Little Big Horn - Part One

 

I invite you to stand atop the rim of the Wolf Mountains in southern Montana while  36 year old Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer scans the western horizon.  Hidden to his eyes, 15 miles distant in the middle horizon (above) campfire smoke rises from Sioux and Cheyanne lodges in the valley of the Little Big Horn river.   His Indian scouts can see the signs clearly, but Custer remains blind to his own fate.

It was about 6:00am local time, Monday, 25 June 1876. Finally, in frustration, the half Crow, half white scout Mitch Bouyar warns Custer (above),  "General, I have been with these Indians for 30 years, and this is the largest village I have ever heard of."

Resting below the ridge were the 650 officers and troopers, 36 scouts and civilians of the Seventh Regiment of the United States Cavalry.  Sergeant and cobbler, 25 year old Charles A. Windolph of "H" company remembered,  "None of us had much sleep for several days, so we were glad to lie down and grab a rest." The men had spent 18 of the last 24 hours in their saddles, pushing to catch up to what the army figured to be about 400 lodges.  Windolph added, "When daylight came...we made coffee, but the water was so alkaline we almost gagged on it."

A 21 year old private in "M" troop, William Clemons Slaper (above),  noted that the forced march the night before "had much to do with the worn condition of our horses...the grazing had been poor for several days, and...there was little, if any, grain for our horses..."

When Custer returned from The Crow's Nest" he told his officers it was his intent to rest his men and horses for the day, while scouting out the Indian camp, and then on 26 June to launch his assault. But within minutes that plan changed.

A trio of troopers had been dispatched to recover a box of hardtack lost off a pack mule. In backtracking they stumbled upon a 10 year old Lakota Sioux boy named "Wicohan" (or Deed in English) exploring the rations (above). They shot the boy to silence him. He was the first human to die this day.  Two other Sioux teenagers, Brown Back and Drags the Rope,  managed to avoid the soldier's shots. 

When told of this Custer decides the attack must be made before the Indians can escape.  As Sergeant Windolph (above) wrote, "It was around 8 o'clock when we got orders to saddle up. We marched about ten miles, when we were halted in a sort of ravine. We'd been told to make as little noise as possible and light no fires (and that) There'd been no bugle calls for a day or two." 

About noon they crested the divide on the ancient path used by Sioux and Cheyenne called the Lodge Pole Trail,  and follow a small stream into the valley of the Little Big Horn, The regiment is now divided into three. Forty-one year old contentious Captain Frederick William Benteen (above) rides along the south bank, leading 125 men (companies D, H and K).  

On the north bank the front of the column is lead by 41 year old Major Marcus Reno (above),  in command of 140 men (companies A, G, and M). 

Custer followed on the north bank, with the main body of 225 men, divided into 2 battalions; 32 year old Captain George Yates (above) was in command of companies E and F.... 

...while 36 year old  Captain Myles Walter Keogh (above) lead Companies C, I and L. 

Bringing up the rear was 31 year old Captain Thomas Mower McDougal (above) leading company B, which guarded the 150 pack mules, carrying 15 days of hardtack rations and 50 rounds of additional ammo per soldier.  As added security, five men from each of the remaining 10 companies were assigned to the Pack Train.   

The river and presumably the Indian camp, are still hidden by bluffs along the Little Big Horn. So Custer orders Benteen to angle his command to the left, to see if there are any hostiles to the south. Custer does not want to be surprised by an attack on his rear. And within a few moments Benteen's 125 men disappear into the rolling stirrup high dry brush. 

After a few hundred yards, looming up from the undulating terrain a single Sioux tepee appears. Inside lies the dead body of a warrior. To insult his spirit, the scouts promptly set the tent on fire, producing a column of grey smoke, which now marks the regiment's progress.

As the troopers clear the penultimate line of bluffs the brown cool waters of the Little Big Horn river appear in the distance (above).  Thirty year old Lieutenant William Winer Cooke, Custer's adjutant, now deliver new orders.  Reno is told his men are to cross the river and advance upon the Indian village with "...as rapid a gait as I thought prudent and afterward to charge." Reno is assured he would be "...supported by the whole outfit."  After riding with the major for few minutes, Cooke cheerfully bade Reno good luck and returned to Custer.  It was about 3:00pm, local time.

 Reno's horses are so tired and thirsty he has trouble keeping them moving across the stream, and there is a 10 minute delay reforming on the western, valley side. Already the soldiers could see dust rising around the Indian camp, indicating they had been alerted. 

