Physical make-up of the atlas
Llewellyn's atlas is large folio and consists of sixteen charts drawn in black ink and five colours on vellum {four of the charts were wholly or partially reproduced in the Geographical Magazine article and are repeated here}. Each measures approximately 65 x 92 cm (26 x 36 in) and, while folded, they have not been attached to the binding by guards stuck to a central fold, as might have been expected, but have been sewn in at the left edge. Preceding the charts is a sheet of paper (formed of two joined pieces). This has been ruled into four compartments; the upper pair is blank [perhaps intended for a title and dedication] and the lower pair has been used for a descriptive title and a list of the charts. From this we can establish both that the atlas is complete and that the preliminary leaf and the charts are in the same hand.



{Attempts were made to identify the watermarks in the title sheet at the front and the blank end-paper at the end. While they appear similar, and each is made up of joined sheets of the same paper, the marks are different front and back. Neither watermark could be found in Bricquet or Heawood although there were similar marks (French or Italian) from the later 16th century. The closest match (on the end-paper) was with Heawood 2133, reported from the 1616 edition of Speed.}

The atlas is preserved in a full calf binding, die-stamped on both covers. It is undoubtedly the original binding and is typical of English work of the early 17th century. {The fact that a few of the charts have had a part of their border trimmed away confirms that the charts were bound up after they were drawn. However, the title sheet, neatly ruled into quarters, whose precise size depended on that of the bound volume, must have been completed after binding had taken place. There are presumably four stages to be considered: the rough compilation of the charts, the fair drawing of those charts, the binding up of the volume, and the writing out of the title. These events could have been separated by years. }

The volume is in as good a condition as could be expected; there is no trace of any water-staining that might point to use at sea.

The sixteen charts extend from the Cape of Good Hope to the Far East, including Japan, the Philippines, the Marianas and the north-western part of New Guinea. {The reference in the Christ Church Donors' Book [see Analytical methods] to 'partem Americae peruanae', might be taken to indicate that part of America was included. Rather this states that the charts extend to China and then 'towards South America' - somewhat misleading given that Japan is the eastern limit}. They are projectionless plane charts with latitude scales, and with slight overlap from one chart to the next. From the duplicated sections, it is evident that the coastal outlines were traced from a common model. Repeated names, however, were treated in the cavalier fashion of the period and frequently differ from one chart to the next - for example Tornoall and Toronal, Tydor and Tichor, Maycan and Macan [charts 10 & 16].

[A slightly amended passage extracted from 'Atlas Pioneer', Geographical Magazine 48:3 (December 1975), pp. 165-7 - any extract from the indented section below should be separately acknowledged]

Until the first Dutch and English fleets appeared in the Indian Ocean at the very end of the 16th century the Portuguese flag was the only European one seen in the East Indies. From this commercial monopoly it followed that the Portuguese hydrographers were the only ones who had access to first-hand information about the islands and harbours beyond the Cape. Their jealously guarded charts - always kept in manuscript and never printed - played an essential part in keeping out intruders. Portuguese charts of the 16th century varied considerably but they were usually on a relatively small scale, ranging only from eight to ten millimetres for 10 degrees of latitude. Llewellyn's charts so far break with this tradition as to quadruple the scale to thirty-eight millimetres for 10 degrees [very approximately 1:3 million]. Also unusual is the fact that this scale is constant throughout his atlas. The sixteen charts that Llewellyn needed to cover the known world east of the Cape of Good Hope normally fill only five, much smaller sheets, in the typical world atlases produced by the most prolific of the Portuguese chartmakers, Fernão Vaz Dourado [for all matters relating to Portuguese output see PMC].

If Llewellyn's atlas was constructed about 1598, and this seems the most likely date in the face of the evidence available at the moment, we have to look for a Portuguese source for those areas not affected by the first Dutch voyage, or else admit that his work is original. If the use of a scale not paralleled in the entire surviving Portuguese output hinted that there might be difficulty in finding the model for his charts, the further the investigation proceeded the clearer it became that Llewellyn's source, whatever it might have been, has not survived. The outlines he gives to the islands in the East Indies, for example, find no precise equivalent in Portuguese work.

But more striking still are the peculiarities of his style, for these serve to mark him out, not only from the Portuguese and Dutch chart makers working at the turn of the century but also from his English contemporaries.

Chartmaking in England was still in its infancy during Elizabeth I's reign. But there were a number of people working close to the Thames to serve the needs of English mariners: John Daniel, Thomas Hood, Thomas Lupo, Robert Norman, Richard Poulter, Nicholas Reynolds and Gabriel Tatton. One of these, John Daniel, was to found a school of chartmakers, all of whom were apprenticed in succession into the Drapers' Company of the City of London, thus perpetuating certain distinctive features of style [Campbell; Smith; Tyacke]. Had Llewellyn been apprenticed to any of the known Elizabethan chartmakers, or even taught on an informal basis (since he was evidently a 'gentleman' rather than an artisan), we could have expected some traces of their style to recur in his work. Instead, it is so totally different from all of them that it seems inconceivable he could have been taught by any of the chartmakers already known to us. Yet the method by which he constructed his charts and the way he conveys his hydrographical information show him to have been in the mainstream of the portolan chart tradition.

To start with, his palette is unusual. The five brightly preserved colours which he used include a surprising mauve and untypical tones of red, yellow, green and blue. Then there is the continuous border, repeated in the surrounds to his scale bars. This device, ancient Greek in origin, seems intended to represent a chain of beads. It is found also on the engraved maps of Ortelius and Mercator, as well as on Waghenaer's printed marine charts [1584 onwards], which Llewellyn would presumably have seen. But what distinguishes Llewellyn's work from these others, and allows us to consider it to a certain extent as his signature, is that his outer border regularly alternates seven round beads with each elongated one, where the engraved forms used a maximum of three or four. This particular device has yet to be spotted on any other manuscript chart.



Then there are the decorative scale borders with their foliate terminals, one or more of which appear on each sheet. Elements of his work are vaguely reminiscent of one or two of his contemporaries, although none uses quite the same decorative devices. { See (1) Thomas Lupo's Mediterranean chart (c.1600?), British Library Add. MS.10,041; (2) a post-1588 chart of the south Atlantic by 'R.B.', Florence, BNC, Port.30; (3) anon chart (Thomas Hood? c. 1594), British Library Add Ms 17938B; (4) Robert Tindall's chart of Chesapeake Bay, etc, 1608, BL Cotton MS. Aug.I.ii.46; and (5) an unsigned chart of China, 1609, BL Cotton MS. Aug.I.ii.45 [Skelton, 1958, p.168] - respectively Tyacke (2007) pp. 1749-51, nos 33, 34, 45, 63, 64}.


But it is in his compass roses that Llewellyn most asserts his independence and at the same time shows us something of his personality. If Llewellyn had been an illuminator of medieval manuscripts, rather than a chartmaker, he might well have been dubbed, 'the master of the compass rose', from his imaginative treatment of this recurring feature. Thirty-five compass roses are distributed over his sixteen charts. Since four is the maximum visible at any one time, Llewellyn could have restricted himself to that number of variations and it is doubtful if anyone would have detected the repetitions. Instead, the conscientious and inventive Llewellyn managed to think up sixteen quite different forms. His permutations are almost Bach-like in their subtlety, ringing the changes around the constant elements of an inner and outer circle, surmounted by an unchanging north-pointer.