A Terrible Glory

by James Donovan

  “I have no troop,” said the Lieutenant, “only three men.”

  “Well, stay here with your three men,” said Benteen, “and don’t let them get away. I will have you looked out for.”2

  The area the command occupied was a large saucerlike swale bordered on the north and south by two low, roughly parallel ridges. On the west side, the rough, steep bluffs dropped gradually down to the river a quarter mile away. In the depression in the middle, within a circle of mules, Dr. Porter’s hospital was established.

  The position wasn’t a perfect one for defense: some points several hundred yards to the north, east, and south were slightly higher and within effective rifle distance. The superior height of the enemy positions wasn’t the only problem. As many as half the men stationed themselves below the crest of the low ridge on the perimeter, thus severely restricting their fields of fire — at some points less than thirty feet and rarely more than twenty-five yards. This would enable some of Sitting Bull’s warriors to advance close enough to toss dirt clods, rocks, and even arrows among the troopers.3

  As each company took its place, the officers yelled at the men to lie flat on their stomachs and stay down to avoid exposing themselves. They threw themselves on the ground at regular intervals; on the east and south sides, between twenty and twenty-five feet separated the men. The ammunition boxes were also placed at intervals within the perimeter. Many of the officers and Sergeants limited the fire of their troops, and some, like Godfrey, allowed only the best shots to fire at will. There was little natural cover — no trees, rocks, mounds, or such, just an occasional scraggly sagebrush or prickly pear cactus, along with knee-high grass that was quickly trampled flat. Some men grabbed anything at hand to use as breastworks: saddles, boxes of hardtack, sacks of bacon, bags of forage. None of this offered much protection, but it was better than nothing. There was no time to entrench, and besides, there were only three spades in the entire command.4

  GODFREY’S TROOPERS HAD managed to dash over the low rim and turn to join the troopers facing north moments before the mass of mounted Indians charged. Several volleys into the attackers’ ranks repulsed the initial wave, but as the Indians fell back, they began to occupy every high point around the command. Along the east flank, the warriors made several charges; each one was turned back by furious fire. Sergeant Ryan was on this side, and he carried his own rifle, a Sharps carbine with a telescopic sight. When an accurate Indian sniper quickly took the lives of two troopers and injured another, Ryan, French, and several others jumped up and poured a volley into his location, to the cheers of the surrounding troopers. The bullets seemed to silence the Sioux marksman.5

  On the south flank, Benteen’s H Company occupied slightly higher ground — a tail-like ridge that ran out to a small hill on the edge of the bluffs — and was more vulnerable to enemy fire. Small groups of Indians would sneak up close to the soldier lines and blaze away, using all kinds of tricks to draw their fire. Occasionally, a shower of arrows would arc into the position,6 though few found warm human targets. The highly visible horses and mules, however, were downed by the dozens. Their carcasses were dragged into place around Dr. Porter’s hospital.

  As the minutes passed, more lives were lost. Godfrey was standing over his First Sergeant, DeWitt Winney, giving an order, when a bullet went through the noncom. Winney gave a quick jerk, said, “I am hit,” and looked up at his commander. Godfrey told him to lie down and be quiet until the attack was over and they could carry him to the hospital. The Sergeant turned, fell onto his elbows, and died.7

  One trooper at Benteen’s position threw himself down behind a box of hardtack, only to be killed instantly when a bullet ripped through the box into his head. “Strange as it may sound here, nearly every man who saw this laughed,” wrote Edgerly.8 Not far away, another man, trumpeter Julius Helmer, took a shot through the bowels. Godfrey told him that they would get him to the doctor as soon as the firing cooled. The eleven-year veteran, in great pain, was quiet for a while but then began to yell and scream as his suffering increased, begging his comrades to kill him and put him out of his agony. Every outburst brought a volley in his direction. Reno and Weir lay a few yards away, and finally Weir said to Helmer, “Don’t scream, my man. The noise gives direction to the shooting and may cause the death or wounding of others.” Not another sound came from the trumpeter. When the fire cooled somewhat, Godfrey went up to help carry him to the rear, and Helmer’s silence was explained by the utter stillness of his body.9

