On June 25, 1876, along the Little Bighorn River, Lieutenant Charles DeRudio found himself trapped in a nightmare. The Italian nobleman, known derisively among fellow officers as “Count Noaccount” for his arrogant demeanor, watched as the command around him was cut to pieces. Bullets tore through the grass, arrows darkened the sky, and within minutes, hundreds of men would be dead.
DeRudio’s horse was shot out from under him. He was alone, with roughly 300 Sioux warriors just 50 yards away, and they had seen him. Yet DeRudio did not die that day.
Instead, he crawled into a thicket, hid inches from warriors scalping a soldier who may still have been alive, smothered a creeping wildfire with his bare hands, and survived 36 hours without food or water. His own written account, recorded after the battle, reveals the ordeal in vivid detail.
DeRudio served with the Seventh U. S. Cavalry during the Battle of the Little Bighorn.
Although promoted to first lieutenant in December 1875, he was unpopular with Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer and other senior commanders. Captain Frederick Benteen reportedly coined the nickname “Count Noaccount” because of DeRudio’s boastful tales and aristocratic air. Despite the disdain, DeRudio proved himself a capable officer during one of the most disastrous engagements in American military history.
Around 10:00 a. m. on June 25, Custer’s scouts returned with alarming intelligence.
They had located an Indian village roughly 15 miles away, positioned along the Little Bighorn River. The scouts noted that the Indians seemed to be withdrawing as the cavalry approached. The command advanced another two or three miles before Custer halted to plan the attack.
Custer ordered Companies H, D, and K, under Colonel Frederick Benteen, to secure the left flank with explicit orders to clear all opposition. Companies M and G, led by Major Marcus Reno, occupied the center. DeRudio was temporarily assigned to Company A.
Custer personally commanded Companies E, I, F, L, and C on the right flank, while Company B guarded the pack train.
After marching several more miles, the center unit was ordered to trot and maintain speed until reaching the river six or seven miles ahead. Upon arrival, they forded the river and emerged onto the plains beyond, where they were directed to form a battle line. With orders issued, they charged at a gallop, chasing the enemy through a thick, vision-obscuring dust cloud raised by the retreating Indians.
The dust was so dense that visibility dropped to nearly zero, forcing Reno to halt the battalion. After dismounting, Reno rapidly deployed a skirmish line, anchoring the right flank along a dry, thickly wooded creek. As the horses were taken to the shelter of the woodland, the Indians launched a fierce attack, met by immediate return fire.
The skirmish lasted approximately 30 minutes.
It was then discovered that across the creek, in a park-like clearing, stood several lodges. The entire line crossed the creek and found the lodges vacant, only to confront about 200 howling warriors. Overwhelming fire from this larger force made retreat nearly impossible as the cavalry became encircled.
Reno’s command entered the fight with only about 100 men, and relentless enemy fire devastated the small group.
While crossing the creek at the rear of the column, DeRudio noticed an abandoned guidon and returned to retrieve it. Maneuvering through the woods, the guidon snagged on branches and slipped from his hand. Dismounting to recover it, he led his horse to the creek’s south bank.
Just as he prepared to mount, a bullet struck his horse. The animal panicked and bolted into the Indian lines, leaving DeRudio stranded with roughly 300 Sioux warriors just 50 yards away.
They unleashed a whistling volley at him. Miraculously, he remained unharmed. He escaped into a nearby thicket, where he could defend himself and negotiate survival.
There he encountered interpreter Fred Gerard and Private Thomas F. O’Neil of Company G, Seventh Cavalry. Gerard and O’Neil had horses, while DeRudio, like O’Neil, was on foot.
DeRudio proposed that the horses might reveal their position and suggested stampeding them, but the others refused. Leaving them, he crawled through dense undergrowth into the creek’s deep, dry bed, hoping to remain concealed until nightfall for a stealthy return to the command.
After ten tense minutes of hiding, he heard pistol shots nearby, followed by the eerie voices of Sioux women. Cautiously lifting his head, he saw these women scalping a soldier, possibly still alive, too focused on their cutting to notice him, while others danced a war dance around the victim and mutilators. The horror of the sight defied description.
Eventually, the women departed, likely seeking more victims, leaving DeRudio to consider his peril.
While wrestling with his thoughts, he detected a crackling sound nearby. Investigating, he realized it came from burning wood ignited by the Indians. Exceptionally dry timber caused the flames to spread rapidly, forcing him to abandon his hiding spot in the creek.
He crawled out using his entry path.
As he neared the bank, he heard a voice calling, “Lieutenant, Lieutenant.” Though he saw no one, the call continued. Advancing a few yards toward the voice, he found the entire group he had left earlier, concealed in the creek bottom.
