by Win Blevins
Clyman was along on this trip, with Fitz, Zacharias Ham, and the half-breed James Pierson Beckwourth. Beckwourth wrote at some length about this period, but he wasn’t content to stretch just a few stories; he stretched them all. Ashley’s notes give more reliable information about Clyman’s activities.
The trip must have been a nightmare. According to Ashley, quoted by Camp, the trail was knee-deep in snow, and no doubt the wind made the men even colder, even though they were fortunate in living before the invention of “wind chill factors.” Riding a horse in a plains blizzard is risky; the rider may feel warm even while legs freeze from lack of movement. It’s necessary to get off and walk to keep warm, but then clothing gets wet in the snow, and freezes solid upon remounting. In addition to these problems, Ashley expected to find food and fodder at the Loup Pawnee villages, but the Indians had moved on. Rations went down to a half-pint of flour a day cooked into gruel, with meat from horses that had died on the trail thrown in for flavoring. Plenty of horses must have died, since there was almost nothing for them to eat but cottonwood bark.
Crossing the Rockies
At the Forks of the Platte, they finally caught up with the Loup Pawnees and got horses and buffalo robes. Apparently the Pawnees also suggested that Ashley, who up to now had been following the route taken by Tom Fitzpatrick the previous summer, should move up the South Platte to find wood and better horse feed. For whatever reason they chose this route, they were now moving into country untraveled by any of the party before, and the route is an incredible one. The trappers came in sight of Long’s Peak, and followed the Cache la Poudre northwest into the Rockies, by this time bound in snow and ice. Horses and men must have suffered terribly in crossing, as the route is high and rough. Ashley later wrote “The snow was now so deep that had it not been for the numerous herds of buffalo moving down the river, we could not possibly have succeeded.”
They crossed the mountains somehow, and found grass and herds of buffalo, antelope, and mountain sheep in the Laramie Plains. Once the men had enough food they could begin to trap—but the going was slow because of the poor condition of the horses.
Late in March, 1825, they passed Medicine Butte (Camp’s 1960 edition says this was Elk Mountain, about twenty miles southeast of present-day Rawlins, Wyoming). They crossed the North Platte, and went west by the Great Divide Basin, the Sand Hills and Steamboat Mountain (about forty miles northeast of Rock Springs, Wyoming). In that area the Crows stole 17 horses, reducing the party to a “dreadful condition.” The men put their gear on their shoulders and walked on, picking up a few skinny horses the Crows had probably left behind as not worth the bother. The snow began to melt a bit, and a little grass showed. Then two more horses were recovered, and finally they found their own trail of the previous spring on the west side of the Continental Divide near South Pass.
Clyman and Fitzpatrick, now in familiar territory, were probably in a group sent to the Sweetwater to catch the horse thieves, but they returned with no horses, having missed the Crows.
Trapping the Green River
The party went on to the Green, where Ashley decided to explore. The men became a little restless while he was making plans, since they hadn’t eaten for two days, but one of them killed a buffalo. On April 22, 1825, Ashley split his trappers into four divisions. Clyman, with six men, and Zacharias Ham, with seven, were chosen as leaders of parties to trap the headwaters of the Green to the north and west. Fitzpatrick’s party, with six men, went south toward the Uinta Mountains, and Ashley took seven men to explore the river itself. He wanted to know whether the Green (Seeds-ka-dee) was a branch of the Colorado or whether it headed westward. His party took buffalo-hide boats down the river, finally dropping into the canyons where the Green slashes into what is now Dinosaur National Monument.
In choosing Clyman as a leader, Ashley called him one of his “most intelligent and efficient” men. His orders were to go to the sources of the Green and to try to find parties headed by Jedediah Smith and John H. Weber, supposed to be west of the mountains. Reading Jim Beckwourth’s stories makes it clear that he was with Clyman, whom he calls “Clements.” (Beckwourth, Life and Adventures, New York: 1856; pp. 62–67.)
