OUR ETERNAL KIN: HUGH GLASS (1783 - 1833)
Of all the legends and heroes within our race’s immortal ranks, Hugh Glass stands above the rest as an incarnation of the American spirit. If a nation must have an epic tale to inaugurate its ethno-genesis, then the saga of Hugh Glass is our own.
Apart from Scranton, Pennsylvania being remembered as his birthplace, all the details of Glass’ early life are lost. He was said to have been born to Ulster Scot parents in 1783, not long after the contractual birth of our nation-state. His parents were very likely part of the mass-Exodus from Ulster Ireland that took place between 1717 and 1770. The Ulster Scot blood within our race flows predominantly through the veins of our fighters, soldiers, frontiersmen, and mountaineers - the freemen who thirsted for the wild life and drank their fill upon the virgin land.
Hugh Glass was tall and of dense strength. He was of fair hair, and his cold grey eyes matched the etymology of his surname — derived from the Celtic word “glais”, meaning “grey” or “sea”. And, lending credence to the prophetic quality of names, the sea is where we first find him, faring upon the Gulf of America at middle age. He had lived a full life unknown to us and was already beyond the years most men were expected to live in this era.
Large of bone,
Deep-chested, that his great heart might have play,
Gray-bearded, gray of eye and crowned with gray
Was Glass. It seemed he never had been young;
And, for the grudging habit of his tongue,
None knew the place or season of his birth.
Slowly he woke to anger or to mirth;
Yet none laughed louder when the rare mood fell,
hate in him was like a still, white hell,
A thing of doom not lightly reconciled.
What memory he kept of wife or child
Was never told; for when his comrades sat
About the evening fire with pipe and chat,
Exchanging talk of home and gentler days,
Old Hugh stared long upon the pictured blaze,
And what he saw went upward in the smoke.
— Excerpt from John Neihardt’s The Song of Hugh Glass
He is an old man, sailing the glassy waters off the coast of Texas, when his ship is seized by a pirate named Jean Lafitte, who is a notable historical figure in his own right.
Lafitte was a French privateer, smuggler, and slave trader whose sordid deeds were counterweighted his acts bravery from which America benefited. His assistance of Andrew Jackson in the Battle of New Orleans and his habitual harassment of Spanish ships afforded him some measure of leniency with the U.S. government. His base in Galveston, TX, the “Maison rogue”, was left largely unmolested by American authorities.
Lafitte chanced upon Glass, and recognizing the strength of the man’s frame, offered Hugh a choice between debauchery or death. He could either join Lafitte’s pirate crew or face execution.
Hugh Glass chose the former and boarded Lafitte’s vessel. It was with great reluctance that this man of quiet nobility and virtue adopted the debased life of the pirate.
For two years, Glass was an accomplice in the trafficking of slaves and the smuggling of goods.
One day, Hugh, and a fellow pirate, were ordered to commit some unknown and heinous act that exceeded what their conscience could tolerate. They refused the order and were told to wait upon the anchored ship until Lafitte returned from an errand. The rest of the crew boarded dinghies and rowed ashore for revelry while Glass and his co-objector awaited their punishment. Knowing that the impending punishment was sure to be death, both men sought to escape. Thankfully for them, their old crew mates were not scrupulous. They left both men unbound.
They grabbed only what supplies with which they could stay afloat, dove into the ocean, and swam all the way to the Texas shoreline.
In 1817, Texas was largely a land untrodden and unknown to the White man. Hugh and his partner traveled by foot through the Texas wilderness, evading cannibalistic Indian tribes like the Karankawa and Tonkawas. Possibly due to their lack of horses and lower profile, they managed to travel hundreds of miles unscathed, until they encountered the Pawnee on the Great Plains of Kansas.
The Pawnee were not cannibalistic, but they did perform ritualistic human sacrifice for their gods. This was the sordid fate both White men were given by the Pawnee. Hugh had to watch in horror as his unnamed compatriot was hung upside-down upon a wooden stake — his body bound and pierced with hundreds, maybe thousands, of conifer needles all throughout. Rather than burning fuel at the base of the stake, where the feet would burn first, the Pawnee set fire to the conifer needle piercings so the entire body would burn all at once for the sating of the morning star they worshipped.
