A Terrible Glory

by James Donovan

  The only other officer surviving the battle who had not been called was Lieutenant Frank Gibson, who was on leave at the time — although Captain Myles Moylan, also on leave, would manage to return in time to appear. One reporter in Chicago noticed Gibson’s absence, calling him a “forgotten witness. He is said to have in his keeping some interesting remarks Reno made about the time he ordered the boys to mount and gallop for the bluffs.”50

  In fact, none but his family knew that Gibson had been critical of the Major in a letter to his wife written days after the battle — “Reno didn’t know which end he was standing on,” he had told her51 — but the reporter’s statement was typical of the many stories swirling around the investigation. Just two weeks earlier, an article printed in many major newspapers had spoken of a damning, anti-Reno sworn statement by Weir. “It was given under the seal of secrecy not to be used until Weir was dead,” related the breathless correspondent. The New York Herald’s James O’Kelly had reportedly secured the alleged affidavit from Weir and then entrusted it to Frederick Whittaker, who had placed it with “the proper authorities.” The statement was presumed to reveal the true details of Weir’s sortie north from the command’s position and accused Reno of cowardice and inaction.52

  But Reno’s might not be the only reputation to suffer. “The one topic of conversation now at military headquarters is the forthcoming court of inquiry,” noted a newspaper,53 and at Sheridan’s temporary offices on the second floor of the Palmer House, several staff officers confidentially voiced their belief that the vast amount of testimony would “result in the tarnishing of Custer’s name and renown as a warrior.”54

  Twenty-three men would ultimately be called to testify at the inquiry, which would be in session daily except Sundays. For the army, far more was at stake than individual reputations. Once again, the future of the service could be affected. Lee’s report of agent malfeasance had been quoted by Sheridan on January 2 in a supplement to his annual report that continued the General’s running battle with the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Department of the Interior. At the same time, a House committee was busy debating a new appropriations bill that would involve a major reorganization of the army. “Reduction of expenses” was the order of the day, and one of the proposals would lop off entire regiments in every arm, including two cavalry regiments. Another would set the line officers (those in the field) back a few years in promotion, from Major down. The total reduction in officers would be a staggering 406, almost 25 percent.55 The last thing the military needed at this moment was confirmation of incompetency or cowardice — rumors of which were now circulating even more freely around the impending court of inquiry in Chicago.

  TWENTY

  For the Honor of the Regiment

  It is already as tangled up as an English chancery suit, with about as slender a chance that an intelligent decision can ever be reached.

  Chicago Times, JANUARY 27, 1879

  Monday, January 13, 1879, dawned cold and clear. With only a few exceptions, the weather during the monthlong proceedings would remain frigid — a typical Chicago winter. The thermometer climbed to twenty-eight degrees by eleven o’clock, when the court convened in the smallish Room 14 on the entresol (mezzanine) level of the Palmer House — the same floor as Sheridan’s temporary headquarters — with an adjoining chamber reserved for witnesses not testifying.

  Lee had hired a stenographer out of Fort Leavenworth named H. C. Hollister, and he sat near the recorder. The tables had been arranged in the form of the letter T, with the three judges sitting along the crossbar of the letter with their backs to the windows. Colonel King, as President of the court, sat in the middle, flanked by Colonel Merritt on his right and Colonel Royall at his left. Lee and Hollister sat at the foot of the T, while Reno was at another table on one side of the room. Each officer wore his full-dress uniform, right down to his sword and white gloves — a sight that “excited the curiosity of even the chambermaids . . . passing the open door,” read one newspaper account.1

  On this day, only a few spectators were present, including an old friend of Custer’s, Colonel Rufus Ingalls, and Captain Mike Sheridan, officially assigned to the Seventh Cavalry but in fact serving as aide-de-camp to his brother. The next day, the crowd would overflow into the hall and necessitate a move to a larger room.

