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.
Jim Bridger.
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: