On June 25, 1876, Lieutenant Charles DeRudio, an Italian aristocrat serving as a career officer in the U. S. Army, rode with the 7th Cavalry toward the Little Bighorn River. He was known among his peers as “Count No Account,” a nickname given by Captain Frederick Benteen for his boastful storytelling and haughty manner.
DeRudio was a capable officer, promoted to first lieutenant on December 15, 1875, but he was not well liked by Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer or other senior officers. Despite that, he would go on to survive one of the most famous defeats in American military history and later write a firsthand account of his harrowing experience. Around 10:00 a. m.
on June 25, Custer’s scouts returned with startling news: they had discovered an Indian village roughly fifteen miles away, nestled along the Little Bighorn. The scouts reported that the Indians appeared to be retreating from the advancing troops. The regiment continued its march for another two or three miles before Custer called a halt to plan the assault. He assigned Companies H, D, and K under Colonel Frederick Benteen to cover the left flank, with orders to clear everything in their path.
Companies M and G, under Major Marcus Reno, took the center position. DeRudio found himself temporarily attached to Company G. Custer himself led Companies I, F, L, and C on the right side of the attack line, while Company B remained behind to guard the pack train. After marching a few more miles, the center units received orders to trot and maintain pace until reaching the river, some six or seven miles away.
Upon reaching the river, the men forded it and emerged onto the plains beyond. There they were instructed to form a battle line. With orders given, the battalion set off at a gallop, pursuing the enemy through a dense and blinding dust cloud stirred up by the fleeing Indians. The dust was so thick that visibility was nearly zero, prompting Reno to halt the battalion.
After dismounting, Reno swiftly organized a skirmish line, positioning the right flank along the edge of a dry, densely wooded creek while the horses were led to shelter in the woods. Almost immediately, the Indians launched a fierce assault. The men met it with return fire, and the skirmish continued for about half an hour. It was then discovered that across the creek, in a park-like clearing, there were a few lodges.
The entire line crossed the creek to find the lodges abandoned, only to be met by about two hundred yelping warriors. The overwhelming fire from this larger force made retreat nearly impossible, and the soldiers found themselves surrounded. DeRudio entered the battle with only one hundred men. The enemy’s relentless fire wreaked havoc on the small group.
As the line crossed back over the creek, DeRudio, positioned at the rear, noticed a guidon that had been left behind and went back to retrieve it. While navigating through the woods, the guidon got tangled in the branches and slipped from his grasp. Dismounting to pick it up, he led his horse to the south bank of the creek. Just as he was about to mount, a bullet struck the horse, causing it to panic and bolt directly into the Indian ranks, leaving DeRudio dismounted with about three hundred Sioux only fifty yards away.
They unleashed a whistling volley at him, but miraculously, he remained unscathed. He managed to escape to a nearby thicket where he could defend himself. In the thicket, DeRudio encountered Fred Gerard, the interpreter, and Private Thomas F. O’Neill from Company G of the 7th Cavalry.
Gerard and O’Neill had their horses, while DeRudio, like O’Neill, was dismounted. DeRudio suggested that keeping the horses nearby could give away their position and recommended stampeding them, but the others declined. Crawling through the dense undergrowth into the deep, dry bottom of the creek, DeRudio hoped to stay hidden until darkness fell. After about ten minutes in his hiding place, he heard several pistol shots fired nearby, followed by the eerie voices of several squaws.
Cautiously raising his head, he watched these women engage in the gruesome act of scalping a soldier who might still have been alive. Two of them were engrossed in the cutting while the others performed a war dance around the victim and his mutilators. The horror of the spectacle, DeRudio later wrote, was beyond words. Eventually the women left, likely in search of more victims, giving him a moment to contemplate his precarious situation.
While grappling with his thoughts, DeRudio noticed a crackling noise. Investigating, he realized the Indians had set a fire. The exceptionally dry wood caused the flames to spread quickly, forcing him to abandon his hiding spot in the creek. He crawled out of the creek bottom using the same route as before.
