One of the earliest missions planned by Captain Ramon was that of Our
Lady of Nacogdoches (1715). It was built on the lands of the Naugodoches
Indians, not far from the disputed boundary of Texas, and nearly on a
line with the French post of Natchitoches in Louisiana. Some priests,
whose duty it was to convert the Indians, were placed there, and with
them a small garrison of Spanish soldiers to watch the French at
Natchitoches. This was one of those garrisons surprised in 1718 by St.
Denis, and driven to the gates of San Antonio. The soldiers were brought
back and reinstated by Aguayo; and from that time on, to the close of
the century, the little military post was kept up.
Monsieur de Pagès, a French gentleman who in 1766 passed across Texas on
a voyage around the world, received from the missionary fathers at Aes,
Adaes, and Nacogdoches a hospitable welcome. He describes particularly
the Mission of “Naquadock” (Nacogdoches) with its “plaza and its
pleasant trees,” and says that the “half-savage Spanish soldiers” at the
presidio, when they were upon their horses, recalled to his mind the
ancient chevaliers. The Spanish “bold-rider” wore a cuirass of antelope
skin and carried a shield, a large sword, a carbine, and a pair of
pistols. His arms and the equipment of his horse were very heavy and
cumbersome, but he was an “amazing good fighter.” Monsieur de Pagès, who
was an officer in the French navy, was also a correspondent of the
Academy of Sciences at Paris. He took careful notes in all the countries
through which he passed. He describes the soil and climate of Texas and
the animals, especially the fine, robust horses. “A good horse,” he
says, “may be had for a pair of shoes.” But his greatest interest is in
the savages. He mentions the Comanches, the Apaches, the Adaes, and the
Tehas tribes. The Tehas, he says, were a “corn-growing people.” He spent
some time at the Mission of Nacogdoches (“Naquadock”) in company with a
deposed governor of the province.
[Illustration: De Pagès’ Map of Texas.]
In 1778 a stone fort, which still stands, was built at Nacogdoches by
Captain Gil Y Barbo for the accommodation of the Spanish soldiers. A few
huts were clustered about the presidio, for it was on the Old San
Antonio Road and was a stopping-place for travelers; but it was a dull
and lonely spot.
Suddenly, with the birth of a new century, it awoke from its long
slumber and became, in a way, the starting-point of Texas history. It
was the gateway through which Anglo-American energy and ambition came in
to Texas. From its plaza unrolled a panorama full of life and vigor:
scenes in which adventurers, freebooters, patriots, and dreamers played
their parts.
The panorama opens with Philip Nolan.
Philip Nolan, a young man of Irish descent, obtained in 1797 a permit
from De Nava, the Spanish commandant-general of Texas, to collect in
that province wild horses for the American army. He entered the
province, made friends with the Indians, and succeeded in gathering
twelve hundred mustangs, which he drove across the border. He drew and
brought back with him at this time a map of Texas, the first one ever
made. This map he gave to Baron Carondelet, the Spanish governor at New
Orleans.[11]
Three years later, with the same permit and ostensibly on the same
errand, he started westward from Natchez, Mississippi. He had with him
seventeen white men and one negro. His second in command was a
nineteen-year-old lad named Ellis Bean. The men were all young, most of
them being under thirty and many of them hardly more than twenty years
of age.
They traveled on horseback across the wilderness, and some months later
they encamped in the neighborhood of the present city of Waco, where
they found “elk and deer plenty, some buffalo, and thousands of wild
horses.”[12] In a short time they had caught and penned three hundred
mustangs. The Indians were very friendly. At one time two hundred
Comanches visited them in their camp. In return they spent a month in
the wigwams of that tribe. Then they went back to their business of
capturing wild horses.
But orders in the meantime had come from De Nava to Musquiz, the Spanish
captain at Nacogdoches, to arrest Nolan at all hazards. He had been
denounced to the Spanish government as a traitor, and it was believed
that he had come to Texas for the purpose of setting up a republic of
his own, or to further the plans of Aaron Burr.[13]
[Illustration: Ellis P. Bean.]
Musquiz left Nacogdoches on the 4th of March, 1801, with one hundred
soldiers, in search of the supposed conspirator. After a few days’ march
he sent for El Blanco, a famous Indian chief, and offered him a large
bribe if he would lead him to Nolan’s camp. El Blanco proudly spurned
this base offer. Some Indian spies, however, served as guides, and at
daybreak on the 22d of March Musquiz found the camp. He attacked Nolan
and his men, who returned his fire from their rude blockhouse. Nolan,
whose rifle had been stolen from him by a deserter from his own camp,
was killed in a few moments. Bean took command and the fighting went on
desperately for some time. Finally, on a promise from the Spaniards that
they should be set free as soon as they reached Nacogdoches, the
outnumbered Americans surrendered. They buried their gallant leader,
whose dream of a republic, if he had one, died with him; and they set
out with their captors for the Presidio of Nacogdoches. There, instead
of the promised freedom, they found chains and captivity. They were
heavily ironed and placed in close confinement. At the end of a month
they were marched into the plaza, bound together, two and two. There was
a beating of drums and a fluttering of Spanish pennons. The hearts of
the poor young prisoners beat high with hope. Knowing that they had been
guilty of no crime, they seemed already to feel their chains falling
off, and they laughed joyfully, lifting their pallid faces to the free
blue sky. But a harsh voice gave the order “Forward March!” and driven
by brutal guards they limped painfully away to Mexican dungeons.
It was six years before the King of Spain found time to sentence these
prisoners. A royal decree then came (1807) ordering every fifth man to
be shot. By this time but nine were left alive, and the officer in
charge decided that one only should suffer death.
The nine wretched captives threw dice to determine which of their number
should die. The lot fell to Ephraim Blackburn, the oldest man among
them. He was executed without delay.
Only one of the others ever breathed the blessed air of freedom again.
Ellis Bean, after many strange and thrilling adventures, finally
escaped. His companions, to a man, perished in loathsome Mexican
prisons, some of them within a short time, others after a wretched
captivity of more than fifteen years,—all ignorant to the last of the
cause of their imprisonment.