Flint stopped by the Essex chat today, asked about the San Saba poem in the Robert E Book that was given to an Agent...
Flint stopped by the Essex chat today, asked about the San Saba poem in the Robert E Book that was given to an Agent in Cross Plains, shared a link to a video about the dig at the Robert E Howard House and then shared a letter from Lovecraft to Howard.
The REH Archaeological Project
I did an interview with Jeffery Shanks that I will post. You come to your own conclusions as to what was really in the pit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2egmj-QKEQ0&index=104&list=PLpDxJHWA77JNMdz0Jl37TvZ3mMyDaRWPc&t=16s
flint • 2:34 PM
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Real letter from Robert E. Howard to H.P. Lovecraft:
The only way to find a lost mine is not to look for it. If it’s meant for you to find it, you’ll stump your toe on it, or your horse will throw you into a bed of nuggets as big as ostrich eggs.
Coincidence, though, that just after I should have been reading so much about the San Saba mine, I should have heard tidings of its searchers from a man who did not suspect its existence. [...] The Lost San Saba Mine. They showed it to Jim Bowie. That was the doings of Tres Manos, the Lipan chief. His sight was stunned and dazzled by the immensity of the treasure — Bowie, I mean. He reeled, and his wits went from him like light flicked from a candle by a rifle bullet. His mind was numbed by what he had seen. Not the main vein; only the store room; gold bars stacked in a cavern from floor to roof, catching the sunlight glinting through the leaves and reflecting it like a sheet of pulsing flame. He rode all night; his horse fell under him, and he staggered on afoot. Tres Manos missed him from the tribe and was on his trail, but Bowie won that race. He was a Lipan by adoption. He had seen the red men trading silver and gold armlets to the merchants near the Presidio. For months he fought and hunted with Tres Manos’ braves. At last they showed him the cavern stacked with golden bars that caught the beams of the sun in a net of flame. Tres Manos was brave. He followed Bowie into San Antonio, met him and called him a traitor. Only his quickness saved him when Bowie’s knife flashed from its sheath. They went back into the hill country but the Indians were waiting them. They never reached the mine. They fought all day and all night. Three or four Texans fell, fifty Indians. The white man retreated. They were far outnumbered. They fell back to San Antonio. Bowie fought his last fight in the Alamo. No white man since has seen the Lost Mine. But it’s there, with untold millions waiting for the man who’s meant to find it.
flint • 2:49 PM
[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2egmj-QKEQ0&index=104&list=PLpDxJHWA77JNMdz0Jl37TvZ3mMyDaRWPc&t=16s[/embed]
The REH Archaeological Project
I did an interview with Jeffery Shanks that I will post. You come to your own conclusions as to what was really in the pit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2egmj-QKEQ0&index=104&list=PLpDxJHWA77JNMdz0Jl37TvZ3mMyDaRWPc&t=16s
flint • 2:34 PM
---------------------------------
Real letter from Robert E. Howard to H.P. Lovecraft:
The only way to find a lost mine is not to look for it. If it’s meant for you to find it, you’ll stump your toe on it, or your horse will throw you into a bed of nuggets as big as ostrich eggs.
Coincidence, though, that just after I should have been reading so much about the San Saba mine, I should have heard tidings of its searchers from a man who did not suspect its existence. [...] The Lost San Saba Mine. They showed it to Jim Bowie. That was the doings of Tres Manos, the Lipan chief. His sight was stunned and dazzled by the immensity of the treasure — Bowie, I mean. He reeled, and his wits went from him like light flicked from a candle by a rifle bullet. His mind was numbed by what he had seen. Not the main vein; only the store room; gold bars stacked in a cavern from floor to roof, catching the sunlight glinting through the leaves and reflecting it like a sheet of pulsing flame. He rode all night; his horse fell under him, and he staggered on afoot. Tres Manos missed him from the tribe and was on his trail, but Bowie won that race. He was a Lipan by adoption. He had seen the red men trading silver and gold armlets to the merchants near the Presidio. For months he fought and hunted with Tres Manos’ braves. At last they showed him the cavern stacked with golden bars that caught the beams of the sun in a net of flame. Tres Manos was brave. He followed Bowie into San Antonio, met him and called him a traitor. Only his quickness saved him when Bowie’s knife flashed from its sheath. They went back into the hill country but the Indians were waiting them. They never reached the mine. They fought all day and all night. Three or four Texans fell, fifty Indians. The white man retreated. They were far outnumbered. They fell back to San Antonio. Bowie fought his last fight in the Alamo. No white man since has seen the Lost Mine. But it’s there, with untold millions waiting for the man who’s meant to find it.
flint • 2:49 PM
[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2egmj-QKEQ0&index=104&list=PLpDxJHWA77JNMdz0Jl37TvZ3mMyDaRWPc&t=16s[/embed]
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