Hugh Glass - Bruce Bradley

by Bruce Bradley

  Hugh didn't know about Aaron Stephens. None of the trappers knew. Angered by Ashley's stupidity and by his attitude, Ed Rose had gone straight to his tent, readied his rifle, and went to bed.

  An hour later he was up again, moving from tent to tent and warning the trappers that they'd best get ready to defend themselves.

  ***

  Just before sunup, the Arikaras attacked. Slipping up under the cover of the rain, they fired a sudden, massive burst into the tents on the beach. This was follwed by a volley of gunfire and arrows, which seemed to go on for several minutes. The trappers, as ready as they could be under the circumstances, fired back, keeping the Arikaras at bay.

  Even though they had known of the impending attack, there was almost no cover to be had on the beach. A number of the trappers were killed in the first barrage.

  The trappers were fanned out in a semi-circle, the keelboats and the river behind them. Hugh Glass was on the right flank. Arrows and rifle-balls struck the ground near him. Flattened on the rain-soaked grass, he kept his rifle in position ad waited, thankful that none of the missiles had struck him.

  After a little while, the firing died down. Now the Arikaras would be moving closer, saving their ammunition and looking for definite targets to fire at. If they rushed down all at once, the weight of their numbers would be enough to crush the trappers and end the battle in moments. Hugh knew the Arikaras well enough to certain they wouldn't do that. The art of indian warfare lay in inflicting the greatest amount of injury to your enemy, while incurring the least amount of risk to yourIself. The Arikaras would creep down slowly upon them, picking the trappers off as they came.

  An arrow suddenly struck the ground next to Hugh's arm, missing him by inch. Hugh rolled to the right, over and over on the grass, before coming once more back into position. A moment later a dark form raised up, twenty yards in front of him. Hugh squeezed the trigger on his Hawken and the form crumpled out of sight.

  He reloaded quickly, careful to keep his gunpowder from getting wet. The trappers were in a bad spot. The Arikaras had them pinned down on the beach and we able to pelt them with bullets and arrows from three sides. Hugh knew there we at least eight or ten Arikara warriors for every white man. There was no way the whites could win. Their only chance was to board the boats and escape down river.

  He began to edge slowly backward through the wet grass, toward the waters edge, wishing for cover where none existed. Lightning flashed, illuminating bodies of the men around him, both alive and dead. Hugh recognized the faces of two the men, James Clyman and John Gardener. Like Hugh, they were moving backward toward the water, firing whenever a target appeared and reloading as th went.

  Hugh knew well the indians methods of attack. They seemed to be everywhere--and nowhere. They appeared like ghosts, then disappeared. The trappe rarely knew if they had hit one of the Arikaras or not.

  Amazed that he was still unscathed, Hugh continued moving back. Suddenly four Arikara warriors rose, not more than thirty feet away. Wielding tomahawks and lances, the indians rushed the three white men. There was a quick volley rifle shots. Three of the indians fell. The fourth came on, swinging his tomahawk John Gardener's head. Gardener rolled to one side and the blow missed. The Arikara struck again. This time Gardener managed to block the tomahaw with his rifle stock. Then the indian was on top of him.

  The two men fought, rolling together on the grass for several feet before the indian emerged on top again. The Arikara drew back to strike, then stiffened suddenly. The tomahawk slipped from his grasp. Then he slumped, lifeless, over John Gardener. Gardener pushed the indian away. There was a tomahawk buried between the Arikara's shoulder blades, thrown from twenty feet away by Hugh Glass.

  Gardener kicked the indian away from him, then quickly retrieved an reloaded his rifle. When he was done he pulled the tomahawk from the dead indian and crawled to where Glass lay waiting and watching for another target to appear.

  "Thanks!" Gardener told him over the storm.

  Keeping his eyes ahead of him, Hugh said, "You're welcome." Then, lookin around at the two men near him, he said, "Listen, we can't stay here! There are too many of them to fight. Our only chance is to get to the boats!" He looked around he spoke, toward where the keelboats were tied.

  The boats were gone.

  ***

  General William Henry Ashley was not a man accustomed to having his commands ignored.

