However, for many if not most historians, it was the Little Bighorn that truly gave Marsh his river-pilot renown. More specifically, it was his legendary run down the Missouri to Fort Abraham Lincoln that gave him hero status. He made his run transporting wounded soldiers to much-needed medical care.

Early Career

Born in 1837 in Rochester, Pennsylvania, Marsh was cabin boy by the age of 12. At least one source states he ran away from home in order to do so. Regardless, he seems to have felt at home on the rivers and became a quick study. By 1858 he was a first mate on a riverboat and served with another man who claimed river roots – Sam Clemens, who went on to use the pseudonym “Mark Twain.” [See footnote.]

By the time America’s Civil War broke out, Marsh was piloting his own vessels. He served along strategic rivers, including the Ohio and Mississippi, supplying Union troops. He served at the Fort Donelson and Shiloh campaigns and then Vicksburg. The Confederate surrender of the strategic Vicksburg, the day after Gettysburg, marked the mid-point if not the turning point of the war.

After Vicksburg, Marsh turned to the Missouri River. He hauled supplies to remote military outposts in the Dakota Territory, where Sioux conflicts helped to strain Union resources. As the Missouri rose and fell, froze and thawed, and experienced shifting sandbars, Marsh gained experience and renown as a skilled pilot.

Post-War Piloting

After the war Marsh continued piloting. Booming gold strikes and other expansion led to great demand for supplies to be freighted up the Missiouri River in particular. That river became Marsh’s new home. He raised a family in riverside towns – mainly Yankton. Marsh also earned such respect that he oversaw the building of “shallow-draft” steamboats like the Far West and Josephine.

Steamboat Terms

A boat’s draft refers to how far its hull sits below a river’s surface. The Far West was built long and broad and drafted only two feet. Its draft remained shallow even when it was loaded with 200 or more tons of freight. Marsh was said to be able to move a steamboat “on a heavy dew.”

Marsh was known for his skill in using steam power to get boats over sandbars and shallow spots. One technique was known as “grasshoppering.” Captstans, or steam-powered spools, ran off the boats engine. They could be used as winches to drag a boat using ropes secured to trees or other solid anchors. They could also be used, along with upright poles or “spars,” to move much like a grasshopper’s legs. The boat would lurch forward or backward as the poles were moved by capstans and pulleys.

The First Highways

By 1876 the Northern Pacific Railroad had still reached only as far west as Bismarck, Dakota Territory. Construction had stalled due to the economic Panic of 1873. However, mining, ranching and other symptoms of westward expansion still grew and boomed. Unrest among non-treaty Indian tribes grew with it; therefore new military posts were built and existing posts still required supplies.

Some freight was hauled out by bull trains (ox trains) or other wagon types and also pack animals. Fort Benton, a trade fort acquired by the U.S. Army, sat at the highest point to which steamboats could ascend the Missouri. It served as a hub from which freight was hauled out in nearly every direction, including to North West Mounted Police forts in the new Dominion of Canada.

More Military Contracts

Some freight could be shipped up the Yellowstone River as well, but not much farther than the Big Horn River’s mouth. Its level fell rapidly as summer progressed, limiting steamboat travel. Still, General Terry saw its value and wisely made use of it for supplying his Sioux Campaign of 1876.

From Fort Abraham Lincoln in Dakota Territory, General Terry contracted with he Coulson Packet Company, in which Marsh was a partner. They would freight supplies up the Missouri and its tributary, the Yellowstone, to supply Terry’s Dakota Column. Its boats the Far West and the Josephine both transported supplies and even troops at times, but the troops mainly marched or rode overland by more direct routes. The Josephine remained at a supply base established at the Powder River’s mouth while the Far West continued up the Yellowstone with Terry’s troops.

Council in the Far West’s Cabin

Aboard the Far West, General Terry, Colonel Gibbon of the Montana Column, and Lt. Colonel Custer met to discuss plans and strategy the evening of June 21, 1876. Custer then set out with 12 troops of 7^th Cavalry the next day. Terry and Gibbon would descend the Yellowstone to the Bighorn River, then ascend the Little Bighorn toward a point where they believed non-treaty “hostiles” would be gathered. Things didn’t go as planned or expected.

Terry little imagined how badly the Far West would be needed. Rather than hauling jubilant troops it would transport most of the 52 surviving wounded soldiers from the 7^th Cavalry’s unimaginable defeat. Some wounded would have survived regardless, but we will never know how many lived due to Grant Marsh and the Far West’s rapid transport of wounded soldiers to hospital care 700 miles away.

A Versatile Resource

Colonel Gibbon had fallen ill. Grant Marsh skillfully ran the Far West up the Bighorn River and delivered Gibbon to the mouth the Little Bighorn. Gibbon was able to join his command on the morning of June 25^th. Whether for strategic reasons of in search of a challenge, Marsh ran the Far West further up the Bighorn but soon reached his limit and had to bring it back down to the Little Bighorn’s mouth.

Moored there, the Far West was found first by the Crow scout Curley. Due in part to language barriers, Curley’s account of Custer’s defeat met skepticism. However, scouts Henry Bostwick and Muggins Taylor had been sent by Gibbon to locate the Far West. After delivering the shocking news they returned, relaying to Gibbon and Terry that the Far West lay at the Little Bighorn’s mouth, 15 miles away.

With mule litters rigged and working smoothly, the general opted to keep moving the wounded rather than bivouac. They pressed forward into the dark, rainy night, not reaching the Far West until 1:30 a.m. As noted in the previous post, fires were built to make the route down a steep ridge to the boat. Its broad deck was covered with layers of grass covered with canvas in order to make beds for the wounded.

A Slow Start

The Far West left at noon June 30^th headed for Gibbon’s supply base on the Yellowstone’s north bank. The reason for its late start is uncertain. Exhausted, the remaining soldiers moved across to the north bank of the Little Bighorn and camped again for the night. Finally, they rose early and marched overland to the supply base, arriving late on July 2.

The Far West ferried soldiers across the Yellowstone on July 3^rd. She finally embarked with the wounded around 5 p.m. Normally steamboats would tie up along the banks at night rather than risk hitting snags, sawyers or unseen sandbars. Grant Marsh went “full steam,” however, hauling the wounded 710 miles to Bismarck in a record 54 hours.

The Far West ran with flags at half-staff and stopped briefly at Fort Buford and Fort Stevenson to obtain black bunting. Draped in black, it then steamed rapidly to Fort Abraham Lincoln to deliver the wounded and the shocking news of Custer’s annihilation. It arrived at 11 p.m. on July 5^th.

Breaking the Shocking News

On July 4^th America had celebrated its first centennial. Messengers had reached Fort Ellis and Helena, where news was telegraphed to Salt Lake City and sent out on AP “wires.” For many, the centennial was marred by this devastation. However, the New York Herald trumpeted more lengthy reports and sensational accounts telegraphed by the Bismarck Tribune for days to come.

Final Destination

Grant Marsh continued piloting on the Missouri until railroads replaced steamboats as the more efficient mode of transportation. He then moved eastward and continued as a pilot of various crafts on the Mississipi. He would eventually return to the Missouri, piloting boats until 1907.

Marsh died in Bismarck in 1916 and was buried on a bluff overlooking the Missouri River. It was a fitting place. It had been the destination of his heroic, record-setting run with wounded soldiers from the Little Bighorn.

[Footnote: The name Mark Twain was not random. It played on a dual meaning. The term was used to assure river pilots that the water was at least two fathoms, or 12 feet, deep — enough for them to steer through safely. A 30-foot rope was knotted or at intervals of six feet (one fathom) and weighted at one end. When the rope descended to the second marker, “mark twain,” meaning two fathoms, was called out, assuring the pilot he could navigate safely.

The name Tome Sawyer used a riverboat term too. “Sawyer” referred to a submerged tree that “sawed” back and forth in currents and would reek havoc on hulls of passing boats.]

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George Armstrong Custer was known among Indians variously as “Yellow Hair,” “Long Hair” and other descriptors. Never mind the fact he’d cut his hair short before his last campaign.

Custer’s Sioux and Cheyenne adversaries, for the most part, did not even realize they were fighting against him until his last battle was done. It’s questionable whether they even recognized his body in the battle’s aftermath. But that’s a topic for another time.

“Wild Bill” Hickok

James Butler Hickok, better known as “Wild Bill,” is another legend of that time also known for his long hair. On August 2, 1876 he was murdered, shot from behind. He had more connection to Custer than just dying the same year. (That year was generally eventful, as chronicled in Chris Wimmer’s book The Summer of 1876.)

