Chapter VII

JIM BRIDGER--MAN AND LEGEND

It is customary to assign an extraordinary disregard for truth to Jim Bridger. At times he appears as a rantipole hero, and undoubtedly he drew the long bow to unparalleled tension in matters of adventure. Still, he achieved excellent recommendations for reliability and trustworthiness from all the government officials who had business in the West. Surely Bridger was such a contradictory personage as to warrant investigation. Jim was the son of James and Chloe Bridger. He was born in Richmond, Virginia, on March 17, 1804. The Bridgers moved to St. Louis about 1812. The father died in 1816, and Jim became a flatboat operator; then, an apprentice in Phil Creamer's blacksmith shop. There his interest was first pointed to the West. In 1822 he became a member of Andrew Henry's party and departed for the Indian country. There is some evidence that he was the young man in the detail which deserted Hugh Glass in the time of his great need in 1823.

Bridger was a large man, fully six feet high, all rawhide and mountain-wise. He was wiry in action, with a quick, dangerous movement in handling weapons. His hair was auburn; his eyes were light blue. They were keen, friendly eyes in conversation but veritable hawk eyes for the game trail which he followed at maximum speed. Jim was shrewdly intelligent, although he could neither read nor write. He learned to speak French and Spanish from other trappers. In addition, he spoke several Indian languages, and he was able to communicate with all tribesmen by means of sign language. Indeed, he had a reputation as an entertainer among the natives. However, it is said that he exercised reserve and caution because he was suspiciously alert against deception of any kind. His very life depended upon accurately seeing and interpreting the signs of the wilderness. When serving as a guide for the army Jim once reported a thin column of smoke many miles away. Several officers trained field glasses upon the designated point without seeing any. They expressed their doubt of its existence. Jim was indignant: "Dam paper-collar soldiers, a tellin' thar ain't no smoke, when I seen it!" He was sure of his ability to outsee them even with the aid of field glasses, and he was right![111]

A frontiersman named Vaughn left an account of his introduction to this master guide in 1850:

... On they came, a big, strong, broad-shouldered, flaxon-haired, and blue-eyed man in the lead, riding as fine a saddle animal as I ever saw. They were now quite close; they came within a few paces and stopped.

"How?" exclaimed the big man.

"How, how," we exclaimed, shaking hands with him in turn.

"Who are you?" he asked, "free trappers?"

"No," I replied, "we belong to the Company. And you?"

"My name is Bridger," he said, "Jim Bridger. Maybe you've heard of me."

We had. There wasn't a man west of the Mississippi River who did not know him or know of him, for he was the greatest hunter, trapper, and Indian fighter of us all.[112]

Yes, Bridger was the real tobacco chew, "thirty-third degree" mountain man, and he certainly knew his way around. Every ridge and canyon of the Rockies dropped their last shadows of oblivion before his restless energy. He spent his winters in trapping and his summers in exploration. On most of these trips he chose to go alone, relying upon his faithful horse, trusty rifle, and hatchet of the finest steel. One excursion took him so far north that only the North Star served as guide. He followed the McKenzie River to the Arctic Ocean. This journey took eighteen months.[113] The rivers, mountains, and valleys of the Rockies were as one great plantation to him. He knew them all and kept a picture of the whole area in his mind. He was possessed by an insatiable curiosity. In wandering about the untouched West he kept poking into the off-trail corners to feast his eyes on strange wonders of hidden fairylands.

Bridger's services were always in demand. He started with the Missouri Fur Company. Later he became one of Ashley's men. By 1830 he was recognized as one of the most daring and effective trappers of the West. This won him a partnership in the newly organized Rocky Mountain Fur Company. After the disbanding of this firm he became identified with John Jacob Astor's American Fur Company. Naturally he realized the evanescent character of the fur business. In 1843 this insight impelled him to establish Fort Bridger on Black's Fork of Green River. Here he developed one of the great frontier institutions. It was an oasis in the desert. Here the weary traveler found respite from the toil of his journey. While wagons were being repaired, stock exchanged, and provisions replenished, the wayfarers got acquainted with the gracious host. Bridger generously imparted his valuable mountain information to the public. Frequently he rendered service as a guide, for which he was liberally rewarded. His unerring judgment of distance and contour, together with a photographic memory of detail, enabled him to make nice corrections on the drafts of map makers. There is no gainsaying the fact that Jim Bridger was a man of affairs.

In the autumn of 1824 some of Ashley's men were trapping the headwaters of Bear River. They were uncertain of its course, and Bridger was chosen to explore the stream to settle the bet. When he reached Great Salt Lake he scooped up a handful of its saline water. Spitting and coughing, he is reported to have said, "Hell, I'm on the shores of the Pacific."