  "What do you mean .... NO!" he boomed over the storm. "You men get on your poles and move us back upstream! I mean NOW!"

  The keelboatmen fidgeted, but made no effort to move the boat.

  "As Lieutenant Governor of the State of Missouri and General of the Missou militia, I'm ordering you men to get us back there-!"

  "We ain't in Missouri, General," one of the men said, cutting Ashley off.

  "I don't care where we are! Those men on the beach are trapped! They're depending on us!" Ashley pulled his pistol from his belt, cocked it, and aimed it the lead boatman.

  "You!" he shouted. "Get your men in line NOW and get us moving back upstream or, by God, I'll shoot you dead on the spot! So help me, I will!"

  The man looked upstream, then back at Ashley.

  "Well General," he said calmly, "I reckon I'd just as soon be killed by you as the Arikaras." He looked around at the other men. "I reckon we all would." Ashley was beside himself. His arm shook, not from the cold or from the weight of the pistol, but from frustration and anger. He should shoot the man.

  "General, listen," the leadman said. "It's no good. If we go pushin' this boat back upstream now we'll be the easiest targets the Arikaras could ask for. You can't push a boat pole with one hand an' shoot with the other, and you cain't do it any other way than standin' up. We won't do those men any good if we go an' git ourselves kilt!"

  Ashley continued to point the pistol at the man for several seconds. Finally, he let the pistol drop to his side. He looked down at the deck of the keelboat. Water ran off his hat and onto the deck. He looked like a beaten man.

  Why didn't I listen to Rose, he thought. Why? After a moment, he straightened.

  "All right," he said. "You win. But this is how it's going to be! We will hold this boat on the river! We're pretty much out of range here, and it will be light soon. The men on the beach will see us and swim for it. We will catch them as they go past! And I swear to you--any man who fails to do this because of cowardice will be left here for the indians to butcher!"

  "Fair enough, General," the lead man said.

  ***

  Dawn was only moments away. Neither Hugh Glass, nor any of the other men who were pinned down on the beach wanted to be there when it got light. The river, on the other hand, had risen considerably after two days of rain. Any man who was not a strong swimmer would almost certainly be lost if he tried to swim for it.

  Then Glass saw the boats.

  They were about three hundred yards downstream, out of the Arikara's line of right, waiting. They had anchored. Some of the river men had their poles buried in the river bottom at steep angles to help keep the boats steady in the raging current. They were waiting for the men on the beach.

  "Pass the word!" he yelled to the others. "The boats are waiting for us on the river! We have to swim for it!"

  One by one, the trappers turned to see that what Hugh said was true. Several of them immediately began moving toward the water's edge.

  "Come on boys!" Hugh said to Clyman and John Gardener. "It's time we were movin' out!"

  He began edging toward the water, Clyman ahead of him. Gardener brought up the rear. Around them bullets whistled. Arrows struck the earth. The arrows were actually more frightening to Hugh than the rifle shots, for even a small wound from an arrow could cause infection, which would almost certainly lead to death.

  When they were only a few yards from the water, John Gardener sudden cried out.

  "I'm hit! Oh Lordy, please! Somebody help me! I've been shot!"

  Glass looked at Clyman. The two m
en nodded at each other and began moving slowly back up the beach toward the injured man. Hugh was the first to reach him.

  "Mr. Glass!" Gardener said, teeth chattering as shock began to set in, "0h thank you for coming back for me!"

  "It's all right, Johnnie." Hugh tried to soothe him. "We're going to get you ou of here. Just relax." Gardener had been hit in the side. It was hard to tell how bad the wound was, but it didn't look good.

  "You're going to have to hold that closed with your hand, Johnnie," Hugh said indicating the wound. "We don't have anything to put on it. James and I will get you out of here."

  Taking Gardener by the collar, Hugh began dragging him toward the water. Clyman, pulling Gardener by the arm, helped him.

  "TA'-KA KUR'-UKS!" WHITE BEAR!

  Hugh's head came up sharply at the sound of his Pawnee name. Kills-The-Whites and Little Soldier were standing, less than one hundred feet away. The were taking aim, even as he looked at them. Hugh and James Clyman brought their rifles up. Four rifles seemed to explode at once.

