Lost Lands, Forgotten Realms

by Bob Curran

  The first people to see the region with its shadowy canyons and odd rock formations were most probably the Apache Indians who seem to have given it a wide berth—although some traditions say that they used it for a sacred burial ground. The first Europeans to see it were Spaniards (part of the expedition of Francisco Vasquez de Coronado as it headed north through Arizona to search for the Seven Cities of Gold in 1540). Coronado’s guides told them that the area was rich in gold, but that it was also the domain of a powerful Thunder God who would take vengeance on those who entered his territory intent on stealing his wealth. It is said that Coronado dispatched several parties to investigate the region, but no one returned; the Indians could have been irrefutable evidence of the Thunder God’s power. Although skeptical of their claims, Coronado did not investigate any further, and his expedition proceeded north. However, he named the region Monte Superstition, which is its name today.

  Peralta’s Fortune

  For almost 300 years, the area remained isolated and inaccessible, and avoided by most people. Strange tales, mostly Indian legends, surrounded it, and white men seldom ventured into it. In 1845, however, a certain Don Miguel Peralta, a native and businessman from Sonora, Mexico, came exploring in the Superstition, drawn by the tales of rich veins of gold that were reputedly found there. In the shadow of a great rock formation shaped (according to Peralta) like a “sombrero,” he found ancient workings that seemed suggestive of a shallow mine worked by the Apaches or even some earlier culture. Marking the spot in his mind, Peralta went to find those who would help him work the mine as a commercial concern. Upon return with men and materials, he began to mine in earnest, naming the place “The Sombrero Mine” after the rock that marked the spot in his mind. They had not been working long when they struck a rich vein of almost pure gold; soon Peralta was shipping many thousands of pesos’ worth of the raw material back to Sonora. His good fortune was not to last, however.

  In 1848, angered by continual incursions into their sacred territory, the Apaches formed a coalition of tribes to drive Peralta and his miners out. Peralta, however, had been tipped off about their attack and planned to move back to Sonora for a time before returning to Superstition. He began loading a train of burros (mules) with raw gold from the mine, ready for transport. In order for nobody else to find the mine in his absence, he took elaborate precautions to disguise the mine entrance, laying false trails up through the canyons. He delayed too long, for the Indians attacked with alarming ferocity before the mule train was out of the Superstition region. Peralta and all the miners were reputedly killed and the burros scattered. For years afterward the bones of dead mules with rotting saddlebags containing gold were found in various gullies and ravines all around the Superstition area. Although many tried to locate the Sombrero Mine, none were able to. Some adventurers claimed that the rock had not been hat-shaped at all, but an upright spire known as Weaver’s Needle. This had allegedly been named after the famous mountain man, trapper, and Army scout, Paulino Weaver, who had partly explored some of the region. Others pointed to a similar spire-shaped rock known as “The Finger of God,” but nobody was really sure. Peralta had concealed the Mines extremely well, and they remained hidden from questing eyes. The last known instance of an individual finding a Peralta mule occurred in 1914. In this year, a rather mysterious gentleman named C.H. Silverlocke arrived in Phoenix carrying roughly $18,000 in raw gold. He claimed that there was more out in the desert and, gathering together some equipment, set out to increase his wealth. He never returned, and was deemed to be another victim of Superstition.

  Dutch Discoveries

  This brings us to the Dutchman who gave the mine its lasting name. The first thing to recognize about Jacob Walz (also given as Waltz or Weis) is that he wasn’t Dutch, but German, born around 1810 in Wuttenburg, and having come to America as an immigrant in 1845. He first appears as a prospector and miner in North Carolina in the 1850s, working for other miners and panning for gold in some of the streams on the edge of the Smokies. He seems to have been a taciturn character, and something of a loner, which perhaps would later work to his advantage. He also seems to have led an itinerant sort of life, drifting from gold field to gold field and from one mine to another, never seeming to make his fortune but usually making enough to get by. He reportedly mined in the Sierra Nevada and also in California; wherever there was a reported gold strike, Jacob Walz seemed to turn up. In 1861, he became an American citizen at the Los Angeles County Courthouse in California and later that year appeared on the San Gabriel River gold field, working for a man named Ruben Blakeney. From there he struck out into the Bradshaw Mountain area of Arizona with a group of miners intent on making their fortune. Pickings were poor and around 1865 Walz was apparently working as a laborer on both the Big Rebel and General Grant Mines high in the Bradshaw Mountain area.

