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Cowboy Poetry and Western Verse
The Legend of Hugh Glass
Bukaru
The Missouri rolls thru scattered shoals or breaks as known to thee;
Flowing south the breaks align to form a channel free;
Till past a town of some renown to merge with:
The Mississippi.
The gazette goin' roun' St Louis town placed a call forth with;
For mountain men trappers n' adventurous youth:
Of whom were all quite fit.
Conscripts in search of commerce and gold;
Who'll track the great river, its secrets to unfold.
And now the tale shall be passed;
Of the man, Hugh Glass
Little were known of whar' he's born;
Nor 'v whence he did commence.
His spoken word were seldom heard;
Of this was known as fact.
Whispers were thar', of pirates and wars;
of this there was a lack.
And this is whar' he met the b'ar that give him his attack!
The Wrestle
Hugh had gone with a two man crew to hunt for food and scout for Sioux.
Hundreds of miles from St. Louis town are trappers and b'ar's and wilderness unbound.
Soon to meet tho' little they knew were a mama griz' and the man called Hugh.
The stories told, were that the b'ar was bold;
And charged with no relent.
The knife were drew and with it Hugh, used with great intent.
Claws and teeth, knife and bone
This epic struggle, till the death of one.
The men were near who heard the shouts
and found the b'ar and pulled Glass out.
The kind of wounds the men there seen
Would haunt them sure in all their dreams.
Scalp that hung acros't his face;
Flesh now gone his bones disgraced.
The b'ar lay dead with knife wounds round;
Two hundred miles from the nearest town.
Glass they knew were soon to pass;
His wounds so great he could not last.
Bar'ly breathing at the most with blood and grit and ribs exposed.
Captain Henry knew the risk
and asked for hands to stay till death.
Young Jim Bridger took the call
and with Fitzgerald till death they'd stall.
Seventeen years of life were Jim, his beard were scarc'ly growed;
In this he was a greenhorn still, his life yet to be knowed.
The grave was dug without a shrug, in this they both agreed;
And when they laid him on his shroud some words were therefore said
Shallow grave, bearskin shroud:
They spoke of death;
Right out loud........
Darkness creeps to a fear unlacked.....
And feared the most, Arikara attack......
Night time marks this fear unbound;
Hugh still breathing;
Unknown sounds.
All cheer are gone, silence rules;
Smokey fires, only for fools.
Morning brought a solemn pact;
between the men alone.
His rifle, knife and gear were taken;
and left for Hugh was none.
In this the sense was plain to see and no one could deny;
This country were a lousy place to lose yer scalp and die.
No one knows how long he lay; maybe a week and three more days.
And yet......
Somewhere inside a life still glows,
Far past the wounds and the bones exposed;
To where a heart still beats, right near his soul.
The Crawl
And stir he did to life somehow;
And on his back is the b'ar skin shroud.
So slow he moved could scarce be seen;
But crawl he did t'ward a thirst redeemed.
The mountain mans thirst was slaked indeed ;
From the cool clear waters of this prairie stream.
Sweet treasure of life does now remain;
Blood still flows thru' all his veins.
And now a question is asked,
In the mind of Hugh Glass.
And he decides that whoever left him to lie;
With no rifle or knife or supplies;
Most surely must die.
August wanes in the Arikara's range;
And Hugh eyes a route that lay far the south:
A river thats known as Cheyenne.
His wounds are all festered, they make quite a stench;
The leg he's a draggin' s all wrapped in a splint.
With gangrene a danger, maggots are friends;
Infections all cleaned out ' deep down in his wounds.
Bugs are a treat, and berries and roots;
And a buffalo he'd found, from the kill of some wolves.
After six weeks of crawlin' to reach the Cheyenne;
Hugh fashions a crutch, and gets up and stands.
The Cheyennes shores now lay before the man t'were left fer dead;
Then away she glides t'wards the western sides of the great Missouri's tread.
The dreams.......
Then does appear, on horseback unfeared;
Two braves from the tribe of the Sioux.
The Arikara they scorn, an enemy sworn;
And they see what the b'ar did to Hugh.
Over the Plains they ride;
Two on a horse, the other astride;
Their heads all feathered with obvious pride:
Children screaming, dogs barking:
At the camp they arrive.