The long, drawn out ceremony was tortuous for Glass as well. He had to witness, in silence, the death of his companion and the prefiguration of his own. Hugh searched his mind for a way out and remembered that he had grabbed a bag of Cinnabar from the pirate ship at the start of their escape.
Knowing that this mineral was valued by the Amerindians as an ingredient in the making of red war-paint, Glass offered it to the chief as an attempt to purchase his life back from his captors. The Pawnee chief saw the cinnabar as a great gift from their gods — a reward for the human they had just sacrificed. So pleased with this perceived blessing, the chief spared Hugh Glass’ life and adopted him into the tribe as his personal son. The grey-eyed American man had no choice but to morph from pirate to Pawnee.
Glass rode and fought alongside the Pawnee for several years — learning their ways of life, survival, and warfare. He gained a wealth of knowledge from their skill in herbalism, hunting, and horse-riding. In the few years he was with them, Glass undoubtedly rode alongside them in battle against rival tribes. In times of scarcity, he learned to suck the marrow from the dry bones of long-decayed buffalo carcasses.
It is speculated that Hugh Glass may have acquired his coveted .54 Hawken style long rifle while living with the Pawnee.
The frontiersman’s long rifle was akin to the sword of a knight. It was cherished as the sole companion of an otherwise lonely man and nigh-inseparable from the body. Rifles, just as swords, were christened with names. Though, we do not know what name was given to Hugh’s beloved weapon.
In 1821, the Pawnee chief was summoned to St. Louis, Missouri to discuss a possible treaty between the Americans and the Pawnee. Glass traveled with the chief and several other Indian delegates to meet with the U.S. authorities. Hugh decided then he’d had enough of red savagery and parted ways with his adoptive family. His American blood called him back.
While in St. Louis, he read an advertisement for the Rocky Mountain Fur Company — otherwise known as “Ashley’s Hundred”.
The founder of this “hundred” was General William Ashley, a Virginian-born entrepreneur and military man who fought in War of 1812.
Ashley’s Hundred was a company composed of many frontier legends apart from Hugh Glass: Ashley himself, Jim Bridger, Jedediah Smith, James Beckwourth, David Jackson, William and Milton Sublette, James Clyman, and Thomas Fitzpatrick. Adding to Ashley’s magnetism for mythical men, Mike Fink was said to have been part of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company at the time of his demise. Fink’s death in that game of marksmanship gone wrong occurred before Hugh’s joining of the company. As far as we know, the two legends never met.
Hugh, entering another chapter late in the book of his life, headed up the Missouri River with 70 of Ashley’s Hundred toward Fort Henry in the Rocky Mountains.
The company, in desperate need of horses, planned to trade with the Arikara Indians at the confluence of the Grand River.
The Arikara were semi-nomadic Amerindians of North & South Dakota. American mountaineers simply referred to them as the “Ree”. Among the tribes of the plains, they were a respected and affluent group. In the sedentary, non-hunting seasons, they would stay in their village of earthen lodges and practice agriculture. Their women were known for their exceptional skill in cultivating corn. Throughout the hunting seasons, they would move across the grassy plains and camp in tipis. Their villages acted as the nexus of inter-tribal trade along the Missouri River.
At this time, it was a gamble as to whether or not the Arikara were friendly with the Americans. Stories of their benevolence could be countered with stories of murdered trappers and traders. Ashley’s desperation for horses made him willing to take a bet on their friendliness. He anchored his boats outside of the palisaded Ree village and signaled his intention to trade peacefully. As a show of courage and generosity, he walked ashore bearing gifts. Even after accepting these gifts, the Arikara were still hungry for greater recompense after a few of their tribe were killed by trappers belonging to another fur company. Their rising thirst for White blood was not evident enough for Ashley and the trading of horses commenced.
Ashley and his men reportedly traded 25 muskets with ammunition for 19 horses.
With horses to care for, the fur company split into two groups. One group would take the boats up river, while the second group would take the horses to Fort Henry by land.
Jedidiah Smith and Hugh Glass were part of the overland group.