As the battalion forms up again, 30 year old French born "A" company Sergeant Stanislas Roy,  sees Colonel Custer leading the main body to the right, on the bluffs across the river. He heard men shout,  "There goes Custer." German born 23 year old Private Henry Petring heard the shout as, "There goes Custer. He's up to something, for he's waving his hat!"  

After setting his men at a trot toward the village about 2 miles up the valley, Reno sent the 47 year old interpreter, Fredrick Francis Gerard, back to inform Custer (above) that the Indians were not running, but were in fact coming out to fight. Gerard then returned to Reno's command, which had covered about half the distance to the village. 

Reno began with his command in a column of fours, but then shifted to two companies in a line across the flats, their right flank close to the brush along the river bank and the third company in reserve. But as they continued the number of Indians visible increased. Reno said later, "I saw Indians passing...behind my left flank." When he glanced backward, Reno saw no sign of either Custer or his men, 

But 29 year old Irish born Private Dan Newell again saw Custer 2 miles away on the eastern bluffs above the river (above), and shouted bitterly to his comrades, "There he goes! Look at him. And we here, a fighting"  Reno ordered "M" company to swing out to the left of his line. Now he had no reserves. 

The village they were attacking consisted of circles of tepees, called lodges, pitched close together in a season of plenty.  Each lodge was occupied by a family group. The southern circle, closest to Reno's assault, were the Hunkpaps Sioux band, then the Sans Arc, the Brule, the Minneconjou, the Santee and the Oglala bands - about 700 lodges in all. 

Just north were the Cheyenne circles, another 500 to 600 lodges - all told three times the number the army expected. Estimates today suggest the village was occupied by as many as six to seven thousand people, with a third of them boys and men of fighting age - perhaps as many as 2,000 warriors.

There had been rumors all morning of soldiers being seen over the Wolf Mountains, but, in the words of the Oglala warrior  Low Dog, "I did not think anyone would come to attack us, so strong as we were."  In fact, running on foot across the difficult terrain  Brown Back had delivered the warning just moments after Reno crossed the river. 

According to the 29 year old respected Cheyenne warrior Low Dog (Ishaynishus in Cheyenne) (above) "We thought all thought to dance all day. I went to water my horse at the creek...and then took a swim myself. I came back to camp afoot. When I got near my lodge I looked up the Little Horn towards Sitting Bull's camp. I saw a great dust rising. It looked like a whirlwind. Soon Sioux horsemen came rushing into camp shouting, "Soldiers Come! Plenty white soldiers!" I ran into my lodge and said to my brother-in-law, "Get your horses; the white man is coming. Everybody run for horses." 

Panic and anger sent the population scrambling. Women and old men raced to gather children and the elderly, rushing them up stream or to the cover of the river bank or the higher ground to the west. Some warriors ran back and forth, gathering weapons, putting on war paint, and raising dust to obscure the vulnerable village, while most  ran a quarter mile to the west, to recover their ponies kept on the grassy terrace. 

About half a mile south of the first tepees, and with still no sign of Custer, Reno called the command to halt. He explained later that he believed if had continued to charge the village, all his men would "still be in the valley to this day". 

Private William Slaper noted "Our horses were scenting danger before we dismounted, and several...became unmanageable and started straight for the open among the Indians, carrying their helpless riders with them. One of the boys, a young fellow named Smith of Boston, we never saw again, either dead or alive." And the horse carrying 26 year old Private Henry James Turley from Troy, New York,  bolted,  "M" company Sergeant John Ryan watched Turley disappear into the swirling dust cloud, adding, "That was the last I saw of him".  Ignoring those unlucky fellows, Reno order his command to dismount and form a skirmish line about 300 yards from the first Tepees.   

As they had been trained every fourth trooper took the reins from his three compatriots and retreated thirty paces. The other three spread out to form a skirmish line, each man eight to twelve paces apart. That  reduced them to 105 guns, with 35 men holding the horses.  That produced a battle line from the trees westward about a city block out into the valley.  Just before the troopers began their slow steady fire with their single shot "trap door carbines, 23 year old Irishman, Private John Donahue, usually serving in K troop remembered seeing Custer's battle flags to his left.. The skirmish line was intended to keep the enemy at a distance. And it had worked a decade earlier against Confederate Infantry   

The range of 300 yards, plus the tendency of the soldiers to over shoot their targets, meant relatively few casualties inflicted on either side. The woman Moving Robe said later "the bullets shattered the tepee poles".  But the thousands of rounds also killed two wives and three children of the Hunkpapa leader Gall (in Lakota, Phizo) (above). Standing just a few feet away, the 5 foot 7 inch tall barrel chested warrior was consumed by grief and anger. He sent one of his surviving sons to fetch his pony from the herd, grazing a quarter mile across the valley, while he prepared his "medicine".  A small fire was started to burn herbs, and Gall sang his prayers. He had decided that this day he would fight only with his hatchet, up close and aiming to inflict pain and mutilation before death. 

