Six miles from this, we came to an entirely new village, called St. Augustine, near a stream called the Ayish Bayou. About two years ago, it was laid out; and now it contains two large taverns, three stores, a court house, and ten or a dozen dwelling houses. There is a good school kept here, to which scholars are sent from some distance. It would be tedious, however, to relate the particulars of this, and the two succeeding days—it would only be the same story over again. Our fare was rather poor—the meals, better than the lodging.
One night, we slept in a new framed house, one side all open to the weather; and the other, we slept in a log house, the interstices between the logs not filled up, so that you might thrust your arm out almost any where. This night we had a smart shower, accompanied by a strong wind, and the rain beat in so liberally, I was obliged to haul my bed eight or ten feet to leeward. We passed quite a number of log houses, small plantations, through oak openings and pine plains, and, at length, came to the ancient town of Nacogdoches.
I could not but smile at the odd and grotesque appearance of Nacogdoches, as I entered the principal street of the town. In by-gone days, the Spaniards built a town of log houses; generally having the logs standing perpendicular at the sides and ends, and the space between them filled with mud; with chimneys made of the same materials. These look old and woe-begone. In modern times, the Americans have erected a number of elegant, framed houses, well finished and painted white; and these are scattered along among these ancient hovels. The contrast is very striking, and somewhat ludicrous. Before me, stood an ancient Roman Catholic church, built in true Spanish style, with perpendicular logs and mud; now falling to decay, and presenting to the eye a hideous mass of ruins.
The town stands on a beautiful plain; having a small stream of water on each side; is very healthy; and when American industry shall have removed these dark spots from its surface, will be a most desirable place in which to reside. It has two public houses; and the one we put up at, had very respectable accommodations. There are a number of stores, which carry on a brisk trade with the country people and Indians. The chief article the Indians have to sell is deer pelts; and in the course of the year, they bring in a large number. These are done up in bales, and sent by land to the United States.—These skins are bought of the Indians by weight, and, I was told, the average amount was about fifty cents apiece. I observed a number of Indians in town on horseback; and this is the general mode of travelling for all the western and southern Indians.
Nacogdoches is the head quarters of the "Galveston Bay and Texas Land Company." The lands of this Company embrace three grants; that of Xavala, Burnet and Vehlein, and are bounded on the northeast by the Sabine River; on the northwest by a small river called the St. Jacinta; on the south by the gulf of Mexico—about one hundred and seventy miles in width, and running northwest nearly three hundred; equal to fifty-one thousand square miles. I shall now continue my journal, and give hereafter a description of this Company's lands in my general view of Texas.
While at this place, I frequently saw Maj. Nixon, the agent of the Company for giving titles to the grants. He is quite an agreeable and intelligent man, and very readily gave me all the information respecting the country that I requested. No more than a league of land is granted to foreigners; but to the Spaniards, a number of leagues are frequently given. The Spaniards, however, place but little value upon land. They sometimes have large flocks of cattle and horses; but are too indolent to cultivate the soil. Quite a number of them reside at Nacogdoches; some very respectable families; but a good many are poor and indolent. They are of a darker complexion than the Americans, and are readily designated at first sight.
An instance of the little value placed upon land was stated to me while here. An American had a fine looking dog that a Spaniard took a fancy to; he asked the price and was told a hundred dollars. The Spaniard replied, he had no money, but would give him a scrip for four leagues of land! The bargain was immediately closed; and the land could now be sold for $10,000. Truly, the old adage, "dog cheap," ought to be reversed.
Immediately after leaving the town, we came into pine woods again; to all appearance, the same we had already passed over—rolling, sandy soil; the trees straight and tall, but standing so far apart, that a carriage might go almost anywhere among them. The grass grew beneath them, and we could see a great distance as we passed along. And thus it continued, for about twenty miles, with hardly a house on the way. I thought, we never should have done with pine woods. We had travelled about three hundred miles from Natchez; and two-thirds of the way had been pine woods; and here, they made their appearance again. To ride a short distance in them, is not unpleasant; but to continue on, day after day, is too monotonous—there is no change of scenery.