Wild Bill’s Background

First, some background. Born in Illinois in 1837, Hickok was raised an abolitionist. He helped in running part of an underground railroad until his father was killed for his beliefs in 1852. Hickok helped support his family by hunting wolves for bounty and driving freight wagons.

At age 18, thinking he had killed a man in a fight, Hickok went west to Kansas. While freighting to Santa Fe he tangled with a bear he had shot. He finally killed it with his bowie knife, but he was badly mauled in the fracas.

Early Exploits

While recuperating, Hickok shot and killed three men in a dispute. All armed, they pressed claims too aggressively against the stage company employing him. Thus began his reputation as a gunfighter.

Gunfights, Law Enforcement and Civil War Years

Hickok served briefly as constable of Monticello, Kansas, and accounts of his exploits soon were exploited and embellished by writers. He also found himself in “Bleeding Kansas” as an abolitionist. When America’s Civil War began Hickok enlisted in the Union Army at Fort Leavenworth.

Some of Hickok’s personal gun battles came at the start of and directly after the nation’s Civil War. Written embellishments came as well. Hickok had spent most of the war fighting against the South, however. He is better known as a Union scout, spy and sharpshooter than as a soldier.

Post-Civil War Career

After killing a man in July 1865 in a developing shoot-out, Hickok was found not guilty by a jury. He soon served as Deputy U.S. Marshal at Fort Hays, Kansas. He then served as a guide as General William T. Sherman made an official “visit” across Kansas and Nebraska.

In 1867 Hickok became a scout for General Hancock’s expedition against marauding Indians across Kansas and Oklahoma. That is where he first met Custer, who commanded the expedition in 1868 and 1869.

The Custer Connection

Custer found Hickok knowledgeable and tried to learn from him. Hickok continued as a scout through the winter of 1868-69 for both the 5^th and 7^th U.S. Cavalries. It can be said he was not present at the ill-vetted and ill-advised Washita attack.

Hickok suffered a leg wound in a Cheyenne attack while carrying dispatches to Fort Lyon, Kansas early in 1869. After healing he returned to law enforcement, serving as U.S. Marshal at Hays City, Kansas. That may not have ended his connection with the Custers, however.

Hickok was known as a tough and capable two-fisted marshal who was equally adept with fists and revolvers. George Custer was known as a tee-totaler since his sister’s temperance lecture while George was still a cadet at West Point. He was reputed to have little tolerance for drinking, or at least drunkenness, amongst his troops at the remote posts he commanded.

Tom Custer, however, was known as a rowdy drinker, often to excess. In one of his sprees he was said to have shot out lights and windows throughout Hays City and ridden his horse into a crowded saloon. Apparently this was not his first offense.

Historian Thom Hatch chronicled the incident, stating Hickok dragged Tom Custer off his horse and in before a justice of the peace, who fined him. Hatch says, “Tom was incensed with Hickok over the arrest and vowed revenge.”

Hatch goes on to state the younger Custer, on New Year’s Eve, returned to Hays City with three other soldiers and waited in the saloon. When Hickok strolled in unawares they cornered him, disarmed him and prepared to exact revenge physically.

A sympathetic barkeep tossed Hickok a shotgun or handgun, however, and soon Custer’s three comrades lay wounded but alive on the floor. Tom “lit out” for Fort Hays like a kid brother running to tell his big brother.

Lt. Colonel George Custer had left for Fort Leavenworth, however, to pass the holiday there. Tom then went to General Phil Sheridan. With military authority, Sheridan ordered Hickok’s arrest. Word reached Hickok before the soldiers did, however. As Hatch wrote, “Hickok thought it prudent to vanish for the time being and hopped a freight train headed for Ellsworth and Abilene until cooler heads prevailed.”

Written Descriptions

Apparently they did. Both George and Libby Custer wrote glowing descriptions of Hickok in their respective memoirs. In Following the Guidon Libbie wrote effusively describing Hickok’s frontier garb, his physique, his manner of walking or swinging down from a horse, and his general conduct. She concluded, “. . . his courteous manner gave one a feeling of confidence in his word and his undaunted courage.”

Libbie’s effusiveness has led some to speculate that she and Hickok had had an affair. That speculation reflects more on those who spread it than on Mrs. Custer, it appears. She suffered similar rumors regarding Captain Thomas Weir – who by protocol was her military escort in her husband’s absence on campaigns – and later regarding General Edward Godfrey. Such rumor mongering smacks more of childish whispering and gossip than of credible history.

In fact, Mrs. Custer was hardly the only writer to describe Hickok’s physique and appearance in glowing terms. George Ward Nichols seemed as awed by Hickok’s physical construction as by the buckskin clothes he wore or the Navy Colts in his belt.

Even George Custer, in My Life On The Plains, described Hickok effusively. He wrote, “Whether on foot or horseback he was one of the most perfect types of physical manhood I ever saw.” Like others describing Hickok, Custer could not help noting the plainsman’s broad shoulders and chest.

Custer paid Hickok perhaps the finest compliment, concluding, “His deportment . . . was entirely free from bluster or bravado. He seldom spoke of himself unless requested to do so. His conversation, strange to say, never bordered on the vulgar or blasphemous. His influence among the frontiersmen was unbounded, his word was law . . .”

Show Business

Hickok spent time acting, including in his old friend Bill Cody’s Wild West Show. Eventually, though, he was drawn back to the frontier. However, as Custer’s final campaign began, Hickok married Agnes Lake, a widowed circus owner and performer. The marriage was short-lived, but only because Hickok was too.

Before settling down, Hickok migrated to the gold-rush town of Deadwood. Ironically, it lay in the Black Hills, to which Custer’s 1874 expedition had drawn much attention. While Hickok’s good friend “Buffalo Bill” Cody sought his fabled “first scalp for Custer,” Hickok’s failing eyes had driven him to tamer pursuits – or so he thought.

Hickok’s Last Hand

Seeking his fortune at the gambling tables rather than the mines, Hickok experienced ups, then downs. Most know that, in taking a seat at a poker table, he uncharacteristically accepted one at which his back was not against a wall. Jack McCall, whom Hickok had “cleaned out” in a game the night before, shot Hickok from behind. Thus died a long-haired legend connected to Custer. Through Custer, even Hickok had loose connections to the Little Bighorn.

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Reno’s dead were also buried where they lay. Some were interred atop the bluffs where he and Benteen had been besieged for most of two days and nights. Those left behind by Reno in his hasty retreat were buried below the bluffs or in the riverbottom where they had died.

Making the First Move

Private William O. Taylor later wrote of using blankets to carry wounded soldiers down off the bluffs late on June 27^th. The Indian village below had been abandoned. Reno had 52 wounded soldiers who could be better cared for down at that site.  

Among its other benefits, the site offered access to flowing water. This was much needed by all, especially the wounded. Taylor noted the challenge of moving the disabled across the waist-deep river. One wonders about sanitation at the site of such large gatherings, but the Indians had apparently not been encamped there long. It seemed to prove a more desirable place for the whole command.

Not all the soldiers’ wounds were debilitating. Scout and packer George Herendeen later wrote of at least two wounded soldiers who survived with him after Reno left them behind. They were able to cross the river and climb to the siege site on the bluffs. Still, even the less severe wounds must have been exceedingly painful.

Moving a Second Time

Burials consumed most of June 28th. Able-bodied troopers not involved in burials were tasked with gathering poles to be used for litters. Others destroyed anything left behind that might later prove useful to hostile Indians. Both army supplies and goods abandoned in the Sioux/Cheyenne village were destroyed.

At 6:30 p.m. June 28^th, the combined forces began moving downriver. The steamboat Far West waited somewhere on the Bighorn River. First, the command just hoped to reach the site where Terry had camped the night of June 25^th. It lay 8 ¾ miles downstream, according to 7^th Infantry engineer Edward McClernand. He estimated it at less than 7 miles as a crow flies.

The command fell short of its goal, however. Finding that carrying the near dead weight of non-walking wounded, four soldiers could move a litter only 50 to 60 feet without rest. Even with eight to a litter, alternating regularly, the litters proved exceedingly difficult to move. The command covered only 4 ½ miles in 5 ½ hours before stopping at midnight.

