The Last Days of George Armstrong Custer (24 page)

Apparently no officer—not Reno, his adjutant Second Lieutenant Benjamin H. Hodgson, or Captain Thomas French, along with Lieutenants DeRudio, Donald “Tosh” McIntosh, Wallace, and Varnum, who was in charge of the scouts—took over the responsibility for organizing a formation with covering fire or setting up a perimeter as basic military tactics would dictate. No doubt these officers attempted to encourage their men to maintain intervals and fire discipline, but it would have been of no consequence. If Major Reno, their commander, had run away helter-skelter there was little the men could do but follow in the same disorderly fashion.

When finally straggling inside this arboreal refuge, the troopers began to return fire. They lay on the grassy floor with a canopy of trees above, ignoring the steady pelting of seed pods, leaves, twigs, and other debris that were ripped by bullets and arrows from the cottonwoods, willows, elders, and assorted shrubs.

Their military training had taught them to take it upon themselves to instinctively deploy into a defensive position, and they were successful at keeping the Indians at bay. Small groups of warriors would charge up close, empty their weapons, and then gallop away, soon to be replaced by another group. The volleys were loud and dramatic but caused few casualties among the troopers who hugged the ground.

It was now about 3:30
P.M.
Reno's command had lost only several killed and wounded up to this point. The position inside the stand of timber was an excellent site to defend due to its density and thick underbrush. In addition, it posed no direct threat to the village because it was lower in elevation, which made direct fire difficult. The Indians could now pack up and depart if they so desired. Reno could simply hunker down in this defensive position and await the arrival of Custer and Benteen. Both battalions could not be far away, and the enemy would surely flee when reinforcements approached.

But Major Marcus Reno, who had lost his straw hat in the fray and had wrapped a red bandana around his sweaty head, evidently assessed his situation without taking into consideration military strategy, much less common sense. For reasons known only to him, he was not satisfied with his relative safety or ability to hold the timber until it became absolutely necessary to move.

It was apparent that at this point Marcus Reno had lost control of his senses and perceptions, which would not be expected of a competent army officer at such a crucial time. The major was in the midst of a major emotional breakdown. He was no longer rational, not knowing whether to stand his ground or change his position. But one thing was clear: Major Marcus Reno wanted no part of that enemy village to his north. The thought of what sort of doom could be waiting for him inside that village prompted him to want to get as far away from it as quickly as possible.

Without asking for counsel from his fellow officers, Reno greatly miscalculated his circumstances, perhaps fearing that enough Indians would soon creep up close and overwhelm his command. He impulsively determined that his men—or at least he—should move to the high bluffs across the Little Bighorn River.

Rather than executing a bugle call that could have been heard above the din, he issued a verbal command ordering his men to mount and prepare to move out. The troopers near Reno who could distinguish the order mounted, but most of the men were too distant to hear anything above the firing. Those cavalrymen planning to retreat with Reno had problems controlling or catching their excited mounts, which caused mass confusion. Few of the soldiers understood what was happening—until they noticed their comrades preparing for flight.

In their haste to assemble, once again the soldiers' firing had almost completely ceased. This lull allowed a party of Indians to approach the bunched-up troops and fire their weapons at close range. The deadly volley dropped a number of troopers.

One particularly gruesome casualty was Bloody Knife, Custer's favorite scout, who had been standing beside Reno. The bullet struck the scout in the head to send a gory burst of blood and brains splattering onto the face of Major Reno. Could it be that Gall, the boyhood adversary of Bloody Knife, had spotted the scout and fired that mortal bullet to settle a long-standing grudge?

Regardless of the identity of Bloody Knife's assassin, that gruesome act was all that the major could endure and shattered any resoluteness he might have been able to summon. The shocked Marcus Reno panicked and surrendered to his fear. He ordered the troops to dismount and then ordered them to remount. Sergeant John Ryan said he then heard Reno shout, “Any of you men wish to make your escape, follow me!” Those men within hearing, including Ryan, must have thought it odd that Reno was offering an invitation rather than issuing an order.

