Crazy Horse and Custer: The Parallel Lives of Two American Warriors (69 page)

Crook had the idea that Crazy Horse’s camp was downstream, and about noon—as the initial fury of the battle eased a bit—he sent Colonel Mills and a detachment of eight troops of cavalry toward the canyon, with orders to locate, capture, and hold the camp until reinforcements could arrive. Mills got started off boldly enough, but his Crow scouts soon refused to go any farther. As the valley became narrower, they became more afraid of an ambush. According to some accounts, Crazy Horse was by then leading them on and had indeed posted warriors on both sides of the canyon for an ambush. Other accounts, however, say that Crazy Horse watched Mills’ force march downstream, then gathered together the bulk of the warriors on Crook’s flank and rear, with the idea of overwhelming Crook’s main body of troops as soon as Mills was beyond supporting distance.
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The decoy and ambush tactics sound more like Crazy Horse, but the second account fits in better with what happened next. Perhaps
Crazy Horse was learning. Perhaps he realized that the decoy trick had been done to death, that there was no chance of its working, especially with the Crows and Shoshonis present to give advice to the white soldiers. Crook had done an incredibly stupid thing—with his men hard pressed by a fired-up opponent, he had divided his command and was putting each portion out of supporting distance of the other. Seeing this, Crazy Horse may have decided to apply the basic military principle of concentration of force at the decisive spot. If so, he had learned the fundamental lesson taught by Napoleon#x2014;bring all your force to bear against a portion of the enemy, and the day will be yours.

In any event, Crook soon heard from the Crows that the Sioux and Cheyennes were massing on his left flank, and he could see others getting onto his rear. The sight must have appalled him. He abandoned all plans for an offensive movement and sent a staff officer dashing after Mills, to order Mills to come back. Mills swung around to his own left, which after some marching placed him near the flank and rear of the Sioux and Cheyenne lines. When Mills’ cavalry appeared behind them, the hostiles were disconcerted. They scattered, and soon thereafter the engagement ended.

Crook claimed a victory, on the grounds that the Indians left the field of battle. The United States Government would soon go broke if the Army won many such victories. First of all, Crook lost twenty-eight men killed and fifty-six wounded (Crazy Horse later acknowledged losing thirty-six men killed and sixty-three wounded, terribly high casualties for Indians).
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Second, Crook’s men had fired away twenty-five thousand rounds of ammunition; counting all the costs of the campaign, the government was paying about $1,000,000 for each Indian killed.
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Crook retreated after a day or so, falling back to the south. He was not heard from again until the middle of July. Neither Terry, Gibbon, nor Custer had any idea where he was or what he was doing. Crook was unable to get word through hostile territory to his fellow officers, or so he claimed. Thus they did not know where the hostiles were located or in what numbers. Most important, Crook failed to tell Custer, Terry, and Gibbon that the Indians were displaying new fighting methods, that they were now closing with the Army in combat. After the Rosebud, Crook did nothing; the hostiles had put him out of action.

Crazy Horse and the warriors went back to the big camp near the Little Bighorn, where they mourned the dead, then feasted and danced. They were satisfied with what they had done, especially after
scouts reported that Crook had turned around and gone back from where he had come. But the Sioux were under no illusions. From Sitting Bull’s vision, and from their own knowledge of all the soldier columns in the northwest Plains, they knew that they would soon be attacked in camp. But they were not afraid—they had shown at the Rosebud what they could do. Their fondest hope was to be left in peace, but if they could not have that, then the soldiers could come—they would stay where they were and fight.