  The first day was spent discussing and agreeing on procedure. After the three officers of the court and the recorder were sworn in, it was decided that the proceedings would be open to the public, an option not always taken in such a case. The presence of about half a dozen reporters — four from Chicago papers and a few others — gave rise to the question of whether they should be allowed to take notes. Another question involved Whittaker. Lee suggested that the writer might be called to appear if he wished, to produce evidence or call witnesses. Reno objected, but after private consultation, the court decided that Whittaker would be called and that note taking would not be allowed. The latter decision was reversed three days later, after resourceful representatives of the press hid their notebooks in their laps, under their hats, or in their pockets and managed to scribble fairly accurate notes, which allowed them to write nearly verbatim accounts of the proceedings.2

  Reno’s counsel would not arrive until later that day — his train was behind schedule, Reno said3 — so the Major requested the court’s indulgence until the next morning. As only two of the subpoenaed witnesses had arrived and Lee had only that morning received papers he had requested from Washington, an adjournment was granted after an hour’s deliberation.

  BY THE FOLLOWING day, despite the subfreezing weather outside, the crowd had increased from a mere handful to thirty or forty, too many for the small room. Reno’s counsel, the dapper, mustachioed Lyman Gilbert, made his first appearance — and a strong impression on the newspapermen. “A gentleman of pleasant address and quiet manners,” reported the Chicago Times, “rather a young man and dressed in fashionable style . . . small in both height and frame, and a clear eye, with a tendency to a humorous twinkle at times.”4 Gilbert was unfamiliar with military law, but he had read the transcript of another court of inquiry to gain a sense of the procedure,5 and he immediately began sparring with Lee and the court over various procedural and evidential matters. When he objected to the introduction of Whittaker’s letter to Corlett, Colonel King made it clear that the letter was only a basis from which to proceed and the court would not be bound by it: “We shall not confine ourselves to that letter. We shall go outside of it. We intend to cover the whole ground.” The entire battle would be investigated, not just Reno’s conduct.

  Lee led off by swearing in his first witness, Lieutenant Edward Maguire, Terry’s engineering officer, who had overseen the survey of the battlefields. A copy of his map was introduced as evidence. The chief feature of the map was the degree of its imperfection, for virtually every officer of the Seventh and civilians besides would testify to its errors. But it was the only visual aid available, and every witness made reference to it during his testimony. The stocky Maguire was asked general questions about positions, conditions, and topography in order to establish a solid factual foundation for further testimony.

  Wednesday saw the court moved to a larger room, a corner one on the third floor, which could accommodate one hundred people. Tall windows gave access to a sweeping view of the intersection of Monroe and State below. A gaslit chandelier with six mantled jets, suspended from the center of the high ceiling, would illuminate the proceedings on days when overcast skies made the room too gloomy. Along with the many old soldiers and ex-officers in attendance was Sheridan himself, who came up from his offices and occupied a seat to the left of the judges for much of the day. Also present was the Reverend Dr. Arthur Edwards, who had accompanied Reno as chaplain of his command during the Civil War. Years later, he would reveal that Reno had confided in him that he was drunk at the Little Bighorn, but he allowed no such revelations on this day.6

  The Seventh’s acting engineer officer on
June 25, Lieutenant George Wallace, was sworn in. His testimony established the basic chronology of the battle, but more important, he bolstered Reno’s claims of innocence. “The Effect of His Testimony Is That the Major Had All He Could Attend to Without Looking After Custer,” read a Chicago Times subhead the next day. “It is evident from the testimony of Lieutenant Wallace that there is going to be some difficulty in locating the blame in the case under examination,” wrote the Times reporter. Though the hearing was ostensibly for the purpose of inquiring into Reno’s conduct, the public focus was on assigning blame for the fiasco.

  Over the next two and a half days, Wallace uttered nary a word against Reno and offered several slippery semitruths, particularly in his account of the command’s straggling forward movement from the hill, led by the insubordinate Weir. Wallace’s authority rested on his assertion that he had been riding with Reno when Custer gave him his attack orders, and thus he could support Reno’s claims as to the nature of those orders — even though he had actually been at Custer’s side, exactly where the engineering officer should have been. But since he was presumably the only other surviving officer present at the time, his testimony was unassailable. Wallace also claimed that he had not heard any firing when on the hill the afternoon of June 25. The only other officers who would deny hearing gunfire were Reno and Benteen. Furthermore, Wallace approved of Reno’s retreat from the timber. Otherwise, he said, “Major Reno and every man with him would have been killed.”7 When asked about Reno’s behavior, he replied, “I could not find any fault. I think it was good.”8 Wallace also bent the truth in several other answers concerning the expenditure of ammunition in the valley, the condition of the horses, the number of fresh recruits in his company, and other subjects. Each was relatively minor, but cumulatively they supported Reno a good deal.