  Kills-The-Whites crumpled as two balls hit him at once. Little Soldier dove aside and disappeared. Hugh felt something strike his leg hard. He felt, as well as heard, another ball strike John Gardener. Clyman was unscathed.

  Hugh looked at John Gardener. The young man's eyes were wide with fear. "Mr. Glass!" Gardener gasped. "I'm hit again! I-I think they've done for me this time..."

  "Just hold on, Johnnie," Hugh told him. "We'll get you out of here." Once more they began pulling the young man toward the water.

  Some of the rivermen, shamed by Ashley's words, managed to bring a skiff up from one of the keelboats, and were collecting wounded men to take back to the boats. The two men managed to drag Gardener over to it and get him inside.

  "Mr. Glass--don't leave me, please!" There was panic and desperation in Gardener's voice. He clutched at Hugh's jacket. "Don't go."

  "You been shot in the leg, Mister," the boatman broke in. "We got room for one more. Whyn't you climb on in?"

  Putting his rifle in ahead of him, Hugh did as the man said. Turning back, Clyman took refuge behind a log and began firing at the indians. The skiff left the shore. Halfway to the keelboats, Gardener spoke again.

  "They say..." his voice had grown weak. "They say that you can read an' write, Mr. Glass. Is it true?"

  "Yes, Johnnie," Hugh told him. "I can read and write."

  Gardener fumbled in his heavy coat, removing a small, waterproof packet. He gave it to Hugh.

  "In here ...my Papa's address." Each word seemed to take more effort than the lust. "Write to him.. .promise me...you'll tell my Daddy..."

  "I promise, Johnnie," Hugh told him. Gardener nodded once and passed out. A moment later, the skiff struck the waiting keelboat with a heavy thud. Hugh grunted in pain when it did. The initial shock of his bullet wound had worn off and agony had set in. He felt the impact of the two boats coming together all the way up his leg and into the middle of his back.

  As they were being loaded up onto the deck of the keelboat, the last of the trappers finally left the beach, tumbling into the water under a hailstone of arrows and gunshots. Among these was James Clyman. Clyman swam out far enough to let the current take him, realizing too late how fast the river was actually running. Keeping his feet out in front of him, he hit the end of the keelboat hard, then bounced around the side. Desperately, he tried grabbing one boat pole after another as he rode past, missing every time. The boatmen, likewise, were unable to catch hold of him. Then, just as he reached the stern of the boat and was about to be swept away in the current, a man named Reed Gibson caught a handful of Clyman's hair and pulled him up on board.

  No sooner was Clyman safely on board than a shot came from the riverbank. Reed Gibson fell to the deck of the keelboat, shot through the heart.

  As soon as the last of the trappers was aboard, the boatmen lifted their poles and allowed the current to take them downstream, moving at an alarming rate. They traveled for more than an hour before getting into shore again and making camp--a good twenty-five miles from the Arikara village.

  Halfway there, Glass checked on young John Gardener. The boy had died.

  ***

  HENRY and ASHLEY'S

  June 7, 1823

  Dear Sir:

  My painfull duty is to tell you of the deth

  of yr son wh befell at the hands of the indians 2nd June in the early morning. He lived a little while after he was shot and asked me to inform you of his sad fate. We brought him to the ship where he soon died. Mr. Smith a young man of our company made a powerful prayer wh moved us all greatly and I am persuaded John died in peace. His body we buried with others near this camp and marked the grave with a log. His things we will send to you. The savages are greatly treacherous. We traded with them as friends but after a great storm of rain and thunder they came at us before light and many were hurt. I myself was hit in the leg. Master Ashley is bound to stay in these parts till the traitors are rightly punished.

