Lore - Episode 114: The Gateway

Episode Date: May 13, 2019

Most locations have an isolated history that is unique to them and only them. But some places have served as the entry point for a bigger idea and a larger impact on history as a whole. Sadly, that sort of significance always seems to come at a price, and it’s a cost that’s difficult to forget. ———————— The Lore book series: www.theworldoflore.com/books The Lore TV show: www.Amazon.com/Lore Latest Lore news: www.theworldoflore.com/now Learn more about your ad-choices at https://www.iheartpodcastnetwork.com Access premium content!: https://www.lorepodcast.com/support See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

They stand atop the wall just after sunrise. The fiery glow of the sky around them always seems to make them look dark and featureless, like shadows trying to be real. One figure is a man, but the one beside him is much smaller. A child, perhaps his child. And then, they jump. Those who witnessed it never saw it coming. One moment the two dark figures are standing silently in the midst of a tranquil dawn,

and the next, they're stepping off the edge of the wall and plummeting to their death below. Naturally, many people have rushed to find them, to help them, to see if they somehow survived. But every time they do so, they discover the pavement below the wall to be empty. No man, no child, no twisted wreck of human tragedy, nothing. It's a story that has happened over and over again, putting it into the realm of local legend. Multiple people, from longtime residents to visitors from out of state, have watched the

scene play out over the years, as if it were a real-life animated meme that pops up from time to time. Every town in America seems to have a legend like this one. That story a parent might whisper to their child as they drive past the cemetery. The tale that gets pulled out every autumn by the camp counselor around the fire. The rumor that's passed from child to child, like the stomach bug after a school picnic. Every place has its stories. But some stories are more significant than others.

Sure the tale of the heartbroken woodsmen who may or may not still live in the forest behind the subdivision is frightening, but it's not important. Not like a city-wide disaster or a tragic outbreak of a deadly disease. Some stories leave no impression on the pages of history, and others do. And this tale of the father and son who leap from the wall is one of the latter stories. It's powerful and even disturbing, but beyond all of that, it's significant. Not so much because of the contents of the tale, but because of where that wall is located. It's in the American city of San Antonio, at the side of a building and a battle that

have both become legendary parts of our nation's history. And in the process, it has transformed into a gathering place for tales of tragedy and loss. The Alamo I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore. So much of San Antonio's history is really about horses. The wide open plains, dry brush, and flat land of Texas was a perfect substitute for the arid coastline of Spain, and that's where the Spanish got really good at using mounted riders to manage their large herds of cattle, riders they refer to as vaqueros.

Of course, Spain, like a lot of European countries, didn't stay in one place. Just like the English and the French, the Spanish explored the world, and by the late 1600s, they were firmly planted in the new soil of Central America. Then, in 1691, a soldier named Domingo Terán de los Ríos traveled north from his post in Peru, and as he went, he established seven Franciscan missions. They arrived at the banks of a large river on June 13th, which was also the feast day of St. Anthony of Padua, so they named the river after him, San Antonio. That same day, one of the friars noted just how big the river was and how it could support

much more than a village. It could support a city, and while it would take a long time, those words would eventually be shown to be almost prophetic. The Spanish were creeping up the continent into what would later become southern Texas because the French were doing their own expansion. They however were spreading westward from New Orleans and selling weapons to the powerful Apache and Comanche people along the way. So the Spanish headed north and east, hoping to lay claim to land before the French arrived,

and to help, they allied themselves with the smaller tribes of the region, who referred to themselves as friends in their own language, a word that the Spanish recorded as Tejas. Of course, it was the Tejas who had been there long before the arrival of the Spanish. They had a history there that could be traced back over 15,000 years, but the Spanish moved in at the right time, just as the French-equipped Apache began to raid the western territories more frequently. To help, the Spanish military governors set up fortifications. They called them presidios, but don't think of them as a fortress.

These were simple adobe structures with thatched roofs, hardly a defensible stronghold, but they were the seed that the larger settlements to come would grow out of. The only problem was that those settlements would be built on the backs of the indigenous people. It was slavery, there's no doubt about that. It was painted as a missionary endeavor, but much of their mistreatment put them into a class similar to the African-American slaves that would follow them a century later. Still, there was one area where the settlers in San Antonio broke Spanish law.

