Crazy Horse and Custer: The Parallel Lives of Two American Warriors (65 page)

The Secretary of War was William W. Belknap, a former Civil War
general and hack politician with expensive tastes. President Grant continued to trust Belknap for reasons never discovered, but which may have been connected with Belknap’s shrewdness in bringing the President’s brother Orvil in on the post-trader deals. Orvil Grant was involved in the sale of some traderships at the Missouri River forts and would have had to be included in any exposé. The swindling was common knowledge in the West, but it would have all been hearsay in a court of law. Custer could not prove anything, was not the kind of officer to challenge the Secretary of War directly, and had nothing to gain from taking on the President himself. Custer’s stature in the President’s eyes was already way down because of the things young Fred Grant had told his father about him, mostly items Fred had made up after Custer had embarrassed him by placing him under arrest for drunkenness.

Evidently, at some time during the summer of 1875, despite the obstacles, Custer decided to do something about the post-trader scandal when and if he could. It should not be thought that he had suddenly taken on a new role, either as champion of the poor or the friend of the enlisted man, for his own fortunes were very much involved in the whole matter. He had no savings, and he and Libbie had to watch every penny. They spent the late fall and winter of 1875-76 in New York, on leave. There they took the horsecars to receptions and dinners, rather than cabs. Custer had only one civilian suit and could afford no more. For entertainment, they went on forty different nights to see their friend Lawrence Barrett in
Julius Caesar;
not that they liked Barrett or the play all that much, but they got in free. They stayed in a boarding house to save money; Libbie told Tom Custer that “We live cheaper than at Fort Lincoln.”

When the Custers were preparing to return to Fort Lincoln, Libbie astonished her friends when they asked her why she was leaving so soon and she replied, matter of factly, that they had used up all the money they had saved for the leave of absence.
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In short, Custer felt the pinch of the traders’ inflated prices as much as his men did. He had investigated and discovered that the trader at Fort Abraham Lincoln made a profit of $15,000 per year, of which he kept only $2,000. Custer began calling the traders a bunch of crooks, adding that Secretary Belknap was the chief of the thieves.
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In the late summer of 1875 Secretary Belknap had come on an official visit to the fort. The day before his arrival the post trader sent Custer a basket of wine for the distinguished visitor. Custer sent it back, stiffly informing the trader that he himself did not drink and that he did not propose to entertain the Secretary. When Belknap entered
the fort, Custer had the appropriate salute fired, but though commanding officer of the post he refused to meet the Secretary at the entrance to the reservation, as was customary. Instead, Custer remained in his office and let Belknap come to him. When the official business was finished, Custer abruptly left Belknap and went to his house, leaving the Secretary to his own devices.
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Following this incident, which became a juicy item of gossip at every frontier post, the Custers made their trip to New York. There Custer once again fell in with his old Democratic party friends. These gentlemen were greatly excited by the stories Custer had to tell about Belknap, Orvil Grant, and the traders. It was a presidential election year and the more scandals the Democrats could pin on Grant, the better. This scandal promised to be a hot one, especially with the dashing Custer as the chief witness. On February 10, 1876, James Gordon Bennett, a good friend of Custer’s and publisher of the anti-Administration New York
Herald,
demanded a full investigation into suspected corruption in the War Department. Bennett followed it up with a flat declaration that Belknap was selling traderships and that Orvil Grant was implicated. Bennett suggested that Grant ask his brother how much money he, Orvil, had “made in the Sioux country starving the squaws and children.”
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From this point on, the available information on what happened is sketchy at best. We know what Custer and his Democratic friends did in public, but there is no record of their private discussions. If the unfolding events were part of a conspiracy, it was well hidden and remains obscure. In one way, all the frustrations the historian experiences in trying to get accurate information about what Crazy Horse did, said, or thought pale beside the frustrations of trying to figure out what happened with Custer and the Democrats in 1876. Among the Americans, political plots and schemes were hatched in the dark, and skillful men did their best to keep knowledge of their activities hidden from the public—and from future historians. Even more than when dealing with the Indians, the historian is reduced to speculation in dealing with white politics.

The first question is, did Custer inspire the original Bennett call for an investigation in 1876? The scandal was in the air, was well known in the West, other Army officers were talking about it. But Custer was the one doing the talking in New York, he was close to Bennett, and he did agree privately with Bennett to give the
Herald
his exclusive account of the upcoming Sioux campaign, which Custer expected to command.
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A further bit of evidence came on March 31, 1876, when the
Herald
published an article entitled “Belknap’s
Anaconda,” accusing the former Secretary of War of outright corruption and providing details. It was widely assumed that Custer was the author, an assumption reinforced by the later testimony of the post trader, who said he cashed a check from Bennett to Custer shortly thereafter. Custer claimed the check was for another matter altogether, but it looked suspicious.
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There was other evidence that the
Herald
was getting information obtainable only from someone who knew Fort Abraham Lincoln intimately.
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If Custer was responsible for the campaign against Belknap, and beyond Belknap against Grant himself, the next question is why he did so. It is difficult to believe that he would have taken on the Grant Administration simply to save himself a few dollars, and again, it strains the imagination to suppose that he would embark on something this big in order to protect his enlisted men. Perhaps he had the honor of the Army in mind; when asked what effect the alleged corruption had on the Army, Custer said, “I think it one of the highest commendations that could be bestowed on the Service, that it has not been completely demoralized by the unworthiness at the head.”
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These were probably all factors in Custer’s decision to act (if he indeed had acted), but perhaps there was something more. Perhaps Bennett and his friends hinted that Custer could earn a reward beyond the satisfaction of exposing the crooks.

