Ana International Journal of Nautical Archaeology H. L. Hunley : recovery operations ROBERT S.NEYLAND and HEATHER G.BROWN (eds) 348pp.,...
Sorun bildirThis book has a different problem? Report it to us
Check Yes if Check Yes if Check Yes if Check Yes if
you were able to open the file
the file contains a book (comics are also acceptable)
the content of the book is acceptable
Title, Author and Language of the file match the book description. Ignore other fields as they are secondary!
Check No if Check No if Check No if Check No if
- the file is damaged
- the file is DRM protected
- the file is not a book (e.g. executable, xls, html, xml)
- the file is an article
- the file is a book excerpt
- the file is a magazine
- the file is a test blank
- the file is a spam
you believe the content of the book is unacceptable and should be blocked
Title, Author or Language of the file do not match the book description. Ignore other fields.
Change your answer
bs_bs_banner The International Journal of Nautical Archaeology (2018) 47.1: 231–250 doi: 10.1111/1095-9270.12279 Reviews On the Ocean: the Mediterranean and the Atlantic from Prehistory to AD 1500 BARRY CUNLIFFE 631 pp., 340 illustrations and maps, mostly colour, Oxford University Press, 2017, £30 (hbk), ISBN 978-0198757894 The German Ocean: Medieval Europe around the North Sea BRIAN AYRES 268 + xxi pp., 93 illustrations, many in colour, 4 maps, Equinox Publishing, 2016, £85 (hbk), ISBN 978-1904768494 On the Ocean is a book all nautical (and terrestrial) archaeologists should read. So too should anyone else interested in the phenomenon of Homo sapiens. It provides a comprehensive overview from a seafaring perspective of the Mediterranean and Atlantic from the beginnings of humankind’s voyaging in these waters to the discovery of the Americas. First, the evolution of the two bodies of water is deﬁned through geological time, showing how each acquired its deﬁning characteristics. The Mediterranean is surrounded by land and was until comparatively recently perceived by those who lived around it as the centre of the world. The Atlantic, on the other hand, was open, unknown, frightening and apparently endless. Around six million years ago the Mediterranean became landlocked, and without a constant inﬂow from the Atlantic was a dry basin holding a few saline lakes. This was succeeded by a reemergence of the Strait of Gibraltar which linked the seas once more, setting the stage for seafaring to evolve, at ﬁrst independently, in the Mediterranean and along the Atlantic facade. Eventually the separate users of these watery highways met and began to interact, with major consequences for global history. Just when humans ﬁrst developed watercraft on these coasts will probably never be known. The recent discovery of Middle Palaeolithic artefacts on Crete and other Aegean islands, which could only have reached them by sea, has pushed seafaring in the eastern Mediterranean back to at least 100,000 years ago, a tenfold ; increase on previous estimates. Our species is uniquely programmed to travel and acquire things, and so has a natural proclivity to move, explore, exchange and exploit. We also have an inbuilt urge to acquire knowledge of physical phenomena for its own sake, and since most of these were beyond the rational understanding of early seafarers they created belief-systems and built monuments to explain and control the rhythms and perils of nature. Ideas as well as people and objects were highly mobile, especially by sea. All this, and much more, is explored by the author in his introductory chapters, drawing on science, philosophy, cognitive psychology, a knowledge of seafaring and, of course, archaeology, to weave a coherent and gripping narrative. Almost all the many excellent maps are aligned west rather than north, to reﬂect the perceived direction of ‘beyond’ as seen by voyagers contemplating the Mediterranean from the east, or looking towards an apparently boundless ocean from the Atlantic seaboard. This device helps the reader to adopt a mindset attuned to that of the ancient mariners. Though Barry Cunliffe is primarily an archaeologist, and a very distinguished one, the apparent ease and ﬂuency with which he integrates many disparate sources and disciplines makes this enormous canvas a clear, informative, and enjoyable read. As beﬁts so wide and insightful an approach the book is not burdened with the minutiae of detail, and has no footnotes or references in the text. Had such apparatus been provided the narrative thread would have been obscured by too many side-tracks, and its clarity lost. As it stands, it is a distillation of the work of modern scholars, classical authors, and practical seafarers, melded to create a synthesis in the unique Cunliffe style, in which passion and enthusiasm are combined with the rigour and insight of good scholarship. For those who want to consult his sources there is an exhaustive 49page critical guide to further reading. That the book is dedicated to Séan McGrail, a former Oxford colleague, hints at where some of Cunliffe’s formidable nautical understanding and inspiration probably originate. Chapter 4 introduces movement and settlement around the two seas from 5300 to 1200 BC. Europe is characterized as a peninsula between them, an informative geographical twist enhanced by the westwards alignment. The Levantine coast becomes an interface between the consuming lands of the Near East and Egypt, and the productive worlds of the Mediterranean and Europe, generating increasingly complex networks of exploration and contact, moving ever westwards. Such activity is fossilized in the varied cargo of the Uluburun shipwreck, which included oxhide-shaped copper ingots, an essential resource in Bronze Age Europe. Meanwhile, maritime technologies and networks had been developing independently along the Atlantic facade. Seafaring in the Mesolithic and early © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. Published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd. 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford OX4 2DQ, UK and 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148, USA. NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, 47.1 Neolithic periods is indicated by artefact debris and shell-middens on islands off western Scotland only accessible by sea, and the distribution of lithic resources with identiﬁable origins. With the coming of metal, connections emerge between southern Spain and western France. British contacts with the Continent in the Bronze Age are revealed by wreck-deposits of weapons and other items at Langdon Bay and, from the Salcombe estuary, tin and copper ingots, a sword, and three gold bracelets. By the early 1st millennium BC Phoenicians were active along the length of the Mediterranean, and had established colonies in Sicily, Sardinia, much of the coast of southern Iberia, and their great African entrepot at Carthage. Shipping could now access the Atlantic to obtain resources such as Cornish tin (identiﬁed in ingot form on the Erme estuary wreck) and amber. A snapshot of these oceanic ventures (only a fragmentary one, for the original text is lost) is provided by the Greek explorer Pytheas, who c.320 BC appears to have circumnavigated Britain, reaching islands beyond which he observed pancake ice, and investigating sources of tin and amber on the way. Pytheas (wrongly maligned as a teller of tall tales by near-contemporaries) is clearly something of a hero to Cunliffe, who has adopted the explorer’s lost On the Ocean as his own title. Chapter 7, ‘Of Ships and Sails’, is a ‘technical interlude’ which compares early Mediterranean and Atlantic shipbuilding traditions, using archaeological, pictorial and reconstructive evidence. It considers, perhaps rather cursorily, Greek and Roman approaches to shipbuilding and seafaring, although these topics are extensively covered in the available literature. Much will be familiar to readers of this Journal, though it is a useful contextual summary and the reading-list accompanying it is comprehensive and up-to-date. While the Mediterranean remained a dynamic trading system, tending to follow the gyratory currentsystem which runs westward along its northern shores and eastward along the African coast, its importance gradually declined as the Atlantic opened up. We begin to encounter ship-remains such as the Dover boat of c.1550 BC and the Ferriby boats of a few centuries later. Their elaborate construction using cleats and stitching was only possible through the use of metal tools. Later Atlantic boat-ﬁnds include the Hjortspring and Nydam boats and vessels in the socalled Romano-Celtic tradition, exempliﬁed by the Blackfriars and Barland’s Farm vessels. Evidence of trade routes is provided by the distribution of carp’s tongue swords (Bronze Age); dedications to the goddess Nehalennia by skippers working out of the ScheldtRhine estuary (Roman); a cargo of samian pottery from Gaul in the Thames Estuary; and E-ware pottery from western Gaul along Britain’s western seaboard (early medieval). During the Early Medieval period maritime emphasis shifted to the Atlantic seaboard with migration 232 from the east, population pressures, and deteriorating climate. In the eastern Mediterranean, however, the rise of Byzantium involved a strong maritime rebirth, demonstrated archaeologically by the Yassı Ada wrecks of c.400 and 625 and the recent remarkable discoveries at Yenikapı. This period also saw the growth of Arab incursions into the Mediterranean which would drive historical processes in its waters and on its shores for centuries to come. Meanwhile the north Atlantic zones of Europe were undergoing incursions by Celtic holy men, journeying widely to spread the Word, establish monastic communities, or ﬁnd solitude at the world’s edge, travelling mainly by sea. They eventually reached the Faroes and Iceland. In the Baltic too, Roman consumer goods long penetrated the barbarian lands of North Germany and Scandinavia via complex maritime networks whose vessels are represented by the many later boat-burials in the area. Across the North Sea the Early Medieval period produced the magniﬁcent ship-burial at Sutton Hoo. The Norse era is too familiar to warrant synopsis here, except to note that the book’s specially commissioned maps inform the text admirably, and are placed where they are most helpful thanks to production techniques which allow full-colour illustrations to be positioned wherever required. Moving into the 10th century we encounter the familiar Graveney boat before following Norse explorers to Iceland, Greenland, and ultimately Vinland. A reconstruction of the Viking Age settlement at L’Anse-aux-Meadows helpfully notes that the Velux windows in the turf roofs are a modern health-andsafety requirement! Chapter 12, ‘The New European Order, 1100– 1400’, examines the medieval explosion of trade and urbanization, partly driven by increasing interaction between the Atlantic and Mediterranean worlds. Maritime mobility encouraged the exchange of ideas as well as goods. The clinker tradition endured in Atlantic waters but evolved into specialist cargo-carriers such as the cog and hulk (or hulc). Moving in from the other direction, the Mediterranean carrack carried within it the genesis of the three-masted sailing rig which would develop in the Atlantic and ultimately dominate the world’s oceans until the advent of steam. The marriage of Mediterranean and Atlantic maritime traditions created the tools whereby Europe discovered the world (not forgetting that other parts of the globe had already discovered themselves and their neighbours, often demonstrating formidable maritime skills in doing so). Cunliffe chronicles these processes from a cognitive as well as a practical standpoint, seeking to view the world as Columbus and his contemporaries would have seen it and not as we understand it today. In a ﬁnal reﬂective chapter Cunliffe adopts a philosophical stance and, on the basis of his wide-ranging exposition of humankind’s experience of the sea over time, concludes that an awareness of the ocean and its attributes lies deep within the human psyche. © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. REVIEWS This book complements, but does not replace, Cunliffe’s earlier work, Facing the Ocean (2001; reviewed in IJNA 32.1), which takes a similar approach from a more overtly Atlantic perspective. Together they provide a connected overview which will underpin studies of maritime Europe and its relationship with the world beyond for decades to come. Nothing can be timeless or deﬁnitive, for future discoveries and research will always augment, modify or refute what can be written today, but we are unlikely to get more than one Cunliffe in a generation. The