Ashley agreed to take goods and baggage down the river to “some conspicuous point not less than 40 or 50 miles from this place.” If the river didn’t run that way, he’d choose “the Entrance of some River that may Enter on the West side of the Shetskedee [Green] for a desposite…. The place of deposite as aforesaid will be The place of randevoze for all our parties on or before the 10th July next & that the place may be known—Trees will be pealed standing the most conspicuous near the Junction of the rivers…or above the mountain as the case may be—.” If there was no timber at the site, Ashley would pile a mound of earth five feet high, or set up rocks and paint the tops with vermillion. At a nearby point, a foot deep, he’d put a letter telling the parties any news they’d need before coming into camp. (Morgan, “Diary of William H. Ashley,” Bulletin Missouri Historical Society, 1954, vol. 11, No. 1, p. 34–5.)
So were plans made for the first rendezvous, that most famous legacy of the mountain men.
Clyman’s group found beaver at once, which they trapped and shot. Game was easily found. But on a creek later called La Barge Creek, Indians who had been friendly a few days before attacked the camp at night. Clyman told the story to Montgomery in 1871.
After the parties separated, my party were doing well trapping beaver—when one day 17 Indians came to us and stayed for 3 or 4 days. At last, one night the Indians crept up and killed the man on guard [La Barge] with an ax, and charged on us with two guns a ball passed through my capot that answered for a pillow but did not touch me. We all sprang up. The Indians flew into the brush, we crawled out into open ground and made a little beastwork or fort of stone, just about daylight. They tried to get us out from behind it but didn’t succeed. We fired at them and I think I killed one. We were very much discouraged—being only 3 [5] men in a country full of Indians, and concluded to take Fitzpatrick’s trail and join him.” (Montgomery, “Biographical Sketch of James Clyman,” Bancroft Library, Calif MS; quoted in full in Appendix B of Camp’s 1960 edition.)
Clyman’s Fork of Green River was probably named, at least unofficially, at this time, as was La Barge Creek. Creeks were named for most of the original leaders of trapping expeditions, with the exception of Fitzpatrick. However, Clyman’s name remained on the creek just slightly over ten years; eventually it became known as Fontenelle Creek, as it is known today.
The First Rendezvous
After Clyman joined Fitzpatrick, the parties probably trapped together until the first trappers’ rendezvous on July 1, 1825. The exact location of this first rendezvous is still debated; it was at or near the junction of Henry’s Fork and Green River. Fred R. Gowans, in his Rocky Mountain Rendezvous locates it on a bench between Burnt Fork and Henry’s Fork. Here the parties came together—Jedediah Smith and John H. Weber, Fitzpatrick, Ham and Clyman from the upper Green River basin, and some deserters from Hudson’s Bay company. The trappers sold their furs to Ashley, probably for supplies.
Don Berry, in A Majority of Scoundrels, makes some interesting comparisons between prices paid by suppliers in St. Louis and those paid by the trappers in the mountains. In St. Louis, coffee was $1.50 per pound; in the mountains, $2. In St. Louis, powder was $1.50 per pound; in the mountains, $2.50. Of course, these prices varied from year to year; in some years the markup was up to 2000% on goods brought to the mountains for trade.
In the spring of 1826 Clyman took part in a feat that seems incredible—not the first or the last of his feats to do so. With three companions, he circumnavigated Great Salt Lake in skin canoes. His diary of June 1, 1846 mentions this fact casually, but it impressed his friends in Wisconsin, who often referred to it in later years. It’s uncertain who went with him, but Camp thinks it may have been Louis Vasquez, Moses Harris, and Henry G. Fraeb. All off them suffered from thirst, found no beave
r, and didn’t find what they were looking for: an outlet from the lake, by which they hoped for a route toward the West. There is no outlet.
In the fall of 1826, William Sublette probably saw Yellowstone Lake, since the lake was named for him on early maps, though surely John Colter had already seen it. It’s likely that others in Sublette’s party included Clyman, as well as David E. Jackson, Robert Campbell, Jim Bridger and Daniel T. Potts. Potts later wrote the earliest authentic description of what is now Yellowstone Park. Jackson later wrote of trapping, with Sublette, the forks of the Missouri, the Gallatin and the headwaters of the Columbia, and this may have been when Jackson Hole was named. We have no way of knowing exactly where Clyman was during this period, but he often traveled with Sublette.