They allowed the Native Americans to ride horses. You see, those Spanish friars were working far away from their support network, and they didn't have the manpower to raise cattle themselves. So they turned to the Tejas among them, and in an act of disobedience, they trained them to be vaqueros, which is one little detail that I absolutely love. In a world where pop culture built a mythology around cowboys versus Indians, the real irony is that the very first American-born cowboys were Native Americans. By 1720, most of those original Spanish mission settlements had collapsed.

By the time the French decided to move into their territory, the Spanish only had two missions and one presidio left. So a new governor was sent to take charge, Marcos de Aguayo, and he brought reinforcements with him, 500 mounted soldiers, and over 4,000 Spanish horses. The Spanish won, and the French were pushed back out, and when Aguayo rode victoriously back into San Antonio, he celebrated by kicking off a building project. Two, actually. The first would be a grand presidio for him to rule from.

The other would be a replacement for the original mission that was destroyed by a recent hurricane. And after that, everything else seemed to grow into place. Now that there was a military force there, the settlement blossomed into a city. Aguayo recruited more settlers and gave out land grants and noble titles to help them get started. Construction on the San Fernando Cathedral began in 1738, right between Aguayo's palace and the new mission, and it wrapped up around 1750. And by then, San Antonio had become something new.

A true melting pot. It was a community that thrived on diversity. Spanish settlers lived beside Native Americans on mostly equal terms. They worked together, intermarried, and shaped their own culture around this diversity. But in doing so, the city was also carving its own path, and over the years began to think of themselves as their own rulers rather than the Spanish empire to the south. Which the Spanish fixed by sending a new governor into San Antonio, and setting it up as the capital of the entire Tejano territory.

The new governor's goal was to bring the city back in line with Spanish standards and culture, but he was met with fierce resistance. The community that had grown up in San Antonio liked their independence, and they weren't about to change. In fact, they had their own local government. They didn't need imperial power. They were doing just fine on their own. Never mind the fact that re-establishing the Spanish colonial culture would have meant

placing all of those non-Spanish residents on a lower run on the latter, which was demeaning and wrong. Because of this, San Antonio in the late 18th century was a powder keg of tension and frustration. The independent and strong-willed people of the city weren't about to let themselves be bullied into a backwards way of life. On the other hand, governor after governor entered the city over the years like stormy waves and crashed against the rock of that independent community. It was a tension that was unsustainable.

At some point, something had to give. Either the community would bow to Spanish wishes, or the empire would admit defeats and leave San Antonio in peace. Exactly who would win was the question that was on everyone's mind, and only time would provide an answer. That was the tension that Vicente Tarín stepped into. Looking back, maybe he was well-equipped for that sort of environment. He was a soldier, after all, and a good one.

He was what was known as a lancer, because aside from his rifle, pistols, and sword, he also carried a lance into battle. And because gunpowder was in short supply and firearms weren't the most accurate or reliable, he used that long spear-like weapon most often. Vicente was part of the second flying company, a group of mounted lancers who were stationed in Spanish Mexico, far from their homeland across the Atlantic. Their life was never easy and always dangerous, whether they were engaged in offensive maneuvers against the French or protecting the people of their own territory.

The flying company was the best of the best, and Vicente was one of their stars. For the longest time, they were all stationed at a place known as Alamo de Paras, located south of the Rio Grande. But in 1803, they were ordered to head north to San Antonio, where they would garrison a small outpost in the town. When they arrived, they visibly increased the community's population, since almost all of the 100 soldiers brought their families with them. Most, but not Vicente.

He had been married, but his wife Maria had passed away seven years before. So when he rode into San Antonio, he was one of the few with no family around him. But it didn't stay that way forever. A few years later, after meeting a wealthy landowner and city official named Joaquin Leal, Vicente fell in love with the man's daughter, Juana. They were married in 1810. Their first son Manuel was born a year later, and Vicente began to settle into family life. Manuel was even baptized in the local mission where the flying company had set up camp.