Each trooper carried on himself and his horse 100 rounds for his Model 1873 "trap door" single shot carbine, and it was expected they would fire 12 to 15 rounds a minute. This meant the skirmish line could only be held for little more than 30 minutes. Second Lieutenant Luther R. Hare said that as soon as the skirmish line had formed, "400 to 500 Indians came out of a coulee...400 yards in front of us".

Reno had never fought plains Indians before, but the failure of this tactical formation was clear to him within 15 minutes.  

Second Lieutenant Charles C. DeRudio (above), a 45 year old  Italian born revolutionary gadfly, who escaped from Devil's Island after having attempted to murder French Emperor Napoleon III, made the obvious observation that, "I saw we would have been butchered if we had gone 500 yards further". 

Reno had never fought plains Indians before, but the failure of this tactical formation was obvious within 15 minutes. His men had expended about half their ammunition, and yet  "I saw Indians passing...behind my left flank",  most of those still on foot.    In response Reno ordered the horses holders to pull back into the tree line along the river. Then ordered his skirmish line to also withdraw into the trees.

As the troopers reformed their skirmish line with their backs to the river, Sergeant John Ryan saw his friend, 26 year old Miles F. O'Hara (above), shot by Indians who were working their way through the bushes.   O'Hara had been promoted to sergeant just before the expedition left Fort Abraham Lincoln. 

Seeing this, Ryan warned his commander,  32 year old Captain Thomas Henry French (above) that there were "....Indians in our rear".  But the normally cool headed officer assured the sergeant "Oh, no. Those are Custer's men."  They were not.

Within half an hour, and certain now that Custer was not coming to help, Reno ordered his men to remount their horses. As the Major himself did so, the 36 year old Arikara (or Ree) scout Bloody Knife (above) rode up beside him. 

Bloody Knife's mother had been captured by a Hunkpapa warrior who fathered him. But the Sioux treated he and his mother as outcasts.  He was taunted and tortured by his fellow children, among them young Sitting Bull and Gall.  When he reached 16 summers Bloody Knife (above) and his mother returned to her family, but years later he came back for a visit and was almost killed by Gall.

Now Bloody Knife (above) leaned forward to say something to Reno when an errant shot exploded in the man's head, covering the Major's face and eyes with bits of the scout's brains, blood and skull. Stunned, Reno shouted the command to dismount, and did so. For a few minutes Reno was in a state of shock. When he had recovered enough he shouted again, "Mount up", and then, "Any of you men who want to make your escape, follow me!" 

"Just at that moment", remembered Sargeant Ryan, "one of those Indians fired and (24 year old) Private George (Gustave) Lorentz (above) was shot, the bullet striking him in the back of his neck and coming out his mouth. He fell forward on his saddle and dropped to the ground".  Ryan now admitted, "The best thing we can do is cut right through them."

Lieutenant Charles Albert Varnum (above), the 27 year old son of retired Union Major John Varnum,  and who was in charge of the 35 scouts attached to the 7th cavalry, remembered, "When we came out of the woods there were a great many Indians...working their Winchesters on the column".  

And with Indians now mounted and running alongside the soldiers, civilian interpreter, Gerard, noted, "The Indians picked off the soldiers at will. It was a rout..." 

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TOMBSTONES Chapter Six

 

I know what the cowboy Jim Hughes was thinking that July afternoon, of 1881. He was thinking he was about to get very, very rich. He was a hand on the Clanton Ranch 12 miles outside of Tombstone, and experienced in the rustling parties that stole cattle in Sonora, Mexico, and sold them to the butchers in Arizona. But this hot afternoon, he was after not after beef, but silver. 

On the trail below, 15 riders were leading 30 burros northward through the narrow confines of Skeleton Canyon (above). On the burros' backs Jim Hughs believed was either $75,000 or $40,000 or $2,500 worth of silver Mexican Peos. Unfortunately Hughes and his little gang of desperate rustlers had not thought to ask one simple question. Where had all that silver come from?

