A Race to End All Races
The true exploits of horseman Francis Aubry.
By: Ron Soodalter 08/01/2007
The red dust of the Arabian Desert might have settled and cleared after Hidalgo’s epic cinematic ride in the well-done 2004 movie, but it’s nothing compared to the dust kicked up by critics of Frank T. Hopkins’ self-proclaimed heroics.
It would appear that his claims to have successfully ridden over 500 races, to have belonged to Buffalo Bill Cody’s Congress of Rough Riders, to have been half-Sioux, to have, in fact, played even the slightest role in the settlement of the West may be just so much ... well, horse-pucky. It’s almost enough to destroy our faith in heroes. Almost.
It seems there really was a man—modest, soft-spoken—whose exploits on horseback are the stuff of legend, but are absolutely, unquestionably true. He raced against the clock, and when he rode, he was known from Missouri to California. His full name was Francois Xavier Aubry—Francis, or F.X., to the Americans—but standing only 5'2" tall and weighing a mere 100 pounds, he was known as “Little Aubry.” And he was the greatest speed and distance rider in the history of the West.
No Man Could Match His Fame
A young French Canadian, Aubry saw a fortune to be made in the Santa Fe trade. He left Quebec and the family farm at 18, and in 1843 made his way to St. Louis. After working as a clerk for three years, he bought a load of goods on credit and joined a party of traders, paying them to haul his freight. Leaving Missouri in early May, they arrived in Santa Fe nearly two months later. The war with Mexico had started while they were en route, and the old town was in the hands of Americans who craved goods from the “U. States.” Aubry and his fellow traders provided a wide variety of items; one trader, two years later, printed a list of his wares that filled columns in the Santa Fe Republican: knives, dirks, pistols, guns, rifles; Madeira wine, muslins and mackerel; hammers, hatchets, and silk hose; candles, cravats, and cotton thread; and, of course, all manner of liquors. Aubry proved to be a shrewd businessman; after selling his goods, he returned to St. Louis, where he paid off his debt and kept a hefty profit besides.
The following year, not satisfied with paying others to carry his inventory, young Aubry raised thousands of dollars, bought wagons and supplies, and formed his own caravan to Santa Fe. He offered to carry the mail from Missouri to New Mexico at a time when there was no organized system for mail delivery to the West. Aubry was filling a deep need; homesick Americans in New Mexico were starved for news from the states and for word from home. Still, the trip took over two months, with one man killed and scalped. By the time Aubry arrived, welcome though he was, the news was old.
Restless after selling his goods, Aubry immediately left Santa Fe for Independence, with dozens of wagons and a company of Missouri volunteers. Again, he carried the mail. When they were over halfway to Missouri, Aubry broke from the train and raced ahead alone, arriving in Independence on August 31, having traveled 300 miles in only four days.
Within weeks, Little Aubry loaded another caravan—out of season, since the Santa Fe trains had always stopped by September—and started for New Mexico. Again, he left the train at a gallop, taking the mail and three men along, and raced toward Santa Fe. This time, they were chased by Indians, but they made it in safely, ahead of the trade wagons. His daring rides through dangerous country were news, and Aubry was written up in the Daily Missouri Republican and the Santa Fe Republican. Everyone waited to see what the brave rider would do next.
Post A Comment