That night, one of Ashley’s men warned him that the Arikara were planning to attack the company. Not putting much stock in the word of the man who warned him, he shrugged it off.
The men camped that night on the river’s shore outside of the Ree village. A storm of wind and lightning swept through, and in the dawn, the clouds cried musket balls.
The Arikara, aiming over their palisade, fired a volley of bullets at the unprepared Americans. Several of the company’s men, and their horses, fell dead upon the shore. Those who survived the first blast, Hugh Glass being one of them, barricaded themselves behind the large bodies of the slain horses and returned fire. Glass was shot in the leg. The men in the keelboats, whether out of fear or confusion, did not move ashore to assist the overland group despite Ashley’s command to do so. Finally, one of the keelboats began moving toward the shore and the skiffs began drawing fire from the Ree. The bullets hailed down upon the men as they fled. Some scrambled for the keelboats. Others tried swimming away. Some of the weak and wounded were lost to Missouri’s current.
The fur company cut anchor and let the river carry them downstream away from the reach of musket fire. The fray lasted but 15 minutes, and in that time, 14 Americans were killed with 11 wounded. The Americans are said to have killed 5 to 8 Arikara.
One young man named John Gardiner, who was on the verge of succumbing to his wounds after the battle, asked Hugh Glass to write his father a letter explaining his tragic fate.
Hugh Glass kept his promise. The letter reads as follows:
Dr Sir:
My painfull duty it is to tell you of the deth of yr son wh befell at the hands of the indians 2d June in the early morning. He lived little while after he was shot and asked me to inform you of his sad fate. We brought him to the ship when he soon died. Mr. Smith young man of our company made powerful prayr wh moved us all greatly and am persuaded John died in peace. His body we buried with others near this camp and marked the grave with log. His things we will send to you. The savages are greatly treacherous. We traded with them as friends but after great storm of rain and thunder they came at us before light and many were hurt. I myself was shot in the leg. Master Ashley is bound to stay in these parts till the traitors are rightly punished.
Yr Obt Svt
Hugh Glass
The “Mr. Smith” he’s referring to in the letter is none other than the “Bible-totin’” Jedidiah Smith who is ever unashamed to call upon the Lord in both time of plenty and time of need.
As eluded to at the end of Glass’ letter, Ashley was intent on answering this brazen betrayal of friendliness. He sent Jedidiah Smith upriver to Yellowstone so that Ashley’s business partner, Andrew Henry, would send company men downriver to help fight the Arikara. Ashley also called upon the power of Colonel Henry Leavenworth at Fort Atkinson, who in righteous indignation on behalf of the massacred Americans, mustered a force of 230 soldiers of the U.S. Sixth Infantry. In Leavenworth’s initial feelings of wrath, he went so far as to recruit 500 Lakota horsemen who were all too eager to help slay their intra-racial nemesis. In the end, this “Missouri Legion”, as the Colonel called it, was comprised of 900 men and it was the first time the U.S. army marched against the Indians west of the Mississippi.
This Missouri Legion advanced upon the Ree village, where most of the tribe took shelter inside their earthen lodges. These homes proved to be quite a good defense against the American munitions. Skirmishes and probing attacks commenced. Cannons were fired upon the village and attempts were made to draw out more combatants. The first cannon attack blew the head off the Arikara chief, Grey Eyes (whose name could have easily belonged to Glass). Some of the Lakota, at seeing the wounded Arikara, became ravenous. The Americans looked on in curious horror as the Lakota crawled as beasts on all fours toward the wounded, cut off their limbs, and tauntingly dragged them around with their mouths, painting the soil red with their arms and legs as brushes. This bloody frenzy did not draw the Arikara out further.
Much to the disgust of the Americans and Lakota alike, Leavenworth called off the attack and sought a truce with the Arikara. This was one of the moments in our own history where military men of high rank unreasonably steal victory from themselves due to disbelief or lack of courage.
Seeing that there was no more glory to be gained, the Lakota left with no respect for the Americans — which, as the Americans well knew, would cost them greatly in the future.
When dealing with the Amerindian, the currency of fear may have been more precious than gold.