German Ocean, in the Equinox series ‘Studies in the Archaeology of Medieval Europe’, is concerned with maritime landscapes, resource exploitation and trade in the countries and regions deﬁned by bordering a common sea, known in the Middle Ages as the ‘German Ocean’ and more generally today as the North Sea. Brian Ayres, a former County Archaeologist for Norfolk and consequently very much a North Sea man, approaches his varied canvas from a maritime perspective, noting that it is a region ‘where the seas bind communities together rather than dividing them’. His evidence is primarily archaeological, drawing on structures and artefacts rather than on the more traditional tools of the historian. Material culture is better than documents, he convincingly argues, for providing ‘timely reminders of the importance of European connectedness that is provided by the North Sea’. The outcome is still history, but it is history in which well-integrated archaeology is the main driver. Relevant evidence is not in short supply, but it is widely scattered, often oblique, and published in many languages. Ayres’s genius has been rigorously to identify, order and analyse this material to build a picture of the complex networks of connectivity which evolved around and across the North Sea from the early Middle Ages to the beginning of the modern era. The picture that emerges is of a dynamic sphere of maritime interaction which laid the foundations for northern Europe’s maritimebased economic and technical revolution which led ultimately to its expansion into the wider world. Many factors contributed to this process. The development of previously unproductive coastal regions was one of them. During the Early Historic period ecclesiastical and secular interests colonized, drained, and exploited these areas, creating surpluses which underpinned trade, stimulated by the need to feed Europe’s growing urban centres. Another driver was the so-called ‘ﬁsh event horizon’. The pollution of rivers and the blocking of breeding-routes by mills reduced catches of freshwater ﬁsh at a time when population expansion was demanding increasing and reliable supplies of protein. Fish-bone assemblages from London, Antwerp, Viborg, Norwich, Great Yarmouth, and Orkney show a rapid increase in deepsea ﬁsh from the 10th century onwards. As the Middle Ages progressed the ﬁshing grounds became more distant, which in turn stimulated ﬁsh-preservation techniques and the production of salt and barrels. By the 13th century more than half the cod identiﬁed in London contexts originated in waters well to the north. This relatively cheap source of food further encouraged the growth of towns, which in turn developed their own trading economies facilitated by an ever-expanding network of maritime routes and contacts. These links are elegantly presented in an overlapping radial graph (ﬁg. 1.10) which models sites around the North Sea, using the incidence of artefacts whose origins can be identiﬁed. Sites producing two or more indicator types are depicted spatially, while artefact origins are shown by circles and the links between sources and ﬁnd-spots indicated by lines, numerical weighting quantiﬁed by shading density. These lines highlight the relative strengths of ‘between-ness’ connections throughout the region. The ships which facilitated these connections are, of course, of primary signiﬁcance. Ayres identiﬁes the 10th century as a period characterized by a trend from relatively small and often sleek vessels, operated by large crews, towards bigger and beamier ships with smaller crews. The former category, typiﬁed by the Gokstad ship (c.900), was designed to carry bands of warriors on raids or to transport small quantities of high-value goods. Later, larger vessels, such as the ocean-going Skuldelev knarr (c.1030) or Hedeby 3 (c.1025), required fewer men and could carry lowervalue, bulkier cargoes. By the 14th century ships and cargoes became much bigger. Reliance on a more efficient and easily handled sailing rig, and the abandonment of oars, were part of this process. The almost complete cog from Bremen, dating to c.1380, had a capacity of around 130 tons. A rather smaller cog of c.1325 has been found at Doel in the port of Antwerp. These larger vessels encouraged the economic transport of low value/high bulk commodities, further stimulating development around the region. While small vessels could be beached for loading or unloading, the bigger load-carriers required better and safer port facilities. This led to the deepening of rivers and estuaries, the creation of harbours, and the building of wharfs and warehouses for more efficient cargo handling. Waterfronts often preserve well-stratiﬁed archaeology, allowing complex phasing to be disentangled and sometimes yielding evidence of ships and cargoes. Such focal points are prime sources of evidence, and Ayres makes full use of them, drawing on sites at Bergen, King’s Lynn, Dordrecht, and London. The endnotes and bibliography are extensive and helpful, and emphasize the scope and scholarship of the book. Archaeologists concerned with maritimerelated sites in the region, whether at landscape level or a single boat-ﬁnd, will ﬁnd it an invaluable guide to setting their work into context. And historians whose areas of interest border on the North Sea will ﬁnd © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. 233 NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, 47.1 information here that does not ﬁgure in documentary sources, but which can be integrated with them to advantage. The only serious criticism lies not with the author but with the volume’s production. The matt paper chosen, though adequate for text, is not well suited to illustration. Colour reproduction is muddy throughout, and many of the half-tones—ﬁg. 1.5 is a particularly bad example—are frankly unacceptable. The important but complicated radial graph (ﬁg. 1.10), and many other diagrams, are too small and fuzzy to be properly legible. Frustrated readers seeking a larger and much crisper version of the radial graph will ﬁnd the same ﬁgure clearly reproduced in Current Archaeology for July 2017 (Issue 328). The article concerned (an extended review of Sailing the German Ocean by Chris Catling) reproduces 18 of Ayres’s illustrations to a much higher standard than achieved by Equinox. The secret lies in CA’s use of glossier and less porous paper, which might cost a little more than the grade selected by the publisher. At a cover price of £85 this seems an illjudged economy. COLIN MARTIN University of St Andrews, Scotland, UK Under the Sea: archaeology and palaeolandscapes of the continental shelf GEOFFREY BAILEY, JAN HARFF and DIMITRIS SAKELLARIOU (eds) 449pp., 168 colour and 50 b&w illustrations, Springer, 2017, $179/£112/€160.49 (hbk), ISBN 978-3319531588, $139/£89.50/€118.99 (ebk), ISBN 978-3319531601 Underwater archaeology has developed as a subdiscipline over the past several decades, and while initially focused on shipwrecks, has also been intensively investigating submerged landscapes around the world. The potential for ﬁnding submerged prehistoric archaeological sites has been acknowledged since the early 20th century, but advances in technology have increased the ability of archaeologists to map potential submerged landscapes, and associated ﬁnds have dramatically increased over the past two decades. This book, no. 20 in Springer’s ‘Coastal Research Library’ series, is an excellent overview of the work that has been done all over the world, with many papers focusing on the excellent work done in the North Sea over the past 40 years. In addition to highlighting the many interesting ﬁnds from submerged sites, this book could also serve as a ‘how-to’ guide for good submerged-landscape archaeology. 234 The ﬁrst section is a substantive overview of the techniques commonly used in underwater archaeology (along with their limitations) in chs 2 (Missiaen et al.) and 3 (Chiocci et al.) as well as outlining how to make best use of limited resources in chs 4 (Holmlund et al.) and 5 (Uldum et al.). One of the criticisms of submerged-landscape archaeology is the expense—and difficulty—of locating prehistoric sites for what may seem like a small amount of archaeological material. However, this section provides critical and important information about how underwater archaeologists can combine forces with other researchers, private companies and non-proﬁt organizations to make best use of limited resources. It is obvious that existing seaﬂoor and lake-bottom mapping done by private companies is a hugely under-used resource, and the chapters in this section highlight that industrial partnerships, along with judicious use of available resources, can be of interest for all parties involved. In addition to partnerships with commercial companies, this section also explores how additional partnerships can assist in the training of future underwater archaeologists—while there are opportunities to work on shipwrecks, training people in submerged landscape archaeology is more challenging and the opportunities are few and far between. The examples of Israel (Galili et al. in ch. 6) and the UK (discussed in ch. 25 by Satchell) show that these sorts of training opportunities can be successful and will help train future researchers. One of the arguments for doing submerged landscape archaeology has always been the ability to ﬁnd organic materials that are preserved better in these environments and, in some cases, are the only places we ﬁnd such materials. The second section highlights some of the unique ﬁnds from prehistoric submerged landscapes, and how they are adding to our understanding of subsistence strategies, coastal migrations, and settlement patterns. Several of the projects have found organic ﬁnds that are simply not preserved in the terrestrial record such as decorated wooden paddles (Skriver et al. in ch. 8), a section of a dugout canoe (Goldhammer and Hartz, ch. 9), and an entire alder forest (Feulner, ch. 10). Another fascinating aspect of these sites is how they are illuminating reactions to ﬂuctuating water-levels (such as the discussion of separated burial grounds in Galili et al., ch. 7 and coastal-inland connections in Larsson, ch. 11) something that is of interest given that many communities will experience, or already are experiencing, sea-level rise that is directly affecting their communities. The third section discusses the investigation of submerged landscapes, and how to identify potential for archaeological sites. This is still the emphasis of most submerged prehistoric-landscape studies, as often actual ‘sites’ are found by chance, divers or dredging. By improving our ability to map and interpret these landscapes, there is a much better chance of © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. REVIEWS locating these often-ephemeral resources. Several of the projects discussed in this section have provided not only important insights into the archaeological record, but also paleogeography, paleoenvironments and geological processes through time. In addition, the focus is not just on coastal areas, but also on other potentially productive areas for underwater research, such as submerged caves (Rossi and Cukrov, ch. 17), fjords, islands and inlets (Bicket et al., ch. 12; Hepp et al., ch. 14), lagoons (Hansson et al., ch. 13), and intertidal areas (Karle and Goldhammer, ch. 15). Such sites are rewriting our understanding of ritual practices (see Scicchitano et al., ch. 16 for insight into sacred landscapes and water-level changes), what areas are habitable for human occupation and the importance of freshwater resources for prehistoric peoples. The emphasis in ﬁnding submerged archaeological sites has always been on investigating the archaeological potential of the submerged landscape itself—which may not necessarily lead to archaeological ﬁnds, but can add to our understanding of broader environmental issues such as coastal management, sea-level rise, climate change, or tectonic activity. In addition, these landscapes also may answer pressing anthropological questions of potential routes of early human migrations (Flemming, ch. 18; Glørstad et al., ch. 19; Momber and Peeters, ch. 21; Sakellariou and Galanidou, ch. 22; Bailey et al., ch. 23; Ward and Veth, ch. 24) and the implementation of farming in the Neolithic (Gaffney et al., ch. 20). The fourth section of the book looks at these underwater landscapes not as individual entities, but as part of a larger view of the past—and potentially the future—of coastal areas. It also emphasizes the importance of looking at the archaeological record of terrestrial, tidal, nearshore and offshore areas together to understand more fully how people viewed and used an ever-changing landscape. The