Crazy Horse and Custer: The Parallel Lives of Two American Warriors (35 page)

From Washington Libbie wrote Custer daily letters recounting her social triumphs. She went to a “hop” with Senator Zachariah Chandler of Michigan and found him to be “an old goosey idiot.” His wife was away and he was drunk “and O, so silly.”
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In August 1864 Congressman Kellogg arranged a trip for high-ranking officers’ wives to City Point, Virginia, the great supply depot for the Union Army besieging Petersburg. Libbie wanted to go. “Mr K was here to-night,” Libbie wrote Custer. “Very cordial. Too much so, for I avoided his attempt to kiss me by moving aside and offering him a chair. Any lady can get that man to do anything. But all I want is that he shall take me on that trip, to you.” (Custer’s jealousy and possessiveness faded when Libbie was flirting with someone who could advance his career.) Kellogg asked Libbie to come along. The ladies rode down on the presidential yacht, the River
Queen.
At City Point, General Sheridan brought his band on board, and the party danced and laughed far into the night, while the guns boomed like thunder at the Confederate defensive works around Petersburg.

Slim and beautiful, Libbie was much in demand as a dancing partner. “You should have seen Genl. Sheridan dance; it was too funny,” Libbie wrote a friend. “He had never danced until this summer and he enters into it with his whole soul. He is short and so bright— He is like Genl. Pleasonton except that Genl. P is quieter and has exquisite taste.”
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The following March, Libbie went to Lincoln’s Inaugural Ball, escorted by Senator Chandler. “I promenaded with him and he introduced me to some of the distinguished people—Admiral Farragut the most so; he is right jolly and unaffected. The ladies’ costumes were superb;—velvets, silks, diamonds dazzled my eyes.”
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The climax to the Civil War for the two glamorous Custers was almost unbelievably romantic and glorious. Custer was in the van of Grant’s entire force in the chase to cut Lee off from his supplies. His division brought the retreat to a halt and thereby forced Lee to surrender. Custer personally received Lee’s white flag (which he kept and later gave to Libbie). While Grant and Lee discussed the terms, Custer tussled with Gimlet Lea and Fitzhugh Lee, Confederate generals. They rolled around on the ground, laughing like schoolboys. Sheridan took the small table on which the terms were written, then gave it to Custer to give to Libbie. Custer rode away laughing and balancing the table on his head. With the gift, Sheridan sent Libbie a note: “My dear Madam—I respectfully present to you
the small writing-table on which the conditions of the surrender of the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia were written by Lt. General Grant—and permit me to say, Madam, that there is scarcely an individual in our service who has contributed more to bring this about than your very gallant husband.”
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Libbie, meanwhile, had accompanied Senator Chandler and other members of Congress on a journey to Richmond. Somehow she managed to get the Confederate Executive Mansion assigned to her for her quarters, and that night she slept in Jefferson Davis’ bed. Custer, without bothering to wait for permission for a furlough, rode all night to get to her side. As he bounded into Davis’ room, he quipped, “So, after all these years of fighting, you beat me into Richmond.”
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On May 23, 1865, the Army of the Potomac held its Grand Review in Washington. It was a spectacular parade down Pennsylvania Avenue—and Custer led the whole thing. At Fifteenth Street the van of the 3rd Cavalry Division turned around the Treasury Building and started toward the White House and the presidential reviewing stand. Some three hundred girls, all dressed in white, began to shower Custer with flowers and sing patriotic songs. He leaned over to catch a bouquet. At that moment, his horse bolted.

Custer’s horse carried him at a full gallop down the parade route, lined with thousands of spectators. At the presidential reviewing stand, Custer tried to give a saber salute but lost the sword and his hat too. Then, displaying marvelous horsemanship, he brought his frantic beast under control, right in front of the President. Cheers went up. A newspaper reporter wrote, “In the sunshine his locks unskeined, stream a foot behind him … It was like the charge of a Sioux chieftain.”
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CHAPTER TWELVE

Crazy Horse and Custer as Young Warriors

Custer did not look like a Sioux chieftain, no matter what the newspapers said, nor did he think or act like one. To describe him as such, even though he rather liked the description and saved the clipping, only revealed how little the Americans understood Indians. The phrase also indicated the gap between reality and romance in Custer’s Civil War. It was pure romance to describe him as anything other than what he was, a young soldier who had led a series of charges, most of them successful and all of them bloody, against an outgunned and outnumbered opponent. By one Sioux test—bravery—Custer had covered himself with honors, but by another Sioux test—bringing home the loot with minimal losses—he was a miserable failure. For the Sioux, reality was life, not fame and power. For Custer, the reverse was true—fame and power were real, while life was cheap. “To promotion—or death!” always continued to be his watchword.

Crazy Horse, judged by white standards, was also a failure. His bravery was there for all to see and earned him his promotion to shirt-wearer. But he could not hold his fighting men together, could not make them act as a unit, could not inspire them to carry out a sustained campaign, could not obey orders himself.

It was bravery, above and beyond all other qualities, that Custer and Crazy Horse had in common. Each man was an outstanding warrior in war-mad societies. Thousands upon thousands of Custer’s fellow whites had as much opportunity as he did to demonstrate their courage, just as all of Crazy Horse’s associates had countless opportunities to show that they equaled him in bravery. But no white warrior, save his younger brother, Tom, could outdo Custer, just as no Indian warrior, save his younger brother, Little Hawk, could outdo Crazy Horse. And for both white and red societies, no masculine virtue was more admired than bravery. To survive, both societies felt they had to have men willing to put their lives on the line. For men who were willing to do so, no reward was too great,
even though there were vast differences in the way each society honored its heroes.

