Lost Lands, Forgotten Realms

by Bob Curran

  By the early-to-mid-1600s, the Spanish empire was starting to wane slightly in some areas, and it was left to English explorers to link the notions of a lost city high in the mountains and the idea of the golden man rising from the cold-water lake. One of these explorers, much given to exaggeration, was the one-time English Royal favorite Sir Walter Raleigh. Raleigh enjoyed something of a reputation as an explorer, and did nothing to play down his exploits. Having made several expeditions into the South American interior, Raleigh announced that during one of them in 1596, he had visited a city, far up on the Orinoco River, which had been ruled over by a king, swathed in sheets of gold and known as “The Golden King,” in Spanish El Ray Dorado or El Dorado. The location of this city had been on a large lake somewhere in Guiana, now part of Venezuela. Moreover, this city owned a massive realm of gold and jewel mines (mainly emeralds), which made its king and inhabitants inordinately wealthy. Such stories, of course, echoed the old Spanish legends of Cibola and Quivira, and piqued English interest in the idea of mysterious cities on the American continent.

  Raleigh had apparently not been the first to encounter this mysterious king. In 1534, conquistadores from the Colombian expedition of Sebastian de Belalcazar, an explorer who had sailed with Francisco Pizarro, conqueror of the Incas, had also heard legends of the “Golden King,” and had allegedly seen him in a magnificent city in the middle of a great lake. However, they placed the city somewhere on the Cauca River in Central Colombia. Another account had been given by a shipwrecked sailor who had sailed in 1531 with Diego de Ordaz (one of Cortez’ generals) who had spent some time with El Dorado himself, although he located the city somewhere in present-day Honduras. There were also tales of a golden king brought back to Europe by German explorer Philipp von Hutton who, together with Geog von Speyer had traveled some way up the Orinoco and had heard Indian tales of a city further north ruled by such a person. Raleigh no doubt built on these accounts and had moved the river slightly in order to fit in with the route of his own expedition. His account was widely accepted, and for nearly 200 years the fabulous city and its lake appeared on all maps of the Orinoco until its existence was disproved by Prussian naturalist and explorer Alexander von Humboldt in the 1700s.

  With the decline of the Spanish Empire and Spanish exploration in the New World, the legend of El Dorado began to assume slightly less importance. From time to time, explorers might return with old Indian tales of fabulous Indian mines (and undoubtedly there were some) where gold and precious stones abounded, but no large-scale expeditions were mounted to find them. When such expeditions were mentioned, the authorities simply pointed to the expense and failure of Coronado’s journey and such proposals were usually shelved. Nevertheless, such tales continued to keep the idea of a lost civilization alive in the public imagination. The Andes Mountains seemed a reasonable place for such a civilization to exist, as did the steaming jungles that bounded on the mighty River Amazon, which cut into the heart of South America. As North America opened up to more and more exploration and colonization, South America still maintained an air of mystery that pulled on the imagination. The location of the mythical city therefore moved southward, and it was here that some of the later explorers turned their attentions.

  The legend of El Dorado gradually became entwined with other legendary locations somewhere on the South American continent. One of these concerned the Ciudad de Los Cesares—the lost City of the Ceasars. This fabulously wealthy metropolis lay somewhere in the hills of present-day Patagonia, and had been reputedly founded by survivors from a Spanish ship (or ships) that had been wrecked there during a storm. The ship had been carrying great treasure that the crew had managed to save, and they carried it with him into the jungle-covered hinterland. There they had established a settlement, trading with local Indians who allegedly mined gold in the hills. This settlement grew into a massive city, reminiscent of those back in Spain, and was inhabited by a half Indian/half Spanish people who now shunned much contact with the outside world. The original crew had taken umbrage with Spain for not having sent ships to rescue them. Again, this story had overtones of the founding of the Seven Golden Cities by the fleeing Spanish bishops in the 12th century. The fabulous City of the Caesars took on some of the legendary characteristics of El Dorado in the popular mind, and soon legends concerning the two were virtually inseparable.