  As the afternoon stretched on, a pattern emerged. The Indians would pour a heavy fire into the position, their guns emitting a thick ring of smoke surrounding the regiment. Then they would work their nerve up to make a charge, at which time the troopers would pop up and fire, scattering them back to the hills. This went on until sunset and beyond.10

  By the time darkness descended upon the bluffs and the Indian fire slackened, twelve troopers had been killed and twenty-one more wounded.11 Only the poor marksmanship of the Indians had prevented more casualties. At the center of the swale, Dr. Porter had his hands full with almost thirty injured troopers, the more able of whom helped him with those in dire need. Porter had erected several fly tents as shelter for the casualties. Every so often a bullet would zip through the canvas.12

  When the enemy fire stopped, all were still. Then, as the men gradually realized that the Indian fire seemed to be finished for the day, they began to move around freely. Pickets were set out — at some points, three hundred yards beyond the perimeter13 — and Reno ordered all the companies to dig entrenchments. They had incurred more than thirty casualties in only three hours. If precautions weren’t taken, the next day’s toll would be even worse — if they managed to survive at all. They had almost no water, and no easy access to it; a limited supply of ammunition; and an inferior defensive position surrounded by thousands of enemy warriors, many of whom bore excellent arms. The odds seemed fearful.

  The men started scraping the ground with tin cups and plates, spoons, knives, pieces of hardtack boxes, and anything else hard enough to dig into the heavy clay. Most of the troopers worked on the entrenchments in pairs, or threes and fours, until some rudimentary rifle pits were gouged out of the heavy clay. They also threw more bulky items onto the barricades. By morning every troop except Benteen’s had created some kind of rifle pits a foot or so deep, or at least shoveled some dirt in front of where they lay. Benteen had allowed his men to rest instead. He had a feeling the Indians would not be returning.

  Night also brought time to reflect on the many exemplary feats of heroism accomplished that afternoon by the enlisted men. There was Sergeant Benjamin Criswell, who had ridden his horse down the bluffs to Benny Hodgson’s body before the command had been completely engulfed by warriors. He had picked up the lieutenant’s body, taken the ammunition from the saddlebags of several dead horses, and returned to the hill under heavy fire. There was also Corporal Charles Cunningham, who had been shot through the neck but had refused to leave the line. Another trooper, Private Henry Holden, had withstood a storm of bullets to bring ammunition repeatedly to his comrades on the line.

  Some of the officers — Varnum, French, Weir, Godfrey, Hare, and Wallace, especially — had also acquitted themselves well. But others had failed to rise to the occasion. Captain Moylan had spent much of the time dug in behind a mule pack, earning him the sobriquet “Aparejo Mickie,” after the Spanish word for “pack.”14 Benteen’s First Lieutenant, Frank Gibson, had been just as bad. “He did not get up off the ground the whole time the battle was fought,” wrote one trooper. “Captain Benteen told the men to charge right over him.”15 Reno had made a round or two of the lines but had spent most of the time in his bedding, in the depression near the makeshift hospital.16 When Benteen returned from one visit to the Major, he told a Sergeant, “I found him lying in the same place where I saw him before.”17

  Through it all, Benteen had been magnificent. With bullets whistling all around him, he had strolled along the li
ne oblivious to the rain of enemy fire, encouraging the men and helping them gauge firing distances. It had been clear to everyone present who was really in charge, and the men had been content with that. “He took absolute charge of one side of the hill,” wrote a trooper years later, “and you may rest assured that he did not bother Reno for permission of any kind.”18

  Varnum had found Reno lying in a rifle pit with Weir — a bit odd, since the two couldn’t stand each other, though perhaps their common love for the bottle explained it. The chief of scouts had volunteered to ride north and find Custer if he could find a good man to go with him. Reno had not replied for some time, but then had said he did not want to be without two good shots — besides, they would get killed anyway. When Varnum had continued to press his case, Reno had snapped, “Varnum, you are a very uncomfortable companion.” A frustrated Varnum had walked away. Weir had found him afterward and said that Reno would let him send only Indian scouts.