The Arikara saw Leavenworth’s truce as weakness and began making demands which he acquiesced to during negotiation, adding to the fury and disgust of the fur trappers.
Though the Rees were being “held” by the U.S. army during negotiations, the entire tribe managed to flee by night completely unnoticed.
Leavenworth, considering this resolution a victory, ordered the mountain men to leave the deserted village unmolested before marching off with his soldiers.
The men of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company refused to participate in such weakness. Their massacred friends were not properly avenged. In their rage, they set fire to the entire Indian village. All of the earthen lodges were consumed in flame. Colonel Leavenworth turned back to see the tower of smoke ascending in defiance of his order.
Though the mountain men considered this a loss, the Arikara henceforth never recovered from the destruction of their villages. They became a nomadic, diasporic people that lived alongside other Amerindian tribes and maintained an undying hostility toward Americans.
Hugh Glass and the rest of the company licked their wounds and resumed their journey. They decided that traveling up the Missouri was now too treacherous. The company split into two groups — one led by Jed Smith that would travel between the White and Cheyenne Rivers, and another led by Andrew Henry that would follow the Grand River. Both groups would travel overland toward Fort Henry. Hugh Glass fell in with the group that would travel up the Grand.
Even in a crowd of staunchly independent men, Glass stood out as a figure who truly craved loneliness and solitude. Whenever the company was hiking over land, he would slip away from the rest of the group and walk alone. Despite this love of independence, he never abandoned his fellow men. They remarked that if the company ever hollered for help, he would come running. Some of the men didn’t like this habit of his, however, and grumbled to themselves that they “wished he’d run into a monster out there by his lonesome”.
This wish was granted.
In early September 1823, Hugh Glass and his fellows were near the river forks of the Grand. Because he was selected as the group’s hunter, he happily severed himself from the pack and walked ahead through his own path of brush. He was no longer seen, but he was soon to be heard.
Out of the distant brush comes a blood curdling scream for help.
Hugh Glass, while quietly wading through the sticks, walked upon a monstrous sow grizzly bear and her two cubs. He had not seen them until he was too near and too late.
As the beast reared up once before unleashing its fury, Hugh managed to fire a single shot into its chest. The grizzly was unphased.
Hugh sent out a yell before the grizzly clawed at his throat, threw him, and began mangling his body in a horrible storm of claw, muscle, and teeth. Glass fought back with the blade of his Bowie, but nothing could be done to stop the raging of the silver tipped bear. His bones were crushed beneath the weight of the beast. Chunks of his flesh were torn off his body and offered to the cubs.
Men of the fur company came running. When they arrived at the scene, they nearly met the same fate. The mother bear left Hugh in his sorry state and began charging at the other men.
They fired shots at the mother and her cubs. The beast having finally lost enough blood, fell down dead.
When the company stood over Hugh Glass, they were amazed to see him breathing — his bloodied and broken body holding onto its soul by a single thread.
When he breathed, air bubbled through the blood of his throat, escaping by way of the wounds.
The company did what they could to clean, sew, and bandage his wounds, but all were certain that Hugh was not long for this earth. They wagered that he’d likely pass on through the night. They all wagered wrong. He was alive in the morning.
They built a makeshift pallet and carried the dead weight of this wounded man through the Dakota wilderness. Was it harder for Hugh or the men who had to carry him? His broken and torn body would feel every footfall and sudden lurch. This slow and grim procession went on for two days, until Andrew Henry made up his mind to lighten this hopeless load.
Henry was anxious to get his party united with the rest of the fur company and away from dangerous Indian territory. Carrying Glass proved to be too time consuming.
Hugh passed in and out of consciousness, unable to speak or move his limbs. His body only had the strength to hold his soul. Of his senses, his hearing may have been the most intact.
The men began to deliberate, knowing that Ole Glass’ failing body was a liability in this deadly land.
Andrew Henry knew he must leave him but all of their conscience burned at leaving a man who still drew breath. Such an act was dishonorable. Henry asked for two men who’d volunteer to stay with Hugh until his passing, so that he may have a proper Christian burial while the rest of the party carried on
Initially, no one volunteered. To sweeten the deal, Andrew Henry offered an $80 bonus to the two men who volunteered to usher Hugh into the next life.