The soldiers were coming. On June 20, Reno returned from his reconnaissance. Though Terry had ordered him only to go up the Powder, then down the Tongue, he had exceeded his orders upon reaching the Tongue, where he found some Indian trails leading to the west, perhaps indicating that the big hostile camp was on the Little Bighorn. Reno followed the trail cross-country to the Rosebud, then left it to march down that creek back to the Yellowstone, then to the Tongue. Terry was furious. So was Custer, but for different reasons. Terry wrote his sisters that Reno “had done this in positive defiance of my orders not to go to the Rosebud, in the belief that there were Indians on that stream and that he could make a successful attack on them which would cover up his disobedience. …”
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Custer’s complaint was that Reno, having cut loose, then lost heart and returned to the main column. He couldn’t imagine how any Indian fighter could leave a hot trail, and he chewed Reno out in no uncertain terms.
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He told Libbie he was going to take up the trail where Reno left it, but “I fear that failure to follow up the Indians has imperilled our plans by giving the village an intimation of our presence. Think of the valuable time lost!”
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Through his mouthpiece, correspondent Kellogg, Custer managed to get his version of the Reno scouting expedition into the eastern press. Kellogg sent a dispatch to Bennett’s New York
Herald,
which Bennett gleefully printed a few days before the Democratic Convention met in St. Louis. Speaking of Reno, the
Herald
quoted Custer as saying, “Few officers have ever had so fine an opportunity to make a successful and telling strike, and few have ever so completely failed to improve their opportunity.”
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The truth was that every senior officer on the three expeditions—Gibbon, Terry and Custer—wanted a crack at the hostiles for himself. Each was convinced that no force of Indians, no matter how large, could stand up to their fire power. They all knew that this would be the last big Indian fight on the Plains and that the victor would become one of the Great Captains: his tactics would be studied in
West Point classrooms and the nation would give him whatever reward he desired. Crook had felt that way. So had Gibbon, who had marched his men well beyond the point of ordinary human endurance in the hope of catching the hostiles and defeating them by himself.
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In short, the situation was wide open—it was each general for himself and to the victor belonged the spoils.

Terry now moved his command up the Yellowstone and set up base camp at the mouth of the Rosebud, establishing his headquarters on the steamboat
Far West.
There, on June 21, he held a council of war with Gibbon and Custer. The problem they discussed was how to catch the Indians. They estimated the hostile force at between 800 and 1,000 warriors, but Custer thought that figure too low. He felt there would be 1,500 warriors waiting. That was approximately half the actual number in Sitting Bull’s camp, but even had Terry, Gibbon and Custer known that there were in fact 3,000 or more warriors waiting for them, they would have changed nothing. Lonesome Charley Reynolds, as well as Bloody Knife and the Indian scouts, thought there were too many Sioux for the Army to handle, but there was not a single officer who had the slightest doubt about what the outcome would be if any sizable force of cavalry or infantry was able to attack the Indians en masse.

Such an attitude was not simply foolish white man’s overconfidence. It was based on previous experience, and not only in the United States. Napoleon had concluded as a result of his Egyptian campaign that one European soldier versus one Asiatic or Oriental soldier did not have a chance—the native was far too shrewd and cunning, and regardless of who had the better weapons, the native would best the alien. When a small party of three to five European soldiers met the same number of natives, the Europeans might be able to defend themselves in combat if they were properly dug in on good defensive positions or properly led on an offensive. But twenty or more European soldiers armed with the best weapons could take on fifty or even one hundred natives, because of European discipline, training, and fire control. Custer knew of Napoleon’s maxim and thought it exactly right.

So much so, in fact, that when Terry indicated that he wanted Custer to march toward the Indian camp and offered to let Custer take along the Gatling guns as well as four troops of the 2nd Cavalry, Custer refused both. He said he was afraid the Gatling guns would slow his march, and as for the extra cavalrymen, they wouldn’t be needed. The 7th Cavalry, 611 men strong, with their powerful American
horses, far superior weaponry, and fire control, would be more than sufficient to rub out every warrior in the Sioux nation.
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Custer’s refusal of the extra cavalry—the four troops would have increased his fighting strength by 30 per cent—was a serious error. They would not have slowed the march and could have added great weight to any attack Custer might make. His decision to go it alone with the 7th Cavalry must be attributed to his ambition, both for himself and for his beloved regiment—he did not want to share the glory with anyone, not even fellow cavalry officers fighting under his own command. But if Custer’s motives are difficult to fathom, it is clear enough that this was the biggest mistake he ever made, including leaving Fort Wallace in 1867 to fly to Libbie’s side.