Just as he was about to climb the bank, he heard a voice calling, “Lieutenant, Lieutenant. ” Though he could not see anyone, the call persisted. Advancing a few yards in the direction of the voice, he found the entire party he had left a short time ago, concealed in the creek bottom. Gerard informed DeRudio that he had left the horses tied together and followed down after him.
The party was also concerned about the advancing fire. Fortunately, the wind subsided and a light rain fell, enough to halt the flames and renew their hope of remaining hidden until nightfall. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon, and they had six long hours to wait. Throughout that time, they could hear and occasionally glimpse Indians around them, their voices eerily close.
Finally, nightfall arrived with a heavily clouded sky, providing the cover they needed. They emerged from their concealed positions and headed toward the ford, situated two miles to the south across an open plain. Gerard and the scout mounted their horses, while DeRudio and the soldier each grabbed onto a horse’s tail and followed through the darkness. Gerard suggested that if he needed to flee and leave them behind, he would inform Colonel Reno of their whereabouts, ensuring their rescue.
As they traversed the open plain, the night was so dark they could barely see, but they could hear Indians returning to their village. Reaching the woods near what they believed was the ford they had crossed earlier that morning, they realized their mistake and had to search for the correct crossing. After fording the stream once, they discovered it was at a bend, necessitating another crossing. As they recrossed the river, they unexpectedly encountered eight warriors.
The two mounted men fled immediately, while DeRudio and the soldier dove into nearby bushes. DeRudio cocked his revolver, kneeling and ready to fire if the warriors approached. Remarkably, the warriors seemed to think they had all fled, and after conversing amongst themselves for a few tense minutes, they continued on their way. Relieved, DeRudio called out to the soldier, and they regrouped, realizing that all fords were well guarded.
Attempting to cross the river seemed suicidal. The night dragged on, and at dawn they heard what sounded like a large cavalry unit approaching, with the distinct sound of horses splashing through water. Carefully approaching the riverbank, DeRudio saw what appeared to be their own command: gray horses ridden by men in military blouses, some with white hats. From his vantage point, he watched as they left the valley, some troops climbing a steep bluff while others continued to cross the river.
The sight filled him with a mix of hope and apprehension. Then he spotted a man in a buckskin jacket, pants, top boots, and a white hat, and he was certain it was Captain Tom Custer. Convinced these cavalrymen were from their command, DeRudio confidently stepped onto the bank and called out, “Tom, don’t leave us here. ”
The distance was only a few yards.
His call was met with a terrifying war cry and a barrage of three or four hundred shots. It was then that he realized his error. The warriors were dressed in clothing and riding horses seized from the fallen troopers. DeRudio and the soldier swiftly dove into the bushes as bullets sheared through branches.
With each volley, they crawled away to escape the line of fire. Disturbing the top branches of the undergrowth prompted the Indians on the bluff to fire in their direction. They decided to cross a clearing of about twenty yards to reach another wooded area. Before proceeding, DeRudio surveyed the surroundings.
The outlook was profoundly disheartening. On their immediate right, just fifty yards away, he spotted four or five Indians rapidly approaching. Close by were cottonwood stumps, almost touching each other. Behind this makeshift barricade, DeRudio and the soldier knelt down.
The soldier held his carbine while DeRudio gripped his revolver, prepared to take down a few of the warriors before they could harm them. The warriors had not noticed them. When the leading man was just ten yards away, DeRudio took a shot. They were moving in single file, and upon his shot they abruptly turned around, making a quick exit.
Private O’Neill then fired his carbine at the second warrior, who was at that moment pulling his pony to turn him back. The private’s aim was true. The Native American dropped his reins, raised his hands, and lay down on the grass. The man DeRudio had initially greeted rode a short distance and then followed suit.
The rest of the group rode on, turned the corner of the wood, and vanished. Throughout this period, gunfire from the bluffs persisted, but after their shots it ceased. They retreated to the thicket. From their position, they observed the Indians on the bluffs, their horses tethered under the protection of the hill, and a row of sharpshooters lying prone on their stomachs.