B'ar skin shroud, buckskins all a shred;
They laid Hugh out on a pine needle bed.
Smoke adrift on a sunlit beam;
Does upward rise thru' the tipi's frame.
Skilled hands bathe, a shaman prays;
To spirits invoked in the smokey haze.
And sleep did Hugh for three nights thru;
And his visions were vivid and clear:
Of his pirate days, and the escape he'd made;
to live with the Pawnee for years.
Of the wife he'd taken, and his rifle , a Hawken;
From a Kansan who's death was hard won.
His body twitching, in sleep he does bide;
The Arikira he's slain, now back in full stride.
Smoke now drifts thru sunlit guise;
Body mending, strength reprised.
B'ar skin sewn upon his back;
His wounds now covered from the b'ars attack.
With food he's lavished, the pipe then passed;
Whereupon they set out, to the great outback.
A hundred miles of the rivers track;
Before him lie on a cottonwood raft.
Tomahawk and knife now at his side,
He drifts along on the currents glide;
T'wards Ft Lookout and resupplies.
And then....
When he strode thru the gate with his scalp intact;
Oath's were there uttered; for he's alive, in fact.
Three days he stayed and with his credit intact;
New gear he bought, at Bernard and Platt.
And now;
With Toussaint Charboneau and a party of five;
He heads to the north to the Mandan tribe.
With the village nearing, the sunlight fades;
The Arikara spring in a lightning raid.
Killing three, their scalps now freed;
Two remained, and one was Hugh.
That his status were huge with the Mandans was true;
Grizzly is the name he's bestowed.
In the village he stayed for a week and two days;
Where they feasted and stories were told:
'Bout countin' cou' and b'ars and fools;
And of ancestors known to be bold.
And then without redress away he left;
The mountain man, Hugh Glass.
Hoar-frost on branches cling;
O'er all that hang over river and stream:
A froz'n rainbows mist in the low solar beams.
Buffalo stamp all thru the snow;
Pawing deep for the grass below.
Mountain man stalks a revenge to pay;
Headed north to find his prey.
To Ft Henry;
Where these men he'll slay.
Arriving there he found it bare;
With a note attached to the door.
They'd packed up and left, to the west;
And built a new fort with all their vigor;
On the banks at the mouth;
Of the Bighorn River.
In December deep when b'ars all sleep;
At Henry's camp arrived:
Back from the dead, a ghost they said;
He could not have left there alive!
To Henry spoke Hugh,"I've come here to slew;
The vermin who left me not dead!"
Then forward came Jim, his face very grim;
His death before him instead!
And from Hugh did burst the most rapturous curse;
On the yellowest crew on the plains.
His rage was hot, but resolve was soon lost,
For a youth with a beard yet grown.
He knew in his mind did Hugh, it's Fitzgeralds cue;
Young Bridger were bound to abide.
The story of Fitzgerald he's taught:
That of the ransom and the gold he there got;
A purse from Henry and till death he'd watch;
O'er the man who now tracks the Missouri outback;
Hugh Glass.
And so he stayed, for New Years day and more;
And enjoyed a feast, of which he'd not ignore.
Now spring, Hugh left the fort;
He's dispatched to the east, Gen. Ashley to report.
Two days gone in the Yellowstones reach;
The Arikara return and defenses are breached.
Trappers lie dead, their scalps unattached;
Hugh's rifle lies broken over an Arikara's back.
Two survivers and Hugh, on a separate path;
Set out to reach the Missouri's track.
Snow-melt flows hell-bent;
T'ward the ocean, gravity sent.
Rain arrives, while rivers rise;
Till waters churn on a furious tide.
Geese slink, their heads held low;
Their young nearby in feathery down.
All the prairie comes aglow;
Sage blossoms, flowers grow.
Beavers scurry, the tides they create;
With fallen trees, for the dams they shape.
Fowl arrive at dusk, wings cupped;
Feathers whistling thru' quick descent:
To at last alight, their ripples sent.
Ft. Kiowa lay, more than four hundred miles away;
Past the eastern salient of the Yellowstones descent.
To track Fitzgerald down the reach;
A bullboat now our Hugh would make.
Willow ribs and hide real stretched;
A worthy craft for a rapids wake.
