The Last Stand: Custer, Sitting Bull, and the Battle of the Little Bighorn (63 page)

Curley speculated that Boyer “probably told Custer Reno had been defeated, for Boyer did a whole lot of talking to Custer when he joined him and kept talking while they were riding side by side,” in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 166. Martin’s accounts of how he received his orders from Custer and Lieutenant Cooke are in W. A. Graham,
The Custer Myth,
pp. 289–90, and in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
pp. 100, 103. Libbie told of Custer’s tendency to rattle off his orders in
Boots and Saddles,
pp. 120–21. Benteen quoted Cooke’s note in a July 4, 1876, letter to his wife, in John Carroll’s
Benteen-Goldin Letters,
p. 152. Standing Bear spoke of how Crazy Horse took time to “invoke the spirits. . . . [H]e delayed so long that many of his warriors became impatient,” in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 214. Black Elk’s memory of the cry “Crazy Horse is coming!” is in DeMallie’s
The Sixth Grandfather,
p. 182. Billy Garnett told of Crazy Horse’s determination to “have nothing to do with affairs political or social” and how “the Indians were almost uncontrollable” after Reno’s attack until Crazy Horse spoke to them, in Ricker,
Voices of the American West,
vol. 1, pp. 117, 118. Chipps explained that Crazy Horse “did not paint as the Indians usually do. . . . [H]e made a zigzag streak with red earth” in Ricker’s
Voices of the American West,
vol. 1, p. 126. Hutchins in
Boots and Saddles
discusses the cartridge-extraction problem in the Springfield carbine; a contributing factor was the soldiers’ use of leather cartridge belts, which tended to coat the shells with verdigris; when fired, the verdigris “formed a cement which held the sides of the cartridge in the place against the action of the ejector,” pp. 33–35. Red Hawk told how prior to the charge Crazy Horse exhorted his warriors, “Do your best, and let us kill them all off today,” in Ricker’s
Voices,
vol. 1, p. 312.

In a May 15, 1934, letter to Goldin, Fred Dustin described how the skirmish line pivoted to accommodate the growing threat to the left: “[W]hen the skirmish line changed positions, it simply pivoted on the right flank of McIntosh’s troop, and occupied the edge of the woods and brush, and facing about, French was on the
right
and McIntosh on the left at or near the edge of a depression, probably the old stream bed of the river,” in John Carroll,
Benteen-Goldin Letters,
p. 123. Gerard’s account of Reno’s taking a drink from a bottle of whiskey as he left the skirmish line for the timber is in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 232. Morris recorded French’s threat, “I will shoot the first man that turns his back to the enemy,” in Mangum’s “Reno’s Battalion,” p. 5. Private Pigford recounted Sergeant O’Hara’s plea, “For God’s sake, don’t leave me,” in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 143. A Native participant later pointed out to Nelson Miles the place where the first soldier had been killed; he said the trooper had “a large yellow stripe down the side of the trousers,” in
Personal Recollections,
p. 287.

Herendeen described the river-carved trench along the west side of the timber as well as the “little park or meadow just within the timber,” in W. A. Graham,
The Custer Myth,
p. 263. Daniel Newell wrote of how the warriors “would gallop in bunches,” in John Carroll’s
Sunshine Magazine,
p. 11. Varnum in
Custer’s Chief of Scouts
wrote of Lieutenant Hodgson’s concerns about the supposed wound on his horse, of which Varnum “saw no sign,” p. 90; the possibility exists that Reno’s adjutant was as drunk as Reno apparently was. Varnum spoke of watching Reynolds attempting to drink whiskey from Gerard’s flask in Brininstool, p. 101. Herendeen told of how he ended up being the last person defending the timber and how he “wondered where the men could be,” in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 222. Johnnie Brughiere recalled how the Lakota responded to the Yellowstone Expedition of which Herendeen had been a part: “They could not understand it except on the theory that some new race of strangers had come into the country,” in Hardorff,
Camp, Custer,
pp. 103–4. Gerard told of the confusion in the timber, in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 232. Newell described the sounds in the timber as “one continuous roar,” in John Carroll’s
Sunshine Magazine,
p. 11. William Taylor wrote of Reno wearing “a red handkerchief about his head, which gave him a rather peculiar and unmilitary appearance,” in
With Custer,
p. 47. Richard Fox in “West River History” cites Brave Bear’s claim that “cotton from trees was falling down like snow,” in
Legacy: New Perspectives on the Battle of the Little Bighorn,
edited by Charles Rankin, p. 152. Reno testified that the “Indians were using the woods as much as I was,” in W. A. Graham,
RCI,
p. 215. Herendeen asked Reno “if he remembered Bloody Knife being killed. He said, ‘Yes, and his blood and brains spattered over me,’ ” in W. A. Graham,
RCI,
p. 94; Herendeen added, “All I heard from Reno was ‘dismount’ and ‘mount’; then his horse jumped as if the spurs were put to it. I always judged, and do still, that the . . . killing of that man was what made him start, and was what stampeded the command in there—that was what made them start,” in W. A. Graham,
RCI,
p. 94. John Ryan heard Reno shout, “Any of you men who wish to make your escape, follow me,” in Barnard’s
Ten Years with Custer,
p. 293.