All Mexican legal tender was produced by 11 privately operated mints, such as the large one in Hermosillo, Sonora. They bought refined ore directly from mines and converted it into silver and gold centavos and pesoes  (above) of various denominations. In 1884 the United States Treasury Department cautioned potential investors in Mexico, "The bulk and weight of silver currency is a serious embarrassment." That was putting it mildly. The report went on to explain, "...grouped around the doors and entrances of the principle banking houses, professional porters...gain a lively hood by carrying loads of coins....from one part of the city to another." The weight of the silver meant commerce in Sonora would only move as fast as men and burros could carry it. And spies could travel much faster than that - faster even than a man could dream.

By 1881 there were close to 6,000 miners north of the border in Arizona, following the silver veins beneath the Tombstone Hills. And extracting and refining the ore had become only the second most difficult task in mining. The greater challenge was feeding the miners. Vegetables and fruit spoiled within minutes in the 100 degree plus summer temperatures. Canned goods had been available for almost a century, but the double seal can, which was truly air tight, would not be invented until 1888.  It was still common, particularly in the desert, to open cans only to find spoiled food inside. That left Tombstone miners surviving on sourdough bread, potatoes and legumes - all of which required scarce water to prepare. The only dependable and trustworthy protein supply was beef. 

The story told by Jim Hughes, was that he had been sitting in a Sonoran cantina when he overheard members of the "Estrada Gang" celebrating a successful raid on the town of Monterrey. Amid the boasts about banks robbed and churches looted, the bandits laid plans to transport their booty across the border for safe keeping in the United States.  As unlikely as the details of this story may be, it was clear that Jim Hughes heard something about a silver caravan and hurried north to the hilltop Clanton ranch. There he informed Billy Clanton, and an ambush party quickly formed.

A cow had the advantage of delivering its self to the kitchen back door. By 1880 there were 8,000 cattle along the San Pedro River Valley, north of the border.  But it took 100 acres of sparse Arizona mesquite and prickly pear, and 2 to 3 years to raise a cow to slaughtering age. Writing for the short lived Tombstone Daily Nugget, columnist Richard Rule admitted the unpleasant truth, "There is no doubt that most of the cattle sold in the vicinity of Tombstone... are stolen.". Rustlers were the most successful ranchers in Arizona, a state of affairs was encouraged because the businessmen and women of Tombstone had little incentive to inquire as to the source of the beef, only its price. Continued the observant Mr. Rule, "A good many of the cowboys...live in the guise of simple cattle farmers. Those who make a business of stealing...have a pretty good reputation". The fundamental advantage - and flaw - of capitalism, is that people ask few questions as to where your money came from, only how much you have. And the more money you have, the fewer questions they are inclined to ask. And that rule was about to begin working against the rustlers.

Just about the time Jim Hughes was taking a bead on the bandits in Skeleton Canyon, life long corporate railroad man William Barstow Strong  (above) was being promoted to President of the Boston based "Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe" railroad.  His advancement was a reward for his dedication to the corporate goal of reaching a Pacific port.

The problem was the Southern Pacific railroad controlled all lines and ports in California. And beginning in 1876, the Big Four owners of the SP had even laid rails east along the 32nd parallel from San Diego, reaching Tucson, Arizona in 1880 and crossing the San Pedro River at Benson. Southern Pacific President Charles Crocker could boast, "The earnings we have achieved since reaching Tucson have been great"  The SP had reached El Paso, Texas in May of 1881, blocking any further westward advance by the AT&SF.  Faced with this road block, the resourceful Mr. Strong had cast his eyes upon the broiling Sonoran port of Guaymas.

As the Mexican riders reached a formation called the Devil's Kitchen, near the New Mexico exit of  Skeleton Canyon (above, left center),  Hugh's finger tightened around the trigger of his rifle. 

His shot was instantly joined by the gun shots of his 8 partners. Six of the Mexicans fell in the first volley. However, the gunshots panicked the burros, and they bolted. So the Americans switched targets.

What William Strong promised new Mexican President Porfirio Diaz in 1877 was that railroads would bind his nation together. Under Mexican subsidiaries, and funded by Mexican government subsidies, the AT&SF built the Mexican Central Line, which drove 800 miles north from Mexico City to the Rio Grande River where it connected with the AT&SF in El Paso Texas. 

