On a Mission

"I don't think we've ever visited this mission," said Andy, as we pulled into Mission Nuestra Senoras de la Purisima Concepcion de Acuna.
"It's easy to see why the Indians were impressed with this," I said to Andy. Four of the six original San Antonio missions are still active parishes today, and the Alamo, another mission established in 1718, is a preserved historic site. Of the four remaining churches, Concepcion, built in 1731 and dedicated in 1755, is the best preserved. The crumbling walls of the Espada Aqueduct, irrigation ditches called acequias that carried water to the fields of corn, beans and sugar cane, posed an impressive sight. But even more so, the Coahuiltecans must have been awed by the decorated mission church in European and Moorish architecture with facades painted in bright colors and geometric designs. Taught here how to defend against Comanche and Lipan Apache raids, the nomadic groups of Coahuiltecans gave up their freedom for refuge and rations.
I learned that the Spaniards called all San Antonio tribes Coahuiltecan, a general term for at least eight different peoples: Benado, Teloxa, Albaja, Orejones, Pacaos, Pacitalac, Pajalate and Pitalaque.

"Even though the Spanish Franciscans meant well, they certainly displayed narrow-minded practices and one-sided motives," I said, after reading the displays. As Spaniards, they forced the language and culture of Spain on the indigenous people, and as Franciscans, they demanded converts and spread their beliefs with money and military protection from Spain. What I had never realized was the extent of their fervor.

Franciscans traveled hundreds of miles to recoup Indians who had run away or who left to practice age-old traditions of mescal bean use and dancing to nature gods. Many of the "Imperfect Converts," as they were called, had joined the mission for protection and food alone.

Mission San Jose y San Miguel de Aguaya, often considered the strongest and most beautiful of the six San Antonio communities, closed temporarily during the week for renovation and stabilization.

San Jose, started in 1720, originally included 84 small, detached Indian houses around the huge central plaza. By 1768, the Franciscans ordered the plaza enclosed and the encircling houses encased by the wall for protection against Comanche and Apache raids. The marauding warriors stole livestock from the range outside the mission walls and harassed the settled Coahuiltecan community.

By 1794, San Jose boasted the first mill in Texas. It was driven by water from the acequia and added wheat to an Indian diet based on maize. Here, Franciscans distributed rations on Thursdays and Sundays, so everyone received an equal share of the food raised. It was the main reason the nomads gave up their freedom, and self government was promised within ten years.

That didn't happen. In all the San Antonio missions, secularization took much longer, and the Franciscans remained in control until Spain lost her American colonies. "I try to picture this as a working community," I told Andy. "I like the idea of protection and a steady source of food, but imagine sacrificing culture, heritage and even name!" They must have been hard up to sacrifice identity. And the missions couldn't protect the Indians from European diseases, particularly the scourge of smallpox. Seventy percent died.

Farther away from centralized protection of San Antonio, Mission San Juan Capistrano offered settlement to about 200 souls. Her prosperous ranch 25 miles distant grazed 3,500 sheep and 3,000 cattle, and here with seven miles of aqueducts, Indians raised corn in fertile fields. One quart of seed yielded six bushels at harvest. San Juan carried on active and productive trade, even with French colonies in Louisiana, although this was illegal. Now it's on the outskirts of a city apparently growing the other direction.

"Let's take the trail walk along the creek," suggested Andy. "This was their water source." The interpretive sign said the Spanish explorers found eels, alligators, bison and peccaries in abundance. Today's residents still have black-bellied whistling ducks and green kingfishers.

We reentered the mission complex through the porteria. Here a gatekeeper scrutinized outsiders, checked their travel papers during the day and sealed the heavy gate for protection at night, just like a medieval European fortress. But a huge crack in the upper wall of the chapel inside and out from door to door threatened to collapse the roof, and the bell tower was propped up. "They caught it quickly," said Andy. "It's braced, but you can't protect against weathering, and it needs major repair."

Near Mission San Francisco de la Espada, the final mission church established in 1731, three national park rangers swept around the Main Aqueduct parking area. Here ancient Indians labored to bridge the main irrigation stream when the water course followed rock ledges.

"We're not going anywhere for a while," they said to each other, brushing leisurely on the sunny afternoon.

"I don't blame them," said Andy. "It's gorgeous out--like a breezy Connecticut day in late April."

 
Like Concepcion and San Juan, Mission Espada was moved from an earlier location in East Texas when word of successful conversions around San Antonio reached the churches closer to French territory. The San Antonio Mission Espada recorded baptisms of 1,033 people by 1773. Especially vulnerable because it was the most remote, Espada knew the importance of continual military presence. But even then only one squad of eight privates led by a corporal and an officer remained on duty with 16 flintlock rifles and two swivel guns.
"Okay," said Andy, back at Little Red, "punch Vietnam Veterans Memorial into the GPS and get us back to town." Auditorium Circle included a bronze sculpture of Hill 851 in Vietnam and a Korean war memorial. Simple and elegant, both moved us to silence.