The first to raise his hand was John Fitzgerald — an aged and experienced woodsman. The second to step forward was the young Jim Bridger, who at this time was nothing but a boy on his first adventure.
After this tale, Bridger would go on to establish Fort Bridger in Wyoming, spin tales about the mystical qualities of Yellowstone, aid the U.S. army in the Utah war, guide folks further west, and claim many other frontier embellishments.
Andrew Henry and the others departed, leaving Hugh Glass with his two funerary guardsmen.
5 days passed. By some force of will or divine grace, Hugh clung to life.
With each passing day, the two volunteers were increasingly agitated at Glass’ resistance to death. They watched his breathing closely, hoping it would soon cease. Bridger and Fitzgerald were vulnerable to the hostile Indians who lurked throughout the region while they anxiously waited.
As time passed, their own odds of survival dwindled and the main party drew further away.
The men began to debate with one another. Fitzgerald suggested they leave Glass early, before he had even reposed. Speaking to the healthier conscience of the boy, Bridger did not initially agree with this proposal. Fitzgerald was understandably upset and saw great folly in merely waiting for a dead man to die, for they were still sure Glass could not survive.
Fitzgerald’s instinct for survival overtook the European proclivity for honor and nobility. He began to berate and break Bridger’s conscience, arguing that they had already stayed with Hugh much longer than he was expected to live. John felt that they had done their duty.
All the while, Hugh listened on in pain and in fever, unable to interject. His only movements were the rise and fall of his ragged chest, and the weak meanderings of his glassy eyes.
Eventually, the older and more experienced man broke the will of the 19 year-old Bridger. They would leave him to die alone. The two men picked Glass up on his makeshift pallet and set him near a spring, covering him with a thick buffalo pelt. They began to disarm him of all his survival goods, taking his knife, tomahawk, fire-starting kit, and, to Hugh’s undying fury, his beloved rifle.
At Fitzgerald’s grabbing of the rifle, Hugh groaned and mumbled, making faint motions with his hands. Bridger and Fitzgerald reckoned what use would a dead man have with tools of survival. They didn’t know it then, but by taking Hugh’s possessions and leaving him for dead, they may have blessed him with an anger that revivified all his cells and spirit. With the purpose of vengeance, his whole being got to work.
The two men walked away.
Hugh was utterly alone.
Days passed. In and out of consciousness he was sewn.
His fever broke and strength was regained. He drank from the spring and fed on buffalo berries — crushing them into a paste to ease them down his ragged throat. More strength returned and he regained a greater range of movement. He awoke once to a snake lounging nearby, swollen and placid after a large meal. Hugh killed it with a stone and ate it, deriving much needed nourishment.
He resolved to find and deal vengeance upon the two cowards who abandoned him. In his weak but resurgent strength, he began to crawl to the Missouri River in a bid to reach Fort Kiowa for safety and supplies.
In his slow and agonizing crawl, he fed on nothing but roots and berries. His body needed all of its energy for healing and yet he was intent on crawling hundreds of miles. The wounds of his back were riddled with maggots. Vultures circled above him, exhibiting more patience than Fitzgerald and Bridger.
Hugh, at some point in his crawl, came upon a pack of wolves that had just downed a bison calf. Once the wolves had enough for themselves, Glass moved in to steal the rest of the carcass. After resting a bit and eating the bison, he had regained considerable strength.
His crawl turned into an upright limp and his pace quickened.
He made it to the Missouri River where he met a party of friendly Sioux Indians who, perhaps in reverence for his mettle against the great beast, treated his wounds and gave him a boat of animal hide. Hugh floated the boat downstream to Fort Kiowa.
Hugh reached Fort Kiowa where, thanks to General Ashley’s good credit, he resupplied himself.
He fell in with a group of French fur trappers who were heading upriver to trade with the Mandan before continuing on to Yellowstone.