The focus of Gibbon, Terry, and Custer during their war council on the
Far West
was not on how to defeat the enemy, but on how to catch him. Its object, recalled Gibbon, was “to prevent the escape of the Indians, which was the idea pervading the minds of all of us.” Scouts had reported smoke in the direction of the Little Bighorn; Reno had seen a trail leading in that direction; everything indicated that the Indians could be caught there (it is necessary to recall that none of the generals on the
Far West
knew where Crook was or what he was doing—a classic example of the disadvantage of a divided command). The plan was that Custer would lead the 7th Cavalry up the Rosebud to its head, thus blocking escape to the east, then cross the divide to the valley of the Little Bighorn. Gibbon, meanwhile, would go back up the Yellowstone a way, ascend the Bighorn River, and enter the Little Bighorn Valley from the north. Teny decided to accompany Gibbon, probably because Terry was exhausted from the recent marching and knew that Custer would set a demanding pace. Gibbon’s infantry would be easier to keep up with and he could stay on the
Far West
much of the way. He may also have felt that Gibbon had the best chance of finding the hostiles. Mark Kellogg did not. The journalist decided to go with Custer on the grounds that Custer was most likely to find and destroy the enemy (or had publisher Bennett told his reporter to stick with Custer no matter what?).

The following morning, June 22, Terry handed Custer a set of written orders. In some places he was explicit, in others permissive, thereby laying the basis for endless controversy about whether Custer disobeyed orders in the ensuing campaign. Terry ordered Custer to “proceed up the Rosebud in pursuit of the Indians whose trail was discovered by Major Reno a few days ago. It is, of course, impossible
to give you any definite instructions in regard to this movement, and were it not impossible to do so, the Department Commander places too much confidence in your zeal, energy and ability to impose upon you precise orders which might hamper your action when nearly in contact with the enemy.” That made good military sense—Custer was an experienced commander who had demonstrated his ability to operate successfully when given
carte blanche.
Nor could Terry anticipate what Custer might encounter, and he wisely gave Custer freedom of movement.

If Terry had concluded his orders with that opening paragraph, there would have been no subsequent controversy. But he went on “to indicate to you [Custer] his [Terry’s] own views of what your action should be, and he desires that you conform to them unless you see sufficient reason for departing from them.” Once again, the phrase “unless you see sufficient reason for departing from them” gave Custer
carte blanche,
but then Terry added “suggestions” that, read in one way, could be construed as binding orders. Terry wanted Custer to proceed past the point where the trail crossed the Rosebud, continue to move south to the headwaters of the Tongue, and only then turn west toward the Little Bighorn, “feeling constantly however to your left so as to preclude the possibility of the escape of the Indians to the south or southeast by passing around your left flank.” Terry also outlined Gibbon’s route of march, but nowhere in his orders did he mention co-operation between the two columns.
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After the meeting, Custer saw to it that the cavalrymen got ready. Then he dashed off a note to Libbie: “My darling—I have but a few moments to write, as we move at twelve, and I have my hands full of preparations for the scout. … Do not be anxious about me. You would be surprised to know how closely I obey your instructions about keeping with the column. I hope to have a good report to send you by the next mail. … A success will start us all towards Lincoln. …

“I send you an extract from Genl. Terry’s official order, knowing how keenly you appreciate words of commendation and confidence in your dear Bo. [Here Custer copied the opening lines of Terry’s order.] Your devoted boy Autie.”
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At noon, June 22, the 7th Cavalry paraded past Terry and Gibbon. As Custer marched away, Gibbon called out to him, “Now, Custer, don’t be greedy, but wait for us.” Waving his hand gaily, Custer called over his shoulder, “No, I will not.”
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As he rode away, an officer claimed he heard Terry say, “Custer is happy now, off with a roving command of fifteen days. I told him if he found the Indians
not to do as Reno did, but if he thought he could whip them to do so.”
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