The Last Days of George Armstrong Custer (28 page)

Much speculation ensued that night regarding the whereabouts of Custer's command. One faction, led by Captain Frederick Benteen, was of the opinion that Custer had abandoned them. Another group objected to that notion and stated that Custer would be there if it were humanly possible. That same division within the regiment that had pervaded from years earlier at Washita was once again played out. Apparently no one seriously considered that Custer and his command had been wiped out by the Indians.

At the same time, back in the timber on the valley floor, First Lieutenant Charles DeRudio, scouts Fred Girard and Billy Jackson, and Private Thomas O'Neil had been trapped while the remainder of the command had scrambled for safety. After dark, the four men caught two stray horses and were riding cautiously upstream when they were challenged by an Indian. The two scouts galloped away while DeRudio and O'Neil dropped to the ground and concealed themselves on a small island. Apparently the Indian lost interest in them and wandered off.

The forty-three-year-old Lieutenant DeRudio already had a colorful résumé and this escapade would only add to his legend as a swashbuckler—if he survived it.

He had been born Carlo Camillo di Rudio on August 26, 1832, in Belluno, Venetia Province, Austria, into a family with royal roots, making him a minor nobleman. He graduated from the Royal Austrian Military Academy and subsequently held a commission in Emperor Franz Josef's army. On December 9, 1855, DeRudio married Eliza Booth, reportedly an illiterate eighteen-year-old confectioner's assistant, at Parish Church, Godalming, Surrey, England. At some point, DeRudio decided to become a revolutionary activist. He was involved in a January 14, 1858, plot planned by Felice Orsini to assassinate Napoléon III and Empress Eugénie at the Paris Opera. Orsini held Napoléon responsible for the failure of the Italian revolutions of 1848–49. Napoléon and the empress arrived outside the opera house that evening as the orchestra inside struck up the William Tell Overture. Three bombs exploded nearby, killing several guards and a horse. Napoléon narrowly escaped injury when a piece of metal struck his hat, and Eugénie suffered a cut eyelid.

Orsini and his three accomplices were captured and convicted. One man received life imprisonment, and the others, including DeRudio, were sentenced to execution by guillotine. Orsini and another man met that fate. DeRudio received a last-minute reprieve when his wife appealed to Empress Eugénie. His sentence was commuted to life on the Devil's Island penal colony in French Guiana. In the fall of 1858, however, DeRudio and about a dozen other men hollowed out a log to fashion a canoe and sailed to freedom in British Guiana and then traveled by more conventional means to England.

In February 1864, DeRudio and his wife immigrated to the United States, where they had four children. He served in the Civil War from August 1864 and was mustered out at Key West, Florida, in January 1866.

On August 31, 1867, DeRudio received an appointment as second lieutenant, Second Infantry, but it was held up while the government investigated his European criminal background. The appointment was restored on October 25, 1867, and he had been unassigned until joining the Seventh Cavalry in July 1869. He remained with the unit from that day forth.

Ironically, the night before the battle Charles DeRudio and several other officers—Benteen, Keogh, and Porter—were swapping stories of thrilling escapades and escapes, and DeRudio's tale of his escape from Devil's Island certainly topped the list. Little did he know at that time that he would experience another impossible situation the following day.

The two others who had been stranded, scout William “Billy” Jackson, who was half-Blackfoot, and interpreter Fred Girard, found a convenient hiding place in a willow thicket and dug in to await rescue.

Incidentally, even though the battle was just hours old, word of Custer's defeat had already spread across Indian Country, but the only whites to hear about the disaster would not believe it. The reason for their skepticism could be attributed to the source of the information, a controversial frontier character named Frank Grouard, who happened to be an army scout.

Grouard had been born on the Polynesian island of Tubuai to a Mormon missionary and a native girl and soon moved to Utah Territory and later to California. At age fifteen Grouard was said to have killed a classmate and ran away to Montana Territory. He worked as a teamster and later a mail carrier before either stealing some mail horses and fleeing or being captured by Sioux Indians in 1869 or 1870.