After the mountain men had burned the Ree villages, the wandering tribe then moved south of the Mandan village where the French fur trappers were set to trade. The Mandan allowed the Ree to live alongside them as long as they agreed to bury the hatchet between the White men and themselves. The travel upriver proved to be too slow for Hugh’s liking. A day before their boat was to pass this newly established Arikara village, Hugh decided to fall out and travel alone by land.
When the boat of French trappers reached the aforementioned village, they were ambushed by its Indian occupants. Every man was slain.
As Hugh was traveling not far from where the attack took place, he unknowingly stepped within grounds patrolled by the Ree.
Indian warriors spotted him and gave chase — intent on having the legend’s scalp. They were gaining on him, as Hugh’s injured body only allowed for a hasty limp. There was, however, a mounted Mandan within earshot who heard the excited whooping. Wanting to thwart the Rees for glory, the Mandan arrived at Hugh first, lifted him up to saddle, and rode away with their prey. Hugh Glass was conveyed by his Indian saviors to Fort Tilton. The men of the fort were few and reluctant to move upriver on Hugh’s behalf. The proximity of the violent Ree conditioned them to stay put.
Hugh made up his mind quickly. He resolved to reach his journey’s end alone and on foot.
Edmund Flagg, an 1839 chronicler of Glass’ legend observed…
He was without a solitary companion for this long and perilous journey — his sole conveyance was his feet and his sole defence against savages and wild beasts his rifle: — besides the weather had become severely cold, and snow lay on the frozen soil for the most part of his route a foot in depth! And yet this enterprising man started out undaunted.
Hugh, our beleaguered ghost, traveled by foot 300 miles to Fort Henry in 38 days, through the snow and wind, where he met the first of his forsakers — Jim Bridger.
The men of the frozen fort were celebrating the new year and the passing of 1823.
When the material ghost of Hugh Glass crossed the threshold of Fort Henry, Jim’s face, no doubt, turned as white as the ice in the eyes of the one forsaken. This ghastly apparition made doubting Thomas’ of them all as they touched his body and asked many questions.
The scarred Glass shambled over, ignoring the queries, and stood above the young and paralyzed Jim Bridger. Ole Hugh met his moment. Seeing the catatonic fear of the boy, however, moved his heart toward pity. Of the two men who left him, he was the weaker and more impressionable. Out of the resurrected throat, these words were uttered in a tone unknown to those who heard Glass speak before the bear attack.
Young man, it is Glass that is before you; the same, that not content with leaving, you thought, to a cruel death upon the prairie, you robbed, helpless as he was, of his rifle, his knife, of all with which he could hope to defend or save himself from famishing in the desert.
In case I had died, you left me to despair worse than death, with no being to close my eyes. I swore an oath that I would be revenged on you and the wretch who was with you; and I ever thought to have kept it. For this meeting I have braved the dangers of a long journey; this has supported me in my weary path through the prairie; for this have I crossed raging rivers. But I cannot take your life; I see you repent; you have nothing to fear from me;
Go, my boy, — I leave you to the punishment of your own conscience and your God. If they forgive you, then be happy — I have nothing to say to you — but don't forget hereafter that truth and fidelity are too valuable to be trifled with.
Hugh forgave Bridger and spared his life. He was disappointed, however, to learn that the more guilty man was not present. Fitzgerald had traveled back downstream to Fort Atkinson. At this time, Andrew Henry was in need of men who would deliver a letters of importance to Ashley downriver at the aforementioned fort. Once again, the group was short of volunteers because of the deadly Indians who lurked along the way. Despite the danger, Hugh immediately accepted the mission along with the bonus offered by Henry.
As Glass, and the few men who volunteered alongside him, were moving down river, they were hailed by a group of Indians thought to be Pawnee. All seemed friendly, as the Indians invited them to partake in the smoking of pipe. Glass and his men left their weapons with their buffalo hide boats and stepped ashore. These indians were not Pawnee however. They were, a band of Ree under Elk’s Tongue, the chief who was ever the enemy of Americans after the death of Grey Eyes. As they were exchanging words, Hugh perceived a strange pronunciation of a Pawnee word that tipped him off to their identity. He alerted the others and they immediately fled back to the boats. The Indians chased after them and killed two of the Whites. Hugh was able to escape from sight and hide amongst rocks until the Ree gave up their search. It seemed to be God’s will that Glass meet his second man.
