JOHN CLUM, AGENT UNAFRAID

John Clum

Out of the mouth of a stained burlap sack plunged the leering head of an Apache renegade. It struck the hard-packed earth with a soggy thud and wobbled crazily in the blood-spattered dust to the feet of the new, young Indian agent. The eyes, open and staring, glittered glassily in the morning sun the lips were still curved in a sneering grimace frozen by death.Agent John Phillip Clum stood rooted in horror, his gaze riveted on the grotesque, hideous object. Pale and sickened, he managed to find his voice. "What is this?" he demanded of the Apache scouts clustered about him. "Why do you bring me this this head?"

Through an interpreter, their leader answered, pointing a dirty, broken-nailed finger at the gory head, "Him be troublemaker make good Indians leave reservation, 'fore you come."

"But why did you kill him?" Clum's eyes shot sparks of mounting anger.Indians want return to reservation, but him say no. Nantan Lupan, him say good Indians not come back to reservation without chief. Chief not want come body too heavy to carry over many hills, so bring head to show faith with Nantan Lupan."

Turning briskly to the interpreter, Clum asked, "Who is this 'Nantan Lupan?"

"That Apache name for General Crook. It means 'Gray Wolf'."

Clum's face grew still grimmer. Moving swiftly, he jerked the Springfield rifle from the leader's grip. Puzzled and taken by surprise, the other scouts sullenly surrendered their guns to the agent, who threw them angrily to the ground next to the bloody head.

"Now see here, Clum!" broke in the lieutenant from Fort Apache. "Those scouts are in our pay, and we told them to bring in the renegade's head. It's common policy in Indian country. You just haven't been here long enough to know how things are done." The lieutenant jerked the visor of his officer's cap with a gesture of authority. "You can't discipline our scouts for carrying out orders, Clum and you'd better not start interfering with military affairs!"

"Yes, I can and I will, Lieutenant, if this sort of thing continues!" blazed Clum. "Small wonder there's trouble in Indian country if you turn Apache against Apache to accomplish your rigid purpose of control. There'll be no encouragement of such brutality at San Carlos while I'm agent!"

The lieutenant gurgled a protest. "And what's more," added Clum emphatically, "my orders from Washington state that I'm to take complete charge of reservation affairs. I intend to do just that!"

The sharp impact of this encounter was a rude introduction to Indian country for John Clum, a former divinity student who, at twenty-three, was beginning an adventurous life as Apache agent at San Carlos. He was unaware that among the numerous enterprises to bear his name in later years would be the founding of the nation's first Indian police force. To the unsophisticated

AGENT UNAFRAID BY LEE STOHLBROST

farm lad, Apache country was a startling contrast to the bucolic existence he had led in the peaceful Hudson Valley region of New York. One of six sons of a sizeable Holland Dutch family whose colonial ancestors had pushed the Indians from the fertile farm land of the Hudson, Clum had never in his wildest dreams encompassed the future that was to be his in becoming Nantanbetunnykahyeh, white chief of the Apaches.

An apt student at the Hudson River Institute at sixteen, John Clum had soon become the captain of his cadet corps. After a brief academic career at Rutgers, Clum planned to head west to seek his fortune as soon as he could scrape together the necessary funds. His opportunity presented itself when Clum received an appointment as meteorologist in the U.S. Signal Corps, with orders to proceed immediately to Santa Fe, in New Mexico territory. In October 1871, soon after his twentieth birthday, John Clum began his journey to the western frontier clad in stiff new store clothes and a hard-domed derby hat, carrying a shabby gripsack in one hand and clutching his precious barometer in the other.

Four days and three nights later, his trip by rail and stage was ended and Clum walked gingerly into the Fonda Hotel, carrying the gripsack, his barometer, and the badly battered derby hat. Western clothes and the establishment of the weather station atop the roof of the Johnson and Koch store marked Clum's settlement in New Mexico. Recording reports of the territory's atmospheric conditions, however, didn't occupy all of Clum's time. To fill spare moments, the ambitious lad rented a room, furnished it with tables and chairs, and began a private school the first English-speaking school in Santa Fe. Soon the "professor's" roster totaled seventyfive students, each of whom paid three dollars per month, in advance, for their tutelage.

Time rolled up its sleeves and passed quickly as Clum pursued his job and interests in Santa Fe. But tales of marauding Apaches on the rampage in Arizona territory thrilled the twenty-two-year-old lad. Newspapers gave vivid, broadly sketched coverage to Indian affairs stories of the murder of Arizona ranchers by renegade Apaches or tales of the burning and destruction of towns and prospecting camps or accounts of kidnapping of settlers, or of stolen cattle. Some of the news sheets commented on the apparent unwillingness of the military to protect the peaceful Indian wards from reprisals by outraged white citizenry, and reported the revolting Camp Grant massacre of peaceful Apaches. Clum read interestedly that the supervision of the Apache reservations had passed to the Bureau of the Interior, which was seeking applicants to fill the posts of civilian agent. "Nobody wanted the job at San Carlos," reported the newspapers, which editorialized wryly, "but this is the first time that a government job has had to go begging!"