Bennett was after big game. He wanted Grant humbled and a Democrat elected to replace him. Custer was a tool Bennett used to get the job done. The question is, how important a tool? The Democrats were in a strong position, for they had taken control of Congress in the elections of 1874, economic conditions were worse than ever as the economic depression ground on, and the public was becoming ashamed of the Grant Administration (there were other scandals the Democrats were exposing). Bennett’s problem was that the front-running candidate for the Democratic nomination for President was Samuel J. Tilden, governor of New York and a reformer who had made the destruction of the Tweed Ring running Tammany Hall his chief objective. Tammany controlled the Democratic party in the city, and most city Democrats, including Bennett, were naturally opposed to Tilden’s nomination. Bennett needed a candidate who could head off Tilden, which may have been where Custer came into the picture.

Custer was one of the most famous men in the country and extremely popular to boot. While he was in New York, the Redpath Agency offered him a lecturing contract. If he would go on the lecture circuit, the agency would promise him an engagement five nights
a week for at least five months, at $200 per performance.
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That was big money, as much as anyone on the extensive lecture circuit of the day could command on a regular basis, including probably Mark Twain. Further, 1876 was a depression year. In terms of the dollar of the 1930s, Custer was being offered around $1,000 per night; in terms of the mid-1970s, the figure would be $2,000 per night or more. The faith that the Redpath Agency showed in Custer’s drawing power indicates that he had that essential qualification of a national politician: instant recognition.

Custer turned down the Redpath offer, as he evidently did any suggestions Bennett may have made to him, and in February he prepared to return to Fort Abraham Lincoln. It is possible that any offers made to him were predicated on a successful campaign against the Sioux, which would add to his laurels. In any event, what he wanted most of all was to be the commander of the expedition. As he wrote Tom Custer in January 1876, “I think the 7th Cavalry may have its greatest campaign ahead,” and he would rather have died than missed it.
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The Army was planning a three-pronged attack against the hostiles in the unceded Indian territory. One of the columns would start from Fort Abraham Lincoln and eventually follow the Yellowstone River. Another, under General George Crook, would move north from Fort Fetterman toward the Little Bighorn (Crook’s proposed winter campaign had not gotten off the ground). The third, under Major General John Gibbon, would follow the Yellowstone downstream from Fort Ellis, Montana. The Sioux, it was hoped, would be caught in this three-way squeeze. Custer was slated to command the column coming from Fort Abraham Lincoln and was anxious to get back to the fort to complete the preparations. Getting to Bismarck from St. Paul, however, proved to be a difficult undertaking. No trains were running, so deep was the snow in Minnesota, but when the Northern Pacific officials learned that Custer needed to get to the fort, they made up a special train for him. These men knew how important Custer was to their plans, so they spared no expense. There were two snowplows and three enormous engines, the usual complement of engineers and firemen, plus forty extra hands to shovel snow. Nevertheless the train got stuck in a gigantic drift and stayed stuck through a severe snowstorm. Libbie described the ensuing discomforts, fears, and dramatic rescue in
“Boots and Saddles.”
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Scarcely had they arrived at Fort Lincoln (late February) when Custer received word that his presence was required in Washington.
As a result of Bennett’s call for an investigation, a House committee under the chairmanship of Representative Hiester Clymer, Democrat of Pennsylvania, began digging into the records of the War Department. Clymer wanted Custer to testify. Custer tried to get out of it; he offered to answer questions in writing but begged to be allowed to stay with his command when it took the field. Clymer, however, insisted. Custer was unable to evade the summons.
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On his way to Washington, Custer stopped off in New York. There in late March he did some business with his publisher, but he also saw his Democratic friends, including William Endicott, who would later be Grover Cleveland’s Secretary of War. What political matters, if any, were discussed we do not know, but Custer did receive an invitation to dinner at the Manhattan Club—
“the
Democratic Club of New York,” he wrote Libbie, “with the promise that it would be non-political with no speeches. Congressman Robert Roosevelt signed the invitation.”
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Custer then went on to Washington to testify, where he also met plenty of prominent Democrats. Senator Thomas F. Bayard of Delaware held a dinner in his honor, with former Confederates now holding political office as the guests. Pro-South Democrat (and former senator from California) William Gwin was there, and Gwin was a political plotter of the first rank. So was Senator John B. Gordon of Georgia, also present. Custer sat to the right of Bayard’s daughter at dinner, Representative Clymer to her left. Custer was spending a lot of time with Clymer, walking with him to the Capitol in the mornings, lunching with him, and so on. Custer also returned at least twice to Bayard’s home for dinner.
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Despite all the attention, Custer was desperate to get out of Washington and back to the 7th Cavalry. His chances looked good, because in early March Belknap had tried to escape the situation by resigning. Grant foolishly accepted the resignation, which added to the foul odor of the whole affair, but Belknap’s resignation seemed to preclude an impeachment and trial.
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Clymer was not going to let Belknap and Grant get off that easily, however, and was pushing ahead with impeachment hearings on Belknap, but Custer hoped that the Senate would decide it had no justification to hear the case in view of Belknap’s resignation. In that event, Custer would soon be free to return to the 7th Cavalry.

Custer’s testimony before the Clymer committee was a sensation, partly because of what he said, partly because he was the one saying it. He laid out the whole case against Belknap and linked Orvil Grant with the corruption. He got blasted by the Republican press,
praised by the Democratic editors, and wrote Libbie: “Do not be anxious. I seek to follow a moderate and prudent course, avoiding prominence. Nevertheless, everything I do, however simple and unimportant, is noticed and commented on. This only makes me more careful.”
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On April 17 the Belknap impeachment trial began. Custer begged the House managers of the impeachment to release him from Washington, and he got Major General Alfred Terry, commander of the Department of Dakota, to telegraph the managers to ask for (Custer’s immediate release. As his testimony was all hearsay anyway, the managers let him go, but then President Grant held up his clearance to leave Washington.