June 29^th proved to be when the wounded truly could be moved. The progress came due to the innovation of Lt. Gustavus Doane. He improvised litters on poles more than 20 feet long. The poles’ front and back ends were fastened to mule saddles, and soldiers led the mules carefully by hand.

Rather than blankets to support the immobilized wounded, baskets were improvised between the poles. This was done by cutting rawhide strips from the skins of dead horses, which were plentiful after the battle. However, the process consumed the entire day. Again, those not involved were busy destroying plunder.

The Final Push (To the Far West)

Finally, this time at 5:00 p.m., the command resumed its move downriver. They planned to move only a few miles, this time to the site of Terry’s June 25^th camp. However, Doane’s improvised and innovative litters worked better than anticipated. Another factor also intervened.

After moving three miles the command was met by couriers from the Far West. They informed General Terry that the steamboat awaited at the Little Bighorn’s mouth. It was decided to press on until the Far West was reached. Having marched up the Little Bighorn three days before, perhaps Terry felt more confident in marching down.

Following the river’s “left bank,” (the west bank — in this case “left” as one faces downriver) the column perhaps found better travelling by topping an elevated plateau. However, both men and horses were much aggravated by its abundant “large cactus” that they strode through in the dark.

[Note: As an engineer, McClernand reported precise mileages. His distances were calculated using two odometers, one on either wheel of a cart moved by his assistant. Using wheel circumference, the odometers worked by counting each successive full turn of the wheel. His distance reports appear precise.]

Finally after nearly 15 miles (14.9 by McClernand’s report), the command neared the Far West after midnight. However, they encountered another obstacle. Their descent off the plateau and down to where the Far West lay moored involved a steep route off a somewhat steep bluff or ridge.

McClernand and others note that fires were built at intervals to mark and perhaps light the best route downward. Still, it must have been a somewhat jolting experience for those suffering from wounds. The fires may have been ordered by Terry or Gibbon. However, they have also been attributed to the foresight of steamboat captain Grant Marsh. Marsh will be featured more in weeks to come.

Marsh had shown the foresight to prepare his steamboat’s deck as a field hospital. A great deal of long, lush grass had been brought aboard by crewmen. Canvas had then been laid over this cushioning. It provided the best bedding he could offer the wounded. It also allowed the surgeons to tend them in the most efficient manner possible.

No Rest For the Weary

The Far West would not embark downstream until noon on June 30^th. Whether it was taking on fuel (wood for the boiler fires) or sorting essential vs. nonessential supplies, its departure was not early. It would then stop at the supply base near Fort Pease between the Bighorn and Rosebud Creek’s mouths.

Meanwhile, the able-bodied infantry and cavalry marched overland to the same supply base. The steamboat was used to ferry men and horses to the Yellowstone River’s north bank on July 2nd. It still ran high in early July, and infantry could not have crossed it on foot.

Finally, with ferrying done and essential supplies on board, the Far West started downriver at last with the wounded on July 3^rd. A full week had passed since the main battle. Working with the strong, fast current, Marsh ran his boat relentlessly. His destination was Fort Abraham Lincoln, the nearest location where wounded soldiers could receive good hospital care. It lay 700 miles downriver.

Marsh made a record run, which, again, will be featured in coming weeks. In addition to the wounded it bore shocking news of Custer’s unthinkable defeat. Arriving nearly on the date of the nation’s centennial, the Far West figured prominently in the story of the debacle at the Little Bighorn.

The post Aftermath: Moving the Wounded appeared first on Bighorn, Big Hole and Beyond.

A Crucial Count

That “intel” was significant in two ways. First, of course, it confirmed the shocking report by Crow scouts that Custer’s command had been annihilated. Secondly, the bodies represented only about a third of the 7^th Cavalry’s strength. That also confirmed the Crow scouts’ report that some of the regiment remained alive – somewhere.

Some of the shock of finding so many soldiers dead had been eased by the Crows’ accounts. Those reports were largely discounted by many in Terry’s command. Such a defeat had never been imagined. It was not even thought possible.

However, the column had seen many hostiles ahead along the Little Bighorn near dusk on June 26^th. This sighting had already lent credibility to the reports. Terry’s advance guard and scouts had seen what appeared to be cavalry columns riding in formation that evening.

Muggins Taylor, a local guide, had ridden close and had been fired at. He was trying to relay a written message from Terry to Custer. However, upon being fired at, he gave up. He returned angrily to Terry’s column stating he would kill the “Indian scout” that had shot at him. The shooter had been a hostile warrior, however, and not a scout.

Realizing their risks as darkness fell, Terry ordered the troops to halt and camp for the night. He feared if Custer’s troops were ahead, the two commands would shoot at each other in the darkness. A good, healthy fear of hostile encounters existed also. The command stopped miles short of Custer’s last resting place.

The next morning some of Terry’s officers thought they saw buffalo ahead on the slopes east of the Little Bighorn. Soon Bradley rode in, confirming at least 197 dead soldiers. The dark masses mistaken for buffalo proved to be dead or badly wounded horses.

Sense of Duty: Rescuing the Remnant

Sadness and shock turned quickly to a sense of duty. Terry, Gibbon and the officers knew much of Custer’s 12-troop regiment must still be alive and probably in distress. They continued southward and soon saw objects that proved to be humans.

Due caution ruled, as one would expect, but scouts from each command guardedly approached each other. The people on the bluffs to the south proved in fact to belong to Reno’s regimental remnant.

Upon hearing of Custer’s disaster, Reno’s troops were as shocked as Terry and Gibbon’s had been. They already were dehydrated, demoralized and distressed. Hearty handshakes were exchanged along with expressions of relief and gratitude. The remainder of that day was spent in caring for the wounded men and horses, watering the mounts and regrouping the besieged, battered command on the bluffs.

Death’s Duty

It was not until June 28^th that troops went to identify, bury and mark the dead bodies. The dead within Reno and Benteen’s lines were buried atop the bluff. The dead (some of whom had been only wounded) left behind by Reno in his ragged, river-bottom retreat were buried where they lay. Details were sent three or four miles downriver to locate and inter Custer’s dead.

Gruesome Details

The task of identifying bodies was gruesome, as was burial detail. The men had died the afternoon of June 25^th, which had been unusually hot. Then rain had fallen. Stripped and often mutilated, the bodies had lain in the heat for two more days June 26^th and 27^th. Maybe the rain had delayed decomposition. It likely hastened it by adding muggy, humid conditions.

Needless to say, over three days, bodies had begun to bloat and reek. Lt. Godfrey, with Benteen’s troops, saw the stripped bodies from a distance through field glasses. They looked like white boulders. Even without scalping or mutilation the bodies would have been appalling by then. They must have crawled with flies too.

Once blood stops flowing, gravity takes effect. Blood still in the body naturally pools in the lowest spots (pooled lividity) causing bruise-like discoloration. Many of the bodies had been found face-down. Lividity must have made features even harder to recognize.

Many bodies, if not most, had been at least scalped if not mutilated. Mutilation was often practiced against dead enemies by many Indian tribes. Skulls were smashed for various reasons. Dead bodies were shot full of bullets and arrows. This will serve as its own topic later.

All this is not to make light of gruesome descriptions. Rather, it demonstrates what survivors of the battle had to deal with in the coming days. Many of them, especially officers, had served in America’s Civil War over a decade earlier. Most had already seen war’s carnage. Many recruits were new, however, and had just seen their first battle. Results could not have been pleasant.

A Shovel Shortage

A lack of shovels made the burial task more challenging. Lt. Edward McClernand, with Gibbon’s column, kept a journal and later wrote a more formal account. He noted, “As we had but a few spades, the burial of the dead was more of a pretense than reality. A number were simply covered with sage brush. Yet we did our best.”

Private William O. Taylor echoed the point, noting, “We had but little in the way of grave digging implements, one spade to a company and that was brought along by the company cook for the purpose of cutting a trench for his fire, so the decent and proper burial of over two hundred bodies was not possible in the limited time at our disposal.” Bear in mind, the threat of potential return by attacking hostiles still loomed.

Taylor went on, “The most that could be done was to cover the remains with some branches of sagebrush and scatter a little earth on top . . .” Both Godfrey and McClernand, an engineer, reported counts of 212 burials at Custer’s site.

That lack of shovels had also hampered Reno and Benteen’s men as they tried to entrench on the bluffs during their first night under siege. Taylor wrote, “Our tools were tin cups and plates, knives, sharpened paddles made out of pieces of hardtack boxes, and a few shovels.” If a few shovels was the best those besieged men could muster for entrenching under duress, they could do little better for the dead.

