Oh, these guys. The Mallet brothers . One might almost call them pioneers, if one were prone to such sentimental labels. Pierre Antoine and Paul Mallet, originating from the sprawling, ambitious expanse of New France , hold the dubious honor of being the first Europeans – that we know of, anyway – to have dragged themselves across the vast, indifferent stretch of the Great Plains from east to west. Their initial, rather audacious, excursion took them from the relative familiarity of Kaskaskia, Illinois all the way to the Spanish stronghold of Santa Fe, New Mexico in the year 1739. A journey of sheer, unadulterated persistence, if nothing else.

First Expedition

Pierre Antoine Mallet, whose birth on June 20, 1700, probably heralded nothing more remarkable than another mouth to feed in Montreal, Canada, disappeared from the historical record sometime after 1750. His brother, Paul Mallet, whose birthdate remains annoyingly unrecorded, managed to stick around until 1753, meeting his end at Arkansas Post , Arkansas. These two, after a brief stint in Detroit in 1706, eventually settled in Kaskaskia, Illinois by 1734. It was from this base, in 1739, that they decided to embark on what can only be described as an ill-informed gamble: a journey to Santa Fe, New Mexico . They brought along six companions and a meager nine horses burdened with trade goods – a rather optimistic load for such an undertaking.

Their initial strategy, a testament to the geographical ignorance of the era, involved following the Missouri River north, all the way into what is now South Dakota , reaching the villages of the Arikara . The prevailing, and utterly incorrect, belief at the time was that the Missouri River meandered its way directly to the Spanish colonies in New Mexico. One can almost picture their faces when the local Arikara informed them, with what must have been barely concealed amusement, that New Mexico was, in fact, to the southwest. A minor navigational miscalculation, easily corrected by backtracking to the Pawnee villages situated on the Loup River in Nebraska . From that point, on May 29, 1739, they finally set a more accurate course for Santa Fe.

The precise details of the Mallets’ trek to Santa Fe are, predictably, lost to history – their own account having vanished, leaving us with only rough approximations of their arduous route. They navigated along the Platte and South Platte River , which they rather imaginatively christened the “River of the Padoucas.” This name, a fleeting acknowledgment of the indigenous presence, most likely referred to the Apache Indians who had, in the years preceding, dominated this particular stretch of land. Their upstream journey along the South Platte River led them near the contemporary Colorado -Nebraska border, at which point they veered south. It was during the crossing of another river, likely the Republican , that they suffered a rather significant setback, losing seven horses along with their precious cargo of merchandise. A predictable outcome when one attempts to force nature to bend to one’s commercial whims. They eventually reached the Arkansas River around the Kansas -Colorado boundary, and, with characteristic stubbornness, continued to follow it upstream.

On July 5, presumably in the vicinity of modern-day La Junta, Colorado , the party stumbled upon a village of “Laitane” Indians, a term generally understood to refer to the formidable Comanche people. Amidst this encounter, they found an Arikara Indian slave, whom they promptly hired as a guide to lead them to Santa Fe. A pragmatic, if morally ambiguous, transaction that highlights the complex power dynamics of the frontier. This guide, whose name is, of course, forgotten, led them along a path that uncannily foreshadowed the later Santa Fe Trail , eventually bringing them to Picuris Pueblo, New Mexico . Here, they finally encountered the Spanish, who, surprisingly, extended a “pleasant reception.” From Picuris, they pressed on to Santa Fe, brimming with the naive hope of establishing trade relations between New Mexico and the French. After a rather lengthy and undoubtedly tedious nine-month wait in Santa Fe, the verdict arrived from the distant, bureaucratic heart of Mexico City : a resounding negative. Trade was out of the question, and they were politely, but firmly, informed they had to leave. As a parting gesture, perhaps to soften the blow of their wasted year, New Mexican officials provided them with letters vaguely “encouraging trade.” [1]

On May 1, 1740, the Mallets and their dwindling party reluctantly departed Santa Fe for the long journey back east. One member of their expedition, perhaps finding the allure of Spanish domesticity more compelling than endless trekking, married a local woman and chose to remain in New Mexico. Three other men, opting for the known evils, decided to retrace their original torturous route back to Illinois. The Mallet brothers, however, along with two remaining companions, chose a different path, following the Canadian River eastwards. This route led them through the desolate beauty of the Texas Panhandle and into what is now Oklahoma . Along this new path, they again encountered a Comanche village, managing to trade knives and other trinkets for horses. Further downstream, likely still within the vastness of Oklahoma, they met several Padoucas, a term often used for various Apache bands. These Apache were notably apprehensive of the Frenchmen, a chilling detail that hints at previous, likely brutal, encounters with slavers. As the Canadian River finally became navigable, the Mallets, ever adaptable, abandoned their horses and constructed canoes. On June 24, they reached the confluence of the Canadian and Arkansas Rivers , where, by some stroke of improbable luck, they found a hunting party of fellow French Canadians. Joining forces, they proceeded by boat down the river to Arkansas Post and, eventually, made their way to New Orleans, Louisiana , arriving in March 1741. [2]

