DUANE
Duane's take
Here's how the official marker tells it, and I'll do my best to do it justice. Now, you want to talk about a place that had something for just about everybody — healing waters, a storied founder, a little political scandal, and not one but two rises and falls — then pull over a minute, because Sutherland Springs has got a story worth sitting with. It starts with the water.
Over a hundred hot and cold springs, tucked into a wooded valley along the Cibolo. And these weren't just any springs — this place had twenty-seven flavors of mineral water. Twenty-seven.
White sulphur, black sulphur, hume sour, and who knows what else coming up out of the ground. Indians knew about these curative waters long before white settlement ever arrived. You don't keep a secret like that for long.
The man who turned all that bubbling promise into a resort was Dr. John Sutherland — born 1792, died 1867 — and if that name rings a bell, it should. On February 23, 1836, when Santa Anna came to the Alamo, Dr.
Sutherland was there. William Barret Travis sent him out to summon aid. He rode out of that place carrying one of the heaviest errands in Texas history.
And then, in 1848, he founded a resort. You get the sense this was a man who knew how to keep moving. Sutherland built his plantation home on a bluff west of the Cibolo, looking out across that wooded valley of springs.
Patients boarded in his home, in the homes of neighbors, or rented cottages down at the springs themselves. The hot springs were especially popular for treating rheumatic diseases, and word spread the way word does when something actually works. By 1854, the place had grown enough that Dr.
Sutherland brought in a British teacher to lay off the square and the town — the very layout you can still see today. Six years later, in 1860, when Wilson County was created, Sutherland Springs was named the county seat. Things were looking considerable.
Then came Reconstruction, and with it, a judge named Wm. Longsworth. He demanded two hundred and fifty dollars to keep the county seat right where it was.
The town didn't pay it. So Longsworth did exactly what he said he would — he hauled the court records out, first to a place called Lodi, and later on to Floresville. Just like that, the county seat was gone.
But Sutherland Springs wasn't finished. In 1909, a new chapter opened on lowland acres that had formerly been held by a man named Gideon Lee. They called it New Sutherland Springs, and it came in swinging — a fifty-two-room hotel, the largest concrete pool in the south, and church encampments drawing folks from all around.
This was a full-on destination. Then 1913 came, and the floods came with it. What those floods made of New Sutherland Springs was a ghost town.
All that concrete and ambition, swallowed up by the same valley that had drawn people there in the first place. Twenty-seven flavors of mineral water, and in the end, the water had the last word.
What the marker says
Outstanding early-day Southwest Texas health spa. Had 27 flavors of mineral water, from over 100 hot and cold springs. (Indians used curative waters here before white settlement.) Resort was founded in 1848 by Dr. John Sutherland (1792-1867), who had been at the Alamo when Santa Anna came on Feb. 23, 1836, but was sent out by Travis to summon aid. Sutherland built plantation home on bluff west of the Cibolo, across from wooded valley of springs. Patients boarded in his home, homes of neighbors, or rented cottages at the springs. Most common mineral waters were white sulphur, black sulphur, hume sour. Hot springs were especially popular in treating rheumatic diseases. Sutherland Springs was stagecoach stop on Old San Antonio Road. In 1854 Dr. Sutherland had a British teacher lay off square and town as seen today. In 1860, when Wilson County was created, this was county seat. Reconstruction Judge Wm. Longsworth demanded $250 to keep county seat here, and failing to get it hauled court records to Lodi, later to Floresville. In 1909, "New Sutherland Springs", on lowland acres formerly held by Gideon Lee, had a 52-room hotel, the largest concrete pool in south, church encampments. Floods in 1913 made that resort a ghost town. (1966)