The Real Custer

by James S Robbins

  The skepticism that greeted the first reports made the confirmation all the more shocking. Little Bighorn was compared to the massacre of over one hundred troops led by Major Francis L. Dade in Florida in 1835, or the 1862 uprising in Minnesota in which Santee Sioux under Little Crow killed 644 whites.7 But the body count alone did not explain the stunned reaction. There had been more-deadly battles in recent memory; the total casualties at Little Bighorn were small compared with many Civil War engagements. But that war had been over for more than a decade, and frontier battles with Indians were not supposed to end this way. And it was the first time that reports of Custer’s death were true.

  Custer’s Last Stand launched a thousand debates, many of which continue to this day. A New York Times writer wisely predicted that “the affair will be made use of as an argument by those who insist upon transferring the Indian Bureau to the War Department, and also by those who oppose such legislation. It will be made an excuse for increasing the Army, and held up as a reason for cutting it down.”8 As with contemporary issues, the battle was viewed through many lenses, whether hindsight, political expediency, people with axes to grind, or those seeking to place blame. The battle became a national Rorschach test; people saw in it whatever they wanted, and still do.

  For many, the massacre was a call for all-out war on the Indians. Harper’s Weekly ran a cover illustration by Thomas Nast of a diplomat shaking hands with a warrior carrying a bloody club, the angry shade of Custer standing between them, mockingly titled “The New Alliance.” Colonel William H. Rowan, a former rebel partisan ranger, offered the services of a regiment of ex-Confederates to avenge Custer’s death “to let the world see that we of the ‘Lost Cause’ are not deficient in patriotism.”9 But not all former rebels concurred; a Tennessee paper asserted that given Custer’s treatment of Mosby’s men at Front Royal, he “deserved to be degraded by Grant, scalped by Sitting Bull, and hearted by Rain-in-the-Face.”10

  Buffalo Bill, who had already begun playing himself on stage shows in the East, had returned to the frontier during the Sioux expedition to scout with the 5th Cavalry. On July 17, 1876, the unit fought a skirmish with Northern Cheyenne braves at Warbonnet Creek in Nebraska. Cody galloped toward the Indians and shot the first brave who came into range. He leapt from his horse, tore off the Cheyenne’s feathered headdress, and scalped him. Cody raised the gory trophy aloft and said, “The first scalp for Custer!” Bill later learned that the man he had killed was named Yellow Hair.

  The Sioux campaign continued into the spring of 1877, but in the end most of the Indians simply gave up and returned to the reservations. Sitting Bull, Gall, and Rain-in-the-Face fled to Canada. Crazy Horse surrendered, then was killed in captivity. There was no comparable Indian defeat to serve as a bookend to the Custer tragedy.

  The Democratic press jumped on the election-year issue. A July 16 New York Herald editorial entitled “Who Slew Custer?” blamed President Grant both for seeking negotiations with the Indians and for the corruption in the agencies that Custer himself blamed for increasing tensions on the Plains. The pro-Tilden New York World suggested that if Custer had been in overall command of the expedition, it would have turned out differently, and that he died because of Grant’s pettiness after Custer’s testimony against Belknap.

  “No military man ever charged Custer with conservatism, hesitation, excessive deference to the opinion of others, or unwillingness to ‘go in and win,’” the pro-Republican New York Times countered.11 Republicans blamed the Democrat-controlled House Appropriations Committee for refusing to fund outposts on the Yellowstone that would have enabled a more formidable force to take the field. Grant believed Custer bore sole responsibility, saying, “I regard Custer’s Massacre as a sacrifice of troops, brought on by Custer himself, that was wholly unnecessary—wholly unnecessary.”12 But Nevin Custer said it was Grant’s fault. “I didn’t intend to say it, an’ I won’t say much,” he observed many years later, “but I’ll tell yuh this, if it hadn’t been for U.S. Grant, George Custer would-a been alive today.”

  Those sympathetic to the Indians saw the tragedy as the inevitable and ironic outcome of the Black Hills gold rush that Custer helped encourage. The New York Sun blamed Custer’s quest for fame. Custer meant “to fight alone, and alone win a great battle and harvest the glory of a victory which should put an end to Sioux warfare,” the paper editorialized. “It was a great stake, gallantly but madly played for, and ruinously lost. The dashing cavalryman, charming gentleman, and accomplished scholar paid his life and the lives of his male relatives, and the lives of over three hundred of the best soldiers in the army, as the penalty for his rash ambition.”13

  Samuel D. Sturgis, whose son James died in the battle, concurred with this view and said Custer felt he needed to prove himself after being humiliated by President Grant. “What I especially deprecate is the manner in which some papers have sought to make a demigod out of Custer, and to erect a monument to Custer, and none to his soldiers,” he said in an interview a few weeks after the massacre. “Custer was a brave man, but he was also a very selfish man. He was insanely ambitious for glory, and the phrase ‘Custer’s luck’ affords a good clue to his ruling passion.”14 Sherman and Sheridan also thought the attack was ill-considered, though Sherman later told General Thomas L. Crittenden, whose son had also perished in the battle, “When Custer found himself in the presence of the Indians, he could do nothing but attack.”15

  George McClellan argued that Custer was not reckless but made a calculated risk based on years of experience in battle. “On that fatal day he simply repeated the tactics that he had so often successfully used against large bodies of Indians,” McClellan wrote. But given his insufficient knowledge of the strength and morale of his opponents, as well as ignorance of the terrain on which the battle was fought, “he was suddenly surrounded by overwhelming masses of well-armed warriors, against whom the heroic efforts of his command wasted themselves in vain.”16

  Godfrey concurred, arguing that criticisms were based on hindsight and had Custer succeeded, “he would have been hailed as a genius and hero, and nothing ever would have been said about disobedience, rashness and blunders and court martial.”17

  Terry sought to dodge blame that might be cast in his direction by saying if Custer had followed orders, their columns would have met at the objective simultaneously, and the Indians would have been defeated. “The movements proposed for General Gibbon’s column were carried out to the letter,” Terry wrote, “and had the attack been deferred until it was up I cannot doubt that we should have been successful.”18 Custer would probably have argued that he was following his orders, since Terry told him to use his initiative. For his part Gibbon believed that speculation either way was pointless because “General Custer is dead and cannot tell his side of the story or of the motives which influenced his action.”19

  Some blamed Benteen for not responding more urgently to Custer’s order to “come on” and “be quick.” But most blamed Marcus Reno, either for not carrying the fight to the village as ordered, or for retreating across the river, or for not going to Custer’s assistance when he could—or all three. Thomas Rosser wrote a widely reprinted letter to the St. Paul Pioneer Press and Tribune blaming Reno for deserting Custer, though this was only conjecture. Custer biographer Frederick Whittaker made a public case against Reno, implying he may have left George to die on purpose. Reno then demanded a court of inquiry to clear his name. The court met in 1879 and took testimony on the battle from many of the surviving participants. The proceeding found Reno not culpable for Custer’s death, but that did not end the debate. Meanwhile, the hapless Reno was court-martialed twice for “conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman”: first for attempting to take advantage of another officer’s wife (1877) and then for drunkenness and lewd behavior directed at Colonel Sturgis’s daughter (1879). He was found guilty both times, suspended for the first offense, and discharged for the second. Reno died in 1889, and Libbie Custer successfully block
ed his burial at Custer Battlefield National Cemetery, saying the honor did not befit the coward of the regiment.20

  In 1877, on Sheridan’s initiative, the bodies of most of the officers killed at Little Bighorn were exhumed for reburial.21 Captains Tom Custer and Yates and Lieutenants Smith, McIntosh, and Calhoun were buried at Fort Leavenworth on August 3.22 Lieutenant John J. Crittenden was not moved; his father General Crittenden argued that “there can be no fitter resting place for the true soldier than that spot which his blood has hallowed.”23 Boston Custer and Autie Reed were buried in the family plot in the Woodland Cemetery in Monroe, Michigan.

