In the summer of 1876, Theodore W. Golden, a former trooper of the Seventh Cavalry, carried a secret that set him apart from nearly every other man who had ridden with George Armstrong Custer. He was among the last to see the general alive, and in 1904 he set down his account in a letter, offering a rare firsthand view of the final hours before the disaster on the Little Bighorn. Golden had known Custer from the day he joined the regiment in 1873 until the general’s death.
He served with the Seventh on campaign in every year but one, when his troop was posted in the southern states. In the spring of 1876, word came that a major expedition was being formed against the Sioux, with three columns converging on the northern plains. Orders soon followed, and Golden’s battalion marched from near Shreveport, Louisiana, to Fort Lincoln in Dakota Territory. Custer himself was delayed, giving testimony before an inquiry committee in Washington, and he reached the regiment only days before the column was due to move out.
The march from Fort Lincoln to the Yellowstone passed without incident, and the command paused near the mouth of the Powder River to organize a supply camp. Major Marcus Reno had been sent ahead on reconnaissance, with plans to rejoin the column near the Tongue River. On June 17, the regiment reached the Tongue and made camp, unaware that on that same day General George Crook was fighting a violent battle against the Sioux on the Rosebud. All day the men watched distant dust clouds on the river bottom, hoping each one marked Reno’s return.
Nothing came, so they moved up the valley on the morning of the 18th and finally united with Reno’s command just after noon. Golden noticed that Custer’s manner had changed. The general seemed sullen, tense, and unlike himself. But when Reno delivered his report, Custer’s old energy returned.
He quickly assembled the command and set out for the Rosebud, where General Alfred Terry had already gone ahead on the steamer Far West to meet General John Gibbon’s column. The march stretched long into the night, and the next morning the regiment spotted Gibbon’s wagon train moving up the river, followed by the steamer. Messengers carried word of Reno’s discovery of a major Indian trail, and the command soon camped near the mouth of the Rosebud for a war council. A final council was held aboard the steamer on the night of June 21.
There Custer received his instructions. Asked when he could reach the mouth of the Little Bighorn River, Gibbon answered that he could not arrive before noon on the 26th. According to the account, Custer was offered the Second Cavalry battalion and artillery that had been brought on the steamer, but he refused both. He said he trusted his own command and worried that artillery would slow him down near the enemy.
Many officers and men believed this was part of a prearranged plan to gain an independent command, but his wish was approved. On the afternoon of June 22, the regiment paraded before Generals Terry and Gibbon and then set off on the trail Reno had found. From that point forward, the column followed the trace without scouting the surrounding country or sending word to Gibbon, even though a scout named George Herendeen had been assigned for that purpose. The marches were long and fast.
On the night of the 24th, the command halted, apparently to camp, but the men were told to stay saddled and ready for a night march. Golden observed that Custer’s old liveliness had returned; he seemed focused entirely on finding and fighting the Indians. The trail came from the direction of the Missouri River. Based on the estimates of Bloody Knife and the Crow scouts, the force ahead was believed to number roughly a thousand to twelve hundred Indians, almost all warriors.
Around 11:00 that night, the order came to saddle up. A scouting party of Crows, Rees, and officers including Lieutenants Varnum and Hare went ahead to cross the divide and locate the village. The command followed, aiming to reach the cover of the foothills along the Little Bighorn before sunrise. The rough terrain slowed them, and dawn found the column in a ravine at the bottom of a range of high bluffs, uncertain how far they were from the river.
During the night, Custer had ridden forward to join the scouts. Just after sunrise, they reported they had found the village in the valley of the Little Bighorn. Custer was said to be doubtful. Meanwhile, the command’s presence was detected when a detachment sent to retrieve a dropped box of ammunition discovered Indians trying to open it.
The box actually contained hardtack, but the encounter made clear the element of surprise was gone. As the command was being divided for the advance, Mitch Bouyer, the 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 replied that he would go wherever Custer went, but cautioned that if they entered the valley, neither of them would come out alive.
Golden was assigned by Lieutenant McIntosh to report to Custer as an orderly. The general told him to ride with Lieutenant Cook, the regimental adjutant. During a brief halt, men lay on the ground, many sleeping, while horses grazed among the sagebrush. Custer ordered the advance, with each battalion first ready taking the right of the line.