Taylor also added, “The sagebrush, broken and trampled by the horses and ponies of the contending forces, gave forth a strong odor which, mingled with that of the swollen and fast decomposing remains, . . . was sickening in the extreme, and yet so hardened or indifferent were some that I saw man sitting down close by a mangled body and calmly munching their bit of hardtack and bacon.

Aftershocks

While some, as might be expected, were hardly bothered by the bodies and their burial, other accounts describe it as expected. One speaks of limbs tearing away as bodies were dragged into shallow trenches. The effects, in some cases, took a lingering toll.

Godfrey later wrote that in coming weeks army doctors pronounced several soldiers unfit for duty. Their lack of fitness stemmed from mental or emotional strain, not physical causes. One soldier shot himself less than a month after the battle (the cause was attributed to lingering physical illness and strain resulting from time he had suffered in a Confederate prison camp).

Even Lieutenant Bradley the Montana Column’s Chief of Scouts, requested leave after the battle. Little is recorded, but it appears to have been due to effects of what he encountered at the Little Bighorn. Bradley had served through the entire Civil War and in conflicts along the Bozeman Trail. (See Bradley’s Little Bighorn Body
Count.) Many, recruits or otherwise, suffered lasting trauma in the aftermath of Custer’s disastrous demise at the Little Bighorn.

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One such witness was Theodore Goldin. He was born July 25, 1858, possibly as John Stillwell, in Avon Township, Wisconsin. He had apparently been abandoned. He was then adopted by the Rueben Goldin family.

Theodore went on to a successful law career and was active in Wisconsin politics. He attained the rank of captain, and possibly colonel, in the state’s National Guard. However, his date of birth came back to haunt him – or at least his lack of honesty about it did.

A Legacy of Lying

Goldin lied about his age in order to enlist in the 7^th Cavalry in April, 1876. He later claimed he had been in the Seventh since 1873. Such unfounded claims may have been a pattern. Regardless, his dishonesty about his age when enlisting (not an uncommon practice) seems to give weight to others’ distrust of his Little Bighorn claims.

Goldin belonged to G Troop, which was part of Reno’s battalion when Custer divided his command. Goldin claimed to have been sent with Custer as an orderly and to have relayed a dispatch back to Reno. However, no one else in the command remembered such an occurrence.

Kanipe and Martin: Remembered Messengers

Trumpeter/Orderly John Martin belonged to H Troop, which had been sent south with Captain Benteen’s battalion. After Sergeant Daniel Kanipe was sent back with a message that Benteen and the pack train should hurry forward, Martin was then sent with a written message. It reiterated the command in urgent terms.

However, various members of Benteen’s command remembered seeing both messengers when they delivered their orders. They even recalled what the messengers said.

Goldin, on the other hand, later claimed he had handed a written message to Reno after Reno deployed his men as skirmishers. He stated Reno glanced at the message and then put it in his shirt pocket. When questioned, Goldin stated he did not know what was written on the sheet. No one, including Reno, remembered that occurrence.

Trailing behind, the pack train was escorted by Captain McDougal’s single company. After relaying Custer’s verbal orders to Benteen, Sergeant Kanipe rode on to find it. As Kanipe rode past Benteen’s three troops he was heard to holler, “We’ve got ‘em, boys!”

Martin was heard to tell Benteen the Indians were “skedaddling.” He handed the captain a message written hastily by Custer’s adjutant, Lt. W.W. Cooke. That message still exists. Its tattered remains were eventually given to West Point, where they remain.

Reiterations?

Some of what Goldin later related seems to have come from someone who actually had started out with Custer. Parts of his accounts jibe with those of Kanipe and Martin. They echo others like Peter Thompson, who belonged to Tom Custer’s C Troop. (More on Thompson will be written at a later date.)

However, parts of Thompson’s account were also later questioned and disputed – if not discredited – by his former fellow troop members. Regardless, parts of Goldin’s story may have developed from hearing accounts of those like Thompson who had been with Custer.

It seems some individuals tend to hear an account and then soon picture it in their minds as if they were actually there. That may have been the case with Goldin. He gave later accounts of having been numerous places during the battle, but no one seemed to remember his presence there.

Deciphering the Differences

Much of what Goldin wrote is credible. The difficulty comes in knowing how much he witnessed and how much he imagined after hearing it from other sources. Beyond having lied about his age in order to enlist, he misrepresented several other aspects of his army career and other facts.

As examples, Goldin wrote that he had enlisted in the army in 1873 and had served with the 7^th Cavalry in the Dakotas until his discharge, except for a year spent on Reconstruction duty in 1875. In reality, Goldin did not enlist until April 1876, and he was discharged in November 1877.

Goldin claimed to have known Custer since 1873 and that he moved with his company to Fort Abraham Lincoln, Dakota Territory, from Shreveport, LA in early 1876. Given his actual enlistment date, neither could have been true, yet he stated them as fact.

Goldin concluded a letter to Cyrus Brady, who published Indian Fights and Fighters in 1904, that, “My experiences with Gen. Custer always led me to look upon him as somewhat recklessly brave, disposed to take chances without fully considering the odds against him.” It seems difficult to imagine that a buck private, a raw recruit, would have become that well acquainted with Custer during the 2 ½ months before Custer’s death. Custer’s only other campaign then was political.

Discharge and After

Military records show Goldin was discharged November 13, 1877 at the request of his adoptive parents. They had informed the army Theodore enlisted without their knowledge or consent and had given a false birth date in order to do so. While his discharge was not an “honorable” discharge, it did list him as a private of good character, discharged for “minority.”

Some accounts show that Goldin began studying law in 1881 and became a Mason in 1883. He later practiced law successfully with his brother-in-law, and he attained the 33^rd Masonic degree by 1902. He also became active in politics starting in 1882.

Goldin Goes Public

By 1886 Goldin began what might be considered self-promotion, or at least promotion of his version of Little Bighorn events. He also began correspondence with Benteen, who retired as a major. It is noted that a gap in the known and published letters between them stretched from April 1892 to July 1894.

That gap coincides with a time-frame in which Goldin seems to have prepared a series of Little Bighorn accounts. They were published in “Army Magazine” starting in June 1894, but neither the articles nor letters have been found. Col. William Graham believed the correspondence continued during that time, but he lamented the fact that by the 1950’s the material had not surfaced.

Goldin’s letters to Benteen have all been lost, apparently, but Benteen’s to Goldin were not. They were eventually, after years of reluctance, released by Benteen’s family for publication. They reveal what seems to be a mutual “back-scratching” between “birds of a feather.”

Oddly, Benteen refers to Goldin with honor and respect. He withheld such from fellow officers who maintained their regular army careers and later were discharged honorably.

Benteen also, oddly, castigates Lt. Edward Godfrey for his 1892 published account of Little Bighorn events. A fellow participant might have disagreed on some points, and it has been said Godfrey’s stance began to lean in a more pro-Custer direction as he aged and befriended Custer’s widow. However, Benteen also became “chummy” with Goldin, whose accounts were widely discredited.

A Wikepedia piece states Goldin later embellished his own biography as well as his Little Bighorn accounts. He claimed to have been born in 1855 and studied four years at a Tilton University before enlisting at age 20. It also states he claimed to have been wounded twice at the Little Bighorn. Other accounts fail to make mention of that. It sounds eerily like Peter Thompson’s story.

Medal of Honor

Eighteen men were awarded Medals of Honor in 1878 for their heroic actions in retrieving water for the wounded during Reno’s Little Bighorn siege. Goldin was not among them. He later petitioned to receive the medal. It is noted that he was chairman of Wisconsin’s Republican Party at the time. Joseph Doe, the Assistant Secretary of War at the time was a Democrat.

It is noted, or conceded, that Goldin’s receiving the medal through efforts of a prominent member of an opposing political party speaks well of him. The fact, however, that it came at his request and through political channels casts questions on its merit. Such seems to be the case also with his accounts of the Little Bighorn.

The post Theodore Goldin: Questionable Storyteller appeared first on Bighorn, Big Hole and Beyond.

The horse was too wounded, apparently, to be of value even to the Sioux or Cheyenne. As Plains Indians, those tribes treasured good horseflesh. However, that mount left on the field was not the only wounded horse left behind.

Other Survivors

Comanche is often described as the battle’s sole cavalry survivor. Of course that is not entirely accurate. An unknown number of additional cavalry mounts had been taken by the Sioux and Cheyenne. Months later, in the continuing conflict, horses bearing the U.S. brand were found in dispersed villages of non-treaty tribes.

