ELEVEN
On the Jump
We scouts thought there were too many Indians for Custer to fight. . . . It was the biggest Indian camp I had ever seen.
WHITE MAN RUNS HIM, CROW SCOUT
Charles Varnum, West Point class of 1872, prided himself on his thoroughness. He took his job as chief of scouts seriously, and he had spent most of June 24 far in advance of the column with his Crows and Arikaras, talking to his charges through interpreters Isaiah Dorman, Frederic Gerard, and Mitch Boyer, making sure they did not miss any Indian sign.1 Now, about an hour after making camp, the exhausted Second Lieutenant was eating supper and looking forward to some much-needed rest and sleep after a day’s hard riding of sixty miles or so.
Then came the summons from the General.
Upon returning from their reconnaissance, the Crows had told Custer of a high hill, on the divide between the Rosebud and the Little Bighorn, from which they had just returned. There was a hidden hollow near the summit, perfect for concealing horses and men, that the Crows often used on horse raids against the Sioux when near the Little Bighorn. From the top, a good deal of country could be seen in several directions, but especially toward the west. If Sitting Bull’s camp was on the Little Bighorn, the sign of smoke from early-morning campfires could be seen in the clear light of dawn. Judging by the trail they had picked up, the scouts believed the Sioux were on that river — Crow land, according to the 1868 treaty.
Now, when Varnum reached Custer’s bivouac, the General told him of the lookout the Crows had mentioned. He said he wanted an intelligent white man to go with them and send back word of what they found.
“Well, I guess that means me,” Varnum said.
“Not at all,” replied Custer. “After what you’ve done today, you can’t stand it.”
Varnum reacted to this jab the way his CO knew he would. He was chief of scouts, he told Custer. He objected to anyone else going unless Custer had lost faith in him.
A satisfied Custer said he had figured that was about what Varnum would say and told him to go. Varnum would leave about 9:00 p.m. with the Crows, a few Arikaras, and their interpreters and get to the lookout before dawn. The lieutenant asked for a white man to talk to — Charley Reynolds was his choice, which Custer okayed. The General told him that the regiment would move out at 11:00 p.m. and camp near the lookout hill.2
On a flat below a bluff on the east bank of the Rosebud, the weary troopers finished their cold supper after tending to their mounts. Fires were limited to one per company, for coffee only, dry wood to be used, flames quickly extinguished. Most of the men lay down to sleep, but some walked over to the Rosebud and went for a swim.
Not far away from the stream, Mark Kellogg was working on another dispatch: “We leave the Rosebud tomorrow and by the time this reaches you we will have met the red devils, with what results remain to be seen. I go with Custer and will be in at the death.”3
At the scouts’ bivouac, talk was of the massive village not far ahead. The mood was somber.
“We are going to have a big fight,” said Bloody Knife. “I know what is going to happen to me. I shall not see the sun.”
Benteen, escorting the pack train, rode into camp late, but his friend Keogh hailed him, using the moniker given him by the enlisted men. “Come here, Old Man, I’ve kept the nicest spot in the whole camp next to me, for your troop,” he said, “and I’ve had to bluff the balance to hold it, but here it is, skip off.”
The white-haired Captain bivouacked his troop and found some grub, then lay down under a bullberry bush and pulled off his boots. Keogh settled down near him, under a tent fly. Nearby a few of the other officers were listening to Lieutenant Charles DeRudio tell stories of Italian derring-do.
Benteen interrupted. “See here, fellows, you want to be collecting all the sleep you can, and be doing it soon, for I have a ‘pre’ that we are not going to stay in this camp tonight, but we are going to march all night.” He added, in a clear hint, “So good night.”4
A moment later, the orderly trumpeter appeared to notify them of officers’ call at headquarters at once. The officers stumbled over sleeping men and through horse herds to the only light in the valley — a candle at Custer’s bivouac.
At about 9:30 p.m., not long after Varnum’s departure, the General informed his officers of the Crows’ discovery. He told them of his decision to cross the divide later that night, conceal the column during the next day while he thoroughly reconnoitered the exact location and particulars of the village, and attack the following morning, the 26th, at daylight. He issued orders to be ready to move out at 11:00 p.m.
After the conference, a group of the younger officers gathered to harmonize on a few songs — the wistful “Annie Laurie,” followed by others in the same pensive nature. They ended with the doxology, then added a round of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” to end on a lighter note before saying their good-nights and settling down for a brief rest.5 As if to counter the effort, a clear voice singing the hymn “Nearer, My God, to Thee” could be heard in another part of the bivouac.6
Soon the word was passed along from group to group — no trumpet calls now — to saddle up. The command moved out about 11:30. Half Yellow Face, the Crow leader, guided the column through the Stygian darkness and choking dust away from the Rosebud and up the creek heading west, on a gradual climb toward the divide. Custer tried to keep the pace at a trot, but the march through occasional timber and up hills and down gullies — some of them dry, some not — was difficult. The barest sliver of a moon had just set, and the night was so black that some of the men and officers did not know they had left the Rosebud Valley. Men and horses slipped and fell into ravines. Troopers followed the sounds of rattling carbines and tin cups deliberately banged by the last men in the company ahead and knew they had strayed off the trail if the air was clear of dust. The progress for all was slow, but the pack train in particular struggled, quickly falling far behind. Keogh and his company had been assigned escort duty, and the Irishman’s fervent cursing of the exhausted mules and packers could be heard loud and clear as he and his men aided the animals across the muddy Rosebud. When packs loosened, the men cut them off as ordered and left them where they fell.
Gerard rode with Bloody Knife and Custer at the head of the column right behind Half Yellow Face. Custer told him to be sure the scouts followed up any trail, no matter how small. He wanted to make sure any and all camps, from four lodges to four hundred, were driven down the Little Bighorn. Gerard told the Arikara this.
“He needn’t be so particular,” said the dour Bloody Knife. “We’ll get enough when we strike the big camp.”
Custer asked Gerard how many Indians he thought they might find. Not less than 1,500 to 2,000 fighting men, the interpreter told him.7
Eventually, Lieutenant Mathey, in charge of the pack train, galloped forward and told Custer how far behind the mules had fallen. Custer stopped the column soon thereafter, about 2:00 a.m. They had made only eight miles, about five miles short of the crest of the divide.
Most of the men dismounted and dropped to the ground where they were to sleep, their reins in their hands, managing only to loosen their saddle girths and slip the bits from their horses’ mouths. Some unsaddled and used their saddles for pillows. Custer ducked under a bush, pulled his hat over his eyes, and slept for a while. When daylight came about 3:00 a.m., fires were started for coffee, though the water from the closest stream was so alkaline it was almost undrinkable. The men had “a hearty breakfast,” remembered Sergeant John Ryan ruefully: “some raw bacon, hard tack and cold water.”8
John Burkman carried some coffee and hardtack over to the General. When the striker called, Custer did not stir. Burkman woke him and gave him his coffee.
Custer drank some and returned the cup. “Thanks, John,” he said. “I’ll tell Miss Libbie when we get back how well you’ve been taking care of me.” Then he closed his eyes again for a while.9
VARNUM AND HIS scouts mad
e their way for several hours along the right bank of a timbered stream west up toward the divide, the Crows stopping a few times in the tangle of undergrowth to smoke cigarettes. Just short of the divide, the group splashed across the creek and rode almost a mile south before reaching the hill about 2:00 a.m. They led their horses into the sheltered pocket just below the top and unsaddled them. The spot reminded Varnum of a similar one at West Point, known as the Crow’s Nest. While a few of the scouts climbed to the top of the steep ridge, Varnum dropped to the grass at its base and slept among the scattered pine and juniper trees. Boyer woke him about an hour later, and he scrambled to the summit with the other scouts.
Two of the Crows pointed toward the west. In the clear, early light of dawn, they detected signs of a large village — columns of smoke from breakfast fires and part of a large pony herd on the far side of the valley. Using a small telescope, the man the Arikaras called Peaked Face looked in the direction of the Little Bighorn. A few miles away, he could easily see two tepees along a creek that wound its way west. But try as he might, he could not see anything in the valley far to the west, some fifteen miles away.
