Scarce any stream of South-Western Texas but runs between bluffs. There
is a valley or "bottom-land," only a little elevated above the water's
surface, and often submerged during inundations,--beyond this the
bluffs. The valley may be a mile or more in width, in some places ten,
at others contracted, till the opposing cliffs are scarce a pistol-shot
apart. And of these there are frequently two or three tiers, or
terraces, receding backward from the river, the crest of the last and
outmost being but the edge of an upland plain, which is often sterile
and treeless. Any timber upon it is stunted, and of those species to
which a dry soil is congenial. Mezquite, juniper, and "black-jack" oaks
grow in groves or spinneys; while standing apart may be observed the
arborescent jucca--the "dragon-tree" of the Western world, towering
above an underwood unlike any other, composed of _cactaceae_ in all the
varieties of cereus, cactus, and echinocactus. Altogether unlike is the
bottom-land bordering upon the river. There the vegetation is lush and
luxuriant, showing a growth of large forest timber--the trees set
thickly, and matted with many parasites, that look like cables coiling
around and keeping them together. These timbered tracts are not
continuous, but show stretches of open between,--here little glades
filled with flowers, there grand meadows overgrown with grass--so tall
that the horseman riding through it has his shoulders swept by the
spikes, which shed their pollen upon his coat.
Just such a bottom-land is that of the San Saba, near the river's mouth;
where, after meandering many a score of miles from its source in the
Llano Estacado, it espouses the Colorado--gliding softly, like a shy
bride, into the embrace of the larger and stronger-flowing stream.
For a moment departing from the field of romance, and treading upon the
domain of history--or it may be but legend--a word about this Colorado
river may interest the reader.
Possibly, probably, almost lor certain, there is no province in all
Spanish America without its "Rio Colorado." The geographer could count
some scores of rivers so named--point them out on any map. They are
seen in every latitude, trending in all directions, from the great
Colorado of _canon_ celebrity in the north to another far south, which
cuts a deep groove through the plains of Patagonia. All these streams
have been so designated from the hue of their waters--muddy, with a
pronounced tinge of red: this from the ochreous earth through which they
have coursed, holding it in suspension.
In the Texan Colorado there is nothing of this; on the contrary, it is a
clear water stream. A circumstance that may seem strange, till the
explanation be given--which is, that the name is a _misnomer_. In other
words, the Texan river now bearing the designation Colorado is not that
so-called by the Spaniards, but their Rio Brazos; while the present
Brazos is their Rio Colorado--a true red-tinted stream. The exchange of
names is due to an error of the American map-makers, unacquainted with
the Spanish tongue. Giving the Colorado its true name of Brazos, or
more correctly "Brazos de Dios" ("The Arms of God"), the origin of this
singular title for a stream presents us with a history, or legend, alike
singular. As all know, Texas was first colonised by Spaniards, or
Spanish Mexicans, on what might be termed the "militant missionary
system." Monks were sent into the province, cross in hand, with
soldiers at their back, bearing the sword. Establishments were formed
in different parts of the country; San Antonio de Bejar being the
ecclesiastical centre, as also the political capital. Around these the
aborigines were collected, and after a fashion converted to
Christianity. With the christianising process, however, there were
other motives mixed up, having very little to do either with morality or
religion. Comfortable subsistence, with the accumulation of wealth by
the missionaries themselves, was in most instances the lure which
attracted them to Texas, tempting them to risk their lives in the
so-called conversion of the heathen.
The mission-houses were in the monasterial style, many of them on a
grand scale--mansions in fact, with roomy refectories, and kitchens to
correspond; snug sitting and sleeping-chambers; well-paved courts and
spacious gardens attached. Outside the main building, sometimes forming
part of it, was a church, or _capilla_; near by the _presidio_, or
barrack for their military protectors; and beyond, the _rancheria_, or
village of huts, the homes of the new-made neophytes.
No great difficulty had the fathers in thus handsomely housing
themselves. The converts did all the work, willingly, for the sake and
in the name of the "Holy Faith," into which they had been recently
inducted. Nor did their toil end with the erection of the
mission-buildings. It was only transferred to a more layical kind; to
the herding of cattle, and tillage of the surrounding land; this
continued throughout their whole lives--not for their own benefit, but
to enrich those idle and lazy friars, in many cases men of the most
profligate character. It was, in fact, a system of slavery, based upon
and sustained by religious fanaticism. The result as might be
expected--failure and far worse. Instead of civilising the aborigines
of America, it has but brutalised them the more--by eradicating from
their hearts whatever of savage virtue they had, and implanting in its
place a debasing bigotry and superstition.