Naturally of mild and gracious manner, Bridger possessed a Yankee wit that enabled him to take care of himself. This fact is attested by his ability to get along with the Indians, among whom he was known as Chief "Big Throat." He prided himself in being able to outdo the "sarpints" in every field of action. Bridger's experience with Indians made him very skeptical. This caution is expressed in his warning to Colonel Henry B. Carrington on the Powder River Expedition of 1866:

Better not go too fur. Thar's Injuns enough lyin' under wolf-skins er skulkin' on them cliffs, I'm a-tellin' ye. They foller ye allus. They've seen ye ev'ry day, an' take it frum me--when ye don't see any of 'em that's jest the time to watch out fer their devilment.[114]

However, he was wise in making alliances with them. Three times he married Indian squaws, a Flathead, a Ute, and a Shoshoni. These affiliations gave him greater security in his travels. Upon one occasion, when reference was made to this multiple spouse arrangement, someone asked Jim: "Which is which is which?" Quick as a flash came his rejoinder: "Thar all witches!"

From the Flathead wife two children were born, Josephine and Felix. Both were educated in St. Louis. His Ute wife died at the birth of a daughter, Virginia. Buffalo milk was utilized to nourish the infant, and she later returned her father's care by looking after him in his declining years. His Shoshoni wife also had two children, Mary and William.

During his indefatigable peregrinations Bridger gained intimacy with Yellowstone. He must have had a soul-loving zest for the wonderful and beautiful, or he wouldn't have noticed nature's handiwork in the first place. Early in his experience he noted the disbelief that greeted his relations. Observing that unimaginative people regarded him as a liar, he evidently concluded to adopt the old poacher's proverb about keeping the game when given the name. Why not embroider his tales in proportion to the listener's credulity? Anyway, much entertainment was expected from a guide. Jim was not one to disappoint a tenderfoot. One young unsophisticate, attached to a government party, approached "Old Gabe" (Jim's nickname) in a patronizing manner upon one occasion. "Mr. Bridger, they tell me that you have lived a long time on these plains and in the mountains." "Young feller," said "Gabe," "you see that thar butte yonder? Well, siree, that mountain was nuthin' but a hole in the ground when I come here!" It is said that two robbers entered his room at Fort Bridger. He awoke from sleep and said, "What air ye lookin' fer?" One of the desperados replied, "We are lookin' for your money." Bridger then answered, "Jest a minnit an' I'll git up and help ye." The robbers did not wait.[115]

When asked about some of his extravagant statements he quietly intimated that there was no harm in fooling people who pumped him for information and would not even say "thank ye." Like most of his contemporaries, Jim didn't think it proper to spoil a good story just for the sake of the truth. He could reel off story after story with astonishing spontaneity. These yarns were related in a solemn dead-pan gravity that was very effective.

Some of Bridger's more notable experiences and stories follow a pattern worthy of perpetuation in the literature of the Old West. In October 1832, while hunting in the Beaverhead country, Bridger's party was attacked by the Blackfeet. In this skirmish Jim received two long iron arrowheads in his back, one of which was embedded there for three years. It was removed by Dr. Marcus Whitman under circumstances that showed the strength and endurance of both surgeon and patient.

Perhaps this experience was the basis of the story he told about an encounter with the Blackfeet tribe. Said Jim:

The pesky devils made a circle all aroun' me, ten Injuns deep. Then they pounce on top of me and hack me with their tommy hawks. The varmints stomp and club me until I faint dead away.[116]

At this point his voice would choke up with emotion. Finally, someone would make bold to inquire, "What did they do next, Jim?" Whereupon he would earnestly reply, "Them danged cussed Induns kilt and sculped me!"

What did Bridger actually know about Yellowstone? Probably his first visit was in 1829. He was also a member of a trapping party that worked the Bighorn Basin north, then passed over to Three Forks, and trapped to their sources during 1830. Therefore, they were in the western part of the Park. Dr. F. V. Hayden called Bridger the best mountain man the West had ever produced and said he learned of the marvels of Yellowstone from him in the early fifties. It is reasonable to believe that the old scout saw and appreciated all of the major features of Wonderland, with the possible exception of the Upper Geyser Basin. His descriptions of spouting springs, strange to say, fall far short of the standard set by the Old Faithful group.[117]

Several of the most famous Bridger yarns were embroidered upon a Yellowstone backdrop. It was this unique element that made them unconscious conservers of fact. A certain residuum of truth seems to be present in each of his tales if one searches carefully enough. There were occasional implications so freighted with the earmarks of reality that genuine curiosity was piqued. Amusement was often tempered by wonder; perhaps there was something in the old mountaineer's ravings!