“Horse Holders” Reduced the Fighting Force by 1/4

It might be mentioned again that in standard cavalry operations, members were often required to count off by fours. The fourth man was designated as a “horse holder.” He was out of action, holding his mount along with those of three other soldiers.

Private Wm. O. Taylor described this process on the morning of June 25^th. He had “drawn the short straw,” so to speak, finding himself as a fourth man. During much of Reno’s fiasco following his initial charge, Taylor was inert, merely holding his horse and those of three other privates.

It was likely not new to the Sioux and Cheyenne that every fourth soldier stayed out of action as a “horse holder.” Several accounts relate how they waved and snapped blankets around the held horses, trying to stampede them. It has even been stated that they tried to pick the horse holders off, thereby freeing the horses.

This tactic yielded several benefits. First, it left the attacking cavalry on foot. Also, half of the 100 rifle rounds each soldier carried were in his saddle bags. Without his horse, a soldier lost half his ammunition. Thirdly, of course, the horses could be captured and used by the Indians. They treasured these “spoils” of battle.

Other Equine Casualties

Even on the battlefield, other wounded horses remained when burial parties arrived. Only Comanche, however, was deemed salvageable. Even that might have been due to the sentiments of Lt. Henry Nowlan, best friend of Myles Keogh, who had owned Comanche. Other horses were deemed unsalvageable. Sadly, they had to be “put down” (shot).

Comanche was also severely injured, bearing as many as seven new battle wounds. At least one coincided with a severe bullet wound that had shattered Keogh’s left leg. The wounds included four in or near the mount’s forequarters, one in each hind leg, and one to a hoof. Blood also stained Comanche’s mane. He was not wounded there, and it has been surmised the blood could only have been Keogh’s.

These were hardly Comanche’s first battle wounds, but a bit more background or is in order.

Comanche and Keogh

The army regularly bought both beef for food and horses for transportation. Comanche was one of 41 horses bought in St. Louis in 1868 by Tom Custer, then a 1^st Lieutenant. Upon seeing him at Fort Leavenworth, where the mounts were taken for branding and processing, Keogh took a strong liking the horse.

An Irishman, Keogh had been a mounted soldier in Europe. After serving in the Union Army through America’s Civil War, he joined the 7^th Cavalry as a captain when it was formed in 1866. Officers often bought personal mounts to suit themselves (e.g. Custer’s favorite mounts “Vic” and Dandy.), but often bought them privately. Keogh, however, bought Comanche from the army as a second mount for $90.

Not that Comanche was the horse’s name at the time. It is said that on September 13, 1868 he received his name after an Indian skirmish on the Cimarron River. Unknown to Keogh at the time, the horse was wounded by an arrow that had broken off. Although skittish, the mount continued to serve admirably.

The remaining arrow shaft and head were removed by a cavalry farrier, but another soldier had witness the wounding. He said that when the arrow struck, the horse had squalled as loudly as a Comanche Indian. Keogh named the horse Comanche then and there. The stalwart, dependable horse sustained another arrow wound in 1870. He also suffered an undetermined shoulder wound in 1871 while Keogh was posted in Kentucky on Reconstruction duty.

The Bravest Man the Sioux Ever Fought?

An unknown soldier has been described by at least two Indian survivors as “the bravest man the Sioux ever fought.” We can only speculate as to that soldier’s identity, but Keogh somewhat fits the description, having long, dark hair and a big moustache. (After five weeks of campaigning, his hair may have been longer than what existing photos reflect.)

The brave soldier was  described as riding a sorrel horse with a white face and three white stockings. However, that doesn’t closely describe Comanche. Also, it was said a particular Cheyenne later took possession of the soldier’s horse.

Maybe Comanche sustained more wounds after the Cheyenne took him, but that seems unlikely. Therefore the description probably does not fit Keogh.

Regardless, Keogh’s body was stripped of its uniform. Unlike other soldiers, though, his body was not mutilated after the battle. As noted in earlier posts, he wore a Catholic Pro Petri Sede medal, which was left around his neck. Either the medal was viewed as “strong medicine” by the victors, or he had conducted himself in such a way as to earn their respect for his bravery. Comanche may have played a part.

Worth The Effort

Keogh’s friend Nowlan chose to make the effort to save Comanche. The horse was later described as having wounds that were “serious, but not necessarily fatal if looked after properly . . .” The account was given by farrier John Rivers of I troop, Keogh’s company, to a Bismarck Tribune reporter on May 10 of 1878.

Rivers stated that Comanche had been found huddled in a ravine but had been “raised up and tenderly cared for.” Three bullets were reported as being removed on the battlefield and a fourth was removed back at Fort Abraham Lincoln the next year. Comanche was not big for a cavalry mount, but he was tough if nothing else.

(In 1868 the horse was processed as “a 925-pound cross listed as ¾ American and ¼ Spanish descent.” Indian ponies, descendants of Spanish mustangs, were known for being smaller than cavalry mounts.)

A Tough Trip To the River For the Wounded

How Comanche was moved to the steamboat 15 miles downriver is uncertain. One account states he was carried by wagon, but that seems very unlikely. Both Custer’s and Gibbon’s commands had relied on pack mules for moving supplies. No record of a wagon at the battlefield seems to exist.

Even if a wagon had reached the battlefield, its usefulness for moving a wounded horse over rough ground seems extremely improbable. Gatling guns were taken off their limbers in an effort to move the wounded soldiers via wheeled contrivances, but that option was quickly found unworkable across the rough and often-steep terrain.

It appears the wounded Comanche had to walk, limp or hobble the rough and uneven 15 miles down to the steamer Far West. From there, however, he received almost hallowed treatment. One account says a stall was improvised between the rudders, where he was supported by a sling. He was taken the 700 miles downriver to Fort Abraham Lincoln with the wounded soldiers.

Comanche’s Later Life

All accounts state that Comanche was adopted as a regimental mascot from that point forward. He seemed to embody the resilience needed and admired by the shaken troops. He was carefully nursed back to health by blacksmiths Gustavus Korn and John Rivers.

It appears wives and other young ladies at the fort enjoyed riding Comanche after his convalescence, and a rivalry or competition for him ensued. By April 10, 1878 Colonel Samuel Sturgis issued the order that Comanche not be ridden or put to work by anyone from that time forward.

Sturgis, still grieving the loss of his son James at the Little Bighorn, appreciated what Comanche represented. His order included the words, “Though wounded and scarred, his very silence speaks in terms more eloquent than words of the desperate struggle against overwhelming odds . . .” He decreed that Comanch be saddled, bridled and led by a mounted trooper of I Troop (Keogh’s) and paraded with the regiment in all ceremonial occasions in which the regiment rode in formation.

Comanche was allowed to roam freely about the post. He followed Korn like a pet. He also apparently developed a taste for beer (not too surprising for a beast that feeds on grain). He was reputed to have begged for buckets of the stuff at the enlisted men’s canteen.

After Korn was killed at Wounded Knee in 1890, Comanche was said to have appeared despondent. Although not young (he was listed as 5 years old in 1868) his health failed steadily. He died November 6, 1891.

Preserved for Posterity

A taxidermist/naturalist at the University of Kansas made a life-sized mount of Comanche on the condition the mount would remain in the school’s museum in Lawrence. The it was restored in 2005. Thankfully, it stays inside a climate-controlled display where vandals can’t steal tail hairs “for good luck” before exams.

Comanche’s coloration has been described alternately as sorrel, or claybank, or bay dun. The horse’s appearance is not impressive, and it apparently never was. He was beloved by Keogh, though, and the two together form a heart-warming story, one of the few positives remaining from the battle along the Little Bighorn.

The post Comanche, Rescued Seventh Cavalry Mascot appeared first on Bighorn, Big Hole and Beyond.

Lieutenant James H. Bradley kept a detailed journal of the Montana Column’s expedition. He later began copying his notes into a manuscript intended for publication. Sadly, his last entry recorded in the published version was that of June 26^th – most likely due to his sudden, unanticipated death in battle the following year.

Bradley requested leave after the Little Bighorn battle, most likely due to the trauma of what he witnessed. He was the first to find the bodies of Custer’s annihilated troops; he also then oversaw much of the burial of those bodies. Bradley had also witnessed the dead from Reno’s engagement at the south end of the battle. He later wrote that their bodies had been “frightfully butchered.”