Beyond their bravery, Custer and Crazy Horse were individualists, each standing out from the crowd in his separate way. Custer wore outlandish uniforms, let his hair fall in long, flowing golden locks across his shoulders, surrounded himself with pet animals and admirers, and in general did all he could to draw attention to himself. Crazy Horse’s individualism pushed him in an opposite direction—he wore a single feather in his hair when going into battle, rather than a war bonnet. Custer’s vast energy set him apart from most of his fellows; the Sioux distinguished Crazy Horse from other warriors because of Crazy Horse’s quietness and introspection. Both men lived in societies in which drugs, especially alcohol, were widely used, but neither Custer nor Crazy Horse drank. Most of all, of course, each man stood out in battle as a great risk taker.

Custer’s men went into battle in uniform, perhaps partly so that they could not be told apart. Any single soldier, it was hoped, would act just as would any other soldier in the same situation. Crazy Horse’s men went into battle in the most extreme, individualistic manner possible, painting weird figures all over their bodies and their horses, so that they would stand out as individuals; an observer, they hoped, would be able to pick them out from among a hundred other warriors. Both Custer and Crazy Horse led by example, but Custer knew that his men would follow because they were disciplined, while Crazy Horse could only hope that his example would suffice to get the warriors to follow him.

But if Custer’s society gave him invaluable aid in his leadership role by making certain that his men would do what he told them to do, it also thrust upon him an enormous responsibility. At age twenty-four, he was in command of a body of troops that outnumbered the warrior population of the entire Sioux tribe. He was responsible for their well-being, their organization, their battle tactics, their behavior, and much else. Crazy Horse had no comparable experience; as a young warrior promoted to shirt-wearer he assumed certain duties and made stringent vows, but he was not responsible for his warriors to any degree as Custer was for his soldiers.

Which was one reason Custer got more rewards than Crazy Horse. Both men fought for prestige, although in Crazy Horse’s case it was prestige for its own sake, while in Custer’s case the prestige led to additional power. Until the very end Crazy Horse never had real power over other men. Nor did his great prestige lead to additional material comforts; indeed, in accord with his sworn oath, Crazy
Horse had less of those than did the majority of his tribesmen. Custer’s camp life was much more comfortable than that of his soldiers, but his real goals were power and fame. He wanted power for its own sake, not to use to bring about some reform or revolution, as Custer was in perfect agreement with the prevailing structure and ideology of his society and had no intention of changing it in any way.

Least of all did Custer want any change in the status of women. Like Crazy Horse, he regarded women as inferior, mentally as well as physically, and treated them almost as a species of property. Custer expected Libbie to devote her life, her time, her talents, and her energy to him, just as Crazy Horse would have expected the same from Black Buffalo Woman had things worked out between them. This attitude, of course, was precisely that held by both red and white societies and by the women themselves. Both societies were sufficiently flexible and realistic to allow such young men as Custer and Crazy Horse, each from a modest background, to assume leadership roles, but made absolutely no provision for any woman of any age or ability to assume any institutionalized leadership position. A patriarchy is a patriarchy, whether civilized or primitive, and patriarchs think alike about women.

But not about other things. Custer embraced ambition; Crazy Horse hardly knew ambition at all. Custer worked hard, driving himself to get ahead. He never really relaxed—even his entertainment had to have a purpose beyond the immediate moment. Thus, in his social life, he chose his friends on the basis of what they could do for him, not how well he got along with them, much less liked them. Crazy Horse hardly worked at all—as Claude Lévi-Strauss points out, the notion that savages have to struggle for their existence is not altogether correct. Certainly Crazy Horse and his friends did not have to struggle—two or three successful buffalo hunts a year, plus some occasional sporadic hunting for other game, was sufficient to feed and shelter the tribe. Three or four war parties per year might set out from Crazy Horse’s village, although by no means would he go on every expedition. The rest of the time Crazy Horse, like other Sioux men, enjoyed himself, courting girls, talking, sleeping, telling stories.

There were obvious vast differences between the two men, but at bottom they shared a fundamental trait. Both were aggressive. As a hunter Crazy Horse killed for a living; as a soldier, so did Custer. Both found the rush of hot, fresh blood exciting. Both would take great personal risks to make the blood flow. Crazy Horse was most
completely himself when he rode pell-mell into a herd of buffalo, shooting his arrows clear through the beasts, or when he charged the enemy alone and unaided, or when during a winter hunt he drove a herd of elk out of a valley and into the deep drifts, then, on snowshoes, caught them and moved quickly from one elk to the next, cutting their throats as he proceeded, the bright red blood spurting out to cover him and the snow. Custer was most completely himself when on a hunt, or when he led his troops with a whoop and a shout on a charge into the heart of the enemy lines, cutting and thrusting with his saber, his horse falling beneath him, the band playing, and the newspaper correspondents watching. Neither man hated his enemy, nor did either man fight for a cause. They fought for honors and because their societies expected them to fight, and in Custer’s case for personal power and fame. But the overriding reason they fought was that they enjoyed it. As a result, they both became heroes.

Part Three