  By 1868, he was still prospecting in Arizona, this time in the Rio Satillo Valley north of Superstition. He also seems to have been well known to local Apaches who had nicknamed him Snowbeard, because his beard had turned almost white. In fact, he appears to have been one of those crazy old prospectors who worked up in the hills, always on the very edge of a fortune, but never quite finding it. Once again, he seems to have made just enough money to get along. He is alleged to have worked in the Superstition area for about 20 years, sometimes prospecting for himself, sometimes working as a miner in the surrounding mines.

  In 1870, he is alleged to have met another miner named Jacob Weiser while working at the Vulture Mine near the northern end of the Superstition. Weiser may have also been German, but there is a strong possibility that he came from Holland, and that he was the real Dutchman. The two set off into the Superstition to prospect together. There is a further story that Walz was dismissed from the crew of the Vulture Mine for secretly stealing gold that he had stored in the canyons of the region. Whether or not this was true is open to question—it would certainly fit in with his uneasy personality—but it might explain where the two men acquired the raw gold nuggets that they began to spend in the mining camps around Phoenix. Both men used various, and often conflicting, tales to explain their sudden wealth. For example, they said that they had befriended some Apache Indians who had taken them to a cave in the Superstition area where gold had been piled high against the wall. This had been the remnants of the treasure that Miguel Peralta had been transporting back to Sonora when the Apache war bands had struck. In other explanations, they said that they had rescued a Mexican from a band of Apaches, fighting off his attackers and escorting him to safety. The man turned out to be Don Miguel Peralta, a descendant of the original mine owner and, as a reward, he showed them a map that marked the location of his gold mine. What became of Peralta afterward is unclear. In yet another story that the two miners told, they came up on several men working a shallow mine in a canyon deep in the Superstition. Assuming them to be Apaches, the “Dutchmen” attacked and killed them, finding out too late that they were in fact Mexicans. The place where they had been working turned out to be the lost mine, and the saddlebags of the burros that they had been loading were crammed with gold. Whatever the truth of the story may be, the supply of gold that the two prospectors seemed to possess appeared endless.

  Sometime after 1871, Jacob Weiser suddenly disappeared. Walz said that their camp had been attacked by Indians and Weiser had been killed; he (Walz) said he had buried the body out in a lonely canyon in accordance with the dead man’s wishes. He alone now knew the location of the mysterious mine. And though he was frequently pressed and offered business deals, he refused to disclose where it was. All he would say was that it was somewhere in the Superstition.

  Of course stories abounded around “The Dutchman.” The most common tale stated that Walz had murdered his partner somewhere out in the lonely Superstition region, and had taken over the mine for himself. Of course, nothing could be proved. Others said that there was no mine at all—what the two men had found was a massive cache of the Peralta gold stored aw
ay in saddlebags taken from the burros, or else it was a haul that the two had removed from the Vulture Mine, and that eventually Walz had murdered his partner in order to get his hands on it. Again, this was simply speculation. However, Walz now took to disappearing into the Superstition for long periods, returning seemingly laden with gold nuggets.

  Although he was by now quite an elderly man, Walz had developed a taste for hard liquor, gambling, and womanizing. He was something of a colorful character around Phoenix, and that color simply added to his legend. A central figure in many of the gambling cartels in the town, he never seemed to be short of cash; if he owed money, he would go out into the Superstition to return again with raw gold with which to pay his debts. His gambling and drinking continued for many years, but he was old and his hard living soon caught up with him.

