Of course, Custer had to remind himself, he was grateful to be here at all and in command. Custer had literally had to get on his knees to beg to be in this place. And he wasn’t going to let the fears of lesser men destroy the opportunity that he now saw in the valley of the Little Big Horn. Remembering kneeling in front of General Terry and pleading to be allowed to participate in the campaign against the Sioux still rankled Custer. Damn Grant and those meddlesome fools in Washington! Wait until they hear about what happens today. Custer thought. Which brought his mind full circle to the centennial celebration in Philadelphia. For a few moments he toyed with the possibility of even making it there in person if all went well today and the campaign was ended in one fell swoop. With luck and catching the right trains, it might just be possible. It would be wonderful to look Grant in the eye with a great victory over the Sioux under his belt. Custer remembered the adulation that had come his way, particularly from be press, from his victory at the Washita. Today could make that look like a minor engagement if he broke the back of the Lakota Sioux nation.
Custer’s ill mood with his unit became even blacker when the first company commander to report ready for march was Captain Benteen of Company H. The captain was the senior company commander and as such the third in command of the regiment in the field. Benteen had been a colonel in the Civil War and his record. As Custer reluctantly knew, had been exemplary.
Despite that, Custer did not wish to cede the lead in the march to Company H. “Does your company comply with the standing orders that were issued at the Yellowstone, captain?” he asked Benteen.
The captain, whose most striking feature was white hair above a sharp and tanned face, kept his face impassive. “I’ve lent an NCO and six men back to the pack train to take care of the mules for my troop, sir. Each man has one hundred rounds of carbine ammunition and twenty-four rounds of ball for their pistols.”
The regiment, and Custer, had left their sabers back at Fort Lincoln. The unwieldy swords were next to worthless in the field. If there was fighting to be done, it would be done with rifle and pistol.
“Then Colonel Benteen, you have the advance,” Custer reluctantly said. He then ignored Benteen as the rest of the commanders trickled in. Captain Weir of D; Lieutenant Godfrey of K; Captain French of M; Custer’s brother Tom, of C; young Lieutenant McIntosh of G; Captain Moylan of A; Lieutenant Calhoun of L; Captain Miles Keogh of I; Lieutenant Smith of; Captain Yates of F; and last, and to be designated in the least favored spot, Captain McDougall of B, which Custer accordingly assigned to guard the pack train.
“Move your troop to the right and proceed in column of fours,” Custer ordered Benteen. Custer then pulled his horse to the side and watched as Benteen led the way, heading around the bulk of the mountains toward the valley of the Little Big Horn.
“Magnificent, sir, magnificent,” a voice piped up to · Custer’s right. He turned in the saddle and saw Mark Kellogg, the correspondent from the Bismarck Tribune. Some of Luster’s black mood fell away from him.
“You are most fortunate, Mister Kellogg,” Custer said… You are going to be witness to one of the greatest victories the frontier has ever known and see the end of the power of the mighty Sioux nation.”
“We will have a fight then. Sir?” Kellogg asked.
“If they do not run, we will have a fight,” Custer replied.
The third company in column was now passing by. A splendid sight to Custer in the morning sun. Custer knew Kellogg’s presence violated Shennan’s order to General Terry for no reporters to accompany the Seventh Cavalry. But Custer saw the long reach of President Grant in that order and had decided to ignore it. Custer had actually invited the publisher of the Tribune. Clement Lounsberry, to come along, but Lounsberry’s wife had taken ill just before they left Fort Lincoln and Kellogg had been chosen to take his place.
“Do you think they will run?” Kellogg asked anxiously.
Custer liked the man. The reporter wanted to see a fight. Unlike some of his own men, he thought bitterly. “The red man always runs,” he answered. “I have been out here a decade, and not once have they settled down and fought like · men. You have to threaten their women and their children to get them to fight at all.”
“I thought you had great respect for the red man, general. In your book Life on the Plains you wrote about-”
“I do respect them as foes once they take weapon in hand.” Custer quickly cut the reporter off. “They fight fiercely. The problem is getting them to fight. In the Civil War we knew our foe, and we could meet them bravely, face to face on the field of honor. Here we have to track them down like dogs.”
Custer knew he always had to be careful around newspapermen. He never knew how they might take something he said and twist it to their own end. He’d been criticized by newspapers before. But he also knew that Kellogg’s own career was tied to the success of the Seventh Cavalry. This was Kellogg’s big chance, because his stories were not only being printed by the Bismarck paper but were also being picked up by the New York Herald.
‘’Make sure you spell my uncle’s name correctly,” a boyish voice joked from behind the two men. Custer smiled as he pulled back on his reins and turned his horse. His nephew, eighteen-year-old Harry Armstrong “Autie” Reed was grinding. Having Autie along was another violation of Army policy, Custer knew, but it was good for the lad. He had been sickly back east, and the fresh air of the High Plains had done wonders for him.
“We’ll be seeing some action today,” Custer told Autie. “I want you to stay close to me.” Custer glanced over at the other man with his nephew. “You, too, Boston,” he directed toward his younger brother, Boston Custer. At least Boston was authorized on this trip. Although Custer had had to pull some strings to get his younger brother hired as a civilian guide. There were those, Benteen’s voice among them, who had wondered at the usefulness of a guide who had never been in this part of the country before. Boston was a comfort to Custer, and for that reason the general felt he was more than worth having along.
“You guard Autie now,” Custer said. “It wouldn’t do to have him get hurt. Elizabeth would never let me hear the end of it.”
Custer noted the new scout standing silently behind the officers and his family members. Bouyer bothered him although he couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason. The man rarely spoke. He’d shown up two days ago, which had been convenient considering one of the scout/interpreters for the regiment had simply disappeared the previous evening. Custer remembered Bouyer from the Washita, and the man’s reputation for working with Bridger was well known along the frontier. But there was an air about him, a darkness that disturbed Custer. While Bouyer had dutifully reported all the signs the scouts picked up regarding the savages, he had not had the same edge of fear the others displayed. It was as if he were resigned to whatever was going to occur.
Custer turned his attention back to the column. The fifth troop was now going by. He looked to his left. He could see the front of the column crossing over the high ground between the Rosebud and Little Big Horn Valleys. By the sun, Custer estimated it would be noon shortly. Not good, he thought. The damn Indians had all morning to break: down their lodges and leave if they had spotted his troops.
The regiment, in columns of fours, was strung out for quite a long distance, another disadvantage of moving in this terrain. Because of the unevenness of the landscape, the column y.ras bunching up and spreading out in a most unmilitary fashion.