Actually, it was more complicated than that. Ten years before their arrival, the Franciscans had secularized the mission there in San Antonio and sold it into private hands. But as far as I can tell, it was rarely used for anything and just sat empty between the cathedral and the governor's palace. So when Vicente and his fellow soldiers arrived in 1803, the abandoned mission looked as good a place as any to set up their new home. And around the same time Manuel was baptized, Vicente received a promotion, putting him

in charge of the entire company. The trouble was brewing, and Vicente was going to have to navigate those challenges as best he could. First, a revolution had broken out in the Spanish capital farther south in modern-day Mexico. They were quickly squelched by the empire, but revolution has a way of sticking around, and within weeks news of it had spread north to San Antonio. Once there, it had inspired a retired military captain named De las Casas to take up arms

and join the revolt. Locals flocked to his message, and honestly, knowing the history of San Antonio, it makes a lot of sense. They were independent people who didn't care for imperial rule, and rebellion was their path to freedom as far as they were concerned. And surprisingly, a number of Vicente's own flying company soldiers joined in. Before he knew it, the rebels stormed the city, freed a handful of political prisoners, and took the governor and Vicente captive.

Then at the last minute, the rebels flinched and set Vicente free, who immediately turned around and led his loyal troops into battle, ending the rebellion. But that episode planted a seed of change inside him. The rebellion returned a few years later, and this time those rebels were incredibly diverse. They included Spanish settlers, Native Americans, and rebel soldiers from the neighboring United States, and when they marched into San Antonio this time, Vicente joined them. Maybe it was his insider view of how the Spanish Empire was treating its people, or perhaps

the independent spirit of the city had infected him over the years. Whatever his motivation might have been, he became a rebel and sent his life into a tailspin. An army of over 2,000 Spanish soldiers arrived and destroyed their forces, rebel families were scattered, their possessions were confiscated, and many women and children were imprisoned. Among them was Vicente's wife, Juana. When she was finally released, Vicente was gone, presumably killed by the Empire. She went on to raise Manuel herself, telling him stories of his father and the rebellion, and the evils of an empire that wanted to rob them of their independence.

And then the unthinkable happened. In 1821, Mexico won its independence from Spain. But like all important achievements, it had come at a massive cost. The people of the former Spanish territory there in modern-day Texas had suffered through incredible loss of life, and that had decimated their economy. Yes, they were free from imperial rule, but they were also destitute, and it would be a long, hard road to rebuild their lives. In 1822, a bittersweet miracle happened.

Vicente returned. He had escaped to Louisiana for a time, plotting his return. Sadly though, he arrived back in San Antonio just in time to pass away surrounded by his family, which is probably one of the things that inspired Manuel to follow in his father's footsteps. In 1830, he was old enough to join the flying company as a lancer. He even served under the leadership of one of his father's fellow exiles, Jose Francisco Ruiz.

I don't get the impression that Manuel was as much of a soldier as his father, but what he lacked in ability, he more than made up for with passion. At the same time, American migrants that were crossing the Mexican border south into Manuel's territory had been declared illegal by the Mexican government. This was largely done to enforce the anti-slavery laws that the Americans seemed eager to ignore, but it also forced the people of San Antonio to pick sides. Manuel was part of the group that chose independence over Mexican rule. It seems that the people of San Antonio had one more rebellion to throw their weight behind,

and this time, Vicente's son would take part in it. But no one, not even Manuel himself, could have imagined just how significant that rebellion might be, or how dearly it would cost them. Some cities have a neat and tidy bit of history behind them. Settlers arrived, a community was started, and they persevered through a few small tragedies. But San Antonio is different, and that's why you're getting a deeper tour. Because some marks left on a city aren't simple to explain. They're complex and interwoven with a number of larger issues.

By the end of 1835, a group of Mexican rebels, Manuel among them, had joined forces with some local Tejanos and a number of settlers from the United States, and together they had retaken San Antonio. The city that had changed hands so many times before now belonged to a small collection of rebels, and of course, we all know what happened next. Manuel, along with David Crockett, James Bowie, William Travis, and others, defended themselves from inside the old Spanish mission, known by then simply as the Alamo. The siege lasted 13 days, and when it was over, all but one of the rebels inside had been killed. Their bodies were stacked like firewood, and burned a short while later.