  In 1891, he took up with a Mexican widow named Julia Elena Thomas. There was some talk of marriage and Walz promised to show her “a grand wedding dowry” out in the Superstition. However, he claimed that the canyons out to the mine were impassable in winter, but he would take her there in the spring of 1892. She was not to see the mine, for The Dutchman died suddenly on October 25, 1891. His hell-raising life had finally overtaken him. And with him died the location of the gold mine—if it had ever existed.

  Shortly after his death, his widow, who was still a young woman (29 years old), hired two German brothers—Rhinehart and Herman Petrusch—to travel into the Superstition following an old map that Walz was said to have drawn shortly before his death. After some time, however, they returned to Phoenix, empty-handed and disappointed. Walz’s widow would later make her living selling false maps showing the location of the gold mine to anyone who would buy them.

  With the Dutchman’s death, speculation mounted as to where his mine lay, and many treasure-hunters mounted expeditions into the Superstition in order to find it; none did. However, a number of equally colorful characters grew up around the region, some of whom may have known where the mine might lie. The most famous of these was Elisha M. Reavis, widely known as the “Madman of the Superstition,” who lived in the area between 1872 and 1896. He is said to have dwelt in a remote section of the region, and the local Apaches never bothered him because they were afraid of him. There was a tradition among a number of Indian tribes that those who were “touched by spirits” were supernatural beings and were to be avoided. Reavis certainly fit the bill—some accounts said that he ran through the canyons of Superstition, stark naked and howling like an animal; on other nights he would climb up to the highest points and shoot at the stars with a rifle. But on the rare occasions when he did come into Phoenix, he would buy goods with nuggets of raw gold. It didn’t matter if the storekeepers charged him too much for his purchases, as he always said that there was “more gold” out in the Superstition.

  Around April 1896, a man who had befriended him noticed that Reavis was overdue on a trip into town and went out into the Superstition to look for him. He found the “Madmans’” body in a remote canyon, half eaten by coyotes, and with his head cut completely off. There was some talk that Reavis had been murdered, but nothing could be proved—the body had been too long in the sun—and no trace of his wealth was ever discovered. Several individuals from Phoenix made their way out to see if they could find the source of the gold, but none ever returned.

  There were those who said that the Dutchman Mine did not lie in the Superstition at all, but in the Salt River Valley nearby. The Salt River flows along the eastern edge of Superstition, and there are a number of small creeks and tidal backwaters near it, which are said to be the locations of gold-bearing rocks. Jacob Walz’s widow is said to have given an interview to Pierpoint C. Bicknell, a freelance writer, upon her return from the Superstition area, and seemed to suggest that her late husband had hinted as much to her. But to the best of anyone’s knowledge, she herself never looked along the Salt River for his mine. Certainly a couple of other rich mines were found in the vicinity of the River—the celebrated Black Queen and Mammoth Mines. The output of the Mammoth Mine alone amounted to more than $3 million in pure gold within a four year period. Was the Dutchman Mine an even richer lode?

  Throughout the years many have tried to hunt down the elusive Lost Dutchman Mine and many have died in the process. And still the fabulous mine remains as elusive as ever.

  21

  The Hollow Hills

  On the rugged North Antrim coast of Northern Ireland, beside a tiny harbor near the village of Ballintoy, the traveler is greeted with a unique sight. The towers of a rock city, complete with sea-carved steps and mighty archways, stretch out along the northern end of the bay, like some ancient and sleeping metropolis from another time. It is even possible to see spires and what look like windows in the stone, set in what appear to be the ends of buildings when passing along the cliffs above. And, of course, such a spectacular phenomenon has many folktales concerning it. It is said, for instance, to be an incredibly ancient city, turned to stone by the holy St. Patrick because of its incredible wickedness. Other stories say that it was a pre-Deluge city, which was somehow petrified by God because of the wickedness that dwelt within it. All along the coast, caves and inlets of the sea are supposed to conceal tunnels, which eventually led to hidden rooms and chambers within this forgotten city, and some of its inhabitants—monsters and monstrous beings—are said to live deep within the Earth beneath it, only emerging at night to haunt the petrified remains of their former homes. This can be known as the Hollow Hills.

