In 1904, a former soldier of the Seventh Cavalry named Theodore W. Golden put pen to paper and shared a secret he had carried for nearly three decades. He had been among the last men to see General George Armstrong Custer alive, and his personal testimony offered a rare, firsthand window into the final days of the regiment and the disaster that engulfed it on the Little Bighorn. Golden had known Custer since joining the regiment in 1873 and served with him on campaign until the general’s death.
In the spring of 1876, word reached his battalion near Shreveport, Louisiana, that a major expedition was being organized against the Sioux. Three substantial columns would converge on the enemy. Golden’s battalion marched to Fort Lincoln in Dakota Territory, where Custer, delayed by testimony before an inquiry committee in Washington, rejoined the regiment only days before the column moved out. The march carried them to the Yellowstone River, near the mouth of the Powder River.
There, the command halted to reorganize. The decision was made to leave the wagons, the dismounted recruits, and the regimental band behind, establishing a supply camp while the fighting column pressed on with a packed train. Major Marcus Reno had been sent ahead on reconnaissance, with plans to reunite with the main force near the mouth of the Tongue River on June 17th. The regiment reached that meeting point on schedule, but Reno was not there.
All day the men watched distant dust clouds, hoping each one signaled his return. Nothing came. The next morning they moved up the valley and finally united with Reno shortly after noon. Those around Custer noticed a change in him.
He seemed sullen, dissatisfied, tense, and unlike his usual self. But when Reno delivered his report, the old energy returned. Custer quickly assembled the command and set off for the Rosebud, where General Alfred Terry had already gone ahead on the supply steamer Far West to coordinate with General John Gibbon’s nearby column. The march stretched late into the night, ending at the Yellowstone.
The next morning they sighted Gibbon’s wagon train moving up the river, followed by the Far West. Messengers carried word of Reno’s discovery of a major Indian trail, and soon the regiment camped near the mouth of the Rosebud, where a war council examined Reno’s report in detail. A final council was held on the steamer on the night of June 21st. Custer received his last instructions.
When Gibbon was asked how soon he could reach the mouth of the Little Bighorn River, he answered plainly: not before noon on the 26th. According to the account, Custer was offered a second cavalry battalion and artillery from the steamer, but refused both. He expressed confidence in his own command and worried that artillery would slow him near the enemy. Many officers and men suspected this was part of a prearranged scheme to secure an independent command, the kind Custer had enjoyed in earlier years.
His wish was approved. On the afternoon of June 22nd, the regiment paraded before Generals Terry and Gibbon and then started out on the trail Reno had found. From that point forward, they followed it relentlessly. The orders they carried called for scouting and communication with Gibbon, yet no serious attempt was made in either direction, even though a scout named George Herendeen had been assigned to the command for that purpose.
The marches were long and fast. On the night of the 24th, the column halted as if to camp, but it was only a ruse. The men were ordered to stay saddled and ready for a night march. From the moment they left the Rosebud, Custer’s behavior had transformed.
His former liveliness returned, and he seemed entirely focused on finding and fighting the Indians. The trail they followed came from the direction of the Missouri River, and the scouts, including Bloody Knife and the Crow scouts, estimated the enemy at roughly one thousand to twelve hundred warriors, almost all of them from the Missouri River agencies. Around eleven o’clock that night, the order came to saddle up and form a line. A scouting party of Crows, Rees, and officers, including Lieutenants Charles Varnum and William W.
Cooke, pushed ahead to locate the enemy. The column followed, hoping to cross the divide and reach the cover of the foothills along the Little Bighorn before sunrise. But the rough country and the difficulty of following the trail slowed them. Dawn found the regiment in a ravine at the bottom of a range of high bluffs, unsure how far they were from the river.
During the night, Custer had ridden forward to join the scouts. Just after sunrise, they reported finding the village in the valley of the Little Bighorn. Custer was said to have doubted the report. Meanwhile, their presence had been detected.
A lost box of ammunition, actually containing hardtack, was found by a detachment sent to retrieve it, and the men came upon Indians trying to open it. Confronted with this news, Custer chose to advance immediately. As the command was being divided, Mitch Bouyer, a half-breed Crow interpreter, warned Custer that he would find more Indians in the valley than he could handle. Custer asked Bouyer if he was afraid to go on.
Bouyer answered that he was ready to go wherever Custer went, but cautioned that if they entered the valley, neither of them would come out alive. Just before the advance, Golden was assigned by Lieutenant Donald McIntosh to report to Custer as an orderly. The general told him to ride with Lieutenant Cooke, the regimental adjutant, and carry out whatever duties he might give. During a short halt, the men lay on the ground, many sleeping, while the horses grazed among the sagebrush.
