by Thom Hatch
Incidentally, at the time of this Court of Inquiry there was no reason for anyone to assume that the Enlisted Men’s Petition was not authentic. This phony document was presented as evidence and was a huge boost to Reno’s case. Here were 235 or 236 credible eyewitnesses who enthusiastically supported the actions of Reno and Benteen that day—most of them without their knowledge.
Reno was also aided by the fact that fellow officers had closed ranks around the elite Seventh Cavalry and did not desire to bring disgrace upon the unit. Stories were carefully altered and answers were often evasive—some officers did not testify for one reason or another. Only one officer, First Lieutenant (and future general) Edward S. Godfrey, supported the charge of cowardice against Reno by stating that the major had displayed “indecision” and “nervous timidity.”
The few disparaging words against Reno came from civilians, scout Fred Girard in particular, who pointed out Reno’s mishandling of the retreat, and by two packers who accused Reno of drunkenness. Reno defenders have pointed out that mainly civilians condemned Reno, not fellow officers. These misguided defenders evidently have never served in the armed forces.
Anyone who has worn the uniform to this day knows that unit protocol occasionally calls for “cover-ups” in these situations. You simply do not—cannot—bring discredit upon your unit or organization. The whole truth cannot be revealed at times for the good of the outfit, and anyone who betrays that sacred unwritten law faces repercussions from his comrades. In other words, in this case, the inquiry was little more than a dog-and-pony show performed by career military men who understood the politics of their profession.
In fact, First Lieutenant Charles DeRudio confirmed this attitude by the officers when he told researcher Walter Camp, “There was a private understanding between a number of officers that they would do all they could to save Reno.”
Still, it was glaringly evident that Reno had disobeyed Custer’s orders by not charging into the village and his subsequent actions were contrary to proper military conduct and discipline.
The testimony of twenty-three veterans of the battle lasted for twenty-six days and filled thirteen hundred pages. The finding of the court was as follows: “The conduct of the officers throughout was excellent, and while subordinates, in some instances, did more for the safety of the command by brilliant displays of courage than did Major Reno, there was nothing in his conduct which requires animadversion [criticism or censure] from this Court.”
Amazingly, given the known facts about Custer’s orders and strategy and a clear view of the way the battle unfolded, Reno had been cleared of any wrongdoing. The Reno Court of Inquiry, which had been convened in order to establish the facts of the battle, was more farcical than credible and simply served to intensify the debate over the conduct of Custer and Reno that exists to this day.
Libbie Custer was understandably crushed by the decision of the court but said nothing about it in public. Not so Frederick Whittaker. He wrote a scathing letter to the New York Sun newspaper that was published on February 26, 1879, in which he called the proceedings a “mockery of justice,” and a “whitewash.” Whittaker went on to say that Wesley Merritt had been “afterward closeted with the Recorder, [Lieutenant Jesse Lee] alone for several hours, and, it is understood, did most of the work of the decision, the Recorder having no voice save to present the case on trial.”
Libbie expressed her feelings about Merritt in an October 16, 1882, letter to General William T. Sherman, in which she wrote: “A wife’s love sharpens her eyes and quickens her instinct and years ago I knew (not from my husband) that General Merritt was his enemy. On the plains we entertained him and he seemed to have conquered his enmity and jealousy that was so bitter in the Army of the Republic. But when he was placed at the head of the Court of Inquiry that met to investigate Col. Reno’s conduct at Chicago, I saw all through the trial how General Merritt still felt toward his dead comrade.”
Evidently, Wesley Merritt’s envy of Custer—they had been rivals during the Civil War—had been a major influence on the outcome. Or could it have been that higher-ups in the government had stacked the court, privately making their sentiments about the outcome known? In all fairness, no officer who had served as closely with George Armstrong Custer as had Merritt during his career should have been appointed to that inquiry. The court failed to meet the standards of an objective military investigation and possibly from the start never had any intention of placing blame where it belonged. But that is not the end of the story.