Around 1870, Grouard was captured by the Sioux and adopted into the family of Hunkpapa medicine man Sitting Bull. Grouard at that time was given the name Standing Bear and became a trusted counselor to Sitting Bull. In 1873, Grouard participated in the Sioux attacks against George Armstrong Custer's Seventh Cavalry during the Yellowstone Expedition. Shortly afterward, he had a falling-out with Sitting Bull and joined Crazy Horse's band. Grouard became known as the Grabber and continued to fight against whites.

Perhaps due to in-law problems, he defected from the Sioux in 1875 and appeared at Camp Robinson. Grouard was known as a crack shot and skilled plainsman. General George Crook was impressed with Grouard's credentials and hired him as an army scout.

In March 1876, Grouard had led the advance party to the Sioux camp on the Powder River, which was attacked by Colonel Joseph Reynolds with disappointing results. Grouard then located Crazy Horse's village on Rosebud Creek, which led to the June 17 battle in which Crook claimed victory but had actually fought to a stalemate.

At the time of the Little Bighorn battle, Grouard was said to have read smoke signals and informed some officers about Custer's defeat, but he was not believed. He dressed like an Indian and rode off to investigate—likely passing near Reno's beleaguered troops on the hilltop without noticing them—and confirmed the story. Consequently, Crook's scouts were aware of Custer's fate before the general had been officially informed. He had likely heard rumors but dismissed them due to the source.

One fact remained—the remnants of the Seventh Cavalry remained pinned down on that hilltop. The conduct of Major Marcus Reno at this defensive position during that night has been the subject of controversy. A number of officers later recalled that Reno had hidden himself in a protected position and issued no orders from darkness until dawn. Other witnesses claimed that Reno gave the appearance of being under the influence of alcohol. The major later admitted that he had brought along a flask filled with whisky, but he was in no way inebriated or incapacitated that night.

Another matter of contention arose when Reno suggested to Benteen that they mount the command and make a forced march back to the base camp on the Powder River. The wounded who could travel would accompany them; the wounded who could not would be left behind. Benteen, to his credit, rejected the idea. Rumors of this insidious plan, however, spread to the wounded and caused predictable anxiety among them. One can only imagine the horror of men lying wounded and helpless with the war cries of a vicious enemy nearby and then being confronted with the thought that abandonment was being contemplated at the highest level. Tradition and common decency dictated that soldiers did not leave behind their wounded if it was humanly possible to save them.

It should be noted that Captain Benteen displayed great courage throughout the ordeal as he constantly exposed himself to enemy fire. Evidently, Reno was willing to relinquish de facto command of the unit to Benteen while the major made himself scarce.

The agonizingly long night finally melted into a predawn haze. The light revealed that thongs of warriors had crept alarmingly close to the lines during the night. This situation would require immediate action to prevent the position from being overrun. Benteen led a detail of troopers who leaped from behind their barricades to impudently counterattack and successfully pushed back the surprised hostiles.

After that bold act, lone warriors or a small group of warriors would from time to time charge on foot or horseback, only to be repulsed by volleys of rifle fire from the perimeter. It became clear to the men on the hilltop that it would have been possible for the Indians to mount one concerted attack and overwhelm the blue-clad defenders. Chief Gall later explained that the medicine men did not consider the medicine right for such an attack or they would have done so.

In any event, the troopers remained surrounded by as many as two thousand warriors who sustained a withering fire from nearby ridges, some of which were of a higher elevation than the defensive position. One particular Indian sharpshooter on a hilltop about five hundred yards to the north picked off a number of troopers with his accurate fire until either losing interest or being silenced by a bullet.

Also at daybreak, First Lieutenant Charles DeRudio, secreted with Private Thomas O'Neil on that small island, thought he observed soldiers approaching. DeRudio called out to one, thinking it was Tom Custer. But it was apparently an Indian riding Tom's horse, and the warriors fired at the two cavalrymen. DeRudio and O'Neil fired back and then scampered away into the brush, breathing a sigh of relief when the Indians broke contact. DeRudio and O'Neil would remain hidden, hoping for a rescue that would not come.

