Atlantis and the Silver City

by Peter Daughtrey

  Having always been fascinated by ancient civilizations, I had often wondered why none are recorded to have flourished in this corner of Europe where conditions are about as ideal as it’s possible to get: a perfect climate, productive plains, plentiful rivers, wooded mountains, and rich, verdant valleys, all skirted by bountiful seas. It would also have provided a superb refuge from the Ice Age and, lying at Europe’s most southwesterly point, offered a natural departure point for maritime exploration.

  Now it was becoming apparent to me why no records exist. If there had been any flowering of civilization here, it would probably have been annihilated subsequently, over millennia, by earthquakes, tsunamis, and floods. Buildings would have been shaken down, buried under huge alluvial deposits, and the debris would have been sucked out to sea. Any rare survivors in the mountains would have gotten the hell out, terrified that they might be engulfed again. The Algarve’s coastline could well have once extended much farther out into the Atlantic but could also have progressively sunk in successive violent tremors, as well as being engulfed by rising sea levels.

  I sensed there was something tantalizingly hidden here; my antennae were twitching. An urgent visit to the local harbormaster’s office was called for; I wanted to find out what the seabed in front of the Algarve was like.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Forgotten World

  “Are you serious?” I stammered. A local historian and friend, Jonathan Wilson, could not have stunned me more if he had suddenly heaved me in the river. We were sitting outside a café on the long estuary promenade in Portimão, a port town at the mouth of the Arade River in the Algarve. He had agreed to let me tap into his considerable knowledge of the area’s history over the past twelve hundred years. Jonathan, a former London barrister, now lives in Silves, the old Arab capital, a few kilometers up the Arade. Soon after arriving in the Algarve, he developed a passion for the town’s tumultuous history and the conflicts that took place there between the Arabs and the Crusaders. The latter helped to free it from the Moors on their way to the Holy Land.

  We were verbally rummaging around the earthquake phenomena when he casually asked whether I’d heard of the submerged city. While translating a centuries-old Portuguese book about the Crusaders’ assault on the Algarve—and on Silves in particular—he’d come across a throw-away comment indicating that in 1755, as the sea had receded from the coast before the impending tsunami, a settlement standing on the seabed was clearly visible. Jonathan knew of no other reference to these remains, and my own subsequent research also drew a blank. It appeared that there had been no local legends about anything being swallowed by the sea.

  I was elated: this supported my fledgling hypothesis that the area must at some stage have developed and supported an earlier civilization.

  Having mulled it over for a few days and made further inquiries, it became obvious that this submerged settlement must have been of considerable age. If it had suddenly sunk, with the possible exception of a few grander stone edifices, the building style of ordinary dwellings in the Algarve over the past two thousand years would not have survived under the sea for long. Walls were made from clay, mud and bits of pottery debris, and small stones mixed with lime and left to dry, compressed tightly between planks of wood. This dried to a hard consistency and, if the outside was regularly coated and the roof maintained, withstood the elements well. Permanently submerged under the sea and washed twice a day by the strong Atlantic tides, however, it would have deteriorated quickly.

  If, on the other hand, the settlement had been engulfed over time by slowly rising sea levels, the pounding of the tides would have wreaked havoc. My inquiries, however, produced no local records, legends, or folk memory of a sunken settlement. It all indicated that the buildings must have been of a great age, disappearing below the water before living or recorded memory, and probably built from large blocks of hewn stone in a similar manner to that used by ancient civilizations. For it also to have withstood the effects of the 1755 quake, and perhaps others before it, indicated that the structure was quite possibly in the very ancient polygonal cyclopean style, with large, irregular, different-sized blocks carefully cut and fitted snugly together. This is recognized to be a highly effective way to absorb serious tremors. The buildings of the Maya people in South America are just some of the ancient examples. Others can be found in Egypt, Malta, Iraq, even Morocco.