  Yr. Obdt. Svt. Hugh Glass

  Author's Note: This letter to John S. Gardener's Father, discovered by John G. Neihardt, is the only item from Hugh Glass that has survived to the present day.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  WITH SOME help from herbs that Yellow Fox had taught him to use when he was with the Pawnees, and a good deal of rest, Hugh's leg was mending quickly. He still winced sometimes when he put weight on it, but it seemed to be getting better every day. Fortunately, it had been a clean shot, through the meaty portion of his leg. No bones or major blood vessels had been hit by it.After the Arikara attack, most of those who had hired on as trappers quit and headed back to St. Louis. Only thirty out of the original one-hundred stayed on. They were camped twenty-five miles south of the Arikara village. It was here that John Gardener had been laid to rest, and Jedidiah Smith had prayed powerfully over him. Afterward, Ashley had sent Smith overland to Fort Henry, asking for every available man to be sent back to help finish out the trip. He also sent a report to Major Benjamin O'Fallon, the U.S. Indian Agent at Fort Atkinson. Ashley wanted help from the Army, and he was a man who knew how to get what he wanted.

  In the meantime, there was nothing to be done, except to wait.

  ***

  Colonel Henry Leavenworth sat in his office at Fort Atkinson, reviewing the reports that lay before him, reports that were all bad:

  -The Immel and Jones party, of the Missouri Fur Company, attacked by Blackfeet. Seven men dead, including Micheal E. Immel and Robert Jones.

  -Major Andrew Henry, of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, also attacked by Blackfeet. Four men dead.

  -General William H. Ashley, also of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, attacked by the Arikaras. Fifteen men dead, and a dozen more wounded.

  Things were getting out of hand. Leavenworth could see that. He could also see something else--an opportunity. He was an ambitious man, Leavenworth was. He had risen through the ranks quickly, building a name for himself. During the war of 1812, he had developed a reputation for recklessness, daring, and quick, decisive action in the face of the enemy. He had risen to the rank of Colonel...

  But the war of 1812 had ended several years earlier, and little had happened for Leavenworth since. It galled him that he was still only a Colonel. He should have made General by now. And he should be in Washington, not stuck here in the middle of nowhere.

  He looked at the reports again.

  Here was opportunity. It was more than that, though. The indians needed to be taught a lesson, to make it safe for the whites once more. General William H. Ashley was a powerful man, well-connected. If Leavenworth acted quickly on this, it would go a long way toward getting his name back into the limelight again. Opportunities like this didn't come along any too often. Not in a peacetime Army.

  ***

  With Leavenworth's superior, General Atkinson, out of reach in Louisville, Leavenworth decided to go it alone. On June 18, 1823 he gave orders for six companies of his regiment to ready themselves for a
trip upriver, to teach the Arikaras that they couldn't attack whites and go unpunished. The Colonel himself would lead the expedition. He would strike quickly and hard, and would show them once and for all that whites were not to be trifled with.

  The expedition began on June 22nd. It consisted of six companies of men, which added up to two-hundred forty soldiers. These were joined by one-hundred men from the Missouri Fur Company, led by Joshua Pilcher. General Ashley and his men waited for them upriver. Before they left, Joshua Pilcher sent word to his friends, the Sioux. The party was joined by four-hundred Sioux warriors. The Sioux were ancient enemies of the Arikaras. If the Arikaras were to be obliterated by the awesome power of the whites, the Sioux nation would be there to witness it.

  They headed upriver in several keelboats, with the indians and some of the trappers following along on horseback at the river's edge. It would be a long, slow trip, ultimately marred by mishap.

  ***

  Hugh Glass had begun to spend more and more time away from the other men, on his own. During the day, while they waited for the Army to join them, he scouted and hunted, bringing back to the camp whatever game he killed. He took his evening meals with the others, then went off to make his own camp some distance away. He did this for a number of reasons. His years at sea had taught him that the old adage was true-familiarity really could breed contempt. He also felt safer in a camp of his own choosing. At night the trappers drank whiskey and became loud.

  Glass had no objection to the drinking, only to the effect it had on some of those who drank.

  The trappers thought him odd and stand-offish. Hugh didn't care about that. Men were entitled to their opinions. If a fight developed and they needed him, he would be there.

  They had lost all the horses back to the Arikaras. Whenever Hugh shot anything, he was forced to construct a litter and drag it back to the camp, which limited him to smaller game. The first time he did this, he was almost too far from camp. With his injured leg slowing him down, he barely made it back before nightfall. Thereafter, he kept a shorter radius on his daily trips, then worked in a circle to keep from straying too far. As wood was relatively scarce here, he also carried his litter with him whenever he went out.