The sounds of battle echoed from above on the hills: the sustained rattle of musketry, the cheers of their fellow soldiers, and the shouts of the Native Americans. Their spirits lifted when they recognized the familiar cheer of their comrades, but disappointment quickly set in as they realized that their woodland refuge was ablaze. The adversaries had ignited both sides. They maneuvered until they discovered a dense cluster of mulberry trees, under which they crept.
The grass on the fringe of this area was very green, having experienced a slight drizzle shortly before, and there was no wind. As the fire approached their concealment, it spread very slowly, allowing DeRudio to smother it with his gauntlet gloves. The fire around them had burned down, leaving them in a small safe area. Surrounded by fire, they were protected from the outside.
They could see everything around them without being seen. They watched Native Americans moving around, and one standing guard about seventy or eighty yards away, watching the fire. At four o’clock, he fired four shots into the air, which DeRudio thought was a signal. Then they heard a Native American shouting loudly, repeating the same sound four times.
After these signals, they saw over two hundred Native Americans leaving the area and crossing the river. Later, the same signals were repeated, and many more Native Americans rode away on horseback. Soon the rest of them left too. By six o’clock, everything around them seemed peaceful, with no signs of Native Americans nearby.
They thought the regiment had left the battlefield, and they just had to wait until nightfall to cross the river and head toward the Yellowstone River, where they planned to build a raft and float down to the Powder River, where the supply camp was. They had gone thirty-six hours without water or food. At eight o’clock, they waited, then crossed the river twice and climbed up the bluffs, carefully deciding which direction to go. They moved slowly and cautiously, covering two miles before DeRudio climbed a high hill to look around and check for any signs of their command.
He saw a fire about two miles away, in the direction where they thought their command was fighting. They wondered if it was a Native American fire or their own. They decided to approach cautiously and see what they could find. They went down the hill and headed toward the fire, climbing hills and stopping to listen, proceeding for over a mile.
When they reached the top of a hill, they stopped and listened again. They heard voices, faint, and could not tell if they belonged to Native Americans or their own command. They moved a bit closer and heard a mumbled challenge: “Halt, who goes there? ” The challenge was not aimed at them, since they were too far away and hidden in the darkness, but it gave them confidence to keep approaching cautiously, still worried about running into Native Americans.
About two hundred yards from the fire, DeRudio shouted, “Picket, don’t fire, it’s Lieutenant DeRudio and Private O’Neill,” and started running toward them. The announcement was met with a loud cheer from the picket. Lieutenant Varnum, a brave and efficient officer, came up to DeRudio, overjoyed to see him alive, since he had assumed DeRudio was among the casualties. DeRudio asked about the regiment’s status, hoping they were the only casualties, but that hope was short-lived.
Varnum told him he had no news about the five companies under Custer and that their own command had lost Lieutenants McIntosh and Hodgson. DeRudio arrived at camp around two in the morning and could not sleep despite being exhausted from two nights without rest. He talked with Varnum about the battle, sharing his close calls and adventures. Morning came soon, and he met with the officers.
Around eight in the morning, they saw cavalry approaching: first a few scouts, then a large column. They soon realized it was General Brisbane’s command, coming to relieve them. Later, a long line of infantry appeared on the plain, and General Gibbon arrived. Seeing those blue coats filled their hearts with emotion.
When Generals Gibbon and Terry entered the camp, grown men cried like children. DeRudio acknowledged Private O’Neill’s loyalty and bravery, noting that O’Neill had followed his orders and stood by him like a brother. He remembered O’Neill’s valuable service during their dangerous time together and said the courageous soldier was highly respected by his company commander. DeRudio declared that O’Neill would always have his gratitude and that of his comrades.
Charles C. DeRudio had survived the Battle of the Little Bighorn, one of the few men in the thick of the fighting to escape and live to tell the tale.