  Varnum had then found the few Arikaras who had not lit out for the Powder River depot near the north perimeter.19 The two Crow scouts Half Yellow Face and White Swan were there, too. They had been among the last of Reno’s men in the valley to reach the hill.20 Both had fought well, despite White Swan’s several wounds and a badly mangled right hand.21 When Varnum talked to the scouts, they agreed to go, but they barely made it beyond the lines before returning. The Sioux were everywhere, they said.22

  After the digging was done, many of the men fell asleep, a few snoring away as if they were back in their Fort Lincoln barracks. The night had turned cool, and some donned overcoats retrieved from their saddles. Others stretched their legs and walked about the position. A few of the hungrier ones gravitated toward the pack train area. All of the mules were jumbled together, and the supplies were in no order — some had been thrown up as barricades and others used as makeshift protection for the hospital area. The supply Sergeants had quite a time finding food for their companies. As a result, few if any rations were distributed, so any food had to be scrounged up by the soldiers themselves, without regard to whose packs were whose.23

  Young Private William Taylor went looking for his Sergeant, the German-born Henry Fehler, who at forty was one of the older enlisted men in the command. He finally found him near the herd of horses and pack mules.

  “What are we going to do, stay here all night, or try to move away?” asked Taylor.

  Major Reno was standing nearby. He turned and said, “I would like to know how the hell we are going to move away.” He had finally left his sheltered spot once darkness had descended and now was walking around with a bottle of whiskey, from which he took an occasional sip.24

  Taylor was surprised but unfazed. “If we are going to remain here we ought to be making some kind of barricade, for the Indians will be at us, the first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes, Sergeant, that is a good idea,” said Reno. “Set all the men you can at work at once.”

  The Sergeant proceeded to do so, and a crude barricade was erected across the lower end of the depression.25

  Reno continued to drink during the night. After making a circuit of the lines, he returned to the pack train area sometime before ten to drive out men looking for food and water. He had done this several times already, his devotion to this duty possibly the greater because of the presence there of the keg of whiskey he had brought with him, from which he filled his flask.26 On this particular occasion, he ran into two of the citizen packers, B. F. Churchill and John Frett, searching for their blankets and something to eat.

  “Good evening,” said Frett, a former St. Paul policeman and Civil War veteran.

  Reno asked, “Are the mules tight?”

  Frett, unclear as to whether the Major meant “tight” or “tied,” said, “Tight? What do you mean by tight?”

  “Tight, God damn you,” said Reno, and slapped Frett across the face. As he did so, some whiskey from the flask he held splashed onto the packers. Frett moved to strike Reno, but Churchill held him back. Then Reno picked up a carbine, leveled it at Frett, and said, “I will shoot you.”

  Churchill grabbed Frett by the shoulders and pulled him away. Neither of them saw Reno again until the next day.27

  DOWN IN THE valley, there was great activity. Large fires could be seen, and the beating of drums, singing, dancing, and occasional scattered rifle fire marked a great celebration that lasted late into the night — a revelry particularly unsettling to the troops on the hill above. Rumors circulated that comrades were being tortured or burned to death. Unknown to the soldiers, some of the wailing they heard was the death songs of relatives mourning for loved ones.28

  The general belief among the men on the hill was that Custer and his command had been temporarily corralled by the Indians just as they were, or had retreated downriver toward Terry and Gibbon and the Yellowstone. But in the dark, certain occurrences persuaded some of the men, at least briefly, that the General had returned to save them. Large shadows were observed on the hills and ridges to the north (some no doubt thrown by the huge fires in the village), and several soldiers thought they detected the tramping of a large force of mounted men. When the sound of a trumpet was heard, some of the men began to cheer: “Custer is coming at last!” But when Reno ordered a trumpeter to return the call, it was not answered. Eventually, the men realized that some Indian had wrested an instrument from one of Custer’s trumpeters and was trying it out.29

  Later in the evening, clouds appeared overhead, and a slight rain fell. Some of the troopers stretched out pieces of canvas to catch the meager rainfall, which was barely enough to wet a man’s lips.