Bradley could not have been a stranger to wartime carnage. He had enlisted as a Union private at age 17 in April 1861. He had then re-enlisted, serving throughout the duration of America’s Civil War. His only hiatus was due to time in a Confederate prison camp from October 1863 until his release in March 1864. He immediately rejoined his regiment.

Bradley had also served in the 18^th U. S. Infantry starting in 1866. He had fought Sioux in Red Cloud’s War at Crazy Woman’s Fork in Wyoming Territory. It is uncertain as to whether he witnessed the aftermath of Fetterman’s annihilation in December 1866, but it appears he must have been no stranger to battle deaths, destruction and mutilation.

Whatever his need and motivation for stepping away, by July of 1876 Bradley felt compelled to write to the editor of the Helena Herald. This paper had been the first to publish the news of Custer’s destruction. In his letter Bradley detailed his need to counteract some of the sensational rumors springing out from the accounts of Custer’s demise. These included that of Rain-in-the Face supposedly having cut Custer’s heart out and danced around his body.

Bradley described his position on June 27 as being “in advance” of the column due to his duties as Commander of the Scouts. He noted that the body of a horse first drew his attention to the field of Custer’s final stand (Comanche, perhaps?), and he went on discuss the “appalling sight” of “his entire command in the embrace of death.” Bradley noted an initial hasty count revealed 197 bodies.

A later count of the bodies buried on that portion of the field yielded a total of 206 bodies buried. An army engineer took note of burial locations, presumably mapping them with some type of survey coordinates. Cavalry rolls noted around 212 officers and enlisted members of Custer’s five troops. The discrepancies might be explained.

At least two members had been sent off with dispatches to Benteen’s battalion, and two others fell back when their exhausted horses gave out, at least according to their later accounts. They later joined Reno’s command where it came under siege.

The bodies of Lt. James “Jack” Sturgis and Lt. James Porter were never found, but garments marked with their names indicate they had not survived. A pair of bloodied “drawers” marked ‘Sturgis, 7^th Cavalry,’ were later found down in the abandoned village site, and Porter’s buckskin jacket was also found, with two bullet holes in it.

The severed heads of at least two soldiers, and possibly as many as four, were found in the abandoned village.  Thus, the discrepancies seem justified.

(It might be noted that Sturgis was the son of Colonel Samuel Sturgis, who was Custer’s immediate 7^th Cavalry superior. The two had clashed previously, and General Sheridan had assigned Sturgis to desk duty while giving Custer field command. Sturgis long held Custer responsible for the death of his son and others. The popular Black Hills, SD city is named for him.)

By dusk on June 26^th, General Terry and Gibbon’s command had stopped several miles short of the battle site. They had encountered large numbers of hostile warriors and dared not proceed in the dark. The warriors, numbering in the hundreds and maybe thousands, were acting as a rear guard for their families as the huge gathering dispersed.

Gibbon’s men still hesitated to believe the Crow scouts’ account of Custer’s unthinkable defeat. (Four Crow scouts, along with mixed-blood guide/interpreter Mitch Bouyer, had gone with Custer after he had sent Reno’s battalion to attack the village’s south end. Bouyer released the Crows after Custer had circled northward to attack separately.) Due in part to language barriers and more to soldiers’ inability to believe defeat was possible, they still could not imagine finding Custer and his troops dead.

No extra motivation was needed, however, to get the command moving on the 27^th. Gibbon later mentioned a “hurried breakfast of hardtack, bacon and coffee. The scouts rode out readily, with Bradley’s detachment crossing the Little Bighorn and scouting the ridges on its east side.

In his 1877 article Colonel Gibbon wrote, “. . . the officer in charge of the mounted infantry (scouting detachment) rode up to where General Terry and I sat upon our horses, and his voice trembled as he said, “I have a very sad report to make. I have counted one hundred and ninety-seven dead bodies lying in the hills!”

Gibbon and Terry had been looking toward some unidentifiable objects far to the south and wondering what they might be. Even field glasses failed to yield an accurate identification. However, after hearing the shocking reality that Custer’s annihilation was true, Gibbon sought to confirm the hope that part of his command had survived elsewhere.

After the deception by hostiles dressed in the uniforms of dead cavalrymen, hope was tempered by hard lessons and near ambushes (Lt. DeRudio had also been deceived in that way after being left behind by Reno’s fleeing troops.) Gibbon and Terry remained skeptical of any forms that first appeared to be white soldiers. Reno’s troops were only cautiously optimistic too.

Finally, at length, members of both commands approached each other while practicing due caution. Upon each command’s confirming that the other was “friendly,” a joyful reunion was made. Many shed shocked tears of disbelief at the report that Custer’s men were all dead. They felt great relief, though, knowing they were now safe and the overwhelming hordes of hostiles had left.

Animals had suffered, along with the troops, especially those that had been wounded. Men, horses and mules could now access the clear-flowing river 600 yards below Reno’s siege position on the bluffs. However, aftershocks from Custer’s defeat continued.

As mentioned earlier. Lt. Bradley requested leave after his gruesome experience of first finding the bodies of Custer’s men. He had also guided Captain Benteen to the site and accompanied him in identifying as many bodies as they could. His need to step away was understandable, but he was not so disturbed that he could not write publicly to correct rampant rumors.

After their deaths on the hot afternoon of June 25^th, the bodies had bloated in the searing sun. They had then lain in a light rain, then decomposed further throughout June 26^th. By the time they were found on June 27^th, most bodies – even those not mangled or mutilated – were difficult to recognize. By the time of their hasty burial on June 28^th, most were putrefying horribly.

Such was the fate of those who died, and those who had the gruesome task of burying their remains on the hills that overlook the Little Bighorn.

The post Lt. Bradley’s Little Bighorn Body Count appeared first on Bighorn, Big Hole and Beyond.

One oversight is that Gibbon’s infantry could in no way have blockaded, stopped or otherwise intercepted mounted Plains Indians. His cavalry troops would have been badly outnumbered, and their horses were in questionable condition by June 26. His infantry would have been totally ineffective against evaders, mounted or otherwise.

Had Custer waited until June 26^th to attack – and had Gibbon’s column been in place – the dispersing “hostiles” would easily have eluded them. That’s assuming the hostiles would have even been fleeing Custer’s command. It also assumes the two columns could have gotten into position without first being discovered by Sioux or Cheyenne scouts and/or hunters.

The second overlooked factor is that not only were the Sioux and Cheyenne well aware of Terry’s approaching column, that column did not arrive until June 27^th. Actually, Lt. James Bradley and his scouts did begin to encounter hostiles on the 26^th. They even rode within striking distance of a large gathering of “hostiles.”

However, Gibbon’s troops were in no position to support an attack by Custer, even by late evening on June 26^th. By the time Bradley’s scouts approached late in the day, they were still only scouting ahead of the column. It is good that they did.  

The Sioux and Cheyenne were celebrating their overwhelming victory as their families dispersed and moved southward toward the Bighorn Mountains. They were not without a rear guard, however.

While Terry’s tired men and horses moved up the Little Bighorn late on June 26^th, Bradley’s men first encountered a small group of “hostiles” moving into a stand of timber down on the river bottom. The warriors appeared to be attempting the decoy tactic that had led William Fetterman to his demise nearly 10 years earlier.

Bradley had seen other warriors moving into the timber, and he perceived that perhaps hundreds more awaited there. He knew an ambush awaited.

Bradley and Lt. Roe also witnessed what appeared to be blue-clad cavalry riding in formation and joining in column of fours. In fact, Roe rode ahead to hale them.

It was only when warriors responded with a fusillade of carbine fire that Gibbon’s lieutenant realized the riders were hostiles dressed in cavalry uniforms. The clothing could only have been stolen from dead soldiers. Gibbon’s men were far too late for any coordinated effort, even if the attack had occurred on June 26^th.

Any plan for the columns to make a coordinated attack – or for one to support the other – would have been idealistic at best. The words of Lt. Edward Godfrey bear that notion out. His account was published in Century Magazine in January 1892.

In his published narrtive Godfrey wrote, “Had Custer continued his march southward – that is, left the Indian trail – the Indians would have known of our movement on the 25^th . . . the Indians never would have remained in camp and allowed a concentration of the several columns to attack them.” He concluded, “If they had escaped without punishment of battle Custer would undoubtedly have been blamed.” 

