Two documents written days before the Battle of the Little Bighorn expose the fatal command failures that doomed Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer’s Seventh Cavalry. The June 25, 1876, engagement, in which Custer and his men were annihilated by a united force of Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho fighters, has been studied for nearly 150 years. The newly highlighted letters point to decisions made before the first shot was fired that sealed the regiment’s fate. The first letter was composed by journalist Mr.
Kellogg just four days before the assault that killed him along with Custer and his entire command. Dated June 21, 1876, at the confluence of the Rosebud and Yellowstone rivers, the letter describes the tense preparations and mounting errors that set the stage for disaster. Kellogg reported that since mid-June, the only significant movement in General Alfred Terry’s command had been the establishment of a supply depot at the mouth of the Powder River. The steamboat Far West was converted into a mobile supply base carrying thirty days of rations and fodder.
Custer had marched roughly forty miles from the Powder River to the Tongue River through the Yellowstone Valley. During the march, the only notable event was a display of marksmanship by Custer, who dropped an antelope at four hundred yards and nearly struck several sage hens. The terrain north of the Powder River was described as brutal, with poor soil, cactus, and sagebrush stretching for miles. The men found a deserted Indian campsite potentially containing between 1,200 and 1,500 lodges, a clear sign of a large hostile force in the area.
The letter then turns to a serious command failure. Major Marcus Reno, leading six companies of the Seventh Cavalry, had returned from a scouting mission but had disobeyed General Terry’s direct orders. Terry had instructed Reno to scout the Powder River to the Little Powder River, then cross Pumpkin Creek and the Tongue River before descending to its meeting point with the Yellowstone. Instead, Reno moved south from the Powder River junction toward the Rosebud River, where he found a fresh and dangerous trail.
That error frustrated the entire campaign plan. Terry had intended for Reno to reunite with Custer in the Tongue River Valley, allowing the regiment to scout up the Tongue, cross to the Rosebud, and link up with Terry’s forces moving up from the Yellowstone. Reno’s deviation allowed the main Indian force, estimated at around 1,500 warriors, to escape what Kellogg described as a carefully prepared trap. With the original plan ruined, a new campaign was launched.
On June 22, Custer was ordered to take twelve companies of cavalry up the Rosebud Valley, pursuing the trail Reno had found. The command expected to engage the Indians, who were described as hunting buffalo and moving without urgency. Terry planned to travel by steamer to the Big Horn River and have General Gibbon’s infantry march up the Big Horn Valley to block any escape route. Kellogg expressed confidence in the revised plan, writing that there was solid justification for believing Sitting Bull’s band would be captured and dealt with appropriately.
That confidence would prove catastrophically misplaced. The letter captures the grueling conditions of the pursuit. Custer’s command crossed difficult terrain with sharp drops and deep ravines under oppressive heat. Men gasped and sweated heavily as the cavalry pushed forward.
Kellogg noted that Custer’s light buckskin clothing was often visible at the rear of the column as he drove his men over towering ridges. Kellogg’s admiration for his commanders is unmistakable. He described General Terry as the model of a commanding officer, praising his wisdom, foresight, calmness, and administrative ability. Terry had, in Kellogg’s judgment, prepared the campaign perfectly.
The journalist added a warning that unless Terry’s juniors ruined his plans with their conduct, victory was all but certain. That warning proved prophetic. The letter’s account of Reno’s disobedience stands out as a decisive factor that redirected the campaign directly toward disaster. Kellogg then offered a vivid portrait of Custer himself, calling him the most unusual genius in the army.
He described a man of strong feelings, generous friendships, intense hatreds, and restless energy, fearless and persistent. Custer was painted as the toughest rider, the most forceful driver, fully devoted to his men, who in turn would follow him willingly into what Kellogg called the mouth of hell. The journalist insisted he was not exaggerating, claiming his depiction was drawn from direct observation and experience. He also praised the officers of the Seventh Cavalry as among the bravest and most noble men to ever serve their country.
Kellogg’s letter closed with a sober acknowledgment of the danger ahead. If he should die, he wrote, he asked his friends to remember him generously, considering the perils and hazards he faced. He expressed his honor at serving with the army, his wish to conduct himself properly, and his resolve to serve his country with enthusiasm if he lived. He ended with a blessing for his family and friends.
Kellogg’s words, written with such confidence and grim awareness, now serve as a haunting testament to the failures that preceded the battle. The two documents reinforce the conclusion that the Seventh Cavalry’s destruction was not merely the result of battlefield misfortune. It was shaped by deliberate command errors that concentrated the regiment in a vulnerable position, forced a rushed pursuit, and allowed the enemy to choose the ground.
The disclosures in the letters offer a clearer picture of how the most infamous defeat in American military history was set in motion long before the first cavalryman crossed the river.