  At some point in the night, Reno approached Benteen with a grim proposition. He suggested that they take every man who could ride, destroy everything they could not carry, and make a forced march under cover of darkness to their supply camp on the Yellowstone at the mouth of the Powder River, about 120 miles away.

  Benteen asked him what he proposed to do with the wounded.

  Reno said, “Oh, we’ll have to abandon those that cannot ride.”

  “No, Reno, you can’t do that,” said Benteen.30

  Reno, perhaps realizing that Benteen’s support of the plan would be necessary for its implementation, did not push it. But Weir, who had been sharing a rifle pit with Reno most of the evening, walked over to Godfrey’s position that night. He had apparently heard of the idea from Reno or Benteen.

  He said, “I want to thank you, Godfrey, for saving my troop.” He paused, then said, “If there should be a conflict of judgment between Reno and Benteen as to what we should do, whose orders would you obey?”

  “Benteen,” said Godfrey without hesitation.31 Apparently relieved, Weir left. The next day, rumors of the plan circulated among the wounded troopers in Dr. Porter’s makeshift hospital, causing great consternation among those unable to mount a horse.

  AT BENTEEN’S SUGGESTION, just before the first hints of dawn broke in the east, reveille was sounded to present a bold front to the enemy. Before the trumpet’s last notes had died away, rifle fire began from all directions,32 scattered at first, then constant and heavy as the light improved and the Indian lines were reinforced by warriors from the village. As the day wore on and the sun grew hotter, the Indians tried anything to draw the soldiers’ fire — including standing up in full view for just a moment, then dropping to a safe place before a volley of rifle fire reached them; raising hats and blouses on sticks; and strapping a dummy atop a horse and directing it to gallop in front of the lines. Such ruses became less successful once the return fire was restricted to the best shots in each company.

  As the fighting dragged on, Benteen’s company steadily lost men. As they had built no fortifications during the night, they were now exposed to several Indian positions, most seriously the high ridge several hundred yards north of the command. Soon after sunrise, the fire became so fierce that a number of the troopers left the line seeking safety in the hospital area. Some of the troopers were down to four or five c
artridges. The men who remained on the line had no choice but to retreat from the advancing Indians, who sang as they rushed forward.

  All the while, Benteen was trying to get some sleep, undeterred by a bullet through the heel of his boot that disturbed his slumber for a moment or two. Now informed of the situation, he got to his feet and made his way to the pack train, where he found more than a dozen skulkers avoiding the heavy rifle fire. He ordered them to carry to his position anything they could find as breastworks — sacks of bacon, boxes of hardtack, pack saddles — then turned them over to Gibson, telling him to hold the position at all costs and shoot the first man who left the line. Benteen left to find Reno and ask for reinforcements.

  He found the Major still in the pit with Weir. “The Indians are doing their best to cut through my line, and it will be impossible to hold my position much longer,” Benteen announced.33

  Reno at first seemed not to notice the seriousness of the situation, replying that the Indians were pressing him, too, and he couldn’t spare a company. But when Benteen told him that if H Company gave way, the entire position might be overrun, meaning the end of them all, Reno directed Captain French to take some of M Company to the south side as reinforcements. Reno himself didn’t leave the rifle pit. French’s men went, though they weren’t happy about it. Why should they have to pay for H Troop’s overnight negligence?34 As they made their way back, Benteen found some more of his men in the pack train area and took them along.

  At H Company’s position, Gibson had held the line, but barely. The Indians had approached close enough to throw dirt clods and arrows into the company’s ranks, and they seemed to be readying for an attack, singing what were undoubtedly war songs.35 One had even crept close enough to count coup on a dead soldier but was shot seconds later. Benteen told his men he wanted them to charge down the ravines just beyond their small hill as if their lives depended on it. It was time to turn the tables a bit. He led his men over the edge of the hill and down the gullies, everyone screaming as loud as they could, for almost a hundred yards. The surprised Indians hastily retreated, some of them “somersaulting like acrobats”36 in their eagerness to escape, before the soldiers double-timed back to their positions.