Then, without regard for the welfare of his men in the timber, Major Marcus Reno mounted and put the spurs to the flanks of his own horse, racing for the river to try to save himself.

The troopers must have been quite disturbed and confused as they watched their leader run away in the face of the enemy. If bravery was contagious, so, too, was fright. They must have wondered what Reno had observed to cause him to react in such a manner—after all, the soldiers were holding the perimeter. Enlisted men were trained to look to their officers for guidance to direct them in combat. Reno was the commander of this battalion, and his word and deeds were sacrosanct and final. The command had no choice but to catch up with their shaken leader.

Once again, it appears that no subordinate officer stepped forward to assume de facto command. Several officers, such as Thomas French, would later relate their disgust with Reno at this point in time, but apparently none of them took it upon themselves to organize this out-of-control mob that raced haphazardly for the river.

Military discipline had completely broken down and it was now every man for himself. The cavalrymen were accustomed to receiving distinct orders, not depending on their own devices for survival. Uncertainty of what course of action to undertake on the battlefield was rarely a situation that favored trained soldiers, especially mounted men with terrified horses. They were a unit and had been schooled in tactics executed in coordination with their comrades. Now they were expected to discern for themselves the whims of a commander who could no longer make proper decisions.

The Indians would have been empowered by this unexpected, disorganized retreat from the timber to the open plains and were closing on the hapless soldiers. The Indian horses were fresh from lazily grazing all day, whereas the cavalry horses had been underfed for days and then ridden for miles and were on the verge of exhaustion. These expert Indian horsemen riding on their sturdy ponies tore across the terrain to head off the fleeing cavalrymen.

But not all the troopers were able to escape the warriors from the timber on horseback. Facing an alarming fate were a number of soldiers and scouts who found themselves stranded in the timber during this unruly retreat—First Lieutenant Charles DeRudio, Private Thomas O'Neill, and scouts William “Billy” Jackson, George B. Herendeen, and Fred Girard among them.

The Sioux and Cheyenne war party had now for the most part situated itself between the timber and the river, and there was no possible escape for these men. The soldiers were trapped in that wooded area while the remainder of the command rode for the river. These unfortunates would be compelled to hunker down for now and hope to conceal themselves well enough to survive detection by the gathering swarms of Indians.

The crossing point at the Little Bighorn River was approximately one-half to one mile of open terrain away. No effort had been made to cover the movement of the battalion with a base of fire and the soldiers on horseback could offer little resistance. The result was disastrous for the cavalrymen.

The Sioux and Cheyenne were well educated in warfare—it was a basic component of their culture—and they understood exactly what was happening. These soldiers were not attempting to fight them. They were running away.

The invigorated warriors seized the opportunity and at first rode to within fifty feet on the flanks of the loose formation and opened fire. They easily picked off the exposed troopers one by one and then closed in to kill the wounded and those whose horses had faltered. This wanton slaughter could be likened to a buffalo hunt, with the Sioux and Cheyenne finally riding into the midst of the frantic troopers and shooting them at close range. Other soldiers were knocked from their horses with stone hammers, clubs, and lances or were riddled with arrows.

The soldiers in blue made a feeble attempt to defend themselves by firing their pistols, but the Indians simply slipped behind the necks of their horses for protection. In addition, there was no easy way to reload in the saddle as the wild-eyed horses galloped across the dusty plain. The soldiers' six-shooters were soon empty and useless.

Custer's favorite white scout, Charley Reynolds, who was suffering from an infected hand, had a premonition that he was going to die that day and had given away all of his possessions. He was the last man to leave the timber and now rode for the river—until his horse was shot out from underneath him. Reynolds made a gallant stand either pinned under his mount or using the animal for breastworks before eventually being killed. One report—likely an exaggeration—stated that fifty-eight spent cartridge shells were found near his body.