Afterwards, Mexican General Santa Ana moved on to stomp out other rebellions in the area, and San Antonio was left to pick up the pieces. And it's this one battle, a battle that arrived like an explosion after a century of buildup that most people can still feel echoes of today. Over the years since that infamous battle, the land around the church that had once been part of the mission compound was eventually cleared and developed. The city kept growing, surrounding the old mission like the rings of a fort, but parts of modern San Antonio give residents and tourists alike the chance to stand right on the bones of history. Today, the Alamo is a museum, and the centerpiece of the city,

but that hasn't always been the case. In 1871, the chapel inside the Alamo was used as a local police station, tucked into a pair of rooms on either side of the main gate. Visitors to those rooms today had reported seeing ghostly figures that moved about, and disembodied voices have been heard. Others have seen figures walking around the outside of the Alamo. Some witnesses have described them as very uniform in their behavior and appearance, as if they were soldiers marching on patrol, on the lookout for the enemy. And along with the sightings, visitors have heard the distant rumble of gunfire and the shouts of angry men, as if a battle were still raging on inside the old mission. Nearby, the cathedral is home to its own collection of sightings and experiences.

Many modern visitors have seen mysterious figures in old clothing, including a man dressed all in black, and a woman in a long, old-fashioned dress. Some tour groups have witnessed these figures following them from place to place inside the old building. The most common sightings inside the cathedral, though, are of shadowy figures that move about the back of the main worship space. They are said to flicker in and out of sight, but those who have managed to get a good look at them claim they resemble Franciscan monks, perhaps like those that founded the mission all those years before. One story stands out among the rest, though, passed on to us by historical preservationist Adina di Zavala back in 1917.

According to the records available, Santa Ana left San Antonio to go fight other pockets of rebels, but left behind a small garrison of soldiers, along with strict instructions to tear the old Alamo mission building down. After pulling the outer walls down manually, they prepared to detonate the interior, but they quickly encountered a problem. According to the legend, as the first group of men approached the building, armed with a healthy supply of explosives to help them do their job, they stumbled upon something otherworldly. It was a gathering of six mysterious figures who stood between them and the entrance to the interior. As the soldiers approached, each of the figures reached down to their side and drew a sword, a flaming sword. Understandably, the soldiers were

terrified, and they immediately rushed back to their commander with the job left undone. The commander was reportedly furious that his orders hadn't been carried out, and he demanded to know why. The frightened men proceeded to tell him all about the ghostly figures with their fiery swords, but their commanding officer refused to believe such a fanciful story, so he went to do the job himself. It's said that he arrived to find the same six figures standing guard in front of the Alamo. Apparently more courageous than his men, the commander called out to be allowed to do his job, but one of the figures spoke in an eerie, hollow voice, refusing him entry.

Over the next few minutes, it's said that the officer explained his purpose and bargained with the ghosts, who eventually agreed to a compromise. Rather than detonating the building itself, the commander was allowed to disarm the cannons so that they could never be used by the rebels again. His work was carried out under the watchful eye of the six other worldly guardians, and when he was finished, they carefully watched him leave. The old mission, it seems, had been saved. San Antonio wasn't quite finished with strife, though. One year after the Battle of the Alamo, the Republic of Texas was formed,

pushing the Mexican forces back into action. Santa Ana returned twice over the next decade to reclaim San Antonio, but by 1845 it was the United States and not Mexico that controlled the city. After a century and a half of bouncing from one government to the next, stability had finally arrived, however bitter the cost. In the end, I find it a bit ironic that the Alamo was saved by figures with swords, whether or not they were ghostly and on fire. Because ever since its early beginnings, San Antonio has had swords and lances and rifles all pointed at it. In fact, some historians consider it to be one of the most fought over cities in America, right up there with New Orleans. A city that was carved out and shaped by the sword

was eventually preserved by one. Sometimes the past can haunt us, and sometimes, it seems, it can make us who we are. A lot of us have memories of visiting an amusement park as a child. Growing up in Illinois, I have distinct memories of family trips to the local Six Flags, and I can still remember shooting the air rifle in the saloon in the arcade area. But I'll be honest and admit that I never stepped back and considered what the name actually meant. Why Six Flags? Well, it turns out it's because of the story we explored today. The land that is now the state