By that morning of June 26, the cavalrymen on the bluff had been without water for quite some time and were in desperate need—especially the wounded. The men had carried full canteens when the siege had begun, but much of that water had been depleted and most of them were now severely suffering under the hot sun on the barren hill. “Our throats were parched,” wrote Private Edward H. Pickard of Company F, “the smoke stung our nostrils, it seemed as if our tongues had swollen so we couldn't close our mouths, and the heat of the sun seemed fairly to cook the blood in our veins.”

Perhaps this condition was one reason that the Indians chose not to mount an attack on the hilltop. Not only would a frontal assault cost many Indian lives, but it also was apparent that sooner or later the troops would need water to survive. And in order to procure any water the cavalrymen would have to traverse a six-hundred-yard ravine that led to the river from the hilltop—and that ravine was presently occupied by armed warriors.

Captain Benteen realized that they could not remain in their defensive position much longer without water—and riding off into the mass of hostiles in an escape attempt was not an option. The cavalrymen must have water right now to survive.

Acting on his own without consulting Major Marcus Reno, Benteen decided that they must first try to drive the Indians from their positions in the ravine. He led a charge of troops toward the astonished Indians, killing several of them and chasing away the others. He had not lost a man until returning to the line, where one cavalryman was shot and killed.

This action, however, may have cleared the ravine itself, but anyone attempting to reach the river at the bottom would be required to cross areas of open space, with Indian sharpshooters firing point-blank from the opposite bank.

Benteen declined to order any of the troops to make the perilous journey down the steep ravine and, rather, asked for volunteers—and there were plenty of them. These brave volunteers collected every possible container that could hold water and were ready to depart on what could be called a suicide mission. Benteen deployed four of the best shots available—George H. Geiger, Henry Meckling, Otto Voit, and Charles Windolph—in a skirmisher line and ordered them to lay down a serious base of fire into the bushes across the river.

With fear and trepidation, the volunteers cautiously descended the treacherous ravine, stumbling on loose dirt and struggling to maintain their balance by grabbing bushes, all the while trying to keep a low profile to avoid the bullets and arrows directed at them. Each man was aware as he slid down that hillside what would happen if he would be wounded and fell into the hands of the hostiles. The sharpshooters furiously fired their Springfield carbines, shooting and reloading as quickly as possible, mindful that their sustained fusillade was the only chance their fellow soldiers had of staying alive.

This initial attempt at gathering water could be called successful—although one man was killed and six or seven wounded. Enough water was hauled back to the hilltop to temporarily quench the thirst of wounded and alive alike.

The intense fire from the Indians had decreased by about noon. Some soldiers thought it was a trick to lure them out of their positions to where they could be more easily picked off. Regardless, troops were dispatched to fill canteens and other receptacles with river water and made the trip without incident.

It has been theorized that it was at this point that the Terry-Gibbon Column had entered the valley and was noticed by the Indians, who commenced packing up their village. One pocket of Indian snipers, however, remained to devastate the position of Captain McDougall's Company B. Another detail was formed and executed a charge on foot to rout those hostiles.

In late afternoon, a column of Sioux and Cheyenne men, women, and children with all their possessions and horse herd could be viewed marching southwesterly toward the Bighorn Mountains. Benteen observed: “It started about sunset and was in sight till darkness came. It was in a straight line about three miles long, and I think a half mile wide, as densely packed as animals could be. They had an advance guard and platoons formed, and were in as regular order as a corps or division.”

Major Marcus Reno was suspicious—a few snipers had remained behind to nag them—and, in keeping with his habitual timidity, decided to remain in position for the time being. Nevertheless, the men on the line relaxed and prepared meals, and details escorted the horses and mules to the river to drink and then put them out to graze.

DeRudio and O'Neil had remained hidden down below in the valley, watching as a long procession of Indians, mostly women and children, passed within fifty yards of their position on their way toward the Bighorn Mountains. That night, DeRudio contemplated walking to the Rosebud until he heard the braying of a mule and realized that soldiers must be nearby. He and O'Neil took the initiative to investigate and soon approached Reno's perimeter on the bluffs. They identified themselves and were saved. Scouts Jackson and Girard had presented themselves sometime earlier.