Interpreter Isaiah Dorman, who was likely a runaway slave, had lived with the Sioux and at that time befriended Sitting Bull. This friendship did not help Dorman today, however, as he dashed for the river. Sioux chief Runs-the-Enemy described the death of Dorman: “We passed a black man in a soldier's uniform and we had him. He turned on his horse and shot an Indian right through the heart. Then the Indians fired at this one man and riddled his horse with bullets. His horse fell over his back and the black man could not get up. I saw him as I rode by. I afterward saw him lying there dead.”

Canadian first lieutenant Donald “Tosh” McIntosh, whose father had been an agent with the Hudson's Bay Company and his mother a direct descendent of Red Jacket, a chief of the Six Nations, had made an effort to lead his men out of the timber. McIntosh, however, couldn't find his horse and finally “borrowed” one as the dismayed enlisted owner watched. The lieutenant, who had a reputation for being a slowpoke, was shot off that horse and went down in a mass of twenty to thirty warriors. McIntosh—in addition to numerous other wounds—was struck with a tomahawk, his scalp torn from the forehead to the neck.

The Little Bighorn River at this makeshift ford offered additional obstacles for Reno's panicked command. The swift-flowing water itself was a hindrance, but on the far side awaited a steep and slippery eight- to twelve-foot-high riverbank. Numerous cavalry horses balked and lost their footing, and when the command bunched up the warriors waded into the water and clubbed the soldiers off their mounts.

At this point, Captain Thomas French, to his credit, made a heroic attempt to establish a one-man covering base of fire. He remained at the ford while his men tried to cross, firing his pistol—killing at least eight warriors single-handedly. But it would not be enough to save everyone. Eventually, French would be forced to flee to save his own life.

West Point graduate Second Lieutenant Benjamin H. Hodgson was serving as adjutant to his friend Major Marcus Reno. At the riverbank, Hodgson's horse was killed and he had been shot in both legs while attempting to cross. Private James Darcy (aka James Wilber) stated: “Right at the Little Big Horn a trooper was shot down in front of me and Lieutenant Hodgson got his first wound.… Hodgson hung on to the stirrup of Bugler [Frank] Myers and got over the river and part way up the hill, but received another wound and was killed.”

Civil War veteran and acting assistant surgeon Dr. James Madison DeWolf and his orderly had chosen the wrong ravine to climb up from the river. They were halfway to the top when DeWolf stopped to assist a wounded soldier. DeWolf and his orderly were cut down by the warriors.

Those troopers who managed to reach the eastern shore and scramble up the bluff provided no assistance to their comrades. They were intent on reaching the top of the hill, as far away from the warriors as possible. Consequently, there was no organized covering fire to assist the vulnerable soldiers, who then became easy prey for Indians firing from both banks. Once again, neither Reno nor his officers had the presence of mind to set up a covering fire to protect the retreat.

Major Marcus Reno was among the first to arrive safely at the top of the bluff across the river. The remnants of his command had by necessity straggled up the cliff behind him, dodging withering fire, and began hastily forming a defensive position.

Reno had lost about forty killed and thirteen wounded in the action thus far. The trail of blood and dead bodies of both man and horse marked the route Reno had taken in his chaotic retreat from the timber to the river.

The Indians set fire to the grass in the valley. Smoke billowed up and combined with bodies floating in the Little Bighorn River and distant voices of wounded soldiers crying out for help to create a macabre hellish effect. The survivors of Reno's battalion watched with horror from their high perch onto the field below to observe warriors, along with women and children, killing the wounded and mutilating the dead in plain sight. One such victim was Dr. James DeWolf, who was scalped within view of the soldiers on the bluffs. The troops were frantically digging into the porous soil and attempting to maintain military discipline once again following the harrowing experience of the disorganized retreat. No doubt they each had one eye trained on their task at hand and the other scanning the surrounding landscape. The hilltop was a precarious position at best, and the Indians were very much in evidence.

It was suggested to Reno by a soldier that they should go back and try to save the wounded—to which Reno reportedly replied that the soldier could rescue the wounded himself if he wanted. In other words, there would be no attempt to save the lives or retrieve the bodies of the fallen on the valley floor—or the men stranded in the timber, where they had taken refuge and remained very much alive and waiting for rescue.