  Another persistent legend that became entangled with that of El Dorado was that of the Sierra del Plata, which seemed to be located somewhere in either the present-day countries of Uruguay or Bolivia. The name meant “mountain of silver,” and it was supposedly a great range of river-veined mountains that the Indians mined for their inordinate wealth. Located at the base of this range was a city in which the silver ore was processed and wonderful ornaments and trinkets were made. Part of this legend may well have been born out of the gifts given to the Spaniards and English explorers by native tribesmen. The merging of the Uruguay and Parana Rivers (both thought to originate in the Sierra) was given the name Rio del Plata (literally River of Silver), which was later changed to River Plate—where the German battleship Graf Spee was scuttled at the outbreak of World War II (during the naval Battle of the River Plate). In legend, however, the wealthy Indian city, which processed the silver ore, was equated with El Dorado and the legend grew.

  Metaphors and Discoveries

  For a time, the mysterious city became something of a metaphor. It was the symbol of distant and unattainable wealth, and of something valuable that perhaps lay just beyond the limits of an individual’s reach. It was also used as something of a metaphor for a glittering prize that only persistence could attain. The reality of the lost city, however, was given a fresh impetus in the mid-19th century.

  In 1860, Henri Mahout walked out of the Cambodian jungle and into the main street of an overgrown city of magnificent temples. He had discovered Angkor Wat, a lost religious city of the Khmer people that had flourished more than 500 years before. Soon after, another such city—Angkor Thom—was also discovered amid the encroaching jungles. Both cities had lain, forgotten and undetected, deep in the jungles for many years. If such massive and wonderful places had been hidden away for years, the argument went, might not El Dorado? Some expeditions were mounted once more, and at least one bore fruit. In 1911, the American explorer and archaeologist Hiram Bingham, following old Indian legends, found the ruins of a city high up in the Andes. The ruins that he had discovered were those of the lost Incan city of Machu Picchu (the Old Peak). This was located on a height above the Urumbamba Valley in Peru, northwest of the city of Cusco; it was not a city as such, but more of a summer retreat for the Inca nobility. Nevertheless, it sparked much theory once again about the actual existence of El Dorado. If Machu Picchu existed, might not other Inca or Aztec cities?

  Speculation was rife, and it was assumed that the almost impenetrable Matto Grosso region of the Brazilian rainforest might hide the remains of another ancient city. So alluring was the premise that it soon drew in another explorer to follow the legend of El Dorado. Colonel Percy Fawcett was an adventurer and trailblazer in the South American jungle (particularly in the Amazon region), and he was convinced that somewhere deep in the wilderness lay the ruins of a vast city, which he simply named Z. Between 1906 and 1924, Fawcett made seven expeditions to Brazil, tracing the courses of rivers and visiting jungle settlements. He became well known for his courtesy among the river tribes, and established a reputation for himself with the Brazilian authorities. However, listening to native tales, he became more and more convinced that an ancient city lay somewhere deep in the Amazonian jungles. Fawcett also claimed to have unearthed a map and some notes allegedly attributed to Cabeza de Vaca or some other conquistador showing the location of such a city (this was, of course, highly suspect). In 1925, together with his son Jack and another friend Raleigh Rummell, he led an expedition, partly funded by the National Geographic Society in London, along the Amazon and deep into the Matto Grosso. They were never heard from again.
Fawcett had left strict written instructions that if they did not return, no rescue expedition was to be mounted, and his wishes were respected. He had also telegraphed his wife from Brazil, stating that they were about to enter unknown territory, supposedly the haunt of cannibalistic and head-hunting tribes. It is quite possible that his expedition, which was last seen crossing the Upper Xingu River, was attacked, and Fawcett and his companions were killed. It is also a possibility that they died from disease somewhere in the jungle. Indeed, one of the Xingu Indians is alleged to have seen a white man, presumed to be Fawcett or one of his expedition, dying of fever in a native village, somewhere beyond the river.