Years later, there would be some measure of satisfaction for Libbie Custer, however. General (former lieutenant) Jesse M. Lee, the Reno court recorder, wrote a letter to Libbie, dated June 27, 1897, and confessed to having been influenced during the inquiry “by the prejudicial opinions of those whose motive I did not then understand, and whose sources of information I then had no means of testing.” Lee went on to offer the opinion that blame for the defeat should have been placed squarely on Marcus Reno.
The important vindication of Custer by the court recorder, unfortunately, had come eighteen years too late and has had little impact on changing opinions.
Libbie set aside her bitterness about the failure of the inquiry to condemn Reno to become a writer of articles published in the country’s most respected magazines as well as the author of three memoirs of note. Each of these books that related her adventures on the frontier and further shaped the heroic image of her husband became exceedingly popular with the public.
Boots and Saddles or, Life in Dakota with General Custer, released in 1885, recounted the story of how her marriage survived the frustrations, dangers, and hardships of living on frontier posts and concludes by blaming the corrupt Indian policy for the tragedy at the Little Bighorn. Tenting on the Plains; or, General Custer in Kansas and Texas, 1887, addresses post–Civil War duty in Texas, where a near mutiny occurred, as well as posts in Kansas, including those events pertaining to Custer’s 1867 court-martial. Following the Guidon, 1890, refutes criticism over the 1868 Washita battle. These fascinating books stand as several of the best ever written about that period in history.
Libbie, who remained unmarried for the rest of her life and lived most of the time in a Park Avenue apartment, traveled the world and was in much demand as a public speaker. The issues she embraced ranged beyond maintaining her husband’s image to include the women’s suffrage movement and other feminist causes. She invested her money wisely and purchased property in Bronxville, Westchester County, New York, where she spent her later years.
Libbie Bacon Custer died of a heart attack on April 4, 1933—four days short of her ninety-first birthday—and was buried beside her husband two days later at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, New York. Her obituary appeared in The New York Times on April 5, 1933.
Frederick Benteen, the recipient of Custer’s last message, has also come under fire for his behavior on June 25, 1876. Instead of hurrying to rescue Custer’s command, Benteen lollygagged along the way, which in the opinion of many scholars constituted a disobedience of orders. Had he acted immediately, it has been theorized, he could have reached the battlefield in time to assist Custer. True, statements made by orderly John Martin, who had delivered the message to hurry, were of a reassuring nature, which might have convinced Benteen that the situation was well in hand. But nothing in battle should be assumed, rather it should be confirmed, and Benteen—who had received his orders—neglected to do that.
Benteen stated at the 1879 Reno Court of Inquiry that he believed that it would have been tantamount to suicide to follow Custer’s order. “We were at their hearth and homes,” he said, referring to the Sioux, “their medicine was working well, and they were fighting for all the good God gives anyone to fight for.”
Perhaps that was the case when Benteen finally arrived near the scene of the battle and was met by a terrified Marcus Reno. Had Benteen “Come on” and been “Quick,” just the mere presence of his 125 troopers advancing, much less their fire
power, might have made a difference in discouraging the fighting spirit of the enemy. Benteen, true to form, also held the opinion that Custer had disobeyed the orders of General Terry and thereby sacrificed his command.
Custer’s last message, by the way, has survived. Benteen wrote to his wife on July 4, quoted the message, and said: “I have the original, but it is badly torn and it should be preserved.” He brought the document to Reno’s Court of Inquiry and later gave it to a friend in Philadelphia, who sold it to a New Jersey collector. At some point Colonel Charles Bates, author of several Custer-related books, noticed the message advertised for sale at an auction. Bates arranged with the owner to have it secured by the U.S. Military Academy at West Point.
Benteen remained with the Seventh Cavalry after Little Bighorn and fought against the Nez Percé at Canyon Creek in 1877, for which he received a brevet to colonel. In 1882, he was promoted to major and transferred to the Ninth Cavalry.
While serving as commander of Fort Duchesne, Utah, in 1886, Benteen, who had a fondness for alcohol, faced a court-martial and was found guilty of various offenses ranging from drunkenness on duty to using obscene and profane language and exposing himself in public. His punishment, dismissal from the army, was later amended by President Grover Cleveland to a one-year suspension in respect for Benteen’s long and honorable service.