  The only other known peoples who had possibly built in a sufficiently durable way would have been the Romans. It is known that the Algarve coastline has been eroded since their era, two thousand years ago. But if this settlement had been Roman, I doubt whether that would account for the current position of the submerged remains in an area famous for its cliffs. If it was on land being inexorably eaten away by the sea, it would have collapsed as the cliff below it avalanched onto the beach. Parts of Roman remains have been discovered on cliff edges, the missing parts having been consigned to the sea long ago. The exact distance from the shore was not disclosed in the old history book, but the evidence would appear to indicate these remains are farther out to sea with subsidence appearing to be the more likely cause—and who knows how large an area was affected? I have just discussed an estimated 30-meter drop over a radius of 300 kilometers as a consequence of the 1755 earthquake, and there were many others of similar or greater intensity before it.

  If here was evidence of one sunken town, it was most unlikely to have existed in isolation in such a fertile area. My excitement barometer rose: cities could be dotted all over the seabed out there. What enlightening surprises could be in store from ruins that have lain unnoticed and forgotten for many thousands of years, finds that might change our whole perception of the world’s history!

  After leaving Jonathan, I visited the harbormaster’s office just along the seafront and purchased a large bathymetric map showing the levels and contours of the seabed in front of the Algarve.

  Arriving home, hardly able to contain my curiosity, I grabbed a Bible and a dictionary, the two heaviest books to hand, to weigh down each end of the map as I unfurled it on the dining table. This was turning out to be quite a day; I was in for my second major surprise. The seabed directly in front of the coast was pretty well flat and extended way out to sea, to a distance varying from 6 to 30 kilometers, with only a gentle slope. It looked like a large plain had been flooded. Interestingly, it finally reached a depth of around 120 meters before plunging sharply to around 200 meters. One possibility was that the original plain had once been fronted by cliffs, much as most of the western end of the Algarve is today. Dotted around this submerged plain were gray spots marked as “rocky areas.” I doubted whether any of these had been examined to determine whether they just might be submerged ruins.

  A second flat area, sloping by roughly the same gradient as the first, continues out for a distance varying from 2 to 6 kilometers. Again this falls over a much steeper drop. There is then a third plain, only gently rising and falling in parts, as it is also mostly very flat. It extends from a farther 20 kilometers out in front of Portimão in the western Algarve to 47 in front of Faro in the center, before again culminating in a drop that, like the others, is much steeper in some areas. The most precipitous part is at its extreme distance from the existing shore, where it finishes in what must have been a cape almost due south of Faro. It ends in a much higher area topped by a couple of rock-outcrop mini-peaks, not far below the surface.

  The submerging of one of these plains could be explained by the melting of the glaciers that used to cover much of the northern hemisphere. This happened from around 16,000 B.C. to 11,000 B.C. (estimates vary). As a result of this meltdown, the sea is thought to have risen by around 100 to 120 meters worldwide. The submerging, however, could equally well be a result of sinking during a serious earthquake like that in 1755, or the combined effects of several of them. (SEE IMAGE 4, NEXT PAGE.)

  The seabed map showed one more fascinating aspect. The bed of the Arade River, beside the mouth of which Jonathan
and I had chatted, was clearly shown extending way out under the sea, with its original wide mouth at the point of the third submerged cliff, clearly indicating the limit of an earlier coastline. The first part of the riverbed closest to the existing coast appears to have been filled with drifting sand and alluvial deposits; but the old, original bed farther out to sea is clearly shown. This was evidence that the seabed on either side, between it and the current coast, had once been above water. Intriguingly, this old riverbed reached incredible depths compared to the surrounding land: as deep as four thousand feet. Indeed, the map names it the Portimão Canyon.

  A few thousand years ago, there would have been huge volumes of water flowing from it into the sea, as just upstream it was joined by two other, then mighty, rivers. Today, the Arade and one of the other rivers, the Odelouca, are dammed to provide freshwater reservoirs. I assumed that the sheer volume and speed of the flow would have worn this deep chasm in the soft sandstone bed. From later discussions with a local geologist (detailed in a later chapter), it appears that it is a natural geological phenomenon caused by the pressures of that fatal fault line farther out to sea. Not surprisingly, the river found and enlarged it.

  (IMAGE 4) The seabed off the Algarve and the Costa de la Luz, showing the extent and ultimate depth of each of the three old plains.

  It had been quite a day, and that submerged settlement might yet provide the first physical evidence. There were lots of pointers indicating that it was certainly worth continuing my inquiries. It was time to ramp up the investigation and examine the history of the area as far back in time as I could trace. Maybe the region’s remote past would throw up more lines of inquiry.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Untold Wealth

  “In the morning the Pagans were led away from the gates of the city in a more disciplined manner; and thereupon, we first saw their enfeebled condition, for instance they were extremely thin and barely walking. Many were crawling, some were held upright by our men, others were lying in the streets either dead or half alive.”

  This quote is from the hand of an anonymous Crusader from Bremen, Germany, who, together with his own countrymen and others from Britain and all over northern Europe, helped the Portuguese king lay siege to the occupying Moors in the Algarve city of Silves. These Crusaders were on their way to reclaim Jerusalem and the Holy Land from the Moors in A.D. 1189. The fascinating account furnished by the crusader from Bremen is published in a book written by Jonathan Wilson titled The Siege and Conquest of Silves in 1189.17

  While investigating the area’s history, this was the first book I turned to in the hope of finding anything that hinted of an earlier civilization. My intention was to explore chronologically back in time as far as possible, emulating archaeologists who have to dig ever deeper in search of remains.

  Muslim forces had first arrived in the Algarve, as well as across the border in Spain, in A.D. 711. They called their kingdom al-Andaluz and occupied it for more than five hundred years. The grand capital, Córdoba, soon became the largest in Europe. A hundred thousand citizens thronged the city’s streets, alleys, and bazaars, taking advantage of three hundred public bathhouses and seventy libraries, as well as roads and street lights. Private dwellings had running water and enclosed sewers, while cities like London and Paris were mainly impoverished settlements, consisting mostly of thatched wooden houses, with open sewers.

  By A.D. 1110, another Muslim dynasty, the Almovarids, had invaded and taken over al-Andaluz. From North Africa, this was a fundamentalist federation of Berber tribes from the Sahara. It was eventually overthrown by yet another group of Berbers, the Almohads, mainly from the high Atlas Mountains. By this time, Muslim Portugal was ruled from Seville, in Spain. The capital of the western region, Algarve—called Al Garb by the Moors—was Silves. By all accounts, it was a fine city of tinkling water gardens, well-stocked bazaars, and attractive buildings, with a well-mannered and eloquent populace, many of whom were particularly fond of writing poetry.

  The Crusaders brought this utopia to a savage end. Paradise became purgatory. They may have undertaken the Crusade in God’s name, but for the most part they were a bloodthirsty, unprincipled lot with a passion for plunder. Many of them had joined because they had been told that they would be absolved of their taxes back home and they could strike it rich in the Holy Land.

  Portugal’s geographical position inevitably meant that passing Crusaders from the north put into the country’s ports for provisions or when seeking shelter from Atlantic storms. In 1189 the fleet, including our man from Bremen, docked in Lisbon. The king of Portugal, Dom Sancho I, seized the moment and convinced them that one set of Muslims was just as bad as another and persuaded them to help him oust the Moors from Silves and help unify Portugal. No doubt a promised share of the loot appealed to their lofty Christian principles.

  Silves’ mighty fortress was practically impregnable, and the Portuguese, along with some of the Crusaders, had to be persuaded several times to persevere rather than abort during the six-week siege. They tried everything: ladders to scale the walls, siege catapults lobbing lethal stones inside, fiery missiles, and tunnels under the walls to destabilize them. The Moors reacted by pouring boiling or flaming oil on the attackers, firing the missiles back, and breaking through from inside the fortress into the Crusaders’ tunnels to repel them.

  A friend who owns a house overlooking the river a short way downstream from Silves recently unearthed a cache of roughly formed stone missiles, ready for the siege catapults but, in the event, obviously not needed.