Custer ordered the advance. Benteen’s battalion was to move off to the left, scout the country, drive any Indians before him, and send word of anything discovered. Reno was to follow the trail. Custer, with five troops, would move off to the right, leaving Captain Thomas McDougall with the pack train to follow as best he could.
After half an hour of difficult riding, the rough ground forced Custer’s column to turn left, and they soon came upon Reno’s command pushing ahead on the trail. Climbing to the top of the ridge, they saw a rolling plateau sloping toward the foothills of the river some five or six miles away. Reno’s column moved quickly down the trail below, while Benteen’s command, scouting the bluffs, was visible several miles to the left. Those near Custer thought he was growing impatient with their speed.
He would gallop ahead, stop and wait, then rush off again. Then a huge dust cloud appeared moving down the river valley. Custer, accompanied only by his orderly trumpeter, rode toward the river and stopped on a high point, where he waved his hat, seemingly greeting someone in the distance. He returned to the front of the column, led by Captain Myles Keogh and I Troop, veterans of many battles.
With shining eyes, Custer told Keogh that the Indians were running away and that if they could keep up the chase, they could afford to lose half the horses in the command. Keogh, calm as if on parade, turned in the saddle, looked at the long line of eager faces, and replied that they would do all that man and horse could do. Seconds later, the bugles sounded the charge, the first since leaving the Rosebud, and the column raced northward down the river, trying repeatedly to descend into the valley. Each attempt failed.
After perhaps the third failed attempt, Custer spoke briefly with Captain Cooke, who quickly wrote a note, folded it, and called for an orderly. Golden was the first to answer. Cooke gave him the paper. The order was to deliver it to Major Reno, stay with him until the commands joined together, then report back to Custer immediately.
With that, Cooke was gone, and a moment later the column raced past and disappeared into the ravines. Golden looked after them, then understood he was alone in enemy territory. He hurried toward Reno’s command, following the dust cloud hanging over it. A few long-distance shots were fired at him, but they only made him go faster.
After a six-mile ride, he reached Reno just as the major was dismounting to fight on foot. Golden handed over the dispatch, not knowing its contents. Reno glanced at it quickly and put it in his pocket. Around that time, the scouts grew frightened and ran, not stopping until they reached the Powder River and the safety of the wagon train.
It soon became clear the Indians were moving around their flanks and closing in behind. Reno’s men turned to push back the attacks until they could reach the timber. Several horses were shot, and a few ran away. Falling back into the timber, they found better cover and resumed fighting.
Protected by the timber and the riverbank, they held for a short time. Soon they saw Captain Myles Moylan getting his troop ready for action. Lieutenant William Wallace, standing on the skirmish line, called out to Captain Thomas French, commanding the center company, asking about orders. French said he had received none but would try to find out.
Moments later, he shouted that he understood a charge was about to happen, though he had not received clear orders. He proposed that they mount their horses and support the charge. As the men prepared to mount, they found that about fifteen of them had no horses, either killed by the heavy fire or lost when the animals ran away. Lieutenant McIntosh had lost his horse and took one belonging to Trooper McCormack, who said sadly that they were all finished anyway, and he might as well die on foot as on horseback.
As they mounted and came out of the timber, they were amazed to find that Reno was not charging the Indians. Instead, he was leading a desperate dash for the bluffs on the other side of the river. The Indians gathered on their flanks and fired heavily on the retreating column. Fortunately, their shooting was poor, and the losses were fairly light during the early part of the retreat, which quickly became a disorderly rush.
It has been said that Reno became so excited that he fired all the bullets in his revolver at the Indians and then threw the weapon away. Golden could confirm this story was wrong, because the revolver in question was then owned by General Benteen or his family. During the retreat, Golden rode on the left side of the column near the timber when his horse suddenly fell, throwing him into a patch of sagebrush. He suffered only minor injuries.
As he got to his feet, Lieutenant Wallace rode past, telling him to run for the timber and warning that his horse had been killed. Golden followed the advice and reached the timber soon after. From his hidden position, he watched the men pushing their horses into the river, forcing them across the rock-filled stream. He saw Lieutenant Benjamin Hodgson’s horse jump into the water, the lieutenant struggling as if hurt.
Hodgson freed himself from the stirrups and held onto the stirrup strap of a passing trooper, using it to help him cross. On the far bank, it was clear he had been wounded, but he continued bravely. The trooper tried to help him onto the saddle but did not dare stop his horse. In the next instant, Hodgson seemed to be hit again.
He lost his hold and fell to the ground. He got to his feet unsteadily, looking for help from another comrade who stopped to assist him. Just as it seemed he was safe, the second trooper threw up his arms, staggered in the saddle, and fell heavily to the ground. Hodgson tried to move toward the ravine up which the command was vanishing, stumbling forward a few steps before falling again.