ﬁnal section of the book may be the most valuable for the future of the discipline. It discusses the importance of not just maintaining the status quo of private-sector collaboration, but how to move forward in the future (Sturt et al., ch. 28), as well as the challenges of managing coastal (Tidbury et al., ch. 26) and heritage resources (Missiaen et al., ch. 27) and the importance of public outreach (Satchell, ch. 25). This ﬁnal section elaborates on the initial themes set forth in the ﬁrst section, and demonstrates that while much has been done to highlight the importance of investigating and preserving submerged landscape to private companies, governments and the general public, there is still much work to be done. Overall, this is an important book, and one that should be on the shelf of any archaeologist who is interested in working in nearshore and offshore environments. LISA SONNENBURG Stantec Inc., Hamilton ON, Canada Mediterranean Connections: maritime transport containers and seaborne trade in the Bronze and Early Iron Ages A. BERNARD KNAPP and STELLA DEMESTICHA, with Contributions by Robert Martin and Catherine E. Pratt 264pp., 49 b&w illustrations, 2 maps, 7 tables, Routledge, 2017, £75 (hbk), ISBN 978-1629583549 Thinking of Bronze Age seaborne trade, maritime networks and the transport vessels exchanged within these networks, we automatically think of the Uluburun shipwreck, Canaanite Jars and Transport Stirrup Jars. But what other kinds of transport containers existed in the Bronze Age Aegean and eastern Mediterranean beyond these two types? This question was raised by Stella Demesticha, a recognized expert on transport amphoras, ancient shipping routes and ancient trade in the Eastern Mediterranean, and gave rise to this book. Together with Bernard Knapp, an expert in Mediterranean archaeology, a book was created that traces the origins and development of marine transport containers over a period of 2500 years, from the Early Bronze Age to the early Iron Age. The book begins with an Introduction that deﬁnes the term ʻmaritime transport containerʼ. The reader will ﬁnd it helpful that deﬁnitions of technical terminology are provided at the beginning of each chapter. The main aim of the book is a systematic study of these vessels, classiﬁed as ʻmaritime transport containersʼ, according to their development, distribution, form, function, production and content. Based on this, the vessels are examined for their inﬂuence on Mediterranean connections as well as transport and trade from the Bronze Age to the early Iron Age. Chapter 2 is devoted to the most important archaeological remains of maritime trade, shipwrecks and harbours, as well as the sailing conditions governing maritime trade. Despite the discovery of the Uluburun wreck and seven other known Bronze Age shipwrecks, our knowledge of the characteristics and forms of Bronze Age maritime transport and trade is very limited. The authors argue that Bronze Age and early Iron Age merchant shipping included both longdistance sailing and coastal navigation. Both Bronze Age port facilities, which mostly take advantage of natural bays and rarely involve modiﬁcation, and Iron Age artiﬁcial harbour constructions, served as maritime transport hubs, stations or ports in wider systems of connectivity and social exchange (for example M. Artzy, 1995, Nami: a 2nd millennium international maritime trading center in the Mediterranean, in S. Gitin (ed.), Recent Explorations in Israel: a view to the west. Dubuque IA). The third and shortest chapter highlights the importance of connectivity, maritime mobility and © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. 235 NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, 47.1 seaborne trade for Mediterranean societies. At the same time, for a better understanding of these issues the authors emphasize the need for diachronic studies of maritime transport containers from shipwrecks, harbours, and other maritime or terrestrial sites. Chapter 4, understandably the most detailed, provides an excellent diachronic study of maritime transport containers. Detailed examination of the individual vessel-types, their development in form and function, their distribution as well as origin and content analysis will make the book an important reference work for the study of early maritime transport containers. Particularly noteworthy is the fact that not only the known and archaeologically well-documented Bronze Age transport vessels (Canaanite Jars, Egyptian Jars, Cycladic Narrow-necked Jars, Oval-mouthed Amphorae and Transport Stirrup Jars) are considered, but also far less well-known vessels (Cypriot Pithoi, Cretan Short-necked Amphoras, Southwest Anatolian Reddish-brown Burnished Jugs, Sardinian Olle a Colletto, vessels from the Modi shipwreck), whose function as maritime transport containers is at least doubtful. The maritime transport containers of the Iron Age are separated by regions and presented by the respective experts. The Levantine maritime transport container (ʻtorpedo-shapedʼ jars, ʻCrisp Ware Torpedo Jarʼ) are presented by Robert Martin, research student at the University of Ontario, Canada. An interesting observation is that it was the Iron Age II ʻCrisp Ware Torpedo Jarʼ (Aznar Type 9B) that became the ﬁrst ʻpurpose-built marine containerʼ (Ballard et al., 2002, American Journal of Archaeology 106: 159) or vessel ʻprimarily made for marine transportationʼ (Finkelstein et al., 2011, Ägypten und Levante 21: 257). Phoenician transport vessels have been found on only two shipwrecks (Tanit and Elissa), but their high level of standardization and increased occurrence in coastal cities are evidence of a specialized massproduction, which was oriented to use as a maritime transport container. Following this Demesticha describes the development and distribution of the Cypriot Basket-handled amphoras, which must have played an important role in the maritime trade of Cyprus since at least the 7th century BC. Finally, the maritime transport containers of the Aegean Sea are presented by Demesticha and Catherine E. Pratt, of the University of Western Ontario. Chapter 5 summarizes clearly the chronological development of maritime transport containers depending on their production sites. The most important such sites are the Levant and the Aegean, and possibly Egypt and Cyprus. As a result of the detailed investigations described in the previous chapter, the vessels are ﬁnally evaluated with regard to their suitability as bulk containers for long-distance trade. The following chapter again addresses the importance of connectivity for the development and distribution of maritime transport containers. The authors conclude 236 that the development of maritime transport containers in the Levant and Aegean is closely linked to parallel technological developments in seafaring. Only the development of seagoing ships under sail enabled the establishment of local and regional networks and exchange mechanisms (small worlds and coastscapes) or Mediterranean connections. The book ends with an appendix on volume analysis and capacity measurements for selected maritime transport containers, as well as a bibliography and index. Without a doubt, the book is an important reference work for maritime archaeologists interested in early trade networks as well as Classical and Near Eastern archaeologists. MICHAELA REINFELD German Archaeological Institute, Berlin The Romans and Trade ANDRÉ TCHERNIA, translated by James Grieve with Elizabeth Minchin 380pp., 22 b&w ﬁgures, Oxford University Press, 2016, £85/$110, ISBN 978-0198723714 André Tchernia is well known as both a pioneer in the ﬁeld of maritime archaeology and a leading expert in economic history. This volume, published in French in 2011 by Centre Jean Bérard as Les Romains et la commerce, and now published in English as part of the ‘Oxford Studies on the Roman Economy’ monograph series, reﬂects his depth of experience across a wide range of Roman economic issues, and colocates decades of work into one accessible reference work. The Romans and Trade employs an interesting internal organization. Divided into two parts, Part I, ‘The Romans and Trade’, is work original to this publication, where Tchernia integrates a wide spectrum of evidence, including statistical analysis, excavation reports, inscriptions, and primary sources to postulate and support varied Roman economic themes, both his and those of his contemporaries. Major sections include: an examination of landowners versus traders, particularly with respect to the role of senators in shipping and the ﬁnancing of cargoes; a discussion of traders based on both inscriptions and texts as well as archaeological evidence; a review of the ancient market, emphasizing wine, oil, and transportation; a discussion of the role of state participation in trade, with emphasis on supplying the army; and lastly a chapter entitled ‘Meeting Needs’, that connects shipwreck density, traded goods, and taxes to the concept of ancient competition. Part I reﬂects Tchernia’s unique background and © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. REVIEWS career; it discusses both broad and detailed theories developed by numerous authors over the modern era, cogently supporting or demurring based on clearly cited evidence. The author, obviously ﬂuent and nuanced in Latin, provides frequent analyses of translations, which often come into play as inscriptions are parsed and various meanings are dissected to add insight into a particular area. In those spots where disagreement with other scholars is noted, the author addresses the conﬂict head-on, citing both sides of the argument, and provides appropriate references to support his ultimate position. Part II is an assemblage of 14 different book chapters, journal article excerpts, and chapters in conference proceedings authored by Tchernia and previously published between 1978 and 2009. Titled ‘Scripta Varia’, Tchernia notes in his introduction that these articles discuss many of the same themes found in Part I, and could even be considered ‘lengthy footnotes’, linked by cross-references; Tchernia explicitly states he made no effort to avoid repetition. This deprecating introduction to the material does not do justice to the quality of his decades-long corpus; there are chapters in this section that would be of interest to anyone studying Roman economics, regardless of approach. Particularly noteworthy is the fact that Tchernia took this opportunity of re-publishing to update some of the articles, either by deleting a section that has since been covered in a more recent publication (and including that reference), or by adding extensive footnotes or additional material, always denoted by italics, to expound upon new discoveries or arguments that impact the discussion. Thus, while a search for information discussed 30 years ago might return a citation to dated conference proceedings, the re-publication of these articles gave Tchernia the opportunity to refresh the material, providing up-todate information for present-day research. Tchernia’s maritime archaeology background is reﬂected in the subject matter of the Scripta Varia essays. Their scope varies from a narrow focus on speciﬁc inscriptions on amphora handles to broad issues of Roman shipping and transport, both in the Mediterranean and beyond, even to India. Among many chapters of interest to nautical archaeologists are ‘The plebiscitum Claudianum’, which discusses senatorial ownership of ships, and ‘Claudius’ Edict and Ships of 10,000 modii’, which was partially reprinted from the seminal article by Pomey and Tchernia ‘Le Tonnage maximum des navires de commerce romains’. Two chapters, ‘Staple Provisions for Rome: Problems of Quantiﬁcation’ and ‘Food Supplies for Rome: Coping with Geographical Constraints’, address supplying food to Rome and the annona. Several of the articles are expanded to accommodate progress in the evidence or in Tchernia’s analysis over the years. While the majority of chapters in this section deal with issues during the Empire, one covers the late-Republican export trade of wine to Gaul and how it changed over time, and includes a discussion of the slave trade, banqueting, and Celtic feasting. Thus this collection should not be overlooked by individuals only interested in the Republican era. Unfortunately, because Part II represents multiple decades of research in various areas of the ancient economy and trade, there is no unifying theme under the expansive banner of Roman trade; the construct and intention of the publication reﬂects a lifetime of interests beneath a very broad umbrella. Supporting the outstanding technical material in The Romans and Trade is the excellent quality of the editing; the translation is a pleasure to read, and the typesetting and binding are of the highest calibre. Particularly important to researchers is Tchernia’s detailed use of footnotes, well-supported by an extensive bibliography and a comprehensive index of primary sources. To summarize, The Romans and Trade is an appropriate culmination of a superb career, accurately reﬂecting decades of insights into numerous facets of the Roman economy; it will be consulted by students of ancient trade and nautical archaeology alike, and it certainly belongs in the collections of individuals interested in this aspect of the Roman world. DAVID RUFF Texas A&M University, USA Treasures from the Sea. Sea Silk and Shellfish Purple Dye in Antiquity Ancient Textiles Series 30 HEDVIG L. ENEGREN and FRANCESCO MEO (eds) 158pp., 53 colour and 17 b&w illustrations, Oxbow Books, 2017, £38 (hbk), ISBN 978-1785704352, £19 (ebk), ISBN 978-1785704383 This well-presented and well-illustrated volume presents a collection of papers from an international conference held at the Saxo Institute, University of Copenhagen, organized by the Danish National Research Foundation’s Centre for Textile Research. Contributors are from a wide variety of academic disciplines as well as craftspeople involved in textile production, providing a fascinating study of two previously obscure marine resources, sea silk and the purple dye obtained from shellﬁsh. The general reader with a vague knowledge of the classical world probably has some recollection of ‘Tyrian purple’, used to dye Roman togas, but that is probably as far as popular understanding goes. Sea silk is possibly even less well known or understood. This volume will certainly remedy that, and, if it does not have all the answers, it will provide the reader with the results of current research into © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. 