Any attack carried out by Custer on June 26^th would have happened at dawn, or at least early in the day. Even arriving late that day, or evening, Gibbon could not have intercepted fleeing villagers. By the time his command approached, the occupants had already left – away from them.

Terry and Gibbon commanded five infantry companies and four cavalry troops. This was a force of only about 400 men, far less than Custer’s 12 companies. They struggled over rough and uneven terrain up the Bighorn River to the mouth of the Little Bighorn. By the time they approached late on June 26^th, they were exhausted.

While Custer may have neglected to go as far south up the Rosebud as Terry had wanted, it cannot be said that he disobeyed orders or disregarded set plans. His intention, as attested by several survivors, was to rest his command all day on June 25^th and attack early on the 26^th. It was only when he realized his troops had been discovered by Indians that he altered that plan.

At least two survivors, including trumpeter/orderly John Martin, later stated that Custer had a bugler sound “officers’ call” once he learned his command had been spotted by “hostiles.” That alone attests that he felt he must hurry. Up to that point, since starting up the Rosebud on June 22, all bugle sounds and loud noises had been prohibited.

Once Custer realized he had lost the element of surprise, he saw no reason to refrain further from using bugle calls. He had to attack before the village scattered. Regardless, even if Custer had delayed his attack until the morning of June 26^th, Gibbon’s column would still have arrived too late.

Bradley described going into camp thoroughly exhausted, without having reached the Little Bighorn, on the night of June 25^th. He wrote that the infantry and regular cavalry had covered 35 miles that day, and his scouts had covered at least 55. He also wrote of the grueling march they had made over very rough terrain.

The command had lent their best Crow scouts to Custer, and instead they relied on some of Cap’n Ball’s squadron that had scouted the area more two months prior (see A Portentous Taunt, April 29). These impromptu guides led the column over a route full of steep climbs and descents followed by more steep climbs as they crossed one ravine after another.

Bradley had been out scouting away from the column. He returned to find the command’s plight and suggested that Terry us the older Crow scout Little Face, who had roamed the area as a boy. Only then, in complete darkness as rain fell, the command took a reasonable route.

Around midnight Terry’s cavalry and scouts finally camped at a good water source. Many had consumed all the water in their canteens, and even that had been alkaline at best. They had not yet even reached the Little Bighorn. The infantry had stopped 12 miles back.

Bradley and his scouts were sent out abruptly at four the next morning. About two miles from the Little Bighorn he finally found tracks left by Indians. At the river he found three of the Crow scouts sent with Custer. Distraught, they bore news of the command’s annihilation.

Bradley rode back to deliver the news personally to General Terry. The infantry finally caught up to the cavalry around noon on June 26^th, and the reunited force marched until 9 p.m. They finally went into camp after spotting hundreds of hostile warriors ahead. One of the advance companies, sent out as flankers, had witnessed the noncombatants moving away, southward, toward the Bighorn mountains.

Trail-worn and tired, Terry and Gibbon’s command did reach the Little Bighorn and approach the village site until late on June 26^th. It had required long, forced marches. Horses and pack mules had gone short on feed, and all had gone short on water.

They were too late. The village was gone, and they were in poor shape for fighting anyway. They could easily have suffered the same fate as Custer.

Numerous accounts given by Sioux and Cheyenne survivors attest that they were well aware of Terry’s approaching column. He could in no way have surprised them, much less pursued them or blocked their escape.

Even if Custer had waited until June 26^th to attack, the Montana column would have been of no help. And had Custer gone 20 miles further south, his attack would have been delayed until June 27^th. Gibbon’s command, rather than Custer’s would likely have suffered annihilation at the Little Bighorn. Or, the Indians would have dispersed.

Simply put, any hope of a coordinated attack on June 26^th was idealistic at best. Gibbon’s command arrived exhausted and far too late. Custer had little choice but to press his attack early. Lieutenant Bradley would find the results on the morning of June 27^th along the hills overlooking the Little Bighorn.

The post Gibbon Gets There — Too Late appeared first on Bighorn, Big Hole and Beyond.

Herendeen’s herd of stragglers was not alone. While he shepherded his group to safety the first day of the battle, another group had to survive in hiding the remainder of that day and on through the night. Two of them escaped only at sunset on June 26^th, the battle’s second day.

Charles DeRudio was a foreign-born soldier who reached America during her Civil War. Born in Austria, he had served in Austria’s army but ended up in France. escaping execution as a revolutionary (he was part of an attempt to assassinate Napoleon) he emigrated to the United States. He enlisted as a private in the Union Army but was made second lieutenant by war’s end.

Military life seemed to appeal to DeRudio, and he would continue that career past the Little Bighorn. It was his resourcefulness, however, that kept him and a fellow soldier alive to continue that career until retirement.

One item of interest is that DeRudio maintained his habit of carrying a saber, apparently clinging to his European roots. Cavalry rarely carried sabers on America’s frontier, particularly at the Little Bighorn. In fact, partially due to the potential noise caused by the sabers clanging as the troopers moved, the 7^th Cavalry left theirs at their Powder River base.

Rudio may have kept his saber, however, carrying it with him to the Little Bighorn. It has been speculated that he even lent it to Custer. Too many artists’ conceptions of the battle show at least Custer using his saber in the final stand. At least one Sioux account also mentions one of the last soldiers to die. It holds that that soldier fought fiercely with a “long knife” (which was a term Indians used to describe cavalry sabers.)

It is unlikely that Custer borrowed DeRudio’s saber; however, it is said that DeRudio had, in fact, lent him a high-quality pair of European binocular. If so, they disappeared when soldiers’ bodies and horses were plundered after the battle.

Regardless, soon after the battle DeRudio related a story of his narrow escape. First though, a recap of Herendeen’s heroic leadership might be in order, as it occurred on the battle’s first day. It was the first of three Great Escapes.

DeRudio stated that Reno’s odd order for troops to dismount and form a skirmish line was likely due to huge amounts of dust obscuring the object of his charge. He added his estimate that only 200 to 300 warriors met the initial charge. Still, that number was more than Reno’s three companies, even if every fourth trooper hadn’t been neutralized as a “horse holder” for his mount and three others.

After Reno ordered his line back into a stand of timber, he was said to have ordered them to mount, and then to dismount again. As numbers of hostile warriors grew, they began to infiltrate the timber. Whether the scout Bloody Knife’s death was the final straw or not (alcohol appears to have been a factor too), Reno became disconcerted and ordered a retreat.

Reno later called his retreat a charge, but not all his men heard the order. Some were left behind. Others were abandoned when their horses were killed or escaped. DeRudio’s was hit by a bullet and spooked before he could mount up. Herendeen’s fell, throwing him. It then ran away. Both were left unhorsed but unaware of the other’s circumstances.

Herendeen related that he soon met thirteen soldiers who had also been left behind. Some had mounted by apparently had not heard Reno’s command. Others were afoot. Herendeen persuaded all to leave their horses as the mounts would draw attention from hostiles. He persuaded 11 of the 13 to hide with him until dusk. It is uncertain what became of the two who refused; Herendeen believed they were found and killed; he never saw them again.

Those who went with Herendeen found him a capable leader who took charge and got them out of their “scrape.” They remained hidden in timber and brush while the warriors swarmed first up against Reno’s siege position on the bluffs across the river. Many warriors then swarmed downriver. Herendeen described hearing what turned out to be the noise from Custer’s battle, lasting about an hour.

Herendeen estimated his group remained below a total of about three hours. When the firing downriver began to dwindle away, Herendeen knew the warriors there would soon return. Not all his companions wanted to leave the security of the timber, but he persuaded 11 of the 13 to go with him. It was the two who remained behind that he never saw again.

As Herendeen’s group approached the Little Bighorn they encountered five mounted Indians, who fired at them. Herendeen had deployed the  men, as he wrote, in skirmish formation. They returned fire and the Indians fled. At that point the group was able to cross the river and scramble up the bluffs. Within 25 minutes the combined force of Reno and Benteen’s troops were under heavy and persistent fire once again.

It was in Reno’s disorganized retreat that DeRudio was left behind. As an officer, he would normally have been leading his company. Shortly after being left afoot, however, he met Private O’neil, another unhorsed trooper. He also met scout/interpreter Fred Girard and Billy Jackson, a half-Blackfoot scout. They still had their mounts and kept them, even while the group hid behind or under a washed-out bank of the old river channel.