Knowing further retreat was hopeless, he turned to face the Indians, drew his revolver, and began firing. An instant later, several shots sounded from Golden’s side of the river, and Hodgson staggered and fell. His fate was certain. As the men crossed the river and went up a nearby ravine, Golden found himself alone, considering his own fate.
He stayed hidden and undisturbed while the Indians stripped and mutilated the bodies of the fallen along the riverbank. Around this time, he heard the distant sound of heavy firing downriver and guessed that Custer was fighting the enemy. Looking at the village, he feared Custer was as greatly outnumbered as they had been. Most of the Indians near him suddenly left, rushing to join their comrades at the lower end of the village.
He saw the scout George Herendeen nearby and called to him. They found each other, and Herendeen told him that the fifteen dismounted men from their outfit had gathered in a spot in the timber about two hundred yards away, but their attempts to cross the open ground toward the river were met with Indian fire. Before leaving, the Indians had set the river bottom on fire, seemingly to hide their movements or force out the wounded. The smoke turned out to be their salvation.
Under its cover, Golden and Herendeen reached the river, crossed with some difficulty, and came upon one of the Crow scouts who pointed them to the place where the command had gathered. They rejoined the unit and found that Benteen’s battalion had arrived, but there was still no news of Custer. They told their story, and soon a white flag was seen waving from the river bottom near where they had hidden. Lieutenant Edward S.
Godfrey bravely risked his life to crawl to a lookout point on the bluffs, signaling to the party below that they were friendly. The group carefully crossed the river and joined them, revealing themselves to be the dismounted men left behind during Reno’s retreat. In the confusion of the retreat, Golden had noticed Lieutenant McIntosh riding on McCormick’s horse ahead of him. His lariat had come loose and was dragging on the ground, the picket pin bouncing off sagebrush and other obstacles.
Several men tried to warn him, but he seemed not to hear. Moments later, his horse fell. Golden could not tell if he had been shot. As he passed, he saw the lieutenant lying still, either dead or unconscious.
The next day, after the Indians had left, they found him in the same place, and it appeared he had indeed died. Standing on the bluffs looking into the valley, Golden heard an angry conversation nearby. Captain Thomas Weir shouted that if no one else would go, he would, and if they ever got out of the situation, someone would answer for it. He walked off, and soon Golden saw D Troop mount and move into the valley toward the distant firing.
Without clear orders, the whole command followed, except for Benteen’s and Godfrey’s troops, which maintained some appearance of military order. They went down the valley until they met Weir’s troop in retreat, overrun by a far larger force of Indians. They quickly formed a line, holding back the advancing swarm until Weir’s command passed through their lines and reformed behind them. With their help, they pulled back and reorganized.
As the retreat continued, Colonel Benteen, who seemed to have taken charge, turned to Lieutenant Wallace and said there was no point in falling back anymore. He ordered Wallace to form his troop with his right side secured and make a stand. Wallace smiled slightly and replied that he did not have a troop, only two men. Benteen laughed harshly and told him to form himself and his two men, and he would explain the situation once he had figured it out himself.
This small group formed the center of the defensive line. Others joined them soon after, taking cover behind sagebrush, building rough barricades, and opening fire. They held the Indians back until nightfall. During the night, they changed position, set up a corral and hospital, and dug in as best they could.
At dawn, the battle resumed and continued without stopping until about three in the afternoon, when the Indians suddenly began taking down their teepees, packing their travois, and leaving up the river valley, sadly out of rifle range. Twice during the afternoon, volunteer groups went out for water, drawing Indian fire both times. Madden of K Troop was hit during the second trip and suffered injuries to his leg that required amputation. He was taken to the hospital, where his leg was cut off that night.
The next day, Generals Terry and Gibbon arrived with relief and news of the fate of the other battalion. On the 28th, after moving the wounded across the river, the men went to the battlefield and buried the remains of Custer’s command. Except for General Custer himself, few bodies had escaped some form of mutilation. Their fallen leader’s body showed no such signs.
In discussions among army officers and frontier veterans afterward, the general agreement held that three main factors led to the disaster. First, the splitting of the command into four separate columns about fifteen miles from the battlefield, without exact knowledge of the enemy’s position or strength, caused a critical lack of support between the forces. Second, Custer’s early arrival on the scene, nearly twenty-four hours ahead of plan, was harmful. Third, the loss of horses and extra ammunition badly limited the command’s effectiveness.
Golden wrote that his experiences with Custer made him see the general as dangerously brave, inclined to take chances without fully considering the odds against him. He believed one potential reason for Custer’s actions, despite his orders, could have been his strong sense of shame over the president’s treatment of him. Perhaps he wanted to clear his name with a bold and decisive victory like his triumph at Washita, restoring himself as a leading figure and Indian fighter in the public’s view.
Whatever his reason, Golden concluded, they all had to admit that Custer fought with bravery and finally gave his life with the comrades who had ridden with him to success in many previous battles.