On June 25, 1876, the Seventh Cavalry rode into the Montana plains expecting a quick victory over a Native American encampment along the Little Bighorn River. Instead, the day ended in one of the most catastrophic defeats in U. S. military history—an event that became known as Custer’s Last Stand.
Lieutenant Winfield Scott Edgerly, a soldier in Major Marcus Reno’s battalion, later recounted the events that led to the disaster. His account paints a picture of tactical errors, failed communication, and a grave underestimation of the forces gathered at the river. By 10:00 a. m.
, the regiment was positioned roughly 15 miles from the encampment. From the hilltops, General George Armstrong Custer and his scouts—Crow and Ree men who had long been allies of the cavalry—assessed the village below. It was far larger than anyone had expected. Custer had planned a dawn assault the following morning, hoping surprise would give his men an advantage.
But when a small group of Native scouts detected the cavalry’s movements, Custer believed the element of surprise was lost. In his characteristic audacity, he ordered an immediate advance. He assumed, as many in the army did, that the sight of the Seventh Cavalry would send the warriors fleeing. He was badly mistaken.
The encampment was not a defenseless gathering of families. It was home to some of the most formidable leaders of the Plains, including Sitting Bull, whose vision had foretold a significant victory days earlier, and Crazy Horse, whose tactical skill would outmaneuver Custer’s divided forces. Custer split his regiment into four battalions. Major Reno was ordered to lead an assault from the south.
Captain Frederick Benteen was assigned to the left flank to prevent escape. Captain McDougall was tasked with guarding the pack train. Custer himself took five companies—roughly 300 men—on a parallel path to Reno, intending to trap the village between his forces and create chaos. Edgerly rode with Benteen’s battalion, scouring the ridges for stragglers.
The terrain slowed their progress. Hills and scouts revealed no sign of the enemy. Around midday, they crossed Reno’s trail and received an urgent message from Custer: “We have located a large village. Quicken your pace and bring up the packs.
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By the time they reached the area, Reno had already engaged the village. Gunfire erupted in the valley below. Edgerly watched men fleeing up the bluffs to the east, crossing the river in an attempt to escape. At first, they believed the soldiers were pursuing retreating warriors.
The reality was far more serious—these were their own troops. Reno had been forced to retreat after a disastrous charge into the village. His battalion, overwhelmed by the number of warriors, had suffered heavy losses and was in desperate need of reinforcements. Edgerly’s group joined Reno’s men on the bluffs, where wounded soldiers lay scattered, some bleeding heavily and crying out for water that was nowhere to be found.
From the heights, dust rose in the distance. Gunfire echoed across the plains from the north, where Custer’s command had last been seen. Colonel Weir approached Edgerly and asked what they should do. Edgerly suggested they move to assist Custer.
Although no orders had been issued, Weir agreed, and they prepared to mount their horses. As they advanced toward Custer’s last known position, warriors emerged on the horizon and moved to intercept them. They changed course, taking a parallel route north, where they encountered more troops led by Benteen and Captain Godfrey. The warriors opened fire as the soldiers reached a nearby bluff, forcing them into a defensive stance.
For the next 30 minutes, they exchanged fire until Reno signaled a retreat. By then, the sound of gunfire from Custer’s position had fallen silent. The following morning, General Terry’s column arrived with reinforcements. It was then that Edgerly and his comrades learned of Custer’s fate.
His entire command had been annihilated by the combined forces of the Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho warriors. Descending into the battlefield, the soldiers found a harrowing scene. Custer’s men lay scattered across the hillsides, many stripped of their uniforms. Officers had fallen where they led, with Lieutenants Calhoun and Crittenden still positioned in a skirmish line.
Colonel Keogh’s body was found near the knoll where Custer made his final stand, his men having attempted to retreat. Custer’s own body remained strangely intact, unlike many of his men who had suffered mutilation. His brother, Tom Custer, had been horrifically disfigured—a sign, in the warriors’ tradition, of profound animosity. It was a haunting detail that Custer himself was spared such treatment.
He was found lying near his other brother, Boston Custer, and his nephew Reed. Nearby, the soldiers discovered a Native burial ground. Two tipis contained the remains of warriors who had perished in battle, dressed and secured to poles—a distinction reserved for those who had died heroically. Their ponies were gathered around the camp, another sign of honor.
These traditions, unfamiliar to Edgerly, conveyed the deep respect the tribes held for their dead. Edgerly reflected on the burden of what they had witnessed. What had been expected to be a quick victory had become a remarkable defeat. Custer’s overconfidence, his decision to divide his forces, and his misjudgment of the Native warriors culminated in one of the most significant military catastrophes in American history.
Still, Edgerly admitted admiration for the warriors who fought that day. They were not merely protecting a village; they were defending a way of life that had sustained their people for generations. While the U. S.
Army buried its fallen, the Native tribes had achieved a victory that would echo through history. The battle was a loss for the United States military. For the Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho, it was a moment of triumph—a testament to their strength and resilience against overwhelming odds.