Lieutenant Charles DeRudio, an Italian nobleman serving with the 7th U. S. Cavalry, was one of the most despised officers in George Armstrong Custer’s command. His fellow soldiers mockingly called him “Count No Account” for his arrogant demeanor and boastful tales.
Yet on June 25, 1876, at the Battle of Little Bighorn, this unpopular officer survived an ordeal that killed 268 of his comrades. DeRudio was temporarily assigned to Company A under Major Marcus Reno when Custer split his regiment into battalions. Custer ordered Reno to attack the Indian village from the center while he led five companies to strike the right flank. Captain Frederick Benteen was sent to secure the left, and Company B guarded the pack train.
The center battalion charged through a thick dust cloud that reduced visibility to nearly zero, forcing Reno to halt and deploy a skirmish line. For about 30 minutes, the soldiers exchanged fire with the Indians before crossing a creek to investigate several vacant lodges. There they encountered around 200 warriors, and overwhelming enemy fire soon made retreat nearly impossible. The small force of about 100 men became encircled.
During the chaos, DeRudio spotted an abandoned weapon and dismounted to retrieve it. As he prepared to remount, a bullet struck his horse, causing it to bolt into the Indian lines. Stranded on foot with roughly 300 Sioux warriors just 50 yards away, a volley of bullets whistled past him. Miraculously, he remained unharmed and escaped into a nearby thicket.
There he found interpreter Fred Gerard and Private Thomas F. O’Neal, both mounted. DeRudio suggested stampeding the horses to avoid revealing their position, but the others refused. He decided to crawl through dense undergrowth into a dry creek bed, hoping to hide until nightfall.
After ten minutes, he heard pistol shots and eerie voices. Lifting his head, he saw women scalping a soldier who may still have been alive while others danced around them. The horror of that sight stayed with him. After the women departed, DeRudio detected a crackling sound.
Fire was spreading rapidly through exceptionally dry timber, forcing him to abandon his hiding spot. As he crawled out, he heard a voice calling his name. It was Gerard and the others, who had followed him down and were now concealed in the creek bottom. The group worried the approaching flames would expose them, but the wind died and light rain fell, stopping the fire.
It was now 3:00 p. m. , and they faced six long hours until dark. Throughout the afternoon, they heard Indians nearby, their voices sometimes unnervingly close.
When night arrived under heavy cloud cover, they emerged from hiding and headed for a ford two miles south. Gerard and the scout rode while DeRudio and the soldier each grabbed a horse’s tail for guidance. Battle sounds echoed from the hills above as the group moved. They heard their comrades’ cheers and the shouts of Native Americans.
But when they reached the woodland, they found it ablaze on both sides. They maneuvered through the flames and found a dense mulberry tree cluster to hide beneath. The grass was green from recent drizzle, and the fire spread slowly, allowing DeRudio to smother it with his gauntlet gloves. The fire burned around them, creating a small safe zone that shielded them from view.
From their hiding place, they watched Native Americans moving nearby. One guard stood 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 a Native American shouted loudly, repeating the call four times. After these signals, over 200 warriors departed across the river. An hour later, identical signals repeated, and many more rode away.
Soon, the rest left too. They endured 36 hours without water or food. At 8:00 p. m.
, they crossed the river in the dark and climbed the bluffs, moving slowly and cautiously for about two miles. DeRudio climbed a high hill and spotted a fire roughly two miles off, in the direction where their command had fought. Unsure whether it was an enemy camp or their own, they decided to approach carefully. After advancing over a mile, they paused and heard voices too faint to identify.
Moving closer, they heard a mule bray, followed by a sentry’s familiar challenge: “Halt! Who goes there? ” About 200 yards from the fire, DeRudio yelled out his name and private O’Neal’s, then ran toward them. The sentries and Lieutenant Varnum greeted them with loud cheers.
Varnum had presumed DeRudio dead. DeRudio asked about the regiment, hoping his company’s losses were the only ones. But Varnum had no news of Custer’s five companies, and reported that lieutenants MacIntosh and Hodgson had been killed. DeRudio reached camp around 2:00 a.
m. , exhausted from two sleepless nights. The next morning, at 8:00 a. m.
, cavalry appeared on the horizon. It was General Gibbon’s column, and later General Terry arrived. When the generals entered camp, DeRudio wrote, grown men wept like children. DeRudio later documented his ordeal in a letter and credited Private O’Neal for his steadfast courage.
He wrote of the soldier, “He obeyed my orders and stood by me like a brother. ” The officer who had been mocked as “Count No Account” had survived one of the most infamous defeats in American military history, hiding inches from death for nearly two days while the rest of Custer’s command was annihilated.