  Around the World

  Of course, such a coastal phenomenon undoubtedly has more to do with the nature of the limestone (up until the early 20th century, limestone and burnt lime were exported from Ballintoy, and the remnants of old lime kilns can still be seen there), but it has had a powerful effect on local imaginations. Similar rock formations, odd hills, and mounds have often had the same effect in many other parts of the world.

  In the southern Mexican area of Oaxica, for instance, in a region once occupied by the ancient Zapotecs, and near the ruins of their abandoned city of Monte Alban, lies a series of small hills which allegedly lead to an underground world; nearby stood the village of Liyobaa, which was known in former times as “the Village of the Underworld.” A main cavern at the edge of the hills was nicknamed “The Cavern of Death,” and no local Indian will enter it to this day. When, in the early 1600s, Jesuit missionaries first came to the area, they named the cavern and the hills “Hell,” and instructed the cavern to be sealed off with earth and rubble. There seems little doubt that this entrance led to some underground temple or crypt, which had been used by the ancient kings of Theozapotlan for some sort of ritual purpose, probably involving human sacrifice. One of the missionaries, a Father Burgoa, reveals that there were at least four rooms well below ground level, all packed with “heathen artefacts and idols.” He further hinted that these rooms were connected by passages, and that further passages led deep underground, perhaps to lower levels. The Jesuits were convinced that these led to the very gates of Hell itself. From the descriptions, however, it seems that these “rooms” were elaborate chambers, constructed many centuries before, where the worship of gods was carried out. Burgoa speaks of “altars” and chalices,” all suggestive of some form of significant religious center, which may have extended far underground. It has been suggested that the lower levels may have held ceremonial burial vaults for the dead kings of the region, and this may have given the main cavern its sinister nickname. Nevertheless, the horror and suspicion with which the missionaries regarded such a deep, dark place must have been overwhelming.

  They may also have been influenced by old South American legends concerning systems of tunnels and chambers running back and forth all across the continent. Such tunnels, according to Aztec legend, supposedly led to dim and lightless kingdoms far below, and in early times gods and people had moved freely along them between such realms and the surface. The lowest of these realms was known as Mictlan, which was the equivalent of the
Aztec Hell. Warriors who had been killed outside of battle, and women who had died in childbirth, were sent to Mictlan—a long and difficult journey through the darkness of the Underworld, which lasted for four years. In this they were guided by the psychopomp (spirit guide) Xolotl who eventually led them to the underworld kingdom. Mictlan was regarded as an actual realm with mountains, rivers, cities, and towns, all lying in total darkness under a sunless sky.

  An underground country appears in Incan mythology, too. It was from such an underworld that the first Inca, “Manco Capac,” and his followers emerged into the sunlight and came to live on the surface of the world. Capac was considered to be the first king of Cuzco in Peru, ruling there for 40 years; but according to Inca tradition, he had also been the ruler of an underground realm far below, and had emerged from the cave of Pacaritambo (near the Urubamba Valley in the Andes), carrying a golden staff as a symbol of his high office. The first building that he founded was a large temple to the sun, because, it was said, his people had been dwelling in the underworld darkness for so long. In some legends he is sometimes confused with (and is portrayed as) Urcaguay—the great snake and guardian of underground treasures—who is also said to have emerged from a cavern, and whose worship, which often included human sacrifice, was usually at the mouths of deep ravines and caves. Indeed, in some ancient Inca myths, races of serpent men reputedly lived in an underground kingdom venturing to the surface only very occasionally, and then only to raid or take captives.