237 NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, 47.1 documentary sources, linguistics, archaeomalacology, textile archaeology, materials science, the chemistry of dyeing and how these disciplines feed into the archaeology of the Mediterranean world from the Bronze Age to the Roman period. The ﬁrst part deals with sea silk and the second with shellﬁsh purple dye, although one article treats both together. Opening the discussion with ‘Byssus and sea silk: a linguistic problem with consequences’, Felicitas Maedar examines the origins of the names by which sea silk has been known throughout history. Fittingly for a substance used in textile manufacture, the author has something of a web to untangle, for byssus refers not only to the thread with which a particular marine mollusc, the fan-shell Pinna nobilis, attaches itself ﬁrmly to its substrate, but has a long history as a textile term in both classical texts and the Old Testament. The term was used to describe ﬁne textiles, cotton or linen (and occasionally even silk), depending on which source is consulted, for centuries before it entered the zoological dictionary. Instances of its use as a textile term in the ancient world are convincingly collected and compared, leading to a discussion of the origin of the confusion: a mistranslation of Aristotle’s 4th-centuryBC Historia Animalium. It was generally believed Aristotle had given the name byssus to the ﬁbres of the Pinna shell; Maeder, however, recognizes that he did not, the reading coming from a 15th century Byzantine translation. Concluding this study of terminology, the author asks, given that sea silk was known in the ancient world, what was it called before the 15th century, reasoning that its name was pinna, from which, rather neatly, we derive the modern species name. From this tantalizing evidence of a luxury ﬁbre, highly valued in the ancient world, we move to ‘Morphology, properties and microscopical identiﬁcation of sea silk’ by Anne Sicken. Illustrated with microphotographs, the beauty of the raw ﬁbre itself is striking: golden, translucent and even in diameter, the byssus thread must have been an eminently desirable raw material, made more precious because of its relative rarity. Archaeological survivals of the thread are rare, one of the few known, a 4th-century-AD example from a woman’s grave in Aquincum/Budapest having been lost during World War II. We are drawn into the excitement when Maedar (author of the previous article) tracked down a previously unknown example in a late 18th/19th-century German pattern-book containing textile swatches (corroborated by scientiﬁc analyses). In ‘Tangled threads. Byssus and sea silk in the Bronze Age: an interdisciplinary approach’ by Elena Soriga and Alfredo Carannante, we revisit the Bronze Age Mediterranean. The authors return to the linguistically tangled byssus threads, detailing 9th-century-BC cuneiform texts which describe a precious golden ﬁbre, reserved for kings and gods. The distribution of Pinna shells at neolithic sites is illustrated in an enlightening map of the central and 238 eastern Mediterranean. However, it seems that the shells may also have been collected for food, the ﬁbres being a secondary advantage. In addition, coastal ecological changes may have occurred which resulted in an increase in Pinna abundance. Iconographic evidence is also considered: a Mycenean fresco may show a goddess holding a Pinna shell. The authors suggest that in future archaeomalacologists and textile specialists might usefully co-operate at sites where Pinna remains are abundant. The archaeological evidence for the production of both sea silk and purple shellﬁsh dye are considered by Sanne Houby-Nielsen in ‘Finds of Pinna nobilis, Hexaplex trunculus and evidence for specialised textile production in Aetolian Chalkis’ (Hexaplex trunculus being one species of gastropod marine molluscs from which purple dye is extracted). The evidence comes from a settlement inhabited from the Early to the Late Bronze Age. Loom-rooms, weaving-tools and Hexaplex shells were found in the same earlier contexts, while later Pinna shells were also recovered. Small loomweights are considered to be evidence of ﬁne-textile production, probably of bands and borders, which may have incorporated sea silk. The Hexaplex shells are thought to be evidence of production of purple dyestuff. Evidence of both species disappears after the Archaic period, and it is suggested that this marinebased industry at Chalkis was most proliﬁc in the 7th and 6th centuries BC due to the inﬂuence of Corinth on trading networks in the Adriatic and around southern Italy. In Hellenistic times production moved to cities such as Taranto in southern Italy. In ‘Taras and sea silk’ Francesco Meo discusses the possible location of sea-silk workshops based on both epigraphic and archaeological evidence. The origin of a speciﬁc garment known as a ‘tarantinon’, described as a delicate, almost transparent robe, was associated with Taranto in the 5th century BC. Meo postulates that the amount of sea silk necessary to produce such a garment would be almost impossible to obtain, and it is more likely to have been woven mainly from some other ﬁne thread (probably wool), with the addition of sea-silk ﬁbres to give a luxury appearance. Wool from Tarentum was also widely known and is mentioned by Tertullian, who also lists three ‘vegetal materials’—linen, silk and sea silk— but unfortunately does not identify where sea silk was manufactured. The author concludes that until we have archaeological evidence of sea-silk production, it can be suggested, but not proven, that it was processed at Taranto. Concluding this section is a short but illuminating account of traditional byssus processing and weaving, ‘From raw sea silk to byssus thread’, in both Italian and English, by two sisters, Assuntina and Giuseppina Pes. They have rare ﬁrst-hand knowledge of the craft, which they carried out as a co-operative venture until collection of Pinna mussels was banned in 1992 to protect the declining species. They describe the whole © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. REVIEWS process through cleaning, carding and combing of the ﬁbres—a small tuft of byssus ﬁbres may take two to three days’ patient work before weaving can start. A photograph at the start of the book shows them demonstrating spinning byssus thread from a sample obtained prior to 1992. The second part treats various aspects of the production of and evidence, both literary and archaeological, for purple dyestuffs. In ‘Dyeing wool and sea silk with purple pigment from Hexaplex trunculus’, Inge Boesken Kanold describes the results of experimentation with ancient recipes for producing purple mollusc dye. The results of the method recorded by Pliny the Elder were not convincing. However, with modiﬁcations to the alkalinity of the (extremely smelly) mixture of glands extracted from the shellﬁsh, she successfully followed a procedure outlined by John Edmonds (‘Tyrian or Imperial Purple Dye’, paper delivered at the 2000 meeting of Dyes and History and Archaeology in Edinburgh). This it seems relies on nurturing certain Clostridium bacteria in the dyeing vat. Together with Edmonds a group of specialists made the dye and successfully coloured a piece of woollen material. The second part of the experiment was to attempt to dye a sample of sea silk. However, the result was dull and less attractive than the original golden colour, leading to the conclusion that sea silk does not take on the purple dye and would have been used unmodiﬁed. Chris Cooksey describes ‘Recent advances in the understanding of the chemistry of Tyrian purple production from Mediterranean molluscs’, focusing on the nature of the major component formed during the dyeing process, which has been little understood until now. Different colours can be obtained during dyeing (well illustrated in an accompanying colour chart) but the process was obscure. During experimentation with shellﬁsh dye, the author experienced the ‘legendary stench’ created, and was able to identify the compound responsible (dimethyl trisulphide), as well as some of the pigments produced. Elena Soriga has investigated ‘Mari(ne) purple: western textile technology in Middle Bronze Age Syria’. The Mari of the title is located in the Middle Euphrates region and associated with an archive of cuneiform tablets dating from the end of the 18th century BC detailing commercial links with Crete, Cyprus and several Semitic kingdoms including Ugarit and Hazor. The author explores the use of the term ‘tabarru’ and shows that it refers to a speciﬁc variety of the marine purple; not only the dyestuff, but also the textiles dyed with it. She concludes from the Mari texts that due to trade relations between the Eastern Mediterranean islands, the peoples of Syria and Palestine were aware of Minoan and Cypriot textiles and had begun to emulate the technology. Whether the resulting tabarru was actually true molluscan purple, or a copy, perhaps made with kermes, another natural red pigment obtained from insects, has not yet been determined. Christopher Kremer’s ‘The spread of purple dyeing in the Eastern Mediterranean—a transfer of technological knowledge?’ also discusses the interrelatedness of communities involved in seaborne trade. Shellﬁsh dyeing appears to have originated on Crete but little is known about how it spread throughout the Eastern Mediterranean, partly because dyeing has been studied in isolation from other aspects of textile production and from other economic events during the Bronze Age. Purple-dyed textiles themselves are rarely preserved, so heaps of crushed murex shells are the best indicator—locations of known production sites on Crete and the wider Aegean are illustrated and discussed. Next, the distribution and spread of Minoan discoid loom-weights is contrasted with the distribution of dye-production sites, concluding that there does seem to be a correlation. The dyeing process is thought to have spread via mobile craftspeople; a Hittite text records a dispute which occurred over captive purple dyers from ‘over the sea’. In ‘Sacred colours: purple textiles in Greek sanctuaries in the second half of the 1st millennium BC’, Cecilie Brøns aligns the evidence of written sources with what we know of purple-dyed textiles from these sanctuaries. From the various words for colours in the sources, it is clear that many shades of purple can be extracted from shellﬁsh—surprisingly some are what we would recognize as red, some are blue. One of the most interesting revelations comes from regulations imposed on people entering sanctuaries—mortal women could not be better dressed than goddesses, so wearing purple garments within the sanctuary was banned. A delicate female terracotta ﬁgurine dressed in blue-tinged purple garments illustrates the clothing of the period—purple was so valuable it may only have been used as ribbons or bands sewn on to garments. Finally the author shows that plant-dyes such as woad or madder probably had a lower economic value than purple produced from shellﬁsh. Bianca Ferrara considers ‘“A Lydian chiton with a purple fringe . . . ”: The gift of the garment to the Hera of Samos and Hera of Sele’, from an extensive inventory of the garments gifted as tributes to the goddess. Much mention is made of purple but it is clear that it is used only for small items, most commonly fringing, proof of its rarity and costliness. The symbolic nature of the garments, most particularly their colour, is signiﬁcant. A rite performed by young girls, involving weaving at upright looms within the goddess’s sanctuary, is considered in relation to the archaeology of a building in which loom-weights have been found. Margarita Gleba, Ina Vanden Berghe and Luana Cenciaioli contribute a fascinating study of dyestuffs at the lower end of the social scale in ‘Purple for the masses? Shellﬁsh purple-dyed textiles from the quarry-workers’ cemetery at Strozzacapponi (Perugia/Corciano), Italy’. The calciﬁed textiles were found within tombs in a Hellenistic necropolis. Excellent photographs show not only the structure and © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. 