Benteen established his residence in Atlanta and requested that he be retired on disability following his suspension, which took effect July 7, 1888. Two years later, he somehow was awarded a brevet of brigadier general for his actions at Little Bighorn and against the Nez Percé.
A portrait of Benteen’s sarcastic and critical personality was revealed during his later years. Bitter and vindictive in his old age, Benteen literally blisters the pages of letters written to a number of people, most notably a former Seventh Cavalry private named Theodore Goldin, with hatred of Custer and contempt for most of his old comrades.
Goldin’s company was part of Major Marcus Reno’s battalion during the Little Bighorn battle. He was said to have been wounded twice while retreating from the valley across the river to the bluffs and during the two-day siege of the hilltop. Goldin participated in the 1877 Nez Percé Campaign until November, when he was discharged as a private of good character. He returned to Wisconsin, where he eventually practiced law with his brother-in-law. Goldin enlisted in May 1888 as a private in the Wisconsin Infantry and was soon promoted to sergeant major, then in January 1889 appointed colonel and aide-de-camp to the governor.
Between the fall of 1891 and the summer of 1896 Goldin and Frederick Benteen exchanged letters. Benteen, who addressed Goldin as “Colonel,” perhaps his National Guard rank, would not have remembered the former enlisted man and may not have corresponded with him had he known that Goldin had not been a former regular army officer. Nonetheless, these fascinating accounts bear further witness to the dark side of Benteen, who demonstrated a startling bitterness and sarcasm toward his former comrades, especially George Armstrong Custer.
Incidentally, Goldin applied for the Medal of Honor by claiming that he had been among the volunteers who had risked their lives to carry water to the wounded while trapped on the hilltop in June 1876. The medal was awarded on December 21, 1895—nineteen years after the battle—possibly with assistance from Benteen.
Benteen occasionally rattled his saber by alluding in these letters to great crimes or misdeeds committed by Custer but failed to provide any evidence whatsoever and instead merely repeated camp gossip spiced with his rancorous conjectures. (These letters were compiled into a fascinating book: The Benteen-Goldin Letters on Custer and His Last Battle, edited by John M. Carroll.)
Frederick Benteen died on June 22, 1898, from paralysis following a stroke. He was initially buried in Westview Cemetery in Atlanta but reinterred in November 1902 in Arlington National Cemetery.
After the famous battle, Major Marcus A. Reno was the subject of immediate and intense criticism, privately from the officers and men who had witnessed his actions as well as public condemnation from those who could recognize his cowardice.
He was soon assigned (or exiled) to Fort Abercrombie, known as the armpit of the Dakotas. Shortly after arriving, he was accused of cavorting with a fellow Seventh Cavalry officer’s wife—Emeline Bell, the wife of Captain James M. Bell. Reno faced a general court-martial on March 8, 1877, on charges of “conduct unbecoming an officer and gentleman” and being drunk on duty. Reno claimed that the charges were simply post politics and that Mrs. Bell had been the aggressor. He was found guilty as charged and sentenced to be dismissed from the service. President Rutherford B. Hayes stepped in to cite Reno’s exemplary record, however, and commuted the punishment to two years’ suspension, effective May 1, 1877.
At that time, other Seventh Cavalry officers, including McDougall, Moylan, DeRudio, and Bell, charged Reno with striking a junior officer and being drunk on duty, but the charges were eventually dropped.
Reno was restored to duty at Fort Meade and soon found himself in more trouble. A drunken Reno struck another officer over the head with a pool cue and, if that were not enough, while being confined to quarters was accused of a “Peeping Tom” incident. The subject was Ella Sturgis, the twenty-year-old daughter of Colonel Samuel Sturgis, in whom Reno was said to have had a one-sided romantic interest. While strolling on the parade ground on November 10, 1879, Reno inexplicably peeked into the window of the Sturgis parlor and then, upon seeing Ella, tapped on the window. Ella screamed bloody murder, and Colonel Sturgis left his bed to chase Reno with his cane.
