the skin’s upper layer), early modern practitioners understood it through a far older intellectual tradition rooted in humoral imbalance, miasmatic corruption, and constitutional weakness. Hippocratic writers distinguished erysipelas from deeper inflammatory conditions by its superficial nature and sharply defined borders, noting its tendency to migrate across the body. Galen (129–216 CE) and later medieval authorities framed the disease within humoral theory, attributing it to an excess or corruption of yellow bile that ‘rose to the surface’ of the skin. By the early modern period, erysipelas was not considered a specific disease but an inflammatory eruption caused by ‘acrimony’ or corruption of the blood, often provoked by external injury or internal excess. Thomas Sydenham (1624–1689) called it a febrile disorder marked by “a redness of the skin, with pain and swelling, chiefly affecting the face.” Surgeons described it as arising at the margins of wounds, where the skin became red and painful before the inflammation spread outward. In severe cases, suppuration (pus discharge), sloughing (shedding) of tissue, or progression to gangrene could follow. Crucially, erysipelas was understood as a systemic disorder, not merely a local skin complaint, a belief that profoundly shaped therapeutic practice. Medical writers distinguished erysipelas from phlegmonous inflammation, erythema (abnormal redness), and gangrene, although boundaries between these conditions remained indistinct. It might arise spontaneously, but more often it was associated with wounds, surgical incisions, ulcers, or even minor abrasions. The Age of Sail provided ideal conditions for its development. Ships were crowded, damp, and poorly ventilated; fresh water was rationed, clothing rarely washed, and wounds were all but inevitable. Even minor cuts—from ropes, spars, or splinters—could provide an entry point for infection. No relief on shore Naval hospitals and hospital ships fared little better. Overcrowding, reused dressings, and unwashed instruments facilitated postoperative erysipelas, although contemporaries explained outbreaks in terms of bad air, seasonal influence, or individual constitution. Some surgeons observed cases spreading from bed to bed, but this rarely resulted in systemic isolation. James Lind (1716–1794) observed that inflammatory diseases were common in warm climates, where heat and humidity exacerbated putrefaction. Erysipelas was frequently reported following amputations or abscess drainage, especially when instruments were reused with only cursory cleaning. Malnutrition increased vulnerability: vitamin deficiencies weakened the skin and impaired healing; chronic illness reduced resistance. Alcohol abuse, widespread among sailors, was also thought to predispose individuals to inflammatory disorders by ‘heating the blood’. Symptoms in context Erysipelas additionally carried rich cultural and religious meaning. The term St. Anthony’s Fire was shared with ergotism (a form of poisoning); the two conditions were not always clearly distinguished. Both were associated with burning pain, redness, and putrefaction, and both were sometimes interpreted as divinely inflicted. In Catholic Europe, St. Anthony the Great (251–356 CE) was invoked as protector against fiery skin diseases, while in Protestant maritime cultures the language of fire and corruption persisted. Sailors spoke of the flesh being ‘set alight’, and surgeons warned of internal heat seeking an outlet through the skin. Such metaphors were not merely rhetorical: they shaped therapeutic approaches aimed at cooling, diverting, or expelling the offending humors. Shipboard accounts describe patients developing chills, headache, and fever, followed by the rapid appearance of a bright red, swollen patch of skin. The affected area was hot, painful, and tense, with a raised edge advancing visibly over time. Facial erysipelas was particularly feared. Surgeons noted swelling of the eyelids, nose, and lips, sometimes leading to disfigurement or temporary blindness. When the scalp was involved, delirium and coma were common, suggesting that erysipelas could ‘strike inward’ and affect the brain. In severe cases, vesicles or bullae formed and ruptured, leaving the skin prone to gangrene. Septic complications—although not fully understood—were recognized through rapid deterioration, foul discharge, and death despite treatment. Shipboard treatment Treatment at sea reflected broader contemporary medical debates. The dominant approach was antiphlogistic: reducing inflammation by lowering humoral excess. Bloodletting was widely employed, particularly in otherwise healthy patients and early in the disease. Surgeons bled either from the arm or, in facial cases, locally from the temples or behind the ears. Purgatives and emetics were administered to cleanse the body, commonly using calomel, jalap, or antimony. Cooling regimens were standard: patients were kept on thin gruels, barley water, or whey and denied meat or alcohol. Internal remedies aimed at ‘cooling the blood’ included saline purgatives, antimonials, and diluting drinks. Rest was prescribed but difficult to enforce; sailors were valuable manpower, and unless severely ill, many returned to duty prematurely, risking relapse. Local treatments varied widely. Cooling poultices made from bread, milk, vinegar, or lead-based preparations (such as Goulard’s extract) […]

The former Brazilian president is suspected of damaging an ankle bracelet as part of an alleged escape plan.

Episode on privateering in the American Revolution.