239 NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, 47.1 weave of the textiles but the purple dye layers which are preserved by mineralization. Analysis found samples of shellﬁsh purple in three of the burials, begging the question how was it afforded by people who were apparently quarry-workers? It was discovered, however, that samples from the supposed richest tomb were not true shellﬁsh purple, but a cheaper ‘counterfeit’. It is clear from all that is now known about shellﬁsh dye that in the ancient world the colour ‘purple’ covers a multitude of shades and hues. Fabienne Meiers in ‘Historical outline and chromatic properties of purpura rubra Tarentina and its potential identiﬁcation with purple dye extracted from Bolinus brandarus’ illustrates several votive ﬁgurines wearing garments we might describe today as ‘pink’. To try to reproduce a famous shade known as Tarentine Red, glands were extracted from a species of murex (Bolinus) and subjected to a similar process to that described for Hexaplex. Colour samples obtained from the experimental process are illustrated and show a surprising range of reds obtained from Bolinus, blues from Hexaplex, and a mixture from both species. It appears from documentary sources that the pale rose colour obtained from Bolinus was much admired in antiquity, although modern taste might think it rather ‘washed-out’. Carmen Alfaro Giner and Francisco Javier Fernández Nieto discuss ‘“Purple Wars”: ﬁshing rights and political conﬂicts concerning the production of marine dyes in Hellenistic Greece’. The location of ﬁshing grounds is just one of the factors involved in the siting of shellﬁsh-dye workshops. In addition to a ready supply of molluscs, sources of wood, fresh water, salt and lead for vat-making are essential. Many aspects of local ﬁshing-rights are poorly known, but some surviving texts contain arbitrations on territorial disputes. Since purple-producing shellﬁsh provided the highest revenues, rights to ﬁshing-grounds were contested by neighbouring cities. Although most disputes were resolved or avoided by a system of co-ownership, it is not unexpected that larger cities made threatening gestures, or made alliances to protect their ﬁsheries—marine resources were taken seriously and jealously guarded. ‘Purpurarii in the Western Mediterranean’, by Benedict J. Lowe, considers the role of those who made and sold purple dye. He notes a suggestion that due to similarities in the process of making salsamentum and ﬁsh sauces that the same kit (and labour force) might have been used in both processes. This book is without doubt an important contribution to the understanding of the history, archaeology and technology of the purple dyestuff and sea-silk industries of the Mediterranean, and its fascinating subject-matter and good use of colour illustrations makes it appealing to a wide readership. CATHERINE SMITH Alder Archaeology, Perth, Scotland, UK 240 Caligula’s Barges and the Renaissance Origins of Nautical Archaeology Under Water Ed Rachal Foundation Nautical Archaeology Series JOHN M. McMANAMON 264pp., 9 ﬁgures, Texas A&M University Press, 2016, $65 (hbk), ISBN 978-1623494384 This is a detailed and scholarly discussion of diving and salvage in Renaissance Italy. The 4-page Introduction includes deﬁnitions of underwater/nautical/maritime archaeology (hence the careful wording of the title), and of the phases involved in archaeology and whether the work the author later describes ﬁts these categories. The book would have beneﬁtted, however, from a longer introductory chapter explaining more about the context of the characters, texts and events covered. Chapter 1, ‘The Humanist Salvor’, describes engineer Battista Alberti (1404–1472) and his writings, particularly his treatise on architecture, which includes harbours, and the building and operating of ships. The author is interested in how Alberti’s ideas might have been inﬂuenced by what he saw lifted from Lake Nemi. Chapter 2, ‘The Humanist Intermediary’, is about Biondo Flavio (1392–1463), Vatican administrator and scholar, who wrote a history of Italy, and used historical, epigraphic and archaeological evidence to reconstruct the ancient city of Rome. He was shown timbers and ﬁnds recovered from one of the Nemi ships by ﬁshermen, and discussed the type of wood used to build it. The landowner, Cardinal Colonna, wanted to try raising the ships, and Biondo suggested bringing in his friend Alberti. His research question was: why were there two such large vessels in a small lake? Free-divers attached iron hooks to the timber, and empty wine barrels were used to provide a lifting platform, but they did not succeed in raising a whole ship. The timbers already lifted were identiﬁed as of larch, pine and cypress (though when the vessels were raised ﬁr/pine and oak were identiﬁed, all available locally). They were sealed with pitch and sheathed with lead ﬁxed with copper-alloy nails. Chapter 3, ‘The Humanist Commentator’, is about Pope Pius II (1405–1464), the third person to write an account of the exploration of the Nemi wrecks, though he does not seem to have been an eye-witness. Chapter 4, ‘Quattrocento Humanist Archaeology’, returns to Alberti and Biondo and the tentative beginnings of archaeological exploration. Chapter 5, ‘Cinquecento Engineers and a Diving Bell’, covers the second attempt to raise a vessel from Lake Nemi, in 1653. There are interesting descriptions of the problems encountered diving in a wooden bell. They recovered two muleloads of wood, and several artefacts which, along with notes of measurements, were subsequently stolen. Chapter 6, ‘The Proprietor Cardinal’, adds little to the story. The next chapter, ‘Dependent Workers’, discusses ﬁshing techniques, free-diving, diving and swimming © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. REVIEWS in antiquity and the Middle Ages, and diving and swimming in Renaissance Genoa. Chapter 8, ‘Inventive Professionals’, describes Renaissance engineers. This is followed by ‘Ancient Ship Types Analyzed and Reborn’. Chapter 10 is about Lilio Gregorio Giraldi (1479– 1552), from Ferrara, who wrote a treatise on ancient seafaring, and other authors who discussed the Nemi ships. Chapter 11, ‘New Arts and New Opportunities’, covers Renaissance diving and salvage, both theoretical and practical. A Conclusion summarizes the contents of the book, and in its ﬁnal two pages describes later work on the Nemi ships. The text is dense, with small type on large pages with narrow margins. The few illustrations consist of a map, a family tree and contemporary engravings. Although reproduced on the same paper, so they could have been inserted at appropriate points in the text, they are clustered as if they were photographic plates. The 171pp. of text and 6pp. of illustrations are followed by 73pp. of notes and bibliography and a 12-page index. Though the subject of some of the texts discussed could be described as early archaeology, this is very much a work of history and of textual analysis. The author assumes the reader has some background knowledge of the period, the history of Italy and of the Catholic church, as well as classical texts, history and archaeology. Many archaeologist may not have the background necessary to appreciate the detailed scholarship of this work. There are places where it is perhaps too detailed, where the reader just wants to get on with the story, and not be led sideways. There is quite a bit of repetition, and tighter copy-editing would have improved the book’s readability, particularly as there is an index to provide cross-referencing when necessary. This book contains no actual archaeology, though tells the interesting story of early attempts at underwater archaeology as part of the Renaissance interest in classical culture, and the development of engineering. PAULA MARTIN Cupar, Fife, Scotland, UK I Cannoni di Venezia: artiglierie della Serenissima da relitti e collezioni in Italia, Israele, Malta e Spagna CARLO BELTRAME and ROSSELLA SCORDATO 138pp., numerous b&w photos and line drawings, All’Insegna del Giglio, Venice, 2016, €32 (hbk), ISBN 978-8878147157, npg (ebk), ISBN 978-8878147164 The Arsenal of Venice was an industrial complex on a scale rarely seen before the Industrial Revolution of the 18th and 19th centuries. From the 12th century it was both a naval dockyard and a store for the city’s arms and armour. Taking up a sizeable proportion of insular Venice, it came to employ a workforce of up to 2000 people. The specialization of labour for the making of particular parts and the concept of series production there preﬁgure the factory system of the more modern period. It is perhaps not surprising that an industrial concern of this size was not merely a manufactory but a research and development hub, and one that continued to innovate. According to as great a scientist as Galileo, ‘mechanics might be proﬁtably studied at the Arsenal in Venice’ (A. R. Hall, Ballistics in the 17th Century, Cambridge, 1952). Guns manufactured in the Arsenal thus promise to be of great interest. Despite the ease of recycling bronze and its always high value, the large number of surviving Venetian guns is witness to the importance the Senate gave to its artillery. Maritime archaeology has contributed greatly to the number now recorded, guns lost at sea remaining out of reach until relatively recently. This handsome volume follows that covering Venetian artillery from wrecks and surviving in museums and private collections (reviewed in IJNA 45.1). Both authors are highly respected in this ﬁeld; in addition, there is a chapter by the Israeli archaeologist Ehud Galili. The book is a result of an impressive research and publication project under the aegis of Ca’ Foscari University, Venice; it is heartening to see that the publication was publicly funded by the Regione del Veneto, under its initiative to make known the historic, cultural, architectural and artistic heritage of Venice. The introductory essay by the distinguished scholar Marco Morin discusses the importance of both gunmaking as the major heavy industry and gunpowder production as the major chemical industry of the Early Modern period, and places them in their historical and cultural context. The innovative character of Venetian gunfounding is rightly pointed out. An example is the introduction by Sigismondo Alberghetti of cannoni di nuova invenzione (shell-ﬁring guns) for sea-service; on these the Russian Licorne of the 18th century was based, still in service during the Crimean War. It also preﬁgured the Scottish ‘carronade’, originally intended as a shell-gun; the Royal Navy refused to use shells at sea except in bomb-ketches, until forced to by their introduction into the French navy by Paixhans after the Napoleonic Wars. One of the carronade’s noted features, the use of a lug cast under the barrel for a mounting pin, instead of trunnions, was also pioneered in Venice. Venetian gunmaking was kept at the cutting edge of technology by several means: by experiment on the part of the skilled gunfounding dynasties; by international links—Sigismondo Alberghetti was sent to the Weald of England to investigate and participate in cast-iron gunfounding, and was in correspondence with the great Dutch scientist Christiaan Huygens; and by the © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. 