According to one account, two Hunkpapa sisters later came across Bloody Knife’s body in the timber and, knowing that he was an Arikara scout, cut off his head as a trophy. They carried the head to their mother, who recognized it as belonging to her brother Bloody Knife, her two daughters’ uncle. According to another account recorded by Joseph Henry Taylor, Gall was at that time in mourning over the loss of his two wives and three children. However, when he saw Bloody Knife’s severed head he smiled and said that now that his worst enemy was dead, he would join in the victory celebration; both accounts appear in Ben Innis’s
Bloody Knife,
pp. 159–60.

Chapter 11:
To the Hill

Wooden Leg described how he became aware of Reno’s attack and prepared for battle in Marquis,
Wooden Leg,
pp. 216–20. Red Feather insisted that Re-no’s battalion should have stayed in the timber; he remembered that he and his fellow warriors were pleasantly surprised to see them bolt to the south. “Some Indians shouted,” he remembered, “ ‘Give way; let the soldiers out. We can’t get at them in there,’ ” in Hardorff’s
Lakota Recollections,
p. 83. Moylan described the retreat from the timber as “the Sauve-Qui-Peut Movement,” i.e., “Everybody for himself,” in Hardorff’s
On the Little Bighorn,
p. 14. French told of being tempted to fire a “friendly bullet” into Reno, in W. A. Graham,
The Custer Myth,
p. 342. Gerard insisted that “the timber was a splendid place for defense. . . . [H]ad a little determination been displayed in way of defense, [the Indians] would never have come into the brush to find the soldiers,” in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 233; he added, “Reno . . . seeing no support from the rear, lost his head, if he had any, and suddenly decided to run the gauntlet of the Sioux.” Newell disagreed, claiming that it was Sergeant John Ryan of M Company who saved the day by telling Reno, “There is nothing to do but mount our men and cut our way out. Another fifteen minutes and there won’t be a man left,” in John Carroll’s
Sunshine Magazine,
p. 10. Taylor wrote of the despair a soldier felt when he “sees his commanding officer lose his head entirely,” in W. A. Graham,
The Custer Myth,
p. 344; he added, “Reno proved incompetent and Benteen showed his indifference. . . . Both failed Custer and he had to fight it out alone,” p. 344. Slaper remembered French telling Reno, “I think we had better get out of here,” in Brininstool, p. 51.

Thomas O’Neill of G Company heard Varnum object, “For God’s sake men let’s don’t leave the line. There are enough of us here to whip the whole Sioux nation,” in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 107. Varnum wrote in
Custer’s Chief of Scouts
of his difficult exit from the timber, p. 90, and of the warriors “with the Winchesters laying across their saddles and pumping them into us,” p. 66; he also recounted how Reno responded to his (Varnum’s) pleas to “get down and fight” with the words “I am in command,” p. 67. Wooden Leg saw the soldier riding with an arrow stuck in the back of his head, in Marquis,
Wooden Leg,
p. 221. Pretty White Buffalo Woman described how the warriors’ fresh ponies “flitted in and through and about the troopers’ broken lines,” in W. A. Graham,
The Custer Myth,
p. 85. Wooden Leg told how he and Little Bird surrounded a mounted trooper, in Marquis,
Wooden Leg,
pp. 221–22. French melodramatically described how he “sought death” in his “singlehanded” defense of the retreating soldiers in a letter in W. A. Graham,
The Custer Myth,
p. 342. French bragged about his heroics in the valley, but once he’d made it across the river, he showed little interest in organizing a covering fire for those attempting to cross the river. When asked by Sergeant Lloyd about doing just that, French said, “I’ll try—I’ll try,” then proceeded to follow Reno and the others up the hill. “But nothing was done,” Culbertson remembered, “and the Indians’ fire was not returned at all,” in W. A. Graham,
RCI,
p. 123.