One of the Crows said something, and Boyer interpreted. “Don’t look for horses, look for worms,” he said. “At that distance horses look like worms crawling on the ground.”
Varnum had been in the saddle and up and down the hot, dusty trail for more than twenty-four hours, and his vision was blurry from lack of sleep. He still couldn’t see what the trained eyes of the scouts, including Boyer and Reynolds, could spot so clearly. But if they were convinced, he was convinced.
The lieutenant wrote a short memo to Custer, and a little before 5:00 a.m. the two Arikaras, Red Star and Bull, set out for the column with the note, guided by the smoke of the soldiers’ coffee fires clearly visible against the eastern sky. The Crows on the hill were aghast. Did the whites think the Sioux were blind?
The Arikaras were finishing their breakfast of boiled pork and crackers when Red Star, who had outdistanced Bull and his slower mount, rode into camp about 7:30 a.m. Isaiah Dorman escorted him to Custer’s bivouac, next to the scouts’. The General signed to the young Arikara, asking him if he had seen the Sioux. Red Star assured Custer that he had, then he handed Custer Varnum’s note telling him of the big village on the Little Bighorn. Custer jokingly gestured to Bloody Knife in sign language about how scared his brother Tom, standing nearby, was. Then he jumped on a horse and rode bareback around the camp to his officers, spreading the news and issuing orders to be ready to march at 8:00 a.m. When he returned, he summoned the Arikaras, who squatted around him. He told them that when they got to the Sioux camp, he wanted them to run off all the horses they could.
The Arikaras looked nervous, and Custer appeared distracted until a remark from Bloody Knife caught his attention.
Custer asked Gerard, “What’s that he says?”
“He says we’ll find enough Sioux to keep us fighting two or three days,” the interpreter replied.
Custer smiled. “I guess we’ll get through them in one day.”10
Custer took Gerard, Bloody Knife, and a few Arikaras and rode to the hollow four miles away to see the village. Varnum had not actually seen the encampment, and Custer wanted a look for himself — every scrap of information would be valuable when formulating strategy.
Behind him the column prepared to move out. No word had been given to Major Reno, who had no command of his own. Custer had not consulted him since the departure from the Yellowstone, nor given him any orders, and Reno had not marched toward the front with Custer. He had done little except unhappily exercise the duties he imagined were those of a Lieutenant Colonel.11 This morning march came as a surprise to him.
The column moved out at half past eight at a lively walk. As they paced forward, the men discussed the impending confrontation. One old soldier declared that the campaign would end just as soon as they could catch Sitting Bull.
“If that is all, the campaign will soon be over,” said another, “and Custer will take us all with him to the Centennial.”
“Of course,” said a third, “we will take Sitting Bull with us.”
Roars of laughter ensued.12
NOT LONG AFTER the two Arikara couriers, Red Star and Bull, had headed back to the main column, Varnum and his scouts spotted two Indians. They were about a mile to the west, an older one riding a pony and leading another on a lariat, a young boy behind him, also mounted, whipping the led pony along. They were headed east. If they continued, they would pass close to the hollow and proceed directly toward the column. It was clear what had to be done. Varnum, Reynolds, Boyer, and two Crows began making their way down through the trees and ravines to intercept and kill the two Indians.
Before they had gone very far, they heard a series of crowlike calls. Varnum’s two Crows answered in similar fashion. The party returned to the hill to find that the two Indians, apparently Sioux, had changed their course. But soon after, they turned and headed east again, following the lodgepole trail, and soon disappeared from sight. By this time, dust clouds stirred up by the approaching column were visible. It appeared the hostiles had discovered the troops.
A short time later, Varnum and his group saw seven Indians to the north, riding single file toward the Rosebud on the crest of a ridge parallel to the column. They disappeared in a flash, then a small dark spot reappeared on the ridge. These hostiles, too, had likely been alerted to the presence of the soldiers and were now watching them.