241 NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, 47.1 use of experts in related ﬁelds. Galileo was employed by the Venetian Senate as a professor of science. It was in Venice that Galileo famously demonstrated his own improved version of Hans Lippershey’s telescope. The Senate was delighted: his salary was doubled. He also advised on hull-design and gunnery at the Arsenal. Morin stresses that Venice, a populous city-state of limited territorial extent, was dependent on its trading success for its wealth and indeed survival. To protect its trade routes and maintain its independence a strong navy was necessary, hence the early creation of the Arsenal, and it was here that the gunfoundries and forges were established by the Senate in 1463. This was the time when gunpowder artillery had at last to be accepted, if reluctantly in some aristocratic quarters, as a major force in warfare. Venice had close links with Constantinople; the events of the Ottoman siege of 1453 were closely followed. While the fall of Byzantine Constantinople was not attributable solely to the young Sultan Mehmet II’s great bombards, their contribution could hardly be denied. And despite the failure of Mehmet II’s siege of Belgrade in 1456, his siege-train of 22 bombards and seven mortars was highly effective. Hunyadi’s brilliant relief operation included turning the Ottoman guns against their owners. But it was to be many years before the Ottoman navy was defeated at sea. The Premessa is followed by ch. 1, summarizing the history of artillery production in Venice. For a fuller account, the reader is referred to the earlier volume. Nevertheless, this chapter gives a very useful summary; it includes a section on the naval use of guns, illustrated by a fascinating engraving of 1515 depicting a Venetian merchant galley entering Antwerp under sail, a large gun prominent at the bow. It is perhaps worth mentioning, for those whose Italian is sketchy, that Morin’s ‘Morphology and Constructive Techniques of Venetian Artilleries in the 16th and 17th centuries . . . ’ is available in English in Ships & Guns (C. Beltrame and R. G. Ridella (eds), Oxbow, 2011), which contains many other papers of interest to the maritime archaeologist. Chapter 2 introduces the catalogue, in which 16 of the 53 guns were recovered from the sea. There is a useful 1p. table of the guns giving nature, material, founder and founders’ initials, date and location; opposite is a map showing the current location of each gun. The founders appointed by the Senate had their own premises within the Arsenal. A detail of a plan by Paolo Rossi of 1754 (ﬁg. 8) shows the Mazzaroli foundry there. Adjacent to the Mazzaroli site, part of the ‘foundry where the Albergetti work’ can be seen. Perhaps the Senate considered that having more than one ‘public founder’ working in close proximity would tend to creative competition and thus avoid the problem that arose later in the case of the ﬁrst gunfounder established in the Royal Arsenal, Woolwich; here, the long-lived Andrew Schalch became set in his ways. I would 242 have liked to see included the fascinating engraved perspective plan of the Arsenal as it was immediately before the sacking of Venice by Napoleon’s troops, since it shows the artillery sections in great detail. It is displayed in the Museo Storico Navale, Venice, alongside the companion piece showing the Arsenal devastated by the French. It is interesting to ﬁnd a brief reference to Colonel (later General) James Pattison, Royal Artillery. When I was in the Arsenal many years ago I saw a plaque on one of the then-derelict foundry buildings recording in Latin his role as superintendent inspector of artillery there. Pattison was in fact a distinguished Scottish officer. Major Francis Duncan’s history of the Royal Artillery (London, 1874, vol. I, p.326) states merely that he was sent to Venice in 1769 to superintend the Venetian Artillery, and that he ﬁrmly, but presumably diplomatically, overcame local difficulties with the authorities. It would be interesting to know how the appointment came about, but clearly the Royal Artillery chose well. He is mentioned in this book for his commendable foresight in creating a museum in 1772 to preserve from recasting some of the most important historic bronze guns he found in the Arsenal. Ehud Galili’s ch. 3 gives a detailed account of the Megadim site off the Carmel coast and excavated from 1985. It is broadly dated as from the mid-15th to the mid-16th centuries. As well as ﬁne bronze guns and three breech chambers, a chain and deadeye, rare survivals from this period, were recovered and are discussed. The bronze chamber contained remains of gunpowder but there is no comment on its composition; perhaps it was not worth analysing. However, more study is needed on early gunpowder to help explain changes in gun design; without propellant, the gun, beautiful as are many in this splendid catalogue, is simply a lump of metal. After the catalogue, but better read before, is an ‘essential nomenclature for Venetian muzzle-loading guns of the 16th–17th centuries’. It is just that. ‘An innovative methodology for the documentation of historic artillery’ constitutes the appendix. This sets out the methods of three-dimensional recording and the use of the internet for creating an archive of interactive images of historic artillery. Technical details are given. The images freely available from Rosella Scordato on Sketchfab could as stated be opened to give threedimensional views. There is, as one would expect, a full bibliography. But the bulk of the book is, of course, devoted to the catalogue. To obtain sufficient information to create 53 full catalogue entries for pieces dispersed over such an area—Cadiz to Haifa—is an impressive feat of organization as well as scholarship. One feels for the authors when reading of their difficulties in getting to see some of the guns, and that the only piece for which good photographs were not available was in Italy; for this reason it appears at the end of © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. REVIEWS the catalogue, not with the other guns surviving in Italy, which appear ﬁrst. The only other guns without drawings are two in Cadiz, but they do boast excellent photographs. The format is consistent and easy to use: each full entry ﬁlls a double-page spread. On the left, all the key statistics are set out—although the diagnostic length/calibre proportion is not stated, this is easy to calculate. Description and discussion, footnoted, follow; below are two photographs, one full-length and the other a detail, often including the coat-ofarms, but chosen according to the gun described. The photographs are remarkably clear, despite the difficulties of photographing artillery pieces. On the facing page are excellent line drawings. These give a side and top view of each barrel; also a muzzle-on and breech-on view; coats-of-arms, inscriptions and decoration are also drawn when present. For technical reasons, the scale is not the same for every gun-drawing, but the scale is given (usually 1:10). But there is no scale bar that you can use a pair of dividers on (nor was there in the ﬁrst volume); for those who like the convenience of dividers, as for navigation and carpentry, this is a pity, especially since such scales would have been easy to include. This catalogue is a real achievement and gives substance to my already high opinion of Venetian gunfounding. But there are still surprises, such as the early cast-iron mortars (nos 8–10), thought before X-ray examination to be forged. Also the gun, one of a batch ordered from Thomas Western, looking like an English ‘Rose & Crown’ gun but with instead the Lion of St Mark on the second reinforce (no 48, in Malta). The quality of the 18thcentury Venetian cast-iron guns by Carlo Camozzi is impressive. The standard of design of the bronze guns by the great gunfounding dynasties—Alberghetti, di Conti, Mazzaroli—is consistently high. The bold, yet not at all coarse, character of the decoration is perfectly suited to the material and the purpose, and there is wonderful freedom of invention. Two examples. The diagonal ‘signature’ of Galeazzo Alberghetti (d. 1523) on the chase of one of the two aspide (no. 24, short length/calibre); and the perfect combination of decorative elements adorning the cannone da 20 by Giacomo II di Conti, of c.1530 (no. 43). From a functional point of view, it may be assumed that casting quality was excellent, given the cumulative knowledge acquired by the gunfounding dynasties and the use of only the best materials. The impression I get, to be veriﬁed by more study of the statistics, is that Venetian guns were generally made as light as possible consistent with durability; the omission of dolphins simpliﬁed the casting process and gave a very clean appearance to the gun. But dolphins were cast onto ‘commercial’ pieces if required (e.g. no. 44). I wholeheartedly recommend this book to maritime archaeologists and students of the history of artillery. But simply to turn the pages and enjoy the richness and variety of the guns produced by the Serenissima, so beautifully illustrated and so expertly catalogued, is a real delight. NICHOLAS HALL Chithurst, Sussex, England, UK The Social History of English Seamen 1650–1815 CHERYL FURY (ed.) with 10 Contributors 265pp., 3 ﬁgures, 8 tables, Boydell Press, 2017, £55, ISBN 978-1843839538 This is volume II of The Social History of English Seamen. Volume I, covering the period 1485–1649, with the same editor, was published in 2012 and reviewed in IJNA 41.2. Like its predecessor, this book, in its aim to be comprehensive and balanced, includes some material already published elsewhere (for example the ﬁrst footnote in N. A. M. Rodger’s ch. 3 explains that ‘This is substantially based on the relevant chapters of my The Command of the Ocean . . . where full references can be found’). In a few cases this means that chapter topics do not cover the precise period in the book’s title. The volume contains ten papers, two written by contributors to the earlier volume, plus an Introduction and Conclusion by the editor. There is a useful consolidated bibliography (25pp.) and an index which while short (3pp.) clearly helps the reader to follow topics such as seamen’s health throughout the various chapters. However, while its predecessor included a chapter on ‘The Men of the Mary Rose’, by Ann Stirland, this volume contains no mention of archaeology. The papers are wholly based on documentary history, mainly central government records, which are much fuller for this period than for the earlier one. Apart from published personal reminiscences, the authors have generally not felt the need to add information from less official sources, far less the growing body of material cultural evidence from shipwrecks. The only illustrations are three bar charts in ch. 8. As a result the seamen can seem rather characterless. We learn nothing, for example, about how they spent their leisure time, although shipwrecks have yielded evidence for a range of musical instruments. Archaeology has the potential to add sounds and even smells to the documentary evidence. This book, however, provides useful contextual data within which archaeological ﬁnds can be set. The scene is set in ‘The Development of Sea Power, 1649–1815’, © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. 243 NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, 47.1 by Jeremy Black with Cheryl Fury. ‘Naval Seamen, 1650–1700’, by Bernard Capp, followed by ‘Officers and Men of the Navy, 1660–1815’, by N. A. M. Rodger, tell us about aspects such as the necessary balance between volunteers and pressed men, and the quality and training of officers. Chapter 4, ‘The Impact of Warfare on Naval Wives and Women’, by Margarette Lincoln, presents a balanced and informative view of the lives of women, both the few who went to sea and the majority left behind at home, while ‘Officers, Shipboard Boys and Courts Martial for Sodomy and Indecency in the Georgian Navy’, by B. R. Burg, provides almost too much information about sodomy and its punishment. ‘Health Provision in the Royal Navy, 1650–1815’, by David McLean (ch. 6) discusses health services, both at sea and ashore—again a subject on which archaeology could have provided illustrative material evidence. Many of us have absorbed information about naval service, particularly during the Napoleonic Wars, from general books and from well-researched novels, but ch. 7, ‘The Origins and Careers of English Merchant Seamen in the Late Seventeenth and Early Eighteenth Centuries’, by Peter Earle, may well be helpful to anyone researching or excavating merchants ships or their shore bases. ‘Private Enterprise, Public Policy and the Development of Britain’s Seafaring Workforce, 1650–1815’, by David J. Starkey, is a statistical tour de force, and must be useful to related disciplines such as archaeology. Masculinity is discussed in ch. 9, ‘Jack Tar’s Food; Masculine Selffashioning in the Age of Sail’, by James Douglas Alsop. While the obligatory chapter on women is no longer at the end of books on social history, pirates are still to be found there in books on seafaring. This volume ends with ‘Pirates, Privateers and Buccaneers: the changing Face of English Piracy from the 1650s to the 1720s’, by John C. Appleby, which is particularly interesting, and relevant to archaeology. Pirate bases and ships are only just beginning to be identiﬁed in the archaeological record, and this chapter helps us to understand the lives of those in what would today be called ‘the piracy industry’. ‘What is the use of a book’, said Alice in Wonderland, ‘without pictures or conversation?’ This volume would have been enhanced by illustrations, even if just the usual engravings, but even more so by the real objects used by seamen of this period. However, as Ian Friel wrote at the end of his review of Volume I, ‘Its value to historians is obvious. but archaeologists also need to appreciate this kind of evidence. Such is the richness and detail of the sources for the period that the documentary evidence is anything but a pallid “historical background” to the glories of the material evidence’. PAULA MARTIN Cupar, Fife, Scotland, UK 244 We Die Like Brothers: the sinking of the SS Mendi JOHN GRIBBLE and GRAHAM SCOTT 208pp., 74 illustrations (including maps, photographs and diagrams), 2 tables, Historic England, 2017, £17.99 (hbk), ISBN 978-1848023697 The Isles of Scilly in the Great War RICHARD LARN 176pp., 110 unnumbered illustrations, Pen and Sword Military, 2017, £12.99 (sbk), ISBN 978-1473867666 Many will wonder why two organizations of the standing of Wessex Archaeology and Historic England have devoted considerable time and effort to the publication of a popular account of an unexceptional vessel which sank following a simply-explained and well-documented collision, has received only outline study as a wreck, and has yielded material remains which are essentially commonplace. The more so as the former body has already made readily available on its website two comprehensive and authoritative wreck-reports, which are themselves referenced in the book. The reason lies in the signiﬁcance of the loss of this vessel as illustrating an aspect of the First World War which has received minimal scholarly attention, the use of black ‘colonial’ men as labourers within designated military organizations in the supply-system that was essential to industrialized warfare. Further, the sinking has developed in signiﬁcance beyond the historical into the commemorative and symbolic within post-apartheid South Africa. The value of this book is historical rather than archaeological. Nearly half the text (pp.5–63 and 131–50) is devoted to a study of British military labour organizations and their work, including the Foreign, Chinese and Egyptian Labour Corps. Attention concentrates on the South African Native Labour Corps (SANLC) within the setting of South African attitudes in the aftermath of the Boer War and the then-accepted limits of racial differentiation, which allowed conscript service under white officers in noncombat roles within Europe. The study of the ship (pp.67–76) provides a valuable outline description of a typical vessel of one of the types that were the workhorses of contemporary imperial trade routes. The ship’s construction and service in the West African trade from Liverpool are described (pp.76–80) on the basis of documentary evidence. Attention then turns (pp.80–100) to the ﬁnal voyage which began in Liverpool on 11 October 1916, in chartered war service. Extensive extempore conversion was carried out at Lagos, Nigeria, to allow the carriage of the Fifth Battalion SANLC, comprising 824 officers and men, to Britain and France. © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. REVIEWS The circumstances of the loss of the vessel (in collision in fog, off the Isle of Wight) are recounted and discussed (chs 8 and 9) in a degree of detail which deﬁes easy summary and draws heavily on the proceedings of the subsequent enquiry. Indeed, it is to the credit of ‘Authority’ that the tragedy was investigated without undue delay and at considerable length during a period of much greater loss of life in Flanders. Attention focuses on the nature of the collision, the recovery of bodies, the provision of lifeboats, liferafts and lifebelts, and the reception of the news in South Africa. The commemorative (and emotional) crux of the work lies in the description (ch. 10) of the actions and attitudes of the hero-ﬁgure Isaac Dyobha, a worthy representative of the missionary-educated, Christianized and colonially acculturated Xhosa, a class which developed during the period of reconciliation following the Frontier Wars (1778– 1878). He stemmed the growing panic on the deck of the Mendi during the 20 minutes or so between the collision and the sinking in a manner which is unrecorded in detail but self-evidently parallels the equally creditable behaviour of British soldiers at the sinking of the troopship Birkenhead on the South African coast in 1852, making him a potent symbol of racial similarity. This is the more so on account of the parallel contrast between the actions of Captain Stump of the SS Darro, who left the scene without taking any part in the rescue, and Lieutenant Commander Lyons, in command of the escorting destroyer HMS Brisk, who rescued 137 survivors over about four hours. The implied appeal to universal human values is noteworthy and justiﬁable. The ‘archaeological insight’ (ch. 13) is just that, reﬂecting the limited study that is described at greater length in the two Wessex Archaeology reports. Initial discovery (by Martin Woodward) in 1974 and further investigation (by John Buglass) in 1987 led to the wreck being regularly visited by recreational divers and the publication of basic descriptions. Resurvey and wire-sweeping in 2002–2007 revealed the continuing deterioration of the wreck and included a multibeam swath bathymetry survey, giving a clear picture of the remains. Subsequent diver visits have served to elucidate the site-formation processes of both the sinking and subsequent deterioration. Accordingly, the comprehensive Historic England (Pastscape) online database entry for the wreck represents a classic combination of descriptions by recreational divers, professional geophysical survey, and information on artefacts recovered (from Droits of HM Receiver of Wreck). The apparent noncitation of this authoritative database is surprising. The artefacts recovered are, as might be expected, the sample being, as ever, determined (and thus distorted) by the survival-value of speciﬁc materials, the ease of recognition of speciﬁc artefact-types, and the suitability for recovery of speciﬁc artefacts. The ship’s structure is represented by porthole(or scuttle-) frames and fragments of windows of different types. The identity of the ship is conﬁrmed by the recovery of numerous pieces of crockery bearing the names of the British and South African Steam Navigation Company and its associates. Brass cartridge-cases of 4.7-inch (119mm) calibre represent the adaptation of the ship for self-defence as a military transport. More generally, the well-written text contains a great deal of information which is consistently well presented. The price is reasonable while the references, index and bibliography are exemplary, but the format is deﬁcient by virtue of the small (A5) page-size, leading to the well-selected illustrations being reproduced at sizes smaller than they deserve. The schematic diagram of the ship’s general arrangement (ﬁg. 7.5) should be made available as a poster, while a location map based on a UKHO chart and further information regarding the setting of the wreck (including depth, seabedtype, marine wildlife and other recorded losses in the area) would be of value. The citation of ‘Gurghead’ for Burghead (p.65) is the only typographical error noticed. These minor points do not detract from the value of the book, which is far greater than its small size and limited scope might indicate. The current plethora of publications relating to the Great War includes many studies of supposedly ‘peripheral’ but actually highly signiﬁcant aspects which have been too long neglected or ignored: this book is notable among them. The same can be said about The Isles of Scilly in the Great War. Islands have an intrinsic fascination and are commonly of particular signiﬁcance in naval and military history. In the context of the First World War, Orkney and Shetland, Sylt, Borkum and Heligoland (in the North Sea), and Imbros and Tenedos (off the Dardanelles) come immediately to mind, but the Scillies attract attention by virtue of their situation (a ﬂanking end-stop at the western entrance to the English Channel), their value as an anchorage area, and their longstanding maritime heritage in all its aspects. As is so often the case, the islands had seen recurrent but temporary fortiﬁcation in earlier times but retained local infrastructure of poor standard and limited capacity, so that their military occupation in the First World War necessitated the construction and maintenance of facilities in some respects beyond those necessary for the direct support of operations. The parallel with the use of Scapa Flow in both world wars is evident, as are the differences, the ﬂeet facilities in Orkney being more specialised, on a much larger scale, and, for the most part, set further apart from the indigenous community than was the case in the Scillies. This reﬂects the basis of the naval use of the Scillies on reservist-manned converted (adapted or reﬁtted) trawlers rather than specialist warships in © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. 245 NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, 47.1 regular service, as at Scapa. To some extent, the naval operation in the Scillies appears to have represented the naval application of the principle of the ‘mobilised community’ which was the organizational basis of the contemporary army. The author, whose name will be familiar to many IJNA readers, provides a local historical summary of the islands and thus an insight into the life of an area within which military activity of various types by predominantly ‘reserve’ or ‘auxiliary’ forces was evidently intense. The year-by-year arrangement of the chapters is simple but effective, more so than would have been a division into the more obvious subject areas: coastal defence, naval patrolling (in all its aspects), shipwrecks, civilian life, and memorials. IJNA readers with naval interests will value the description of maritime patrol activity around the islands as a counterpart (or contrast) to the betterdocumented activities of specialised heavy warships, the more so on account of the predominant threat being apparently under water (from submarines, torpedoes and mines) rather than on the surface. Both the text and the illustrations record the rapid contemporary development of naval technology, particularly in underwater weapons and sensors, and in aviation. Many of the illustrations record the form and operation of speciﬁc types of equipment and weaponry in greater detail than this reviewer, at least, has previously seen. These are too numerous to cite comprehensively, but a few examples appear particularly pertinent. The photograph (p.43) of an armed trawler in ‘operational drab’ conﬁguration appears to display more equipment than would seem possible on a vessel of such a small size, this including the ﬁshing-gallows from her former use. The ‘horned’ contact mine and sinker (p.68) and the anti-submarine net mines (pp.70–71) are prominent among the contemporary equipmenttypes that are of such signiﬁcance as to deserve detailed record, hopefully based on the re-publication of the official handbooks and manuals relating to their operation and use which presumably still exist. Among these developments, the advent of aerial patrolling (by aeroplanes, seaplanes and airships) and observation (by kite-balloon) stands supreme. Apart from the photographs of military aircraft of various types, the varied illustrations of RNAS Tresco record the development of an early maritime air station, and the chart of air-patrol areas across the South-West Approaches (p.143), an early and effective example of military planning. The work illustrates, but does not describe, the Lloyd’s (or Lloyds’) Signal (Signalling) Stations that were constructed at various locations around the coastline before the advent of wireless reporting; the illustration (p.29) of that on the Garrison records one of the few documented examples. The same point applies to