After hiding until dusk, this group also tried to get to the river and across to rejoin their command. They encountered a group of eight hostiles, and the two mounted scouts “sunk spurs,” and bolted for safety, leaving the two on foot behind. Bad as that sounds, DeRudio wrote earlier that Girard had told him he would be tell Reno of the dismounted men’s location in the event those on horses had to run.

Regardless, DeRudio found himself alone with Private O’Neil. Fortunately for them the eight Indians seemed to believe their prey had escaped. DeRudio and O’Neil spent a long night concealed in the brush. Toward dawn they made another attempt to reach the river and cross it. This time they encountered what appeared to be U.S. cavalry. In fact, DeRudio believed he was seeing Captain Tom Custer.

DeRudio related that he saw several gray horses (E Troop’s)  ridden by men in military shirts. Several riders wore cavalry hats. Then he noticed one with a buckskin jacket, pants, boots and hat that made him think he saw Tom Custer. He called out, expecting protection. Instead, he wrote, he and O’Neil were greeted by a heavy volley of rifle fire. Fortunately neither was hit.

Diving back into the brush the pair dodged further bullets but when they looked out the other side they saw more hostiles approaching. Taking cover behind deadfall, DeRudio shot one with his revolver while O’Neil took one with his carbine. Fortunately, the rest rode away.

Next the warriors set fire to the brush. Only a particularly green area failed to burn, allowing the pair to stay hidden while seeing out. They could see warriors besieging the troops atop the bluffs. Finally, late in the afternoon the warriors left. DeRudio and O’Neil waited another three to four hours before risking discovery by crossing the river. A two-mile walk finally brought them to the fortified position of the troops that had left them.

DeRudio wrote that he and O’Neil had had neither food nor water for 36 hours. Theirs was by far the most harrowing of the narrow escapes. He wrote the troops were very happy to see them; the troops had believed them dead.

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After a full day’s march on June 24 (roughly 28 miles), Custer allowed his command to rest. They would then mount up for a night march at 11:30 p.m. Troop commanders, however, got very little rest; Custer called them to a meeting at 9:30. His plan was to rest out of sight June 25^th and attack at dawn June 26^th against the huge gathering of hostiles he had been trailing.

After General Sheridan’s impossible edict that all tribes must report to reservations by January 31^st, Sitting Bull had summoned all Sioux and Cheyenne tribes to gather in that area of the Powder, Tongue and Rosebud drainages. Non-treaty bands were more motivated to do so after General Crook’s failed March 17^th attack along the Powder River. Many had left reservations to join the huge gathering.

After the night march beginning just before midnight June 24^th and halting at 2 a.m. June 25^th, Custer’s troops remained concealed in a large ravine. Meanwhile his scouts trudged through the darkness to a promontory known as the Crow’s Nest. It gave them a view across much of the Rosebud drainage but also much of the Little Bighorn. At dawn they spotted the village Custer sought.

After briefing his officers around 8 a.m., Custer ascended to the Crow’s Nest to see what his scouts had found. The events were detailed in previous posts. However, in Custer’s absence more events transpired. They would set in motion a series of dire decisions and results.

During the night a mule had lost a pack containing hardtack rations. Custer had sent a detail to retrieve it. Upon reaching it they found two Indians investigating it or possibly enjoying its contents. The Indians fled, but the regiment’s presence had been revealed.

Another small group of “hostiles” was seen by the scouts near the head of the ravine. All hopes of secrecy seemed lost. Worse, when warned of the soldiers approach, the whole village might scatter. While some scouts had advised Custer not to attack, others told him he must do so right away. Custer changed his plans, choosing the latter.

Riding down Ash Creek toward the village, the command passed a lone tepee at a recent camp site. It held the body of a dead warrior, likely one wounded eight days prior against Crook. Custer soon detached Captain Benteen with three companies, directing him to sweep southward, preventing escape that way. He was to attack any hostiles he found.

When scout Fred Girard spotted a group of hostiles moving away from the command, he and Custer thought they were fleeing. Custer detached Major Reno with three more companies. Reno was to charge in and attack. Custer told him he would be supported by the whole regiment.

Custer moved northward, planning to hit the village from its other end. It appears terrain forced him farther north than intended. Still, he did not reach the camp’s north end. As Custer gained more information, however, he sent messengers to recall Benteen’s troops. Trumpeter John Martin, one of the messengers, related that Custer meant to send Benteen into the camp’s middle while Custer attacked from the north.

For some inexplicable reason, Reno stopped his advance when he saw warriors in his front. Several survivors mentioned dust clouds that obscured vision on that hot, chaotic afternoon. Maybe Reno was confused by them. Regardless, he dismounted his troopers, forming a skirmish line.

Every fourth trooper became a horse holder, holding the reins of four mounts while the quartet’s other three soldiers fought. Reno’s three companies numbered at most 150 men. By dismounting his troops, Reno reduced his already small fighting strength by 25%. Worse, he fell back into a stand of timber, then gave confusing commands. He finally conceded all initiative to the defenders when he led a headlong retreat away from the village he had been directed to charge.

Benteen had found nothing to justify continuing southward with his troops. He turned back toward where he had detached from the command. Soon he was met first by Daniel Kanipe and then by bugler John Martin. Both bore orders for Benteen to join Custer. However, he had no idea where Custer had gone.

En route back toward their parting place, Benteen saw soldiers fighting on the flood plain and more fleeing up nearby bluffs. A scout directed him toward where Reno was regrouping. Benteen had no idea which soldiers he was joining, but he found Reno disconcerted and flustered. Reno directed him to stay and help him reorganize. During this time both Benteen and the soldiers in the bottom heard heavy firing two miles or more downriver.

After leaving Reno, Custer had topped some tall hills and had finally gained a partial view of the village. It appears that either he, or a detachment, rode down to a ford near the village. Accounts, again, are many and varied. Archaeological evidence has indicated the position of troops as they moved over time, but it cannot definitively show that troops reached the river.

Some Indian accounts state that a group of soldiers entered the river. One in particular states their leader was shot midway across and soldiers around him either helped him stay mounted or placed him back on his horse. The soldiers then turned back.

It is uncertain in which order deployments were made then. Both archaeological and Indians’ anecdotal evidence indicate that some troops were deployed tactically. The timing is difficult to pin down precisely.

After Reno’s threat was neutralized as he was driven to the bluffs, warriors learned of the second attack by Custer. They swarmed away from “Reno Hill” and northward to meet this second threat. Some accounts say Hunkpapa chief Gall directed many of them up a ravine below and to the south of the troops. At the same time Crazy Horse is said to have led many warriors across the river and to the north and east of Custer’s troops.

In effect, Custer himself was attacked from all sides by hordes of warriors. Many of them were hidden by the roll of the ridges and the ravines. They were able to stay largely out of sight, making poor targets for Custer’s troopers.

At the same time the warriors were able to arc arrows into massed troops. At some point, various charges and counter-charges were made by both forces.  In the end many warriors apparently circled as they completed the surround.

Multiple accounts say some warriors could not even join the fight for fear of shooting their allies. In the confusion, as least one Sioux or Cheyenne was killed by an ally who thought he was one of Custer’s scouts.

Some say if Reno and/or Benteen had ridden immediately to Custer’s aid the outcome would have differed. However, Benteen lacked the benefit of history’s hindsight. Some efforts were made to proceed in Custer’s direction. By the time Benteen had bailed Reno out, any such attempt would have undoubtedly yielded the same results Custer suffered.

At the time of the battle, it was believed Custer’s five companies could take care of themselves. When a victory by him came into doubt, those besieged with Benteen and Reno were sure he had retreated northward to join Terry and Gibbon’s command. It was expected he would return reinforced and break their siege.

Custer had failed to support Reno as promised. At the same time Reno’s failure to complete a charge gave the offensive to his opponents. Having fought Crook to a standstill eight days earlier, the Sioux and Cheyenne likely had renewed confidence. With their families and way of life under attack, they fought tenaciously and effectively.

Again, prior successes might have made Custer too confident. Surprise dawn attacks had yielded predictable results. Even war parties had fled before concentrated carbine fire. They didn’t on June 25, 1876.

Sadly, for nomads wanting to preserve their free-roaming and unfettered life, that great victory would be short-lived. It marked their high-water mark as far as battles were concerned. They would be harried relentlessly. Worn out and starving, most would soon resign themselves to reservation life.

The Sioux and Cheyennes had won a victory, however, that will forever claim a prominent place in history. They had succeeded where Custer’s troops failed at the Little Bighorn.

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