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121 Chapter 5 An Explanation of Comanche Violence C owhead Mesa in southwestern Garza County, Texas, has been described as “a typical bread-loaf-shaped western mesa, indistinguishable at a glance from dozens of others in [the] canyonlands [of the upper Double Mountain Fork of the Brazos River].” Geologically speaking, this is indeed the case. Even the fact that the mesa’s walls display various petroglyphs makes it only somewhat distinct from other such surfaces across the American West. Yet there is something peculiar about this uneroded landform that distinguishes it from all other mesas in the area and even from all other rock surfaces in the world. Among the various carvings etched into the mesa’s pliant walls is a pictographic account of the violent San Sabá Mission episode, apparently put there by a Comanche artist-historian sometime after the attack of March 16, 1758. The sandstone document portrays a group of figures strewn about a compound of flaming cross-crested buildings. Some of the human images are bedecked in robes, and others don three-cornered hats—obvious representations of the priests and soldiers who inhabited the ill-fated outpost. About these images are scenes of personal combat and more flames. Fire everywhere. The excessive representation of fire seems to hint at the artist’s respect for the destructive force and violence that Comanches and their allies managed to inflict on that feeble Spanish post on the San Sabá River.1 In a striking corroboration of the Comanche record embedded into the rock of Cowhead Mesa, Spanish paper documents describing the San Sabá “massacre” also illustrate the imposing prowess the Indians wielded against people they recognized as adversaries to their way of life. Fr. Fray Miguel de Molina, the only one of the three missionaries to survive the attack, testified that the Indians first appeared in the vicinity around daybreak on March 16 shortly after The Reverend Father President Fray Alonso Giraldo de Terreros had finished celebrating the Holy Mass. “A furious outburst of yells and war cries” heard from outside the mission gates “about the distance of a musket shot” startled Molina and rudely interrupted Fr. Fray Joseph Santiesteban as he began reciting his personal mass. Shortly afterward, some men and women of the compound rushed to Molina , announcing that “the Indians were upon us.” People nervously scurried about the compound in search of refuge as Molina hurried to the chapel to inform Terreros of the dangerous situation. Apparently, the Indians who gathered just beyond the mission walls sensed the defensive preparations being made inside the ramparts, for they began making “offers of peace and friendship, . . . some in the Castilian language, and some by means of signs and gestures.” Cpl. Ascencio Cadena “recognized [the Indians] as members of the Texas [Tejas], Tancague [Tonkawa], Vidae [Bidai], and other nations from farther inland, with whom he had . . . experience on many previous occasions” and immediately retreated to the priests’ quarters and informed them that, from his point of view, the Indians’ petitions for goodwill appeared to be genuine. Somewhat consoled by this news, Father Terreros ventured out into the mission ’s courtyard to see what exactly the Indians wanted. Father Molina “filled with amazement and fear” as he viewed a spectacle of Indians “armed with guns and arrayed in the most horrible attire.” The mass of people outside the compound gates all exhibited red and black face paint and had disguised themselves as animals, adorned with various animal pelts, tails, horns, and feather headdresses . Besides muskets, the decorated warriors brandished lances, swords, and bows and arrows. Shortly after the mission fathers appeared in the courtyard, the Indians dismounted their horses and opened up the compound’s locked gates “by wrenching off the crossbars with their hands.” Some three hundred individuals immediately crowded into the log stockade, “extending their arms to our people . . . making gestures of civility and friendliness.” When Molina witnessed this exhibition of congeniality, he encouraged Terreros to reciprocate with bundles of tobacco and other things highly prized by the Indians. Molina himself gave four bundles to a mounted individual, who received the gift with but a contemptuous laugh. According to the Indians themselves, this person was a great Comanche chief “worthy of respect.”2 The chief’s laughter unsettled Molina. It was especially chilling to the priest because he had just finished observing other Indians ransacking the kitchen’s wares and taking the capes off the backs of several soldiers. Some of the warriors led the horses out of...

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