  Fawcett’s disappearance sparked fresh mystery and speculation. It was claimed, for instance, that his expedition had found the lost city, but that the inhabitants there might have killed them; or he might still be living there, away from the world. Once again, stories of El Dorado began to circulate through the Western world. This continued sporadically for some time with notions of a lost civilization somewhere in the Brazilian jungle. In turn, El Dorado became a city of gold, a futuristic city of an immensely advanced culture or a colony built by aliens from space. However, if it did exist, it always remained tantalizingly elusive, just beyond the furthest point of exploration.

  Today, El Dorado has returned to being something of a concept. Among the Muisca of Colombia, it is still the name for vital energy, and is believed in folk religion to be the name of one of the creators of the Universe. It has appeared in literature as something fabulous, but virtually unattainable. It has served as an inspiration to the American writer and poet Edgar Allen Poe, who wrote four stanzas on the subject, and also to Joseph Conrad, who referenced it in his Heart of Darkness (published in 1902). To many people, however, it still represents a distant ideal, something that appears just beyond their reach, but which will one day be discovered and attained.

  13

  The Kingdom of Prince Madoc

  The discovery of the North American continent is usually credited to Christopher Columbus, an Italian working in the service of Spain. The date given for this important discovery is 1492. But although this is generally accepted, even today, this was not always the case, and the “discovery” created much unrest among European monarchs. Indeed, the Stuart king of England, James I, described it as “Tudor propaganda” designed to keep peace with Spain. And throughout the years, there have been hints and suggestions of earlier discoverers, and of different “empires and kingdoms” (many of them from Europe and Asia) within the continent.

  There have been tales of a Turkish kingdom in parts of Tennessee and Alabama, perhaps before Columbus arrived. In fact, some of the racial speculation concerning the curious Melungeon peoples of the Cumberland Plateau and parts of eastern Kentucky is that they are of Turkish descent. And of course, some have argued that the name of the state itself is Turkish—Allah Bhama, allegedly meaning God’s Cemetery. Others, however, have argued that it was the name of an Indian tribe that once occupied the area, or a word from the Muskogee dialect that means “Resting Place” (although no similar word has been found in Old Muskogee). This story, and others like it, have lived throughout the years.

  The Kingdom of Alabama

  One of the most persistent of such legends, however, asserts that part of Alabama was actually a medieval kingdom ruled by a Welsh prince. The kingdom had existed in the region during the 12th and 13th centuries, and there were allegedly still descendants of those whom the prince (whose name was given as Madoc) had brought with him from Wales, dwelling there. The legend seems to have originated in part during the mid-17th century. In 1660, a Welsh missionary, the Reverend Morgan Jones, was captured by a tribe of the Tuscarora nation, known as the Doeg. Believing himself to be condemned to death, the preacher uttered a prayer in Welsh, and was amazed when an old Indian answered him—in Welsh. It transpired, the old Indian stated, that this was the sacred language of the tribe that had been given to them by a great leader, long ago in their history, who was known as Modok. Jones (and many of those who came after him) was convinced that the area had been once inhabited by the Welsh and, talking to the Indians, seemed to trace the arrival of the “great leader” back to the 12th century. Subsequent researches have suggested who this “Modok” or Madoc might have been.

  The Gwyneth Brothers

  Both history and tradition name a Madoc as one of the 17 sons of Owain Gwyneth, ruler of Gwynedd, a northern kingdom of Cmyru (Wales), who took the throne in 1137. Although Welsh, it is quite possible that Owain also had some Norman blood in his veins as well, and may have ruled Gwynedd with some Norman support. However, his large family was to cause problems for the country when he died around 1166. The eldest legitimate son, Jarwath (Edward), suffered from a facial disfigurement, which immediately eliminated him as heir. Celtic law dictated that only an unblemished king could rule for fear of transferring his weakness into his people (an old Celtic superstition). Another contender, Howell, although older than Jarwath, was illegitimate, and was considered to be “basely born” because his mother was Irish. Nevertheless, Howell seized the throne by force and ruled for several years until his mother died. He then briefly left Wales to lay claim to his mother’s estates in Ireland and while he was gone, his half-brother Daffyd (David) seized the throne and had Howell murdered upon his return. Daffyd ruled as king until Jarwath’s son, Llywelyn, came of age and tried to claim his father’s birthright. It is thought that he appealed to the Normans, who occupied England, and they granted him aid in exchange for his support against the southern kingdom of Powys. Gwynedd erupted in warfare.