Second Expedition

Despite the Mallets’ inaugural venture being, by any reasonable metric, a commercial failure – a rather obvious outcome given the Spanish refusal to trade – the French government, with its characteristic blend of ambition and shortsightedness, decided to launch a second, considerably larger, trade expedition to New Mexico. Andre Fabry de la Bruyere, a government official dispatched from New Orleans, was appointed to lead this grander, and equally doomed, undertaking. The expedition set out from New Orleans in September 1741, with the Mallet brothers themselves, several other seasoned voyageurs , and, starkly, one Negro slave, accompanying Fabry. Their journey began by boat, laboriously ascending the Mississippi and Arkansas Rivers , eventually reaching the Canadian River . From there, progress became an exercise in “agonizing slowness,” as Fabry attempted to navigate the Canadian River upstream to the junction of the Little River, near what we now call Holdenville, Oklahoma . It was here that they encountered a war party of 35 Osage warriors, who, rather inconveniently, were preoccupied with hunting their Mento, or Wichita , enemies.

The river, proving utterly unnavigable for their purposes, presented a formidable obstacle. Fabry, in a predictable display of desperation, attempted to purchase horses from the Osage and other local tribes to continue the overland journey. His efforts, much like the expedition itself, were entirely unsuccessful. By September 1742, with supplies dwindling and patience worn thin, Fabry unceremoniously abandoned the entire enterprise. The Mallets, meanwhile, had apparently reached the limits of their tolerance for Fabry’s leadership. Disgusted, they simply departed on foot, making their own attempt to reach Santa Fe. This independent effort, however, was also destined for failure, and they were forced to turn back to Arkansas Post . There, they settled for the remainder of the 1740s, though Pierre, ever restless, continued to engage in trade and exploration along the familiar stretches of the Canadian River . [3]

Third Expedition

In a rather baffling display of either unwavering optimism or profound forgetfulness, the governor of Louisiana once again dispatched Pierre Mallet to Santa Fe in 1750. This time, he was accompanied by three assistants. Paul Mallet, having presumably learned his lesson, had married in 1744 and settled into a more predictable life at Arkansas Post , wisely choosing not to join this latest venture. [4] Pierre Mallet arrived armed with letters from New Orleans merchants, grandly proposing trade worth a staggering half-million pesos. [5] His journey involved traveling by boat up the Red River , acquiring horses from the Caddo , and then proceeding overland to the Canadian River and, finally, to Santa Fe.

However, the geopolitical landscape of the frontier had shifted dramatically since his previous expeditions. The Comanche , once amenable to trade, had become overtly hostile. In a swift, brutal encounter, they robbed Mallet of all his trade goods, effectively stripping him of his purpose. When Mallet eventually reached New Mexico, he was met not with pleasantries, but with accusations. The Spanish, increasingly paranoid about French encroachment and influence, accused the French of supplying guns to the Comanche – a highly plausible, and deeply inconvenient, truth. Mallet was promptly arrested, thrown into jail, and subsequently sent to Mexico City . From there, his fate dissolves into conjecture: he may have been imprisoned in Cuba or even Spain . He simply vanishes from the historical record, a rather ignominious end for a man who had traversed so much. [6] His brother, Paul, at least had the decency to die quietly in 1753. [7]

Influence

It’s a rather depressing testament to human oversight that neither the French nor the Spanish managed to make any significant practical use of the vast, hard-won geographic knowledge accumulated by the Mallet brothers during their extensive travels. It wasn’t until the nineteenth century, long after the Mallets were dust and forgotten, that the intricate geography of western Oklahoma and the Texas Panhandle finally became properly understood and mapped. Their most enduring legacy, a small, almost accidental monument to their persistence, is the Canadian River in Oklahoma. It acquired its name directly because of the explorations undertaken by the Mallets and the other intrepid, and often tragically overlooked, French-Canadians who ventured into its unknown depths. [8]