At the same time Strong's Sonora Railroad started in Guaymas on the gulf of California, and headed 900 miles east toward the Central Line in Monterrey.  But from the moment the Sonora Railroad reached the state capital of Hermosillo - in December of 1880 - profits tempted the construction north, 175 miles to the American border, where it could connect with an 88 mile long spur of the AT&SF, the New Mexico and Arizona Railroad, which would reach the mill town of Fairbank, Arizona, just 9 miles from Tombstone, in 1882.

When the smoke cleared there were 25 burros, dead or screaming in the narrow canyon. The 11 remaining Mexican riders surrendered. According to the legend the Americans climbed down the canyon walls and silenced the wounded animals. And then they executed the human witnesses. And only then did the realization slowly dawn upon the cowboys that they now had now way getting the silver out of the canyon. Legend claims they buried the hoard, intending on returning to fetch it later. But my guess is, there was very little silver in the burro's loads. The ambush had been a bust.

By the hot dry summer of 1881, the mining town of Tombstone and its satellites of Fairbank, Charleston, Contention and Bisbee (above), were close enough to the rail lines that not only could silver ore make its way out, but luxury goods and cattle could make their way in. And there were 8,000 cows now being raised in the San Pedro Valley, and the railroads were able to deliver beefier cows to within miles of the Tombstone mines. And these were not the scrawny hardy Texas longhorns but heftier, blooded stock fed on the rich grasses from wetter climes. Even though 6% of the cattle could be expected to die on route, the price per pound delivered by rail lowered the profit margin for the rustlers, and promised to soon drive them out of business.

Just about a month after the Skeleton Canyon shootout -  on Thursday, 11 August, 1881 -  7 Americans camped for the night just south of the Mexico border, in Sonora, in Guadalupe Canyon. Historians and western aficionados  still argue about what these venture capitalists were doing on such a popular smuggling route, at the junction of three legal jurisdictions - Arizona, New Mexico and Sonora, old Mexico. But the simplest explanation seems the most likely. They had invested their sweat equity in stealing 80 head of cattle in Sonora, and were  driving them back to the United States to sell and butcher, thus profiting while destroying the evidence.

During the night the cattle were restless, and the leader, Newman Hays "Old Man" Clanton (above), sent Harry Ernshaw and Billy Byers out to guard the herd. 

Just at dawn, on the morning of Friday, 13 August 1881, the two men rode back into camp, where Newman Clanton had started breakfast. Charley Snow,  19  year old Dixie Lee" Gray and Billy Lang, were just waking up.   But James Crane were still in his bedroll, having arrived the night before. Greeting the returning men as they dismounted, Charley Snow heard something the others missed, and started to draw his gun. That was the signal for the revenge ambush to explode. Snow was killed by the first shot. Gunfire then cut down Old Man Clanton as he bent over the campfire. 

Billy Byers said he started to run, "...but had not gone forty feet when I was shot across my body, but I didn’t fall, and in a few more steps was hit in my arm, knocked the pistol out of my hand and I fell down.” Harry Ernshaw and Billy Lang  (above) sought cover behind a bush, before trying to run as well. Billy Lang was shot dead and Harry was wounded, a bullet slicing off part of his nose. But he kept running. Young "Dixie Lee" Gray was hit three times in the chest and died in his bedroll.

Byers later told the Tombstone Nugget, "When I saw the Mexicans begin stripping the bodies, I took off what clothes I had, even my finger ring, and lay stretched out with my face down, and as I was all bloody from my wounds...they never touched me, but as one fellow passed me on horseback he fired several shots at me, one grazing the side of my head, and the others striking my side, throwing the dirt over me. But I kept perfectly still and he rode on.”

Harry Ernshaw made it on foot 15 miles north to the new Gray Ranch in the Animus mountains where Dixie Lee's older brother John was waiting. They returned the next morning with a wagon and 20 men. They found Billy Byers alive, wounded and delirious, wandering in the desert. Charley Snow's body had been scavenged and was buried where it lay. The bodies of Old Man Clanton, Dixie Lee Gray and James Crane were all loaded on the wagon and carried to the Gray Ranch were they were buried. The anarchy along the border had reached a new level.  

If it was not clear before to the rustlers and thieves in and around Tombstone, Arizona, it was certainly clear now. My guess is that just before he died, Old Man Clanton, thought that life was getting very hard for an unrestrained capitalist in this part of the country.

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