In January of 1827, Sublette and Black Harris started for St. Louis after supplies. As soon as the river broke up, the rest of the party started on a hunt on the Green. Probably Clyman was along. Sublette met other members of the party at the head of Bear Lake in the spring of 1827; in July, Jedediah Smith showed up too, returning from his first California expedition. With James B. Bruffee and Hiram Scott (who later died at Scott’s Bluff) commanding the party, Jackson, Sublette and Clyman headed for St. Louis in the fall of 1827. Clyman had “the honorable post of being pilot,” and it was probably his first chance to see St. Louis since he’d joined Ashley.
Clyman Escapes Blackfoot Camp
General Randolph B. Marcy later wrote of meeting Clyman in the winter of 1835 and hearing a tale that may have occurred during this period. General Marcy said he found Clyman “a very pleasant traveling companion and he very kindly whiled away the monotony of our long and solitary ride through that dense wilderness by relating to me several thrilling incidents in the history of his highly eventful career. As his character for honor and veracity are fully established and will, I dare say, be vouched for by the early settlers of Milwaukee, the reader may rest perfectly assured that every word of his narrative has the impress of reality and truth….” (Marcy: Thirty Years of Army Life on the Border, 1866, pp. 412–15.)
According to General Marcy, Clyman and a companion, while trapping in hostile Blackfoot country, were wisely visiting their traps only at dawn and late in the evening, hiding out during the day. They’d trapped for some time in this way when, riding through some heavy timber, they found themselves in the middle of a Blackfoot camp. Clyman, who Marcy says was “under all circumstance, cool and self-possessed,” rode straight up to the chief’s lodge, made signs indicating friendship, and claimed that the two had ridden into camp deliberately to pass the night. Clyman apparently reasoned that his bravery, coupled with his appeal to the chief’s pride, might protect them.
The chief wasn’t exactly friendly, but the women did serve food to the two trappers; unfortunately, their appetites seem suddenly to have deserted them. They ate a little and then lit their pipes. Clyman, who understood some Blackfoot, heard the chief tell some of the warriors that the two trappers should be killed. He warned his companion, and as soon as it was almost dark, and the Indians off their guard, Clyman leaped to his feet and ran for the river. His friend—and most of the Blackfoot—were close behind, the latter firing both balls and arrows after the trappers. Clyman got to the river, swam across, and hid under a bank on the opposite side. There he waited until the Indians had given up the hunt and gone back to camp. Once all was quiet, he emerged and tried to find the other trapper, but he was never heard from again.
This story bears a close resemblance to several others from the fur trade days, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true, and it certainly has merit as one of the few tales of adventure we have from Clyman. Camp speculates that Clyman’s companion was Pierre Tivanitagon, an Iroquois, who was apparently killed by the Blackfoot in 1827. Ogden’s Journal, quoted by Morgan (Jedediah Smith, p. 294), mentions the killing of “Old Piere,” and Ashley also mentions it in a letter to Benton. Pierre was a deserter from Ogden’s party in 1825, and had evidently joined W. L. Sublette’s party to trade with the Blackfoot in July, 1827. It may be that Clyman was with this party. If so he, and possibly Sublette, must have left it late in the summer to return to St. Louis, where Clyman arrived before October 17, 1827.
Chapter 4
Return to the Settlements, 1827–44
Clyman returned to St. Louis from the mountains by way of the Platte-Kansas River route, according to his 1844 diary. His pack of high-grade beaver fur was sold to Wilson P. Hunt, the former Astorian, at St. Louis on October 17, 1827—278 pounds of “mountain beaver” at $4.50 a pound, a total of $1,251. (Morgan, “Ashley Diary,” Bulletin of the Missouri Historical Society, April, 1955, p. 298.)
With this money, the equivalent of a couple of years’ wages, Clyman bought land near Danville, Illinois. Residents of the area who knew him at this time have furnished descriptions of this mountain man, now 35 years old, a man in his prime, a man who had survived the mountains, but had been changed by his experiences. He was about six feet tall, rawboned, slender, and a little stooped. One friend mentioned his “firm and elastic tread,” and said he was “deliberate in all his movements.” He spoke clearly and distinctly with a slight Southern accent as a Virginian would, and his manner was courteous and dignified. He was not inclined to be garrulous or overly sociable; he was a little cool to strangers, and especially so to Indians.