of Texas has been the center of a massive game of tug of war for centuries. Since the early 1700s, it's been under the control of Spain, France, Mexico, the Republic of Texas, the United States, and even the Confederacy during the Civil War. Six nations. Six flags. All of it adding up to something bigger. And darker. But even though you can experience tiny parts of that history inside one of their amusement parks, the real history, as you know by now, is a lot darker than roller coasters and saloon shootouts. It's a legacy of oppression, betrayed loyalties, and social division. A legacy that isn't entirely something to be proud of. There's still work to be done, of course. The nonprofit organization American Indians in

Texas is actively working to locate the remains of dead Native Americans that were once excavated by archaeologists and then put into storage. They seek to unbury the past, dust it off, and help us respect it and understand it more clearly. And that's a mission I think we can all take refuge within. But the buildings and history of Spanish Texas continue to rise up through the stonework of San Antonio. There are more stories told around the Alamo than rumors of ghostly footsteps or of the six guardians and their flaming swords. Tourists and residents alike have reported one particular vision that has left a lot of people with questions. They claim to have seen the lone figure of a man in the uniform of a 19th century Mexican military officer. He's been seen walking

along what would have been the outer wall of the old Alamo compound, hands held behind his back, with a serious but disappointed look on his face. And some believe they know who he is. Almost two centuries ago, when the Mexican forces were gathered outside the Alamo, Santa Ana was said to have gotten into a heated argument with his aide to camp, a man named Manuel Fernandez Castrion. Santa Ana had the intention of killing everyone inside, including those who surrendered, but Castrion disagreed and begged Santa Ana to be merciful. The general refused. Rebel forces had never shown mercy to his own men, so why should he do any different? Castrion, however, still believed that he could be a better man. And so one night,

a handful of prisoners were brought to him just outside the gateway of the old Alamo mission. Castrion was said to have taken pity on them, and he promised that he would protect them. Somehow, though, word made its way to Santa Ana, who quickly arrived to confront Castrion. He demanded that the prisoners be executed, but Castrion refused, sending Santa Ana into a fit of rage. Drawing his sword, he stepped forward and hacked each one of them to death, one after the other, until none remained standing. But there are some who believe the soldiers are still there, despite Santa Ana's best efforts. Because there's one more detail that seems to draw a connection between those prisoners and the ghostly guards who would prevent the

destruction of the Alamo a short while later. There were six of them. The history of San Antonio is long and painful. That much is obvious. But there's more to the haunted side of the city than just the Alamo. Stick around after this brief sponsor break to get a guided tour of one of the city's most infamous buildings. Can I be honest with you for a moment? Whenever I take you on a guided tour through a city, I take a lot of pleasure from opening windows for you into as many places as possible. So many of the cities we think of as haunted have a plethora of locations that seem to drip with story and rumor. Some of them are long gone, lost to time and modern development,

while others are still there, waiting for one of us to explore it with fresh eyes. While I enjoy both types of locations, it's the latter that I find most powerful. They put us in the driver's seat of history and allow us a chance to stand right inside the story. And while we haven't traveled all around San Antonio today, there's one historic location that is just waiting for a visit. And if you get the chance, you really shouldn't pass it up. If you remember from earlier, the Alamo that we know today, the stone structure with the tumble-down walls, was once a Spanish mission. Think of it as sort of a hybrid between a school, a place of worship, and a monastery, with some agricultural management thrown in. And because of all of that,

there was more to the mission than the building you see today, an entire compound that surrounded and supported it. After the mission was secularized in 1793, it was abandoned. But a decade later, it became home to the soldiers of the flying company, including Vicente Tarín. And as the decades rolled by, pieces of that larger mission compound were cleared and developed. Today, if you stand at the intersection of Houston Street and Alamo Street, you're standing inside the invisible walls of the old mission compound. But don't assume that all of the buildings in that area are brand new. In fact, one of the most popular is also one of the oldest, the Manger Hotel. It sits slightly south of the Alamo Museum on Crockett Street, and was built in 1859 by a local