Two of the others who survived managed to make way for the boat and head downriver. Hugh was once again alone. He wagered it too dangerous to move along the river without proper arms. His decision was to break from the river and make for Fort Kiowa before Atkinson. Another chronicler, James Hall, wrote down what Glass allegedly recounted of this new predicament:
Although I had lost my rifle and all my plunder, I felt quite rich when I found my knife, flint and steel in my shot pouch. These little fixins make a man feel right peart when he is three or four hundred miles from anybody or any place.
The steeled American, used to such grievous circumstances, wove his way by foot through miles of grassy wilderness until he reached his final destination.
As disappointed as he was at not finding Fitzgerald at Fort Henry, he was equally disappointed in seeing him clad in U.S. army attire. Fitzgerald had joined the military and his new position protected him from the hands of vengeance. If Glass killed John, he’d have to repay the U.S. army with the life God was so want to preserve.
Hugh Glass, perhaps reluctantly on this occasion, forgave his second deserter. He simply said…
Give me my favorite rifle.
The officer in charge, Captain Bennet Riley, ordered the return of Glass’ rifle with haste, and in respect for the mountain man’s odyssey, gave him $300 as recompense.
The return of Hugh’s beloved rifle, and a large sum of money, did enough to quell the remainder of the quiet man’s anger.
After this ordeal, Hugh continued to tarry out west, eluding the reaper awhile longer in Yellowstone, Wyoming, and Santa Fe. He had certainly not run out of God’s good grace, for he would go on to take a savage’s arrow to the spine in Colorado and survive. He carried this festering and painful wound 700 miles to Taos, New Mexico where the arrow was masterfully extracted by an unnamed man with a mere straight razor. Yet another frontier miracle.
Death would eventually find Hugh in the oscillations of war between the Red and the White. While the tales of his survival were epic, his eventual death was fated to be nondescript. A mundane death met by so many men out west — wandering off to never return like some cat who knows the end is near.
In Spring of 1833, Hugh Glass was killed by the particular breed of Indian that long plagued he and the rest of Ashley’s Hundred. Glass and a couple other men (Edward Rose and Hilain Menard) were trapping beaver along a frozen river in Yellowstone, when a large party of Arikara ambushed them. They were shot, scalped, and plundered.
Some time later, a man named Johnson Gardner, at recognizing Glass’ rifle in the hands of a Ree, captured the Indians responsible for the death of our hero. Gardner, acting as the last gasp of Hugh’s angry spirit, scalped and burned the Indians alive. The pendulum would eventually swing back and find Gardner scalped and killed in the same manner.
This odyssey of Glass became a legend often told amongst Amerindians and Americans alike. Up until the early 20th century, the tribes of the plains reverently spoke about the formidable white man who wrestled with a bear and lived to face the men who left him.
As a son of our race, Hugh Glass embodied so much of the American spirit: strongly independent with the thumos to persevere against all odds. It is the spiritedness of a wild horse — free and unrelenting. Even when it was certain his body would give up the ghost, he called his spirit to kill what was certain. To rage against the odds. To clench his teeth and white-knuckle the reigns of lightning. To laugh in the face of death and deny him through force of will and rebellion. This is the old American way. Utterly alone, unequipped, and without the use of most his body, the sand of his spirit is what dragged the reluctant weight those many miles. Muscles tense. Mute fury. A tenacity utterly blind to all weakness and surrender.
Let us all take something from this tale of our beloved and legendary kin. Contemplate the heart of Glass and the grit therein. His strength and Christian nobility.
Americans, and Europeans more broadly, are alone and encircled by a worldwide host of enemies who crave our death. For shame if we all lay down, cry, and concede to hopelessness. Give it to God and go on.
When hearing stories like this one, the hero’s grit becomes contagious. We suddenly want our mettle put to trial. By some prayer of the Aryan heart, we want to arouse a second wind and call the muscles to move beyond their corporeal limit. We have this wild horse of Hugh within us so let us partake.
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy upon the soul of Hugh Glass and upon the American race.
May his memory be eternal.