G. C. Pearson, a pioneer who knew Clyman in Illinois, wrote in more detail of Clyman in his history of Vermillion County.
One well remembered by the writer was Captain Jim Clyman, a genuine frontiersman, hunter and trapper, tall, spare in flesh, keen deep-set blue eyes, face and hands as bronzed as the color o smoked buckskin: hair that fell upon his shoulders: mouth that closed like a steel trap, surrounded by a heavy beard which with his hair was the color of dried grass. Habited in a composite dress of linsey woolsey wamus [shirt], buckskin pants, and foot wear, a coon skin cap worn when in the settlement. His long full stocked flintlock rifle, tomahawk and knife were never out of reach except when he was in the house of a friend which was seldom…. Clyman’s remarkable individuality attracted all who came in contact with him. At times when in the conversational mood he could keep listeners spell bound by narrating his personal experiences among the Indians: of the many hairbreadth escapes from capture, which meant death by torture, practiced only by the Indians; of his contests with mountain lions, panthers, grizzly bears, and other wild animals which furnish the furs so much in demand and are captured at such hazard to life.” (G. C. Pearson, Past and Present of Vermillion County, Illinois, Danville, Illinois, Public Library, n.d.).
Clyman established two of his brothers on the farm near Danville, but he apparently didn’t settle down there himself, at least not for long.
Congress had declared the Big Vermillion River navigable, and the stream was supposed to be kept free of mill dams and other obstructions. Clyman and William Reed, the first sheriff of the area, were authorized by court order in 1829 to proceed against a violator of the Act. In 1835 Clyman was called up to help Sheriff Thomas McKibben transport state prisoners.
Other records show Clyman entered business in a general store with Daniel W. Beckwith, setting up in one of the first log stores in Danville. Later Goulding Arnett took over Beckwith’s share in the partnership and the firm continued under the name of Clyman and Arnett until 1839. Lands belonging to Clyman were then sold in order to pay off overdue notes.
The Black Hawk War
It is difficult to picture Clyman as a storekeeper after his mountain life, and perhaps he didn’t spend much time behind the counter. When the Black Hawk War broke out, Clyman probably wasn’t unhappy to join Capt. Jacob M. Early’s Company of Mounted Volunteers, though it is hard to understand why such an experienced Indian fighter was not an officer. He enlisted as a private on June 16,1832, and remained until July 10 of the same year. During this period he served in the same company with two men, James Frazier Reed and Abraham Lincoln, who were to become well-known for different reasons in late
r years. Muster rolls in the James Frazier Reed papers show “James Climan” as No. 34, with Lincoln as No. 4 and Reed as No. 5.
Reed, who must have grown tired of settlement life, helped lead a group of people named Donner toward California; he and Clyman were destined to meet again during that fateful trip. And, as Clyman later said, “Abe Lincoln served in the same company with me. We didn’t think much then about his ever being President of the United States.”
Clyman’s first campaign of the war was short, and details are well known. The company marched from Dixon’s Ferry on June 27th to Whitewater River and searched the country for Indians. They found mosquitoes instead, as Lincoln later mentioned in his reminiscences. Perhaps typically, on the day the company was mustered out, “James Climan” was listed as “Horse Hunting.”
Clyman was commissioned a 2nd lieutenant of Mounted Rangers July 23, 1832, and joined Jesse B. Brown’s company in Major Henry Dodge’s battalion. After the capture of Black Hawk the rangers moved down to Rock Island. There, on September 23, Lieut. Clyman was appointed assistant commissary of subsistence for the company.
The troops spent the next year removing the Winnebago Indians from their ancestral home in Wisconsin. On September 19, 1833, Clyman was transferred to the First Dragoons, and accompanied the command to Fort Gibson and finally to Missouri. From Missouri Clyman sent in his resignation, accepted May 31,1834. Two years later, he was appointed Colonel of the Wisconsin Militia by Governor Dodge.
When Clyman returned to Danville and his business, he was considered liable for past-due military accounts, some of which went back to the time of Clyman’s predecessor in 1832, from the Commissary General of Subsistence at Washington. These notes requested the return of vouchers and abstracts of ration issues made during campaigns in the field; Clyman was charged on the books with over $400, and there is evidence he paid part of this sum during the next year.