Most American writers, who speak of these missionary establishments,
have formed an erroneous estimate of them. And, what is worse, have
given it to the world. Many of these writers are, or were, officers in
the United States army, deputed to explore the wild territories in which
the missions existed. Having received their education in Roman Catholic
seminaries, they have been inducted into taking a too lenient view of
the doings of the "old Spanish padres;" hence their testimony so
favourable to the system.
The facts are all against them; these showing it a scheme of
_villeinage_, more oppressive than the European serfdom of the Middle
Ages. The issue is sufficient proof of this. For it was falling to
pieces, long before the Anglo-Saxon race entered into possession of the
territory where it once flourished. The missions are now in a state of
decadence, their buildings fast falling into decay; while the red man,
disgusted at the attempt to enslave, under the clock of christianising
him, has returned to his idolatry, as to his savage life.
Several of these _misiones_ were established on the San Saba river; one
of which for a considerable period enjoyed a prosperous existence, and
numbered among its neophytes many Indians of the Lipan and Comanche
tribes.
But the tyranny of their monkish teachers by exactions of tenths and
almost continuous toil--themselves living in luxurious ease, and without
much regard to that continence they inculcated--at length provoked the
suffering serfs to revolt. In which they were aided by those Indians
who had remained unconverted, and still heretically roamed around the
environs. The consequence was that, on a certain day when the hunters
of the _mision_ were abroad, and the soldiers of the _presidio_ alike
absent on some expedition, a band of the outside idolaters, in league
with the discontented converts, entered the mission-building, with arms
concealed under their ample cloaks of buffalo skin. After prowling
about for a while in an insolent manner, they at length, at a given
signal from their chief, attacked the proselytising _padres_, with those
who adhered to them; tomahawked and scalped all who came in their way.
Only one monk escaped--a man of great repute in those early times of
Texas. Stealing off at the commencement of the massacre, he succeeded
in making his way down the valley of the San Saba, to its confluence
with the Colorado. But to reach an asylum of safety it was necessary
for him to cross the latter stream; in which unfortunately there was a
freshet, its current so swollen that neither man nor horse could ford
it.
The _padre_ stood upon its bank, looking covetously across, and
listening in terror to the sounds behind; these being the war-cries of
the pursuing Comanches.
For a moment the monk believed himself lost. But just then the arm of
God was stretched forth to save him. This done in a fashion somewhat
difficult to give credence to, though easy enough for believers in Holy
Faith. It was a mere miracle; not stranger, or more apocryphal, than we
hear of at this day in France, Spain, or Italy. The only singularity
about the Texan tale is the fact of its not being original; for it is a
pure piracy from Sacred Writ--that passage of it which relates to the
crossing of the Red Sea by Moses and his Israelites.
The Spanish monk stood on the river's bank, his eyes fixed despairingly
on its deep rapid-running current, which he knew he could not cross
without danger of being drowned. Just at this crisis he saw the waters
separate; the current suddenly stayed, and the pebbly bed showing dry as
a shingle!
Tucking his gown under his girdle, he struck into the channel; and, no
doubt, making good time--though the legend does not speak of this--he
succeeded in planting his sandalled feet, dry shod, on the opposite
shore! So far the Texan story closely corresponds with the Mosaic.
Beyond, the incidents as related, are slightly different. Pharaoh's
following host was overwhelmed by the closing waters. The pursuing
Comanches did not so much as enter the charmed stream; which, with
channel filled up, as before, was running rapidly on. They were found
next morning upon the bank where they had arrived in pursuit, all dead,
all lying at full stretch along the sward, their heads turned in the
same direction, like trees struck down by a tornado!
Only the Omnipotent could have done this. No mortal hand could make
such a _coup_. Hence the name which the Spaniards bestowed upon the
present Colorado, _Brazos de Dios_--the "Hand of God." Hence also the
history, or rather fable, intended to awe the minds of the rebellious
redskins, and restore them to Christanity, or serfdom.
Which it did not; since from that day the _misiones_ of San Saba
remained abandoned, running into ruin.
It is to one of these forsaken establishments Colonel Armstrong is
conducting his colony; his future son-in-law having purchased the large
tract of territory attached to it.
To that spot, where more than a century ago the monks made halt, with
cross borne conspicuously in one hand, and sword carried surreptitiously
in the other, there is now approaching a new invasion--that of axe and
rifle--neither ostentatiously paraded, but neither insidiously
concealed.