  George Custer’s body was packed in a wooden box, inspected at Fort Lincoln by post surgeon R. G. Read, and sealed. It was shipped to Poughkeepsie Cemetery in New York, just north of West Point, and placed in a vault to await burial. Eventually a rumor spread that the remains were not Custer’s but a teamster’s.24 Frank Palmer of Company C, who had been part of the original burial detail, insisted this was impossible. And with the body came one of the Spanish spurs Custer had borrowed from Frank Huger after the Battle of Sailor’s Creek a few days before Appomattox, which had originally belonged to Mexican president Santa Anna. Custer had neglected to return the spurs after the war, but Libbie gave the remaining one back to Huger.25

  Custer’s funeral took place on October 10, 1877. The coffin was draped in the same flag used in the funeral of Louis McLane Hamilton, killed at Washita, who was buried in Poughkeepsie. Thousands of people lined the streets of the town to watch the procession from the cemetery to the riverfront. Custer’s remains were transported to West Point by the side-wheeled steamer Mary Powell and taken to the Cadet Chapel to lie in state. Custer’s sword and hat were placed on the dais near a two-foot column of dried flowers, and a wreath encircling the words “Seventh Cavalry” was at the foot. A festooned American flag was on the back wall above the head of the coffin, and a blue silk banner with gold letters that read “God and Our Native Land.” The brief funeral service was conducted by post chaplain Dr. John Forsyth. Libbie, in black, was escorted by Superintendent Major General John Schofield. Emmanuel Custer was present, with Maggie Custer Calhoun and Nettie Smith. Lieutenant Braden, wounded on the Yellowstone in 1873, Custer classmate Stephen Lyford, who had served on his court-martial, and William Ludlow were among the pallbearers.

  A draped caisson carried the coffin from the chapel to the cemetery. Libbie walked behind it, weeping, supported by General Schofield. A riderless horse followed, with the regalia of a major general, and back-ward-turned boots. Then came family and friends. The Corps of Cadets marched in their battalions, and the band played a dirge. Numerous Army and Navy officers, war veterans, and local militia units accompanied the procession, and thousands of people crowded the Plain and stood along the route.

  They walked a half mile to a peaceful, shaded field on the escarpment above the Hudson River that had been a burial site since the time of the Revolution. Dr. Forsyth concluded the service by the graveside. George’s remains were lowered into the earth; some dirt was sprinkled on top; and the Corps of Cadets fired three volleys in salute. The cadets honored George in another way he would have appreciated, adding a new verse to their traditional drinking song and informal hymn:

  In silence lift your glasses; a meteor flashes out.

  So swift to death brave Custer, amid the battle’s shout.

  Death called—and crowned, he went to join the friends of

  long ago,

  To the land of Peace, where now he dwells with Benny

  Havens, Oh!26

  The Indian fighter, Boy General, and gallant goat of June 1861, had returned to West Point for his final rest.

  Libbie Custer joined George there over half a century later. She died on April 6, 1933, two days short of her ninety-first birthday. She had never remarried but remained true to her Autie and his memory for the rest of her life. She had little means of support when George died, with no savings to speak of and a widow’s pension of thirty dollars per month. She worked for the Society of Decorative Arts in New York City and over time developed her talents as a writer. She wrote three best-selling memoirs of her days with George, Boots and Saddles, Tenting on the Plains, and Following the Guidon, and also produced commentaries on art, culture, and public life. Libbie spent summers with other women writers and artists at the colony at Onteora Park in the Catskills, traveled the United States and the world, and lived comfortably to the end of her days.

  Libbie tirelessly defended George and his image in the press and in public, writing detailed though idealized accounts of their life in the West and bluntly challenging the general’s critics when they periodically appeared. She lobbied successfully to take down a statue of George by James Wilson McDonald that was erected on the Plain at West Point in 1879 without her approval or input. It was removed in 1884 and later disappeared under unusual circumstances.27 An obelisk inscribed “George Armstrong Custer, Major General, U.S. Volunteers” was placed on the statue’s decorative pedestal, and the monument currently stands at Custer’s grave.

  Libbie gave full support to the statue of George erected in Monroe in 1910 called Sighting the Enemy. It was by sculptor Edward Potter and portrays Custer at Gettysburg, on horseback, looking into the distance, during one of the key events of his life. It captures the same intense feeling that Rosser described in witnessing Custer about to charge on the Yellowstone, the passion and anticipation of a battle to be joined. It was the General Custer that Libbie most wanted people to remember.

