DUANE
Duane's take
Here's what the official marker has to say, and I'll tell it the way it deserves to be told. The Opelousas Trail — now there's a road with some miles on it. Not just years, mind you.
Centuries. The trail took its name from one of several Atakapan-speaking Native American tribes originally connected by it, and it ran all the way from La Bahia — the place later called Goliad — clear to the Mississippi River in Louisiana. Evidence of cultural interchange between tribes tells us a trail like this had been in use for hundreds of years before anyone thought to write it down.
Hundreds. Let that settle in a moment. Spanish explorers, soldiers, and vaqueros already knew this route well.
And by the 1750s, French traders had been traveling it for about twenty years on top of that. This trail wasn't a path somebody blazed on a Tuesday. It was already old news.
After 1820, settlers started pouring in from Louisiana and other southern states, and they found that trail right where it had always been, patient as ever. Don Martin de Leon and Anglo cattlemen — James Taylor White, William B. Duncan — they herded large droves of cattle, mules, and horses along this very road, bound for market in New Orleans.
You picture that: hooves and dust, the whole column of it stretching back through the pines. Then comes 1836, and the trail earns a place in history twice over. Early that year a post route was established along the Opelousas.
And that spring — well, that spring the people of Texas were running for their lives. The Runaway Scrape, they called it, and Texas pioneers fled along this path to escape what was bearing down on them. Same road that had carried cattle to market now carried families carrying everything they owned.
But here's where the trail turns truly remarkable. After the battles settled, Santa Anna himself was led down the Opelousas Trail — not as a conqueror, not in triumph, but as a prisoner of war, headed toward New Orleans and ultimately all the way to Washington, D.C. The most powerful man in Mexico, walking the same dirt as the people he'd driven off it weeks before.
The trail didn't rest after that. A stage and mail route followed after 1850. The Confederate Army used the road to move troops during the Civil War.
And use of the route just kept on going, right through the 20th century. Today, many segments of the Opelousas Trail live on — incorporated into U.S. Highway 90 from Liberty to Orange.
You may have driven it yourself and never known you were rolling over something that old. Spanish boots, French traders, a stampede of cattle, a fleeing republic, a captive general. All on the same road.
That's the Opelousas Trail.
What the marker says
Named for one of several Atakapan-speaking Native American tribes originally connected by this trail, the Opelousas ran from La Bahia (later Goliad) to the Mississippi River in Louisiana. Evidence of cultural interchange between tribes indicates the presence of such a trail for hundreds of years. Spanish explorers, soldiers, and vaqueros employed this route. by the 1750s, French traders had been traveling the trail for about twenty years. After 1820 settlers began to arrive from Louisiana and other southern states. Don Martin de Leon and Anglo cattlemen such as James Taylor White and William B. Duncan herded large droves of cattle, mules, and horses to market in New Orleans. A post route was established along the Opelousas in early 1836. That spring, Texas pioneers fled along this path during the "Runaway Scrape." Later Santa Anna was led down the trail toward New Orleans and ultimately to Washington, D.C., as a prisoner of war. A stage and mail route followed the trail after 1850; the Confederate Army used the road to move troops during the Civil War. Use of the route continued throughout the 20th century. Many segments of the trail were incorporated into U. S. Highway 90 from Liberty to Orange. (1998)