It was with mixed feelings that Clum ripped open a long, official-looking envelope which arrived in November, 1873, from the Indian Bureau at Washington.

Inside he found documents which tentatively offered him the position as Indian agent at San Carlos, an agency located in the central part of Apache country. Another letter from an eastern friend provided the answer to the mystery of his selection. From the letter, Clum learned that the welfare of various Indian tribes was under the supervision of certain religious groups, and Clum's church, the extremely sedate Dutch Reformed Church, was responsible for the fierce, seemingly incorrigible Apaches. The Churches also had to recommend appointees to fill the positions of Indian agent. Since the Apaches were in need of an agent, a search was made at Rutgers for a likely candidate. Clum was suggested as the logical man to handle this assignment, for not only was he already situated in nearby New Mexico but such a job would also give him the opportunity to follow the teaching of the Church in doing missionary work among the savages. Clum pondered the proposition for several days. He tried to make up his mind by talking with stage drivers and teamsters whose wealth of experience in Indian country convinced Clum even further about the gravity and responsibility of accepting such a position.

"Why, jest recently Lieutenant Almy from the fort th' one near San Carlos he was out 'n' out murdered by them 'Paches!" drawled a lean, hard-bitten teamster. "'N' then thet pore Johnny Logan, one them agency employees he was stabbed t' death right on the reservation while he wuz helpin' to arrest some ornery renegade Injun!"

"How come they need a new agent out at San Carlos?" persisted Clum.

The teamster shifted his wad of tobacco from one cheek to the other. "Wa-al, them 'Paches didn't take a fancy to thet last feller. They jest started taking potshots at 'em, 'n' scared 'em out! 'Pears he was mighty partial to his scalp, cuz one night th' feller hightailed it off the reservation and rode flat-bottomed fer Tucson. Resigned his job and went back East. Naw them Washington fellers will have one heck of a time findin' an agent fer them 'Paches!"

Their words thrilled and excited Clum. Still he argued with himself. "What business have I-just a twenty-two-year-old kid-thinking I might be able to handle a bunch of savage Apaches? Why, there must be thousands of them, scattered all over Arizona Territory!" Finally Clum yielded to his impulse to take a whack at this business of dealing with the heretofore intractable Apaches. Hurriedly packing his gripsack, he set off for the nation's capital to accept the appointment and receive instructions for his new job. Soon after he arrived In Washington, a newspaper headline made him even more determined to succeed. Bannered in red across the top of a front page story, the headline read: APACHES ON WARPATH: MURDER TEAMSTERS: OUTBREAK OF INDIANS AT SAN CARLOS AGENCY, ARIZONA, CREATES REIGN OF TERROR. MORE TROOPS ORDERED INTO FIELD WITH INSTRUCTIONS TO TAKE NO PRISONERS. At the Commissioner's office, Clum met more discouragement from R. M. McCormick, delegate to Congress from Arizona. "We shall be happy to have you in Arizona, Mr. Clum, but why do you want to go to San Carlos? You'll just find Indians and trouble there. The only buildings on the reservation are Apache wikiups and the nearest town is one hundred miles away by wagon road. What's worse," warned McCormick, "you are sure to meet antagonism from the military and the citizens as well as from the Apaches!" Clum's stubborn Dutch temperament was set on his decision and he refused to be swayed. Arming himself with documents and reports to help him better understand this particular Southwestern tribe, Clum made his preparations for another arduous trip west. Following a jaunt by rail from St. Louis to San Francisco, by steamer from San Francisco to San Diego and a jolting five hundred miles by stage coaches to Tucson, Clum began the last lap of his journey to the San Carlos agency alone over two hundred miles of rough desert terrain in a buckboard drawn by two horses. In small settlements along the way where he stopped for rest and provisions, the coming of the new Apache agent was the topic of buzzing conversation. "Why'd they send such a kid t'do a man's work!

"Soon's he takes a close look at them murderin' Injuns, he'll come skedaddlin' back quick'rn a jack rabbit . . . 'er else he won't make it back 'fore a 'Pache lance pins him to thet buckboard!" There was no rancor in the settlers' remarks even though Clum had little doubt about their skepticism of him and the job he had been sent to do. Frank and outspoken, the settlers were earnest in their advice. "You'd best go back home," they admonished. "You'll be savin' your dollars as well as your scalp!" Clum with a wry humor scoffed cheerfully at their warning. "Guess I won't be losing either way! My traveling money comes from the government, and since I've been nearly bald since I was twenty-one, there's not much worry about losing my scalp!" A long, sweaty month away from San Diego, the tanned, weary lad guided his team into the desolate, mesquite-blanketed country of the San Carlos reservation. The agency was as despairing as McCormick had

with at San Carlos. But such bad Indians will be arrested by Apache police whom I shall choose from among you, and we will have Apache court where these Indians will be tried by the chiefs."

