THE RECKLESS GALLOP IN THE JAWS OF DEATH.
A column of mounted men wearing the national colors, and headed by a
group of officers, were making their way in a westerly direction. In
the advance rode a body of Crow Indians, and on either flank were the
scouts of the regiment--over seven hundred in all, and some of the most
gallant fighters on the plains.
Among that group of officers, every man of whom had honor attached to
his name, rode one who seemed conspicuous both for his bearing and
peculiar appearance. His form was rather slender, and indeed one might
call it womanly, but the face above, with its prominent features,
redeemed it from this characteristic. The features themselves might
be styled classic in their strange light, having a Danish look.
Surmounting this clearly cut face was the well-known yellow hair, worn
long on the neck.
Such was the gallant Custer. He had always been a dashing cavalry
leader, and with Crook and McKenzie rendered the Union efficient
service under General Sheridan during the late unpleasantness.
The morning was half over when the command was ordered to halt for two
reasons.
One of these was that his scouts had brought word that the large Indian
village, whose presence in the vicinity had been strongly suspected,
was only a short distance ahead; the other that a single horseman was
sighted coming along their back trail at a furious gallop.
Custer had suspected this latter might be a bearer of dispatches from
his commander, General Terry, from whom he had separated at the mouth
of the Rosebud, the commander going up the river on the supply steamer
_Far West_, to ferry Gibbons' troops over the water.
When, however, the horseman came closer, it was discovered that he was
no blue coat, but a greasy leather-clad ranger. The individual rode
directly up to the officers, and his quick gray eye picking out Custer,
he extended a horny palm.
"Can I believe my eyes?" exclaimed the general; "gentlemen, let me make
you acquainted with my old friend, Pandy Ellis, the best Indian fighter
that ever raised a rifle, and one whom I am proud to shake hands with."
"Come, come, general, don't butter it too thick. Yer sarvint,
gentlemen. I'm on hand ter see ther fun, wich air all I keer 'bout.
Don't mind me no more than ef I warn't in these hyar diggin's,"
protested Pandy, modestly.
"We shall do no such thing, old friend. Colonel Cooke, we will now move
onward to the assault," and Custer touched his spurs to his steed.
A few notes from the trumpeters, and the regiment was again in motion.
Onward at a gallop went the troops.
The valley of the Little Horn was reached, and where the great trail
entered it, another halt was made.
Now the immense village was in sight: large bands of warriors made
their appearance on all sides, some of them mounted, others on foot.
That there was serious business before them every man in that regiment
saw by intuition; bloody work that would ring from one end of the land
to the other, and yet how few of them suspected in what a terrible way
it would end.
Custer was reckless; every military man has agreed upon that.
He possessed a willful trait in his character that at times showed
itself, and when the occasion presented, as it was fated to do before
this day was over, merged into an indomitable stubborn nature. This
one serious fault was generally hidden beneath his dashing spirit, and
it would be a difficult thing to have met a more social companion than
this hero of the last Indian war.
There was something wrong about him on this day when he committed his
fatal error.
United in a solid body, the regiment might have cut its way through the
Indian camp, and in the end come out victorious.
Custer either considered his force stronger than it really was, or else
underestimated the fighting powers of the enemy.
He was too confident, and, in order that the Indians should not escape,
ordered Major Reno, with three companies, to enter the valley where the
trail struck it.
The yellow-haired cavalry leader took five companies himself, numbering
over three hundred men, with the avowed intention of entering the
village some three miles further down.
Major Reno could offer no remonstrance to his superior officer,
although perhaps he may have felt that this plan was a most dangerous
one.
His lips and those of his fellow officers were sealed by military
discipline. Not so, however, with Pandy Ellis.
He had gazed upon the tremendous Indian village as it could be seen
from their elevated position with something akin to amazement. Never
before in all its vast experience had the veteran ranger witnessed such
a gathering of redskins, and his usually smiling face clouded with
apprehension.
None knew the reckless, dashing nature of Custer better than Pandy, and
he heard the orders for a division of the regiment with dismay.
He even ventured to remonstrate with the general, but the latter turned
upon him fiercely, and, although his sudden anger suddenly cooled down
without a word being spoken, the look was enough to inform the ranger
that he was meddling with affairs in which he had no part.
All the censure of the rash act must fall upon one pair of shoulders,
where the glory also rests.
Pandy fell a little behind when the detachment struck off behind the
crest of the high bluffs marking the right bank of the Little Big
Horn. The old fellow had grown more cautious in his advancing years,
and although at one time, in his career, this daring assault would
have filled him with thoughts of glory, it now had an effect quite
the reverse. He could only deplore the fact that Custer would take
no warning, but persisted in riding directly into the jaws of death.
Duty seemed to stand out before the ranger, and dashing alongside the
general, he once more begged him to consider the situation. Something
was certainly wrong with the usually gentlemanly general.
"Old friend," said he, "if you fear for your own safety, there is
plenty of time to join Reno yonder. If for my welfare, I beg of you to
let the subject drop."
"General, if 'twar any other man az sed that, he shud never live ter
see another sunrise. Ye know Pandy Ellis better than that," said the
old man, reproachfully. Custer moved uneasily in his saddle.
"Forgive me, Ellis; I meant nothing. Some devilish humor seems to
possess me to-day, and I must let it out in fight. Besides, there is no
danger."
"No danger!" muttered Pandy, falling back again, "no danger. Cuss me
ef thet don't sound odd. Three hundred agin three thousand! Taint like
ther old days now; then reds war reds, but now az they've got rifles
and kin use 'em better than our men, ther devils. Lord forgive me, but
I must say that I never hearn o' sich a reckless thing. Pandy Ellis
air a goin' ter see it through, though, ef he does go under. Time's
'bout nigh up anyhow, might az well larf an' grow fat, az ther feller
sez. Don't think o' Bolly, but jist yell an' sail in. Hooray!" and the
ranger gave a subdued shout as the wild excitement seized upon him.
Major Reno was left behind with his three companies. Further to the
left, some two miles away, was Captain Belton with three more companies.
As Custer and his ill-fated three hundred rode gallantly away,
vanishing behind the crown of the bluffs, some of those who remained
may have entertained suspicions of the dreadful result that was soon
to follow, but no time was granted to realize what these conjectures
amounted to.
The Indians had gathered thickly on the opposite bank, and Major Reno
at once gave the word to go forward.
Fording the river in the midst of a fire so deadly that several saddles
were emptied, the soldiers reached the other shore. Once on _terra
firma_ they formed and then charged.
As the bugles rang out it was a glorious sight to see that compact body
of men dash forward like an avalanche, clearing the way before them as
if they were invincible.
Alas! that such a gallant charge should have been in vain.
Overwhelming numbers opposed the troops; the horses could not even move
forward, and, brave to the core, the men threw themselves to the ground
and fought on foot. It was a terrible struggle, but could not last long.
Finding that the number of the Indians was far more than had been even
imagined, and realizing that to continue the struggle would mean the
sacrifice of every man in the command, Major Reno reluctantly gave the
order to remount, and the three companies crossed the river again under
a harassing fire, sadly depleted in number.
Just then Captain Belton came up with his men, but seeing the madness
of attempting to assail the infuriated horde of red demons, savage at
their success and the sight of blood, he wisely retired, and joined
Reno, who had taken up a position on one of the bluffs back of the
river bank.