  On other matters, such as Weir’s march north toward Custer, Wallace’s memory was not so good — or so he claimed. “That I don’t remember. I can’t state for I don’t recollect,” he answered to a question about when Weir moved out. He did recall, however, that Weir had marched forward on Reno’s orders.9 He also asserted that the last he had seen of Custer was when Reno’s command had been ordered forward, three miles from the Little Bighorn — even though at the time he had told members of Gibbon’s column that he had seen Custer on a bluff across the river, below their siege position, and that Custer had waved his hat at them.10

  Why Wallace went so far to protect Reno is a mystery that will likely never be explained, though he may have been convinced that he was defending the honor of the regiment.11 But his testimony, and the confident way that he delivered it, made a powerful impression. He became the yardstick by which all other witnesses were measured.12

  On Friday, after Wallace finished, the first citizen took the stand — interpreter Frederic Gerard. Despite their mutual dislike, Reno had sent for him upon his arrival in Chicago and treated him hospitably.

  On the stand, the impression Gerard made was of “a very plain-looking man with a plain pepper and salt suit and short-cut hair and stiff beard”13 — to the disappointed reporters, hardly the image of a frontier scout, which they continued to call him. By now the crowds had increased to the point that spectators crowded close to the witness stand and stood against the walls, while even more occupied the hallway. Gerard’s antipathy toward Reno was well-known; one newspaper had labeled him “Reno’s Enemy.”14 Though he had defended the Major at a campfire discussion with some officers several weeks after the battle, most present anticipated that he would criticize Reno severely here.15

  Gerard, hoarse and suffering from a cold, was quickly led by Lee into a detailed account of the battle. He contradicted Wallace’s story in several particulars. Wallace had claimed that Reno’s battalion had been met by several hundred warriors; Gerard had seen no more than seventy-five in front of the skirmish line. In the timber, it was “every man for himself,” and according to Gerard, there “appeared to be no command or order” to the retreat from the woods.16 He offered his opinion that Reno’s battalion could have held out in the timber “as long as their provisions and ammunition lasted if they were determined men.”17 He also asserted that the horses were not in any way fatigued, as Wallace had claimed. Finally, he mentioned hearing heavy fire from Custer’s direction for at least two hours, whereas Wallace had claimed the battle couldn’t have lasted more than a half hour.18

  Earlier, in a private meeting set up by Reno, Gilbert had tried to get out of Gerard what his testimony would be, but Gerard had talked only in generalities. When Reno had returned to the room, Gerard had heard the attorney say in a low voice, “This man is all right. He knows nothing that is damaging.”19 It was now clear that had been a miscalculation. On cross-examination during the next session, Gilbert tried to confuse Gerard to defuse his assertions. “I am endeavoring to answer you direct, but you are making me say things I didn’t say,” the interpreter claimed after a particularly tangled exchange.20 Gilbert got Gerard to admit to what he hadn’t the previous day — that the Indians were coming up the valley “in large numbers,”21 not the forty or fifty he had first mentioned — and then for good measure, Gilbert emphasized the admission for the court.

  Gilbert said, “So large as to excite your apprehension in regard to the ability of Major Reno to meet them?”

  “Yes sir,” answered Gerard.22

  Gilbert now did everything he could to weaken Gerard’s credibility. After the interpreter volunteered an account of drinking whiskey with Charley Reynolds, the attorney referred to it no less than six times in the space of a few minutes’ questioning. He also brought up Reno’s firing of Gerard several times. But his boldest move was his effort to paint Gerard as a “squaw man” and thus much less trustworthy than a gentleman.