  Madoc, who was probably also illegitimate, became fearful. Daffyd was regarded as extremely ruthless and had ordered the death of at least two of his brothers. Llewellyn, however, was considered extremely treacherous, and had tried to murder another of his uncles. Hearing rumours of a vast new land beyond the sea to the west, Madoc decided to “cut and run,” and in 1170 set sail with an intrepid band of followers.

  Sailing only by the stars, they continued westward, eventually reaching the Gulf of Mexico and dropping anchor in Mobile Bay. The land that he found was temperate and lush and very much to Madoc’s liking. He set up a colony there, farming the lands around Mobile and venturing slightly further inland. However, he was soon homesick, and in 1171, according to the legend, he returned home to Wales.

  A few days in his native country was enough to cure him of his yearning. Gwynedd was still in turmoil and the war between Daffyd and Llewellyn had turned most of it into a wasteland. The Normans now conquered Powys and were threatening from the south. Madoc decided that his future lay on the other side of the ocean. His ship, the Gwennon Gorn, accompanied by his half-brother Rhyrd, set sail for America once again. The legend says that he was also accompanied by two of his sisters—the first Welsh women to set foot on American shores. Some commentators have stated that even if Madoc had made landfall in America, he could not have found his way back to Wales so accurately and then back to America again. However, some Viking ships used primitive compasses, and Greek ships used a navigational instrument known as a lodestone (which continually pointed northward) from which they could take bearings. Besides, Madoc was reputedly an extremely good seaman and navigator himself. According to legend, he had taken part in the actual building of the Gwennon Gorn (which means stag’s horn) using nails made from stags’ antlers. It has also been stated that he knew the winds, and so he was able to guide the boat back to the American continent.

  From this point, Prince Madoc and his group disappear into history. It has been suggested that he landed further south than the site of his original expedition and reached Mexico where it was he (and not later Spanish) who was feted by the Aztecs and Quetzalcoatl.

  Stories of Madoc’s voyage lived on in song and poem back in his native Wales. A manuscript dating from the time of the English king Edward IV (1451–1483) and attributed to the Welsh bard Gutyen Owen, mentions Madoc’s departure from Wales and his journey to
an unknown land. In 1589, the voyage was also mentioned in the Tudor historian Richard Hakluyt’s collection of early maritime voyages. Hakluyt was probably drawing on Owen’s work and a number of other works that were in turn based on the manuscript—such as Dr. David Powel’s History of Cambria.

  Another manuscript, now stored in the British Museum and dating from around 1477, details the lineage of the kings of Gwynedd. It mentions that one of the sons of Owain Gwyneth was “an explorer of unknown lands,” and gives the date for the departure of one of his expeditions as 1171. Parts of yet another manuscript (badly deteriorated) supposedly dating from 1255 and titled “The Romance of Madoc” were found in a monastery in Poitiers, France, during the 17th century. This manuscript seems to have disappeared once more, although a record of its discovery has been kept. The text is attributed to a Flemish poet known as William the Minstrel, and it spoke of Madoc’s voyage to a sunken Paradise far beneath the waves. This may have been an interpretation of the prince’s journey to America.

  So widespread was the story that it had even reached both the English and Spanish Royal Courts. The Spanish in particular were intrigued by the story during the 1500s, particularly because a number of explorers had returned from the New World with stories that some of the Indian tribes they had encountered had spoken a language that was not unlike Welsh. It was also noted that some of these tribes had lighter colored skin tones than some of their neighbors, giving them the title “gente blanco” (white men). In 1557, the Spanish sent Parda de Luna into the Mobile River country to look for some of these Indians but, apparently, the results of his expedition were inconclusive. Later, in 1624, another expedition was mounted, this time into what is now Georgia; though several strange anomalies appear to have been found, nothing significant was discovered to link the Indians with the Welsh.