brewer and boarding house owner named William Manger. Today, many people consider the Manger to be the most haunted hotel in Texas, and maybe that's because of its legendary history. By 1877, a decade after it had gone up, the railroad arrived in San Antonio, making it a destination for a lot of people. And because it had been built so well and appointed so luxuriously, there were many who declared the Manger to be the best hotel west of the Mississippi. In 1877, that very well might have been true. There are some tantalizing rumors about the building itself. Some say that there is an ancient tunnel beneath it that runs all the way to the Alamo building. What purpose it might have served is unknown. But you can't deny that everyone seems

to love a good tunnel legend. Those rumors also say there is a large room beneath the hotel cellar, and inside that room is a large metal door with multiple locks upon it. But it's the history of the hotel above ground that is the most fascinating. U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt stayed at the hotel at least three times in his life. In fact, it was during his stay there in 1898 that he and a fellow military officer used the bar of the hotel as a recruitment area for a unit of soldiers that would become known as the Rough Riders, and they were the perfect sample of Texas society at the time. Vaqueros, gamblers, trappers, Native Americans, and even gold prospectors. That diverse and flavorful group

followed Roosevelt to Cuba and were part of his famous charge up San Juan Hill during the Spanish American War. He returned a few years later for a sort of Rough Rider reunion party, and that's about all it took to cement his legendary status inside the hotel. Ever since, many people have claimed to have encountered a strange man at the bar, always late at night when the staff are closing up. They say he approaches people and asks if they would like to join his military unit. Some people have been left with a feeling of deep fear, while others just find themselves smiling at the exchange. But I want to introduce you to someone else, someone you've probably never heard of before. Way back in 1876, the first demonstration of the usefulness of barbed wire

was conducted right outside the Manger Hotel. What better place to do it, too? With all the ranches and vast properties, people were looking for a better way to manage movement on their land. Barbed wire offered a new solution. One of the ranchers who purchased barbed wire that day was a man named Richard King. He owned a small one million acre parcel of land in southern Texas known as the King Ranch, but spent so much time at the Manger Hotel that he had his own private suite on the second floor. Thankfully, the staff loved him. So much so, in fact, that when he passed away in 1885, in his room overlooking the Alamo Square, the hotel allowed his funeral to take place right in the lobby. His belongings were cleared out of his room and returned to his

family, I would imagine. But after that, the housekeepers just sort of cleaned the room, changed the sheets, and made it available for future guests. Most who have stayed in the King suite, as it's known today, have probably had a normal stay in the hotel, and you certainly can't beat the view from the balcony. But many people have reported unusual experiences over the years. Experiences that leave folks wondering if there might still be a bit of Richard King living with them in the room. The most common sighting by far typically happens in the middle of the night. Guests have reported waking up with the feeling that someone was in the room, watching them sleep. Disoriented and a little frightened, these guests have all sat up to

peer into the darkness to reassure themselves that, no, there was no one else in the room. But they found no such reassurance. Multiple guests have reported that those tense moments in the dark have all ended in the same way. As their eyes adjusted to the lack of light, all of them claim to have seen the figure of a man standing at the end of the bed, staring down at them. He's silent and unmoving, but the expression on his face and the posture of his body always seems to get the message across just as clearly as words. Why, he seems to say, are you in my bed? This episode of Lore was written and produced by me, Aaron Mankey,

with research by Carl Nellis and music by Chad Lawson. Lore is much more than just a podcast. There's a book series available in bookstores and online, and two seasons of the television show on Amazon Prime Video. Check them both out if you want a bit more lore in your life. I also make two other podcasts as well, Aaron Mankey's Cabinet of Curiosities, and Unobscured, and I think you'd enjoy both. Each one explores other areas of our dark history ranging from bite-sized episodes to seasoned long dives into a single topic. And you can learn about both of those shows and everything else going on over in one central place, theworldoflore.com slash now.

And you can also follow the show on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Just search for Lore podcast, all one word, and then click that follow button. And when you do, say hi. I like it when people say hi. And as always, thanks for listening.