such ‘Marconi Wireless Stations’ as that mentioned 246 (pp.33–34), but not described in detail. Indeed, the topic of ‘coastwatching’ is mentioned on occasion but is not given the status that this simple but effective form of information reporting and intelligence collection always deserves. A signiﬁcant deﬁciency lies in the author’s apparent mis-appellation of reserve forces. Although the standard accounts of the various British naval-reserve forces are notably reticent regarding their complex organizational development and concomitant changes in nomenclature, the various references to the Royal Naval Auxiliary Patrol Service (RNAPS) and Royal Naval Auxiliary Service presumably refer to the former Royal Naval Patrol Service (RNPS), as is cited elsewhere, while the reference to the Royal Navy Reserve (p.11) is anomalous, this name apparently being only applied to the organization regenerated from the former Royal Naval Reserve in 1994. There is evident scope for a deﬁnitive summary of this subject. More generally, the index is excellent while the bibliography is no better than adequate, lacking surprisingly any citation of the author’s own Shipwreck Index. The format is conventional; many of the illustrations might helpfully have been reproduced at larger sizes, but their standard is better than might be expected of illustrations now about a century old. Their selection is generally appropriate, apart from an arguable over-emphasis on memorials, individuals and group photographs. A comprehensive location map and a National Grid Reference-based list of major defensive installations would make the book more useful to the visitor. These are minor points, and should not detract from the overall value of a small but well-formed work of essentially local coverage which is considerably more signiﬁcant than its small size and limited geographical scope might indicate. ROBERT J. C. MOWAT Dunfermline, Fife, Scotland, UK Archaeological Survey and Excavations at Mikindani, Southern Tanzania: finding their place in the Swahili world British Archaeological Reports S2859 MATTHEW PAWLOWICZ 196pp., illustrated throughout, 146 ﬁgures, 40 tables, BAR Publishing, 2017, £39 (sbk), ISBN 978-1407314860 The East African coast of the western Indian Ocean, between Somalia and Mozambique, is traditionally © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. REVIEWS characterized in both historical and archaeological narratives as the ‘Swahili Coast’. This is a contested and oversimpliﬁed name for a much more heterogeneous social and political environment. But, although having never formed any overarching internal autonomous polity, the peoples of the Swahili coast have in traditional discourse been grouped into one relatively homogenous social unit. Historically this is the result of a number of historiographic traditions and prevailing political environments. The word Swahili is Bantu and derived from the Arabic sahil, meaning margin or coast. It was ﬁrst applied speciﬁcally to the East African coast as Sawahil (‘lands of the coast’) in the 13th century, by the geographer Ibn Sa’id, and became a formalized regional designation under the Omani rulers of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. The archaeology and historiography of the coastal peoples has subsequently undergone a number of conceptual changes as a result of the histories of colonial contact and the dominance of external non-indigenous narratives, and the Swahili Coast has through time become separated ideologically from its adjacent hinterland and interior through the claim of elite mercantile coastal townspeople to ‘Shirazi’, or Arabic/Persian origins; an origin that fed comfortably into 19th-century colonial attitudes to African communities and notions of ‘civilization’ and ‘development’. Pawlowicz aims in his research to follow a growing trend in challenging these traditional narratives by examining Swahili exchange networks internally and externally within a deﬁned geographical area to look at the interplay between local and regional identities over the past two millennia; and to try to understand why the peripheral coastal society at Mikindani (c.250km south of the better-known Kilwa Kisiwani) contained ‘pan-coastal continuities’ and regional differences. Pawlowicz’s approach incorporates historical ecology, spatial analysis and ceramic typology. Indeed, one suspects that, as with many archaeological studies of the Swahili past, Pawlowicz’s research developed into a study of ceramic typologies for want of many other forms of evidence. However, unlike many before him, the application of soil science in this instance contributes to a much deeper appreciation of regional variations; most notably in the absence of rice cultivation in the Mikindani area and the author’s interesting discussion of the implications this had for urban development. The publication as a whole sets out the minutiae of Pawlowicz’s approach, and painstakingly presents the results of 34 shovel-test-pits and 22 2m-square excavations. It is in the explanation of this ﬁeldwork that the monograph falls down a little in not using appendices. Very few readers will need to examine section drawings of almost universally identical soil-horizons of 42 of these excavations; or need more than an in-depth summary of the 3500 ceramic sherds, 132 pieces of slag, c.2000 fragments of worked iron or nearly one metric tonne of coral building-rubble. However, it is this sheer scale of the evidence which demonstrates the value of such an archaeological approach, as well as leaves some questions hanging over the approach. Having surveyed just 3% of a 510 square kilometre research area, can the study truly be said to take in the Mikindani region? And could there have been an opportunity for C14 dating of any of the archaeobotanical samples taken, which would have allowed Pawlowicz to develop further his ceramic chronology and narrow down the apparent separation of Mikindani from wider Swahili society in the broad ‘early second millennium’? Mention must be made of the low standards of publication. The poor quality of the maps and the overall lack of visual interpretation in this volume can no longer be excused in today’s publishing world. It is understandable that BAR approach their role with a light touch, but better guidance for authors could easily help avoid lamentable illustrations. This is not to detract from the overall scale of Pawlowicz’s research, and what this publication best points toward is the archaeological value of ﬁeld survey of supposed ‘peripheral’ areas within the Swahili world in East Africa, and the growing complexity of that world. Traditionally characterized as maritime, Pawlowicz clearly demonstrates that the East African coast is at times under the ﬂuctuating inﬂuences of both the maritime world and the continental world of wider East Africa. DANIEL RHODES The National Trust for Scotland, UK H. L. Hunley: recovery operations ROBERT S. NEYLAND and HEATHER G. BROWN (eds) 348pp., 185 ﬁgures, 14 tables, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2017, $35/£27.92 (sbk), ISBN 978-1542856096, or free pdf from https://www.history.navy.mil/ This is a detailed account of the discovery, investigation and recovery of the ﬁrst submarine to sink a warship in combat. On the night of 17 February 1864 the Confederate submarine H. L. Hunley rammed its spar torpedo into the USS Housatonic, a sloop-of-war participating in the blockade of Charlestown. The explosion tore ‘a hole in the side of the ship big enough to drive a horse and cart through’. Housatonic sank immediately, but although the attack was © 2018 The Authors. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology © 2018 The Nautical Archaeology Society. 247 NAUTICAL ARCHAEOLOGY, 47.1 successful the Hunley and its crew of eight did not return. The authors and editors have packed a huge amount of information into an accessible, readable volume. Indeed, it seems like several books in one. The volume includes a detailed historical account of the history of submarine development, especially in the pivotal American Civil War, and of Hunley’s place in this development. This history encompasses the story of Hunley’s design, construction and deployment through to its ﬁnal mission, and an analysis of Hunley’s features compared with contemporary submersibles. This is in itself a remarkable story of engineering, ingenuity, human perseverance and outright bravery. Though innovative, operational ﬂaws caused Hunley to sink catastrophically in August and October 1863. The submarine was recovered each time, but both these accidents caused loss of life; in the October accident, the entire crew including Captain Horace Lawson Hunley were drowned. The ﬁrst-hand accounts of the crew training for their mission are striking too, bearing in mind the hull as built was only ‘4 feet [1.22m] wide and 5 feet [1.52m] deep’ and the vessel was powered manually by a hand-crank running along the centre of the vessel. On its mission Hunley operated just below the surface, with only its two small conning towers visible; the exertion in this small dark space as they pressed out to the Housatonic, about 4 nautical miles offshore, can hardly be imagined. The Hunley is such a key vessel in the history of the American Civil War and maritime history generally that it has been the target of investigations since 1970. Systematic investigations in the 1980s and 1990s are clearly described, leading to the identiﬁcation of the site as a magnetometer anomaly conﬁrmed by probing and excavation of a test-pit in May 1995. A series of assessments and investigations took place, leading to the development of a huge project to recover the vessel from the seabed and to conserve it ashore. The account of this whole process forms another major segment of this volume. Again, there is plenty of detail, not only of the remarkable engineering and operational considerations, but of the development of the overall approach, organization and funding of the project. This is a very valuable addition to the literature on the conduct of marine archaeological projects; it is instructive to see not only the wide range of factors that had to be taken into account, but especially the application of archaeological thinking to a highly complex project. The project was intended to become a benchmark, and publishing this level of detail of the process itself helps achieve this objective. This book is a must if you are contemplating project management in maritime archaeology or preparing a reading-list on this subject. A further major segment of the book is concerned with the investigation and analysis of the Hunley site, its environment, the exterior of the hull and artefacts 248 found outside the hull. As throughout, considerable detail is presented, ranging from the effects of the major remodelling of the approaches to Charlestown that arose from the construction of large stone jetties toward the end of the 19th century, to X-rays of individual concreted items found adjacent to the wreck. Included in this are the recovery and analysis of the 16ft-long (4.9m) spar and a fragment of the explosive device (torpedo) that projected from the submarine like a narrow lance. As indicated, this volume conﬁnes itself to the outside of the hull in its ‘as found’ state, before the concretion was removed and before the inside of the hull was investigated. The only exception to this seems to be that some details of the crew— including facial reconstructions—are clearly based on the examination of their remains within the hull. I understand why the volume has been published like this, effectively as an interim report before the full analysis of the vessel and its contents are available, but it does create some tensions in the narrative. The authors know more than they can say at this juncture, and there are references to the results being provisional until further conservation and analysis has been carried out. This is often the case in publications, but in this instance those further results are appearing hot on the heels of this volume—including on the question of what caused the loss of the Hunley in the immediate aftermath of its success. In this volume, six hypotheses are presented, drawing on both documentary and archaeological evidence, but no conclusion. Whatever happened, being in a narrow iron tube just a few feet from an explosion that ripped a ship apart cannot have been pleasant. As well as over 200 pages of narrative, there are 80 pages of appendices. Another of the interesting questions raised by this book is what level of detail it is appropriate to publish. Some of the data might better have been presented on disk or online, but the decision as to which would vary from reader to reader; given th