BRAVE CUSTER'S LAST SHOT.
"Cannon to the right of them,
Cannon to the left of them,
Cannon in the front of them,
Volleyed and thundered.
Onward through shot and shell,
Into the mouth of hell,
They who had fought so well,
Rode the six hundred."
--_Charge of the Light Brigade._
The Crimean war may have presented its phases of reckless daring to
the world, but I doubt if such a case as Custer's gallop to glory and
death has been paralleled since the days of Leonidas and his deathless
Spartans in the world-famed pass of Thermopylæ.
They literally rode to destruction, as may be seen when it is
officially stated that not one regular soldier in the whole command
lived through the battle.
After leaving the attack at the upper end of the village to Reno's
case, Custer and his men struck along the route selected, at as rapid a
pace as the nature of the ground permitted.
This line of travel was just beyond the crest of the high bluffs, and
no doubt the leading principle that actuated the general into selecting
it, was an idea that their movements might be concealed from the enemy.
In this, however, the project failed utterly, for great numbers of
Indian scouts had posted themselves on the crags and their rifles kept
up a continued musical refrain far from pleasant to the ears of the
devoted band, more than one of whom threw up his arms and fell from his
steed as the bitter lead cut home.
It was a dangerous ride, and yet in the face of this murderous fire
these valiant men rode on, turning neither to the right nor the left,
but keeping straight forward.
Now and then a trooper, exasperated beyond endurance by the fall of
some dear comrade, would discharge his carbine at the Indians who
showed themselves boldly on one side.
Owing to the rapid motion these shots were indifferently rewarded, only
a few of the most expert hitting the objects of their aim.
On ordinary occasions old Pandy Ellis would have been one of the first
to prove his markmanship, but something seemed to keep his attention
riveted in one direction, and amidst the storm of hissing bullets,
growing momentarily louder and more threatening, the prairie ranger
rode as calmly as if indeed there was no danger.
But if our old friend paid little attention to this deadly discharge
from all quarters, others made up for his lack of interest, and growls
of dissatisfaction arose on all sides; not at their leader, but because
it was almost impossible to return the fire of the enemy.
With his usual disregard for danger, Custer rode in the advance, where
his form was a prominent mark for all concealed sharp-shooters; but the
general, in spite of all, seemed to bear a charmed life.
He leaned forward in the saddle, and seemed to be scrutinizing
some point of land, toward which his attention had been drawn by
Bloody-Knife, one of his Crow scouts.
It was at this moment, after a gallop of nearly three miles after
leaving Major Reno, that Custer gave a start and uttered an exclamation
as a bullet grazed his flesh, making a slight but burning skin wound.
Aroused to action by this, his quick eye took in all the surroundings,
and immediately the order was given to change the route.
Passing over the crown of the bluffs, the cavalry rushed down toward
where the Little Big Horn ran noisily over its bed.
Indians seemed as thick as blackberries on a July day.
From every bush and rock they made their appearance, ugly-looking and
determined on mischief.
All the way down to the level bank of the river men kept dropping, and
with them horses, but in spite of it all the brave squad kept straight
on.
Just at this moment a new form appeared among the blue coats.
Where he came from no one had the slightest idea, not even keen-eyed
Pandy himself.
The first the ranger knew of it, he saw some one mounted on a white
horse dash by him, and a boy dressed in the becoming suit of a hunter
drew rein beside the yellow-haired chief.
Custer turned his head for the first time since changing the course of
his troop, and his face expressed evident displeasure when he saw the
boy.
"Mason, boy, you here?" the officer ejaculated.
The young fellow did not seem to pay any heed to the dismay that was
plainly perceptible in the tones of the general.
"General," he almost shouted, putting out a hand to seize Custer's
bridle, but which was impatiently put away by him, "to go forward is
impossible. They are ten to your one."
"To retreat is also impossible, even if we wished it," said Custer,
grimly.
It was indeed so; the command could never scale the bluffs again in the
face of those defending them.
Again the boy appealed.
"General, the whole river bank is a mass of reds. It is a trap, an
ambuscade. Turn back, or halt, if you value your life," he exclaimed.
Several of the officers were waiting for a reply; but Custer, firm and
brave to the last, did not hesitate in his course.
He realized that a terrible error had been committed in dividing his
troop; but he possessed the spirit to persist in his former plan,
hoping to come out all right in the end.
His fellow officers saw the lips pressed firmly together.
Then came the one word:
"Forward!"
The foot of the bluffs was reached, and then the truth of the boy's
assertion became manifest.
Another moment, and the gallant command was completely surrounded by a
struggling, yelling mass of Indians, many of whom were mounted.
Then commenced the deadliest fight that has ever been known to take
place on the plains.
All the attendant noises of a great battle, cannon excepted, could be
found here.
The Sioux seemed crazy with both anger and delight; and many a poor
fellow, struggling hard in the midst of this sea of humanity, was
actually pulled from his horse into the arms of death.
There was no halt made at all.
The command kept compactly together, using their weapons as best they
could, but never thinking of retreating.
On, on, was the cry; forward, the shout.
Being prevented from fording the river by the overwhelming force,
Custer and his men rode along the shore.
Every second the number of opponents swelled, as those upon the heights
came down upon the scene of action; and still the little band went on,
trampling down and riding over those who would not get out of the way.
As a single man in a crowd is pushed hither and thither, like a feather
floating on the water and at the mercy of the wind, so Custer and his
command were drawn away from the river.
Everywhere was their trail marked by the dead, until it came to the
slaughter-pen.
After leaving the water, the remnant of the gallant Seventh attempted
to make a break out of this infuriated mass, but the tide had set in
against them.
Five, ten minutes of this awful fighting, and then there came a time
when retreat was utterly out of the question, much as they might have
wished it. The Sioux had forced them into a ravine, and here was
enacted the closing scene of the bloody drama.
Custer saw the inevitable finale; hope of a rescue there could be none,
as Reno had received positive orders, and Terry and Crook were far away
in different directions.
In this ravine they must die, then.
"My God!" exclaimed Custer, "we are trapped like foxes. To stay here
means death. Forward, men, forward. Down with the hounds!"
Wounds counted as nothing at this dread moment; so long as a man could
keep his seat, he was in good luck; it was the death bullet that told.
"My Heavens! the general's shot!" shouted a soldier close to Pandy
Ellis.
Custer was reeling in his saddle; the film of death already showed
itself in those clear eyes, but bracing himself, he discharged his
revolver full in the face of Black Sculley, the renegade, who had given
him his death-wound.
The scoundrel rolled over with a curse; Custer's last shot had done its
work.
As the general fell from his saddle he was caught in the arms of the
boy hunter, who had dismounted.
While the awful din raged around, and men were covering one another
with blood, the soul of as gallant an officer as ever drew sword passed
away to a better world.
Custer died at the head of his command.