  “Married, are you?” he asked.

  “I am, sir.”

  “To an Indian woman?”

  “A white woman, sir.”23

  In fact, Gerard did have a white wife, but they had been married for only fourteen months. He had been previously married to an Arikara woman, by whom he had three daughters; he had also fathered a son by a Piegan woman. Gilbert clearly knew of one or both of these unions and their offspring, as was evident from an out-of-context question he sprang on Gerard later:

  “Have you any Indian children, Mr. Gerard?”

  Lee rose and objected to the question as irrelevant, though Gerard answered affirmatively. Both question and objection made clear to everyone in the room what the defense counsel had implied, but Gilbert hammered it home in his outrageous reply. He stood up. “I may as well state to the Court the purpose I had in asking the question,” he said. “The witness had stated that he has had thirty-one years’ intercourse with the Indians. I merely wished to see to what extent his intimacy extended.”24 The objection was sustained, but the aim had been achieved. Gerard’s potentially damaging testimony had been compromised in several ways.25

  That same day, the St. Paul Pioneer Press and some of the Chicago newspapers reprinted a story from the previous day’s Bismarck Tribune.

  Capt. French, of the Seventh Cavalry, stationed at Fort Lincoln and a delayed witness before the Reno court at Chicago, stated in an interview to-day that he did not see Reno from the evening of the 25th until noon of the 26th, when the Indians were weakening. During the hardest portion of the fight Reno was hid. French was walking about most of the time and claims that he could not find any one who did see Reno.

  French’s assertion prompted little public comment and would never be mentioned during the Reno court of inquiry, and the “delayed witness” would never make it to Chicago. After a monthlong trial in which he was found guilty of three counts of drunkenness and one of conduct unbecoming, French would be suspended from rank for one year at half pay. In February 1880, a few days before he would have returned to active duty, he was retired by the army after a medical examination determined him to be “mentally unfit and physically incapable to perform any military duties.”26 He di
ed of a stroke two years later. Like Weir, his breakdown was likely brought on by “soldier’s heart,” the era’s phrase for combat fatigue or shell shock.

  Charles Varnum, one of the two officers Weir had privately mentioned to Whittaker could corroborate his testimony,27 was the next witness. He remained on the stand for the better part of three days. Almost completely bald by this time — one reporter described him as having “a four-inch part in his hair”28 — the young lieutenant was a nervous witness, circumspect in his account while avoiding outright lies, criticizing no one. He claimed, for example, that the timber was difficult to defend, as there were not enough men to hold it. Varnum also avoided discussing Wallace’s position when Reno had been ordered after the Indians, though years later he would reveal in three different accounts that Wallace had been riding with Custer, not Reno.29 And when Varnum was asked by Lee if Benteen with his battalion could have crossed the river to Reno’s aid, “the witness, after a good deal of circumlocution, and the manifestation of a desire not to rely on his own judgment, or to express any opinions about it, was finally brought to the assertion that he believed Colonel Benteen could have done it.”30 The lieutenant’s 260-word answer to a simple yes-or-no question made clear his reluctance to assert an opinion on any part of the battle that was even remotely controversial.

  Varnum did make one important admission: when he saw Custer’s battalion on the bluffs during Reno’s charge, he realized that Custer was en route to attack the village. That conclusion, surely, must have been shared by every man with Reno, including the Major himself. But curiously, nothing was made of it during the inquiry.

  Frederick Whittaker — the “official accuser of Maj. Reno,” as one newspaper referred to him31 — arrived in town that day and granted an interview with a Chicago Times reporter at the Palmer that night. Whittaker absolved Benteen of his previous charges of disobedience, claiming that a recent talk with John Martin had convinced him that Benteen had made haste upon receiving Custer’s last message. (While Martin may have told him this, a more likely deciding factor was the unanimous support for “the Savior of the Seventh” and the unlikelihood that anyone would testify against him.) Though Whittaker had recently been named editor of a new boys’ magazine, he would continue to attend the court’s sessions, sitting in the gallery with the other spectators. No mention would be made of the alleged Weir affidavit.