  The end came when the Christians succeeded in cutting off the town’s water supply. The Muslim defenders were dying from thirst and finally offered to surrender. The quote at the beginning of this chapter is the anonymous Crusader’s description of their pitiful state when they were finally allowed to leave.

  The Moors did not take the loss of what they regarded as an earthly paradise lightly, and the following year a fleet arrived from Seville to reclaim the city. The famous English monarch Richard the Lionheart was passing through on his crusade to the Holy Land at the same time and dispatched a contingent of men who helped to send the Moors scuttling back to Spain.

  During the subsequent summer, however, while Richard was otherwise occupied in Palestine, the Moors returned and, after a month, the castle capitulated. It remained in their hands until, some forty years later, the Portuguese were strong enough to retake it—along with the rest of the Algarve’s Muslim strongholds—on their own.

  So goes the most recent saga of Silves. No one has invaded the Algarve since—apart, that is, from thousands of north Europeans—English and Irish in particular—who over the last thirty years have bought homes there, from which to enjoy the peaceful countryside as well as three hundred annual days of azure skies.

  Not much meat, then, to support my developing theory that an ancient civilization once existed in the Algarve, except for the revelation that the Moors had a port and a shipyard nine kilometers upriver at Silves. This confirms other reports that the rivers of the region were navigable far deeper into the hinterland than they are today, and were used to transport goods and people.

  The Moors had originally come to power in the Algarve at the expense of the Visigoths and local tribes. In truth, the Visigoths do not seem to have ever made the same headway in the south of Portugal as they did in the rest of the country and across the border in Spain.

  I obviously needed to dig deeper; perhaps the Roman era would prove more fruitful. The Romans first invaded with the intention of blocking Carthaginian reinforcements in southern Iberia from reaching and helping their famous general, Hannibal, who was fighting the Romans on the Italian peninsula. It was, however, some time later, early in the second century B.C., that the Romans, having realized that the area had vast precious metal resources, set about conquering it and quelling all resistance from disparate tribal groups in Iberia.18 The Lusitanians, who hailed from central Portugal, put up the stiffest resistance. One leader, w
ho appeared out of the ranks when his tribe was encircled by Roman legionaries and led his fellow tribesmen out of the trap, became the biggest thorn in the side of the invaders—and one of Portugal’s greatest heroes. Viriato to the Portuguese and Viriathus to the Romans, he took over leadership of the various tribal groups and embarked on a guerrilla campaign of harassment. He later defeated one Roman general after another in pitched battles, to the extent that he was the most successful general ever to fight against them.19 Rome found that it had a serious crisis on its hands—morale was affected, and legion recruitment rates dropped.

  Eventually, the Romans typically reverted to treachery and bribed three of the hero’s peace emissaries to murder him in his sleep—then refused to cough up the promised reward with the weasel words “Rome doesn’t reward traitors.”

  The Lusitanians turned against the local tribe in the Algarve (variously referred to as the Conii, Konii, or Cynetes), who had decided it was preferable to bend the knee to the Romans and pay their taxes rather than face slavery or oblivion. The Lusitanians regarded them as turncoats and swept down from central Portugal when the Romans were occupied elsewhere, gave them a fearful beating, and reportedly razed the Conii royal capital, Conistorgis, to the ground. The site of this city has never been found but, according to a Roman map, it was not far to the north of Faro, the current capital of the Algarve. We will return to it in a later chapter. Intriguingly, they also had a city where modern-day Silves stands; its name was Cilbes.

  Julius Caesar, arguably the most famous Roman ever, set up his western Iberian base, Pax Julia, near Beja in Portugal’s Alentejo province, just north of the Algarve. There was a huge gold and copper mine close by at São Domingos, and Caesar used the wealth of the area to finance the maintenance of his legion and his initial grab for power as a consul in Rome. If it had not been for this, he would merely be a passing mention on the pages of history today rather than bestriding them.20 Unfortunately, apart from a few records about the Conii and the mines, I could find no evidence that the Romans inherited or discovered anything from any great earlier civilization.