Reno’s court-martial convened on November 28, and he was once again found guilty and sentenced to be dismissed from the service. This time President Hayes refused to commute the sentence—in spite of a petition for clemency filed by Generals Terry and Sherman. Reno was dishonorably discharged on April 1, 1880, after twenty-three years in the army.
Marcus Reno, who for the rest of his life tried unsuccessfully to clear his name, fell on hard times as a civilian. He married for a second time, but his wife left him after only a few months. Newspaper and magazine editors were not interested in his accounts of the famous battle. He even lacked expenses to travel to his son’s wedding. Reno eventually landed a job as a clerk with the Bureau of Pensions in Washington, but that apparently did not last long.
Reno was diagnosed with cancer of the tongue and developed complications following surgery. He died on March 30, 1889, at Providence Hospital in Washington. His brief obituary in The Washington Star read: “Reno—In this city died, Marcus A. Reno, late major and Brevet Lt. Col., U.S. Army.”
In the mid-1960s, Reno’s great-nephew, backed by the American Legion, asked the army to reexamine the final court-martial charges. The judge advocate general’s office concluded that Reno had been improperly dismissed from the service, and his records were corrected to reflect an honorable discharge.
On September 9, 1967, Reno was reinterred with full military honors in the Custer National Cemetery at Little Bighorn. Thus, Marcus A. Reno, the officer who had committed the ultimate betrayal of failing to carry out his orders in the face of the enemy and thereby contributed to the loss of hundreds of lives, became the only battle participant honored with such pomp and circumstance at that site.
Custer and Reno’s enemy that day, the Lakota Sioux, had merely been doing what came naturally—fighting. The tribe had prevailed at the Little Bighorn, but that victory was the beginning of the end for them. They subscribed to a culture that thrived on warfare, and had taken and held their territory by force. After Little Bighorn, however, they ran into a more powerful enemy in the inspired United States Army and lost this land by force—which the Sioux by their actions had chosen as the only arbiter they respected.
The United States had every right to expand its boundaries to include the Great Plains West. Oddly enough, many modern scholars believe there was something honorable about the Sioux fighting to defend their right to roam free. It is apparent, however, that the grea
t thinkers of today have not been able to develop a practical policy that would have solved the “Indian problem” back then any more than could their counterparts of the nineteenth century.
The West was becoming too small and populated to allow a group advocating violence to close off thousands of square miles, with its resources and potential, and stand in the way of settlers who wanted to work the land, build towns and lives, and raise their families. Peace entreaties had been made and were dismissed. It was indeed unfortunate that a peaceful solution could not have been reached. In the end, the only response to violence was violence—a circumstance that sends American servicemen into battle with regularity right up to this day.
Although the leadership by the officers of Reno’s command left much to be desired—other than Benteen on the hilltop—the enlisted soldiers were truly men of courage. It was not their fault that their commander, Major Marcus Reno, had placed them in one precarious situation after another—from a gallant charge of the village to setting up the skirmish line on to the timber and finally that disastrous retreat to the hilltop. None of them panicked as the horror show was being performed in the village during that first night, and they were prepared to fight to the death should the Sioux press the issue.
The volunteers’ risking their lives and journeying to the river for water must go down as one of the most heroic acts under fire imaginable. Anyone who has stood overlooking that steep ravine on the battlefield can only marvel at the courage of those men. For their bravery, twenty-four Seventh Cavalry troopers—water carriers and sharpshooters—would be awarded the Medal of Honor, the highest number cited on any one day in United States history.
With respect to the legacy of George Armstrong Custer, fair-minded people should reject the traditional fixation with trying to place the blame for the Little Bighorn debacle on him and allow the evidence to lead them to practical and logical answers. In addition, the portrayal of Custer as the poster boy for the destruction of Indian culture has been based on nothing more than misguided prejudice caused by lack of knowledge and a recent pseudo-revisionist inclination to tarnish heroes.