Porter’s account is in L. G. Walker’s
Dr. Henry R. Porter,
pp. 56, 57–58. William Morris’s account of his and Stumbling Bear’s adventures is in Mangum’s “Reno’s Battalion,” pp. 5–7. Taylor wrote of the prairie dog village that made for “very unpleasant riding at our rapid gait,” in
With Custer,
p. 42. Herendeen described how after falling from his horse, he cried out to Charley Reynolds, “Don’t try to ride out,” in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 223. Rutten recounted his wild ride from the timber to Reno Hill and how his good friend Isaiah Dorman cried out, “Goodbye Rutten!” in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 119. On McIntosh and the picket pin, see Goldin’s April 5, 1933, letter to Albert Johnson, in John Carroll,
Benteen-Goldin Letters
, p. 43. In a July 4, 1876, letter to his wife, Benteen wrote, “I am inclined to think that had McIntosh divested himself of that slow poking way which was his peculiar characteristic he might have been still in the land of the living,” in John Carroll,
Benteen-Goldin Letters,
p. 158.

Morris estimated the western riverbank at the crossing was twelve to fifteen feet high, in Wengert and Davis’s
That Fatal Day,
p. 27. Brave Bear remembered how the sound of the troopers’ horses hitting the water “sounded like cannon going off. This was awful as the bank was awful high.” He also remembered seeing “lots of blood in the water,” in Hardorff’s
Lakota Recollections,
p. 84. Wooden Leg described how the “Indians mobbed the soldiers floundering . . . crossing the river,” in Marquis,
Wooden Leg,
p. 223. Flying Hawk’s account of Crazy Horse killing soldiers in the river is in Hardorff’s
Indian Views,
p. 124. The expression “shavetail”—used by Private Gordon to describe William Morris as the two soldiers climbed up the hill after crossing the river—refers to the practice of shaving the tail of a new, unbroken mule to distinguish it from the seasoned animals. Morris’s account of Hare’s brave actions after the retreat to Reno Hill are in Wengert and Davis’s
That Fatal Day,
p. 27. In a Jan. 31, 1896, letter to Goldin, Benteen claimed to have seen Moylan “blubbering like a whipped urchin, tears coursing down his cheeks,” in John Carroll,
Benteen-Goldin Letters,
p. 243.

According to Trumpeter William Hardy, Sergeant Henry Fehler of A Company “had an unruly horse and could not get the guidon in [his] boot,” in Hardorff’s
Camp, Custer,
p. 88. DeRudio told of how he lost his horse while trying to pick up the A Company guidon, in W. A. Graham,
The Custer Myth,
p. 253, and in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 65. DeRudio testified, “I went back for the guidon because I think it the duty of a soldier to preserve his colors at the risk of his life, though when I went, I did not think there was any danger,” in W. A. Graham,
RCI,
p. 115. O’Neill told how Jackson quieted his and Gerard’s horses by stuffing “a large bunch of grass” in each of their mouths, in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
p. 108. My thanks to the Reverend Eugene McDowell for his explanation of what happens when a stallion and a mare find themselves in close quarters. Private Henry Petring recounted how he was midstream in the LBH when he jumped from his horse and swam back down to the timber, where he joined Herendeen and the others, in Hammer,
Custer in ’76,
pp. 133–34. Herendeen’s speech to the dozen or so troopers, in which he said he was an “old frontiersman” and “would get them out of the scrape, which was no worse than scrapes I had been in before,” is in W. A. Graham,
The Custer Myth,
p. 258.

Red Feather told of seeing two Arikara “in white shirts and blue trousers running across the river. . . . Kicking Bear took after them and shouted, ‘These two are Indians—Palini!’ ” in Hardorff’s
Lakota Recollections,
p. 84. Young Hawk told of hugging his horse before launching into his own last stand in Libby
,
pp. 99–100. Black Elk described how he scalped the still-living soldier in DeMallie’s
The Sixth Grandfather,
p. 183. The Oglala Eagle Elk described Dorman’s death; he claimed a Hunkpapa woman named Her Eagle Robe shot Dorman, in Hardorff’s
Lakota Recollections
, pp. 101–2; as several scholars have pointed out, this is undoubtedly Moving Robe Woman. Although Moving Robe Woman does not mention the incident in her own narrative, it may have been because she feared possible retribution, given that the African American interpreter was well known at the Standing Rock Agency; see Gregory Michno’s
Lakota Noon,
p. 88. Years later, the cowboy Ed Lemmon remembered talking with Moving Robe Woman, whom he knew as Mary Crawler and who was “said to be the only real squaw who took part in the battle of the LBH in 1876. . . . She told of killing two wounded soldiers herself, shooting one and stabbing the other. She said she did it because some soldiers had hung an uncle of hers on Lance Creek a little before the battle,” in
Boss Cowman: The Recollections of Ed Lemmon
, edited by Nellie Yost, p. 88. My account of the mutilations inflicted on Dorman’s body is based on Hardorff’s
The Custer Battle Casualties,
pp. 148–50.