Bernard and Platt welcomed Hugh back, they'd heard of his demise!
From a paper in fact, by the Indian attack;
Who's scalp they're sure to prize.
And so;
With credit from Platt, He bought some tack;
A mule some grub and a gun.
And off were he without a plea;
To the outpost they call;
Ft Atkinson.
The Heat of Junes when in he come,
Thru timbers lashed strode he;
With gates thrown forth, in rapid course;
The Captain, he demands to see!
And now he's escorted without any force;
To the Captain, one Bennet Riley.
"What bring ye' mountain man says he;
W'at can I do fer ye'?"
And from Hugh, a thunderous response were now spew'd;
"Bring me the coward named John Fitzgerald;
Who's carcass a coyote won't chew.
Fer his death I've come, fer his gold not earned;
And the return of my Hawken rifle!"
And the blood in the veins now chilled;
Of the newly signed recruit:
Private John Fitzgerald.
"His scalp!" Hugh rants;
Spittle from lips there strewn.
The men were aghast, the shame was passed;
To no one but John alone.
His lips are a quiver;
And his spine does shiver:
Seems his sins have now come home.
And now the curses rain, from Hugh in vain;
The scars on his face, all a crimson stain.
"Water dear were left not near;
Yer head was up yer arse!
It's yer greed I curse, theres nothin' worse;"
And with no two blasphemes the same!
Restraint was now needed, to keep Hugh in hand;
Cuz' John was now owned by his great Uncle Sam.
The trapper eyed the men around;
Fitzgerald shuffled, his eyes looked down.
The Captain presides, the truth to check;
And this is how he stacks the deck:
"If ye' kill John," says he, "ye'll hang by the neck till ye's dead!"
The men gathered round the forts compound;
The hat they soon did pass.
His Hawken returned with the purse not earned;
Now back in the hands of Glass.
Before he was gone he passed this to John;
"I'll scalp ye' when the army are thru'.
And then he left without regret to wander the old Mizzou.
He"s known as Grizzly to all the tribes, even Shoshone;
In his death they'd prize.
Now o'er the Rockies and Southwest he treks'
With his necklace of b'ar claws hung on his chest.
The scars on his face show the b'ars embrace;
His beard is ten years long.
Hugh's eyes well wrinkled, his hair with gray;
And before his time there's some might say.
Mountain men search the beaver to trap;
For the fashion of women across the oceans back.
With mule trains packed the traders arrived;
Burdened with whiskey thru the mountains they strived.
Once a year they come anew,to the annual trappers Rendezvous.
Indians and traders and scoundrels all there;
To trade for the beavers with all their wares.
They load up the pelts, Missouri bound;
Then to cross the ocean, to Europes towns.
The Snake River winds thru' alluvial plains;
Gouging a gorge to the Columbia's vein.
In the year of twenty five the trappers arrive;
When they're attacked by the braves of the Shoshone tribe.
Glass is struck with an arrow in his back;
And dead from his wounds lay the trapper named Jack.
Seven hundred miles to Taos now lie,
With the rest of his group and all the pelts and their hides;
To carve out the arrow with a surgeon's pride.
With whiskey for pain and the bottle well drained;
The surgeon did cut straight and true.
His patient passed out, and the doctor did shout;
"More whiskey, for when he come's to!"
With the arrow now gone Hugh's life move's on;
The outback his only domain.
Then in 1832, with his pelts and his crew;
He travels to attend his last Rendezvous.
The Arikara call it home;
This, the land of the Yellowstone.
Spirits still here of ancestors old;
Watching the valley, their wisdoms still told.
The elders agree, they choose not to flee;
They'll fight the white mans encroach.
To steal the spirit of the man named Glass;
The status attained would be unsurpassed.
In 1833 Hugh roamed this valley stream;
Hawken rifle, traps in tow;
With a man called Menard, and another named Rose.
The Arikara struck and the trappers laid low;
Firing shots without repose.
Whoops and cries filled the sky;
Menard and Rose then soon die.
The Hawken belch's one last blast;
Then they're on him in a flash:
Tomahawk's swinging, the braves attack.
Now a quite over Hugh does grow;
The shouts all fade, no pain he knows.
His spirit detached from his body intact;
To forever roam the Missouri outback:
The man, Hugh Glass.
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