The approving murmurs grew louder. "Enju it is well." Clum smiled at his Indians and continued his oration. "As Nantan, I shall be high chief with your chiefs to decide what will be done with offenders. Apaches will be called as witnesses and if the chiefs decide that a bad Indian must be punished, he will be placed under arrest and guarded by Apache guards." A tall, ramrod-straight Apache jumped to his feer. Holding up his hand, he announced solemnly, "Shebukensee we understand!" The novel proposition of self-government appealed strongly to the Apaches, for it meant free discussion of Indian affairs and the chance to determine for themselves what was to be done and why. Visibly affected, Es-kim-in-zim, the spokesman chief, turned slowly, including all of the gathered Indians with a sweep of his bronzed arm. Gazing keenly into the agent's face, the regal Apache spoke. "What you have spoken brings gladness to Apache heart. Never before you come did Great White Father or his chiefs believe Apache could manage own affairs."

Another venerable Apache tugged at the sleeve of the orator. Many voices clamored for attention. The spokesman leaned down and received a whispered mes sage. A smile dug detours in the wrinkled map of his face, and turning once again to Clum, the Apache stretched forth his hand and announced in grave tones, "My people wish me to tell new Nantan that Apaches will follow. We place trust in new chief of the Great White Father and will work to live in peace. As token of our trust, my people wish call young chief 'brother.' As member of Apache Nation, young chief be namedNantan-betunnykahyeh'! Lead on, young chief. Yoshete we are ready!"

As the meeting broke up, Clum solemnly greeted all the chiefs of the various Apache bands. Later, as he and Marijildo Grijalba, the interpreter, strolled back to the adobe hut which served as office and residence, Clum asked curiously, "Say, what's the meaning of that 'Nantan-betunnykahyeh' stuff? That really went over my head!" Grijalba laughed, showing even rows of strongwhite teeth in a merry grin. "That be 'Pache joke, Señor Clum! Name means Boss-with-the-high-forehead. Apaches think young chief very bald, and so make joke that his forehead goes all the way back to his neck!"

Despite their good-natured teasing, the Apaches didn't take the new agent lightly. The four policemenEskinopas, Goodah-Gooday, Tauelcylee and "Sneezer"--appointed by Clum helped him establish the Apache court, set up a temporary guardhouse and lay the ground work for conducting the affairs of the San Carlos reser vation in an orderly fashion. Within a month, on the eve of his twenty-third birthday, Clum was well enough pleased by the progress of his system of self-government by the Apaches to record his satisfaction in his first annual report to the Commissioner of Indian Affairs (August 31, 1874): I have appointed four Indians to act as police. They arrest the insubordinate, and guard the prisoners, and do general police work. The result is very satisfactory, and it is my intention to employ them permanently at $15 per month I am pleased to report that I am greatly pleased with these Indians, and am becoming more deeply interested daily. I think they have already learned both to fear and to respect me, and also entertain as much affection for me as the savage nature often exhibits. Should the coming year be as successful and pleasant as my first three weeks have been, I may hope to present in my next annual report facts that will both surprise and please your Department and the public.

Whatever confidence Clum felt, however, he was in for sharp criticism by the military, and by several territorial newspapers which complained that it was not only dangerous but ridiculous to think of allowing the fearsome Apaches to govern themselves. John Marion, forked-tongued editor of the Arizona Miner (Prescott), commented caustically that Clum's Apache police and court system were mere highflown experi ments of inexperienced youth, for every mature person knew that "the only good Indians were dead Indians!"

Although the Apaches were relatively quiet during the first few months of Clum's administration, they were still greatly confused as to who was "top boss." During the period before Clum's arrival, the Indians had been subjected to the varying whims of too many bosses, military and civilian, operating under different policies or no policy at all. When Clum attempted to untangle the mesh of troubled affairs, problems and criticism came from the military at nearby Fort Apache who did little to cooperate with the new agent. Writing in his

first report, Clum accounted for his stand:

On taking charge of the agency, I found that the same mixture of civil and military rule was still working detriment to the Indians. I therefore immediately assumed entire control of all affairs pertaining to the Indian service, in order that the Indians might understand that there was but one admin istration and one administrator Should the military desire to remain on the reserva tion, I shall not object. Yet I should strongly oppose a nearer residence than five miles