Gerard stated that he had left the horses tied where DeRudio had seen them and had followed him down. Like DeRudio, the group worried about the approaching fire.
Fortunately, the wind died down and a light rain fell, halting the flames and renewing their hope of hiding until dark. It was now 3:00 p. m.
They faced six long hours. Throughout that time, they heard and sometimes glimpsed Indians nearby, their voices unnervingly close. Words failed to capture the torrent of thoughts that ran through DeRudio’s mind during those suspense-filled hours.
Finally, night arrived under heavy cloud cover, granting the needed concealment. The group emerged from hiding and moved toward the ford, two miles south across open ground. Gerard and the scout rode.
The soldier and DeRudio each grasped a horse’s tail, guiding themselves through the darkness. Gerard stated that if forced to flee without them, he would inform Major Reno of their location to ensure rescue.
Battle sounds echoed from the hills above, sustained musketry, the cheers of their comrades, and the shouts of Native Americans. Their spirits rose recognizing the cheers, but fell when they saw their woodland refuge in flames, forcing them to relocate. They crawled nearly to the woodland edge when they noticed that the adversaries had ignited fires on both sides.
They maneuvered until they found a dense cluster of mulberry trees and crept underneath. The fringe grass was very green from the recent drizzle, and no wind blew. As the fire neared their hideout, it spread slowly, allowing DeRudio to smother it with his gauntlet gloves.
The fire around them burned down, leaving them in a small, safe zone.
Surrounded by fire, they were shielded from outside view. They could see everything while remaining unseen. They watched Native Americans moving about.
One stood guard 70 to 80 yards off, watching the flames. At 4:00 p. m.
, he fired four shots skyward, which DeRudio took as a signal. Then they heard a Native American shouting loudly, repeating the sound four times.
After these signals, over 200 Native Americans departed, crossing the river. An hour later, identical signals repeated, and many more rode away on horseback. Soon, the remainder left as well.
Hope returned. The constant gunfire slackened, with only occasional distant shots.
By 6:00 p. m. , the surroundings seemed peaceful.
No Native Americans were nearby. The group assumed the regiment had quit the field. They merely awaited nightfall to cross the river toward the Yellowstone River, where they planned to build a raft and float to Powder River, where their supply camp stood.
They endured 36 hours without water or food. At 8:00 p. m.
, they waited across the river twice and climbed the bluffs, carefully choosing their direction. They advanced slowly and cautiously, covering two miles before DeRudio ascended a high hill to scout for the command.
He spotted a fire roughly two miles off, toward where they believed the command had fought. They questioned whether it was a Native American fire or their own command’s fire. They resolved to approach warily and investigate.
Descending the hill, they headed toward the fire, climbing hills and halting to listen, progressing over a mile.
Reaching another hilltop, they paused and listened again. They discerned voices too faint to identify as Native American or their own command. Moving closer, they heard a mule bray, followed by a sentry’s familiar challenge: “Halt!
Who goes there?”
The challenge was not meant for them, as they were distant and hidden in darkness, but it gave them confidence to proceed cautiously, still fearing Native American encounters. About 200 yards from the fire, DeRudio yelled, “Picket, don’t fire. It’s Lieutenant DeRudio and Private O’Neil,” and ran toward them.
His announcement drew a loud cheer from the picket and Lieutenant Varnum. Varnum, a brave and efficient officer, rushed to DeRudio, elated. He had presumed DeRudio dead.
DeRudio inquired about the regiment, hoping they were the sole casualties, but that hope proved fleeting. Varnum stated he knew nothing of Custer’s five companies and that the command had lost Lieutenants MacIntosh and Hodgson.
DeRudio reached camp around 2:00 a. m. , exhausted from two sleepless nights.
He conversed with Varnum about the battle, sharing his narrow escapes. Morning arrived swiftly. He met with officers to report the departure of the Native Americans.
At 8:00 a. m. , they observed cavalry approaching.
First came scouts, then a large column. They soon recognized General Brisbane’s command arriving to relieve them. Later, a long infantry line appeared on the plain.
General Gibbon arrived. The sight of those blue coats stirred deep emotion. When Generals Gibbon and Terry entered the camp, grown men wept like children.
DeRudio acknowledged Private O’Neil’s steadfastness and courage. O’Neil obeyed his orders and stood by him like a brother. DeRudio wrote that he would forever remember O’Neil and his invaluable service during their shared peril.
The brave soldier was esteemed by his company commander and would eternally have DeRudio’s gratitude.
Charles DeRudio survived where 268 of his comrades perished. His account stands as one of the most harrowing personal narratives to emerge from Custer’s Last Stand, a testament to endurance, luck, and the will to live against impossible odds.