There was the celebrated Obsidian Cliff fiasco. Its perpendicular volcanic glass properties were advertised in this yarn: "Oncet I camp yonder in a purty meadow. Wantin' meat I went lookin' fer an elk. I seen a beaut a right smart spell yonder. Comin' close, I let him have it. Bejabers, he didn't make a move. I moved nigh onto him--took a dead bead. Same result. Says I, I'll get so darn nigh the report o' the gun'll kill him. So I did. The blame critter didn't look up. O' course, I thought he was deaf, dumb, and blind. I was so bloomin' mad I grab my blunderbuss by the shank an' start runnin' direct fur him, intendin' to smash him slam-bang on the haid. Well siree, ye'd never believe it! What I act'lly hit was the side of a glass mountain ... crawlin' to the top, what do I see but that same elk way yonder, feedin' as peaceable as ye please." Thus he gave a quaint representation of an interesting feature of nature.

Bridger boasted the knowledge of a choice campground hidden among the inner labyrinth of Yellowstone's canyon. The marvel of this place was in its curious delayed-action echoes. "In fact," said Jim, "it's a natural alarm clock which I winds up so: when campin' thar I beds myself down, and jist afor I goes to sleep I raises my haid from the saddle an' hollers, 'Time to get up, you sunuvagun'; an' sure as shootin', the echo comes a bouncin' back at the crack o' dawn!"

Still another extravaganza, with a basis in fact, had a bearing upon the northeast corner of the Park. Jim averred that the entire region was under the curse of an old Crow chieftain. All things became lifeless, plants, animals, rivers, and even the light of sun, moon, and stars had a petrified cast. "Yes, siree, thar's miles o' peetrefied hills, covered with layers o' peetrefied trees, and on 'em trees air peetrefied birds a singin' peetrefied songs!" Sometimes for the sake of spice and variety he used the word putrified instead of peetrefied.

There can be little doubt that he actually knew of a spot in the great lake where a cast hook and line would catch a cutthroat. Then a semicircular swerve would bring him slowly to shore. Upon taking the fish from the hook it would be found well-cooked and ready for eating!

Jim's Alum Creek episode tips heavily on the ludicrous side. "We was ridin' east o' the river along the side o' a creek. 'Twas boggy an' goin' was slow. When the cañon narrowed we guide our hosses into the stream. 'Twasn't no time till the hosses' feet shrunk to pin points, an', by tarnation, we went twenty miles in a jiffy. Them thar waters was so strong o' alum as to pucker distance itself!"

Is there any wonder that a classic mantle of exaggeration should invest Bridger with an enduring title of Münchausen? However, underneath Jim's tough, frontier-beaten exterior, obvious self-esteem, and braggadocio, there was a genuine and picturesque sincerity. He was not only colorful in acting an interesting frontier role, in which the setting was fully exploited, but he was a reliable geographer as well. Captain J. W. Gunnison received such a precise account of Yellowstone from Bridger as to enable him to write the following vivid description without reference to any other source:

He [Bridger] gives a picture, most romantic and enticing, of the headwaters of the Yellowstone. A lake, sixty miles long, cold and pellucid, lies embosomed among high precipitous mountains. On the west side is a sloping plain, several miles wide, with clumps of trees and groves of pine. The ground resounds with the tread of horses. Geysers spout up seventy feet high, with a terrific, hissing noise, at regular intervals. Waterfalls are sparkling, leaping and thundering down the precipices, and collect in the lake, and for fifteen miles roars through the perpendicular canyon at the outlet. In this section are the "Great Springs"--so hot that meat is readily cooked in them, and as they descend on the successive terraces, afford at length delightful baths. On the other side is an acid spring, which gushes out in a river torrent; and below is a cave, which supplies "vermillion" for the savages in abundance.[118]

Surely this evidence speaks well of the great scout's capacity to impart the whole truth to those who were prepared to receive it. Bridger was evidently an unconscious believer in the scripture, "I am made all things to all men, that I might by all means save some." He persisted in his way of life among the mountains until late in the seventies. He could not withdraw from the companionship of the free and generous spirits around a campfire. However, his demeanor became more subdued with age. There was upon him much of the dignity of an Indian chief. After all, to the red men he was Chief Big Throat, also the Blanket Chief.

Before retiring, Bridger managed a visit to Washington, D. C., where he was introduced to the President of the United States. After staring at him in amazement for a minute, he turned to the congressman and remarked, "Looks jest like any other man, don't he?"[119]

After many years Bridger retired to a farm near Kansas City, Missouri. In 1884 the uncrowned king of Rocky Mountain scouts passed beyond, and thereby an epoch was ended.

In respect to his Yellowstone explorations, it is worthy of note that long before his death Bridger succeeded in kindling a lively interest among others. In fact, partly due to his efforts a consuming curiosity was preying upon the minds of several leading Montana residents. These citizens proved competent to find and interpret the great features of natural history.