The Matamoros Road

Duane's take

The way I tell it, I'm drawing straight from the words carved into an official Texas Historical Commission marker — so let's ride. Now, there are roads, and then there are roads. The Matamoros Road is the kind that doesn't just connect two places on a map — it connects centuries.

Indians used it. The Spanish used it. And long before any Anglo-American settler set foot in Texas in the nineteenth century, this ground already knew the weight of passing boots and hooves and wheels.

The road ran about three hundred and thirty miles. And here's the first thing you need to understand about it: it wasn't a fixed line. The route varied with the seasons — because out here, the most important question was always the same one.

Where's the water? Teams pulling wagons and carts needed to drink, and the road bent itself around that necessity like a river bends around stone. The driest stretch — the stretch that tested every man and every animal that tried it — was from the Nueces to the Rio Grande.

That gap of dry country had a way of making itself known. Just getting from San Antonio to Matamoros took six to eight weeks. And that was when everything went right.

When delays did not occur. Which, on the Matamoros Road, was not always a given. Because there were bandits.

Slow-moving wagon trains attracted robbers on fast horses, and there wasn't much a teamster could do about the speed problem. What he could do something about was the money. Teamsters learned — and this took some creative thinking — to hide their gold in bags of grain or potatoes.

Let the bandit dig through your provisions and find nothing but supper. But some of them went further than that. They would bore holes into the cart axles themselves, pack gold inside, plug the hole, and cover the whole spot with black grease.

Right there in the axle, turning every mile of that dusty road, was a fortune nobody could see. Now. Fast-forward to the Civil War, and the Matamoros Road becomes something else entirely — the main artery of what they called the cotton road.

The lifeline of the Confederacy. You want to know how heavily it was traveled? Wisps of cotton thorned into the mesquite trees marked its way.

The road left a trail of itself in the thorns. A six-mule wagon could haul up to twelve bales of cotton. A solid-wheel Mexican cart drawn by ten oxen — ten — could haul up to sixteen bales.

But when the heat came down hard and the dry country did what dry country does, teams grew exhausted. And when the teams gave out, bales of cotton were thrown off and hidden along the way, so the teamster could come back for them later. In extremely hot, dry weather, the road would be lined with those discards — cotton bales sitting in the mesquite and the heat, waiting.

And the wagons that came back? They weren't empty. They brought guns, ammunition, cloth, and other goods the Confederacy so desperately needed.

The road ran both directions, carrying the weight of a war on its back. Missionaries had walked it. Armies had marched it.

Merchants had hauled their goods along it through six to eight weeks of summer dust and bandit country. And through all of it — the seasons, the dry stretches, the hidden gold, the cotton thorned into the mesquite — the Matamoros Road just kept going. Three hundred and thirty miles of history, right here, near this site.

What the marker says

Near this site, used by Indians and the Spanish before 19th century Anglo-American settlement of Texas. Path of armies, missionaries and commerce. About 330 miles long, the route varied with seasons, depending on chances to water teams pulling wagons or carts. Driest stretch was from the Nueces to the Rio Grande. The trip from San Antonio to Matamoros took 6 to 8 weeks, even when delays did not occur. Bandits were an added danger. Slow-moving wagon trains attracted robbers on fast horses. Teamsters learned to hide money in bags of grain or potatoes. They would even bore holes in cart axles, put gold in, plug each hole, cover the spot with black grease. During the Civil War, this was main artery of the cotton road, lifeline of the Confederacy. Wisps of cotton thorned into mesquite trees marked its way. A 6-mule wagon would haul up to 12 bales of cotton. A solid-wheel Mexican cart drawn by 10 oxen hauled up to 16 balees. When teams grew exhausted, bales of cotton would be thrown off and hidden, so that the teamster might pick them up later. In extremely hot, dry weather, the way would be lined with discards. Returning wagons brought guns, ammunition, cloth and other goods so much needed by the Confederacy. (1965)