Continuing on from the first part of this series, we shift our gaze away from the general impact on war economies of both the host and enemy nation to the roles in which privateers operate. There is a plethora of different ways in which privateers fit into the battlefield itself. As the outfitting of these ships could range from simply ten men on a whaleboat with a swivel gun all the way up to custom built vessels that British captains would recognize as frigates, privateer tactics ran the gambit from ambushes utilizing false flags to direct confrontation with naval vessels. This mix of both unconventional and conventional capabilities naturally make them a hybrid threat. Privateers can share aspects of different fighting forces with which many are familiar. They can be as business oriented as mercenaries, with money being a primary motivator in what they will do. Alongside that, these more professional privateers are seen to go after vulnerable military ships, rather than simply merchants. On the other side of the metaphorical coin, Privateers can function like guerilla fighters. They can be under-gunned and opportunistic while also being hard to tackle and deal with for a conventional force. These things make a privateer a hard thing to categorize as simply an analog to something on land, as they can often fill multiple roles at once. This section will attempt to highlight their part in hybrid warfare, while also demonstrating how these different roles a privateer could fill often clashed or melded together. Hybrid Warfare: Lion Hunters It was April 14th, 1781. Three British Naval vessels exited the Potomac River. A soft warm glow may have been seen, specifically on the Maryland side of the river. One could likely spot plumes of smoke rising out from smoldering husks of buildings. The three vessels had made their way down the river, burning plantations and homes along the way. Captain Thomas Graves of the H.M.S Savage had led the force. Graves had coincidentally encountered the Virginian plantation of George Washington, Mount Vernon, which at the time was being managed by his cousin Lund Washington. After discussing with Lund, Graves promised he would not burn down the arch-traitor’s home. Lund had been so thankful that he had sent sheep, hogs, and other things to the British sailors. When George Washington heard that his home had been spared, though, he considered it an insult. He stated in a letter to Lund that “It would have been a less painful circumstance to me, to have heard, that in consequence of your noncompliance with their request, they had burnt my House, & laid the plantation in ruins.” George Washington doubted their raiding would stop without “the arrival of a superior naval force.” While the Savage’s raid along the Potomac was quite successful, the British sloop-of-war would run into a superior naval force in September of 1781. Still, it would not be a ship from the Continental Navy or the French Navy. September 6th, 1781.  Captain Charles Sterling held fast to one of the railings near the helm of the Savage, waiting for one of his subordinates to hand him his spyglass. They were about 35 miles from Charleston and had just encountered an American vessel. As he was handed his spyglass, he attempted to appraise the vessel. With the intelligence he currently had, he believed it to be an American privateer with only 20 nine-pounders. It was barreling full sail towards them, seeming to think it could go toe-to-toe with the Savage. Likely trusting in his ship’s sixteen six-pounder guns and the fact it was purposefully built for war, he went to meet the vessel. He soon realized his catastrophic mistake as the Savage drew closer. It was the Congress, one of the Americans’ most fearsome privateer vessels. One of which bristled with over twenty twelve-pounders on its main deck alone. Her majesty’s vessel was no longer a hunting lion but rather a lion being hunted. Stirling watched as, in an instant, the Congress tore into the Savage. Within the first hour of the four-hour engagement, Stirling saw crucial components, cannons, and crew of the Savage being blasted away. The Congress would eventually capture the Savage, with the prize’s mast threatening to fall and over thirty-four of its crew, including Sterling, wounded. This first account highlights a few aspects of privateers. First, the more mercenary character of a privateer comes out. For a privateer vessel that was large enough, a British warship represented a target that was even juicier than your average merchant vessel. This was due to the American government at the time being entitled to half of the value of a captured merchant ship but letting a privateer keep the full value of any enemy naval ship they captured. With a bigger payday on the table, certain privateers were much more willing to enter direct combat with an enemy’s navy in a conventional, albeit opportune, way. It is hard to argue that there are few things more conventional than foregoing the false flag strategy that so many privateers liked to use in favor of just charging straight at a British warship in the hope of a payday. Though, unlike mercenaries, they were not paid for simply the battle, but rather their plunder after it. Unfortunately for the case of the Congress, they were unable to get their prize back to port as it was recaptured by the British. Yet, that is just at the level of a battle. At a grander strategic level, something else is revealed by this account. While the Congress had acted conventionally by charging at the Savage outside of Charleston, its home port was all the way in Pennsylvania. In terms of good cruising grounds for British merchant ships, few would think the South Carolinian port of Charleston to be a place for such clientele. Whether or not the Congress had specifically gone down to Charleston to hunt British warships is unknown, but one would wager that it is unlikely. Considering that the British warship had […]

Diferença numérica de petista para Tarcísio, que era de 8 pontos percentuais, agora chega a 12

Abstract. This article uses the histories of two Indigenous cacicas, Isabel and Orocomay, to analyze the assertion of Indigenous sovereignty and territorial control on the islands and mainland coast o...