  Libbie made public appearances at other commemorative events but skipped the fiftieth anniversary ceremony at the Little Bighorn battlefield in 1926. She never once visited the site of her Autie’s death. She lived on Park Avenue late in life, a fixture in New York society, her spacious apartment a veritable museum of Custer artifacts. Libbie was buried alongside George at West Point, the band playing “Garryowen” as she was laid to rest.

  By then George Custer might have been mostly forgotten, a soldier from times long past who had a brief moment of glory before his flame was extinguished. However, he was more famous than ever when Libbie died, and would remain so. Custer’s Last Stand had taken on a symbolic role far greater than its military importance and was a vehicle for art, literature, history, strong emotion, and endless debate.

  The tragic romance of Custer began early. Galaxy magazine, which had been serializing George’s memoirs when he died, wrote, “Never was there a life more rounded, complete and symmetrical than that of George A. Custer, the favorite of fortune, the last cavalier.” They said to him alone “was it given to join a romantic line of perfect success to a death of perfect heroism.” They compared the cavalry at Little Bighorn to the Spartans at Thermopylæ and said it was Custer’s fate “to die like Leonidas.”28 Novelist Frederick Whittaker rushed out The Complete Life of General George A. Custer in December 1876, a sensationalized biography that was criticized by some in the military establishment but became a popular hit.

  George’s admirer Walt Whitman wrote “A Death Sonnet for Custer,” which appeared in the New York Tribune four days after news of the battle broke.29 In this “trumpet note for heroes,” he wrote,

  Thou of sunny, flowing hair, in battle,

  I erewhile saw, with erect head, pressing ever in

  front, bearing a bright sword in thy hand,

  Now ending well the splendid fever of thy deeds . . .

  Years later Whitman sat for an hour viewing John Mulvaney’s wall-sized, twelve-foot-high mural, Custer’s Last Rally, as he said, “completely absorb’d in the first view.” Whitman cast the “painfully real, overwhelming” scene in terms of his thesis of the superiority of the American over the European, even in tragedy. The “muscular, tan-faced men, brought to bay under terrible circumstances,” face “swarms upon swarms of savage Sioux, in their war-bonnets . . . like a hurricane of demons.” Custer “stands in the middle, with dilated eye and extended arm, aiming a huge cavalry pistol” as the men wring out
“every cent of the pay before they sell their lives.” Whitman said the scene was dreadful, “yet with an attraction and beauty that will remain in my memory.”30 A more-well-known depiction was Otto Becker’s wholly imagined Custer’s Last Fight, which was distributed as a promotional lithograph by the Anheuser-Busch brewing company and seen for years in bars and saloons across the country.

  Articles, books, poems, and paintings such as these elevated the Custer legend in the decades after his death. Other works emerged that just as fiercely denigrated it. More than 135 years of these efforts have produced Custers for every taste and fancy, from the heroic to the demonic, from the sublime to the ridiculous.

  “My every thought was ambitious,” George wrote. “I desired to link my name with acts and men, and in such a manner as to be a mark of honor, not only to the present, but to future generations.” Was this what he achieved? Custer wrote these words in the spring of 1867, shortly before the failed Hancock expedition and his court-martial. But the letter continued with a note of humility. “I find myself, at twenty-seven, with contentment and happiness bordering my path,” he wrote. “My ambition has been turned into an entirely new channel. Where I was once eager to acquire worldly honors and distinctions, I am now content to try and modestly wear what I have, and feel grateful for them when they come, but my desire now is to make of myself a man worthy of the blessings heaped upon me.”31

  George Custer grew up a boy of modest means who asked little of the world but much of himself. He quickly achieved the greatness he sought, then spent the rest of his short life trying to live up to it, not always successfully. It was a very American life, self-created, boundary breaking, energetic, and with all his imperfections he never ceased to strive, create, and overcome. Custer lived on his own terms, and died on them.

  “Life is worth living for—or it would be—if it abounded more in such types,” wrote Charles Godfrey Leland, a folklorist, soldier, and scholar, after he visited George and Libbie at Fort Riley in 1869. “There was a bright and joyous chivalry in that man, and a noble refinement mingled with constant gaiety in the wife, such as I fear is passing from the earth.” Leland said that he worried “there will come a time when such books [as Libbie’s] will be the only evidences that there were ever such people—so fearless, so familiar with every form of danger, privation, and trial, and yet joyous and even reckless of it all.”32