About nine o’clock, Custer’s party came into sight, and the lieutenant went down to meet it.
“Well, you’ve had a time of it,” said the General.13
Varnum agreed he had. He led Custer up toward the Crow’s Nest, filling him in as they climbed to the crest.14 Once there, Custer sat down and scanned the landscape to the west, then through Boyer talked with the Crows. The sharp light of the early dawn was now hazier, but they tried to show him what they could see. Reynolds and Gerard both tried to direct Custer as he searched without success for signs of the village.
“I’ve been on the prairie for many years. I’ve got mighty good eyes, and I can’t see anything that looks like Indian ponies,” he said.
A frustrated Boyer knew what was on the Little Bighorn, and he knew how big it was. He had been telling Custer since they had left the Yellowstone. “If you don’t find more Indians in that valley than you ever saw together before, you can hang me,” the scout now said.
Custer jumped to his feet and gave a short laugh. “It would do a damn sight of good to hang you, now wouldn’t it?” he said testily. Varnum had only heard him swear once before, and that had been on the Yellowstone in 1873 while in a hot fight with some Sioux.15 Finally, Reynolds offered his field glasses, and after looking through them, Custer finally nodded, now able to make out a large, dark mass and dust rising — clear indications of a huge pony herd.
When the Crows had told Custer of the nearby Sioux and the distinct probability that his command had been discovered, he had refused to believe them. Though they had originally favored his plan to keep the column concealed until the next day while the scouts made a full reconnaissance, they now pressed for an immediate attack, insisting in no uncertain terms that the Sioux had spotted them. Custer finally agreed.16
Nevertheless, he remained on the hill for almost an hour, studying the terrain, before leading the entire group down to the command, which had marched to within a mile or so of the divide and was now hidden in a large ravine sheltered on two sides by hills. As he did so, Tom Custer rode toward his brother with more bad news.
Indians had been sighted on their back trail. It seemed that a Sergeant of F Troop had requested permission from his company commander, Captain Yates, to ride back to find some personal belongings of his that had gone missing. Yates had told him to take a detachment of four men with him. Upon cresting a knoll after a few miles on the back trail, they had come upon three warriors several hundred yards away, opening boxes of hardtack that had fa
llen off the pack mules. The troopers had fired upon them, and the hostiles had disappeared into the hills.
Then Herendeen, who had been out on the flanks, told the General he had seen a couple of Indians not far from the column. They had quickly fled and might even now be riding to alert the village. Boyer had seen them also.17 Sure enough, fresh pony tracks were found up a ravine.
Custer immediately had his trumpeter blow a soft officers’ call, the first trumpet notes since they had left the Yellowstone three days earlier. While the other officers gathered around the General, Varnum, who had not eaten anything since the morning before, ignored the meeting to hunt for some food and drink.
Custer now felt he had no choice. The Seventh had been chosen as the attack force, and Terry’s orders had directed him to “proceed up the Rosebud in pursuit of the Indians.” If Custer knew how to do one thing, it was pursue an enemy. A day of invaluable reconnaissance — and much-needed rest for the men, horses, and mules — would have to be scratched.
Custer told the officers gathered about him that the scouts had discovered a large village about fifteen miles away on the lower reaches of the Little Bighorn. He had not personally seen the camp, he said, but Boyer and the Indian scouts had. The regiment had been discovered by hostiles, who were likely riding fast to warn the village. The Seventh would move out immediately and attack. Custer told the company commanders to assign five or six men and one noncom each to the pack train.18 All told, about 130 troopers and packers — 20 percent of the command — would ride with the mules to protect the supplies and extra ammunition.19 The officers were ordered to ascertain the readiness of their companies; troops would march in the order that they reported them ready.
Herendeen spoke up. “General, the head of Tullock’s Creek lies just over those hills yonder.” His journey to Gibbon and Terry was now a fifty-mile ride, a distance unforeseen when the commanders had been huddled over the sketchy map in the cabin of the Far West.
A Terrible Glory Page 23