In minutes the command was mounted and prepared. Frederick Benteen’s battalion was ordered to move off to the left, scout the country, drive any Indians before him, and send word of discoveries. Reno was to follow the trail. Custer, with five troops, moved to the right, leaving Captain McDougall with the pack train to follow as best he could.
After a half hour’s difficult ride, the ground forced Custer’s column to turn left, and the men soon came upon Reno’s command pushing ahead on the trail. The climb was hard, and when they reached 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 was moving quickly down the trail, while Benteen’s command was visible several miles to the left. Custer rode ahead impatiently, galloping forward, stopping, waiting, then rushing off again.
A huge dust cloud rose from 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 in what seemed a greeting. He returned to the front of the column, led by Captain Keogh and I Troop, veterans of many battles. With shining eyes, Custer said to Keogh, “Those Indians are running away.
If we can keep up the chase, we can afford to lose half the horses in the command. ” Keogh, calm as if on parade, looked at the long line of eager faces and replied, “General, we will do all that man and horse can do. ”
The bugles sounded the charge, the first since leaving the Rosebud. The column raced northward along the river, trying to get down into the valley, but the bluffs blocked every attempt.
After about the third failed push, Custer spoke briefly with Cook, who quickly wrote a note, folded it, and called for an orderly. Golden answered first. Cook handed him the paper with an order: deliver this to Major Reno, stay with him until the commands joined, then report back immediately. Cook was gone in an instant, and the back of the column raced past, disappearing into the ravines.
Golden realized he was alone in enemy country. He hurried toward Reno’s command, guided by the dust cloud hanging over it. A few long-range shots were fired at him, which only made him ride 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 looked at it quickly and put it in his pocket. Around that time, the scouts panicked and fled, not stopping until they reached the Powder River and the safety of the wagon train. It became obvious that Indians were moving around the flanks and closing in behind.
The command fell back toward timber, taking fire and losing horses. Once in the trees, the men had better cover, and for a short time they defended themselves more effectively. Captain Moylan began preparing his troop for action. Lieutenant Wallace, on the skirmish line, called to Captain French, commanding the center company, asking for 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 no clear orders. He proposed the men mount and support it. As they prepared to mount, about fifteen men were found to be without horses, either shot or run off.
Lieutenant McIntosh had lost his horse and took one belonging to Trooper McCormack, who remarked sadly that they were all finished anyway and he might as well die on foot as on horseback. When the men came out of the timber, they were astonished to find that Reno was not charging the Indians. Instead, he was making a desperate dash for the bluffs on the other side of the river. The Indians gathered on the flanks and fired heavily on the retreating column.
Their shooting was poor, and losses were light during the disorderly rush. A story later spread that Reno had emptied his revolver at the Indians and thrown it away. Golden insisted this was untrue, noting that the revolver in question was owned by General Benteen or his family. During the retreat, Golden was riding near the timber when his horse fell, throwing him into a sagebrush patch.
He was only slightly hurt. As he got to his feet, Lieutenant Wallace rode past and told him to run for the timber, warning that his horse was killed. Golden followed the advice and reached the trees moments later. From his hidden position, he watched the men push their horses into the river and force them across the rock-filled stream.
He saw Lieutenant Hodgson’s horse jump into the water and the lieutenant struggling as if wounded. Hodgson freed himself from the stirrups, grabbed the stirrup strap of a passing trooper, and used it to help him across. Once on the bank, it was clear he was wounded, but he pressed on. The trooper tried to help him into the saddle but could not stop his horse.
In the next instant, Hodgson seemed to be hit again, lost his hold, and fell. He got unsteadily to his feet and looked for help from another comrade who stopped. Just as he seemed safe, the second trooper threw up his arms, staggered, and fell heavily to the ground. Hodgson stumbled forward a few steps, then fell again.
Appearing to know that retreat was hopeless, he turned to face the Indians, drew his revolver, and began firing. A few shots sounded from Golden’s side of the river, and Hodgson staggered and fell for the last time. Golden found himself alone. The Indians were busy stripping and mutilating the bodies along the riverbank, and he stayed hidden.
He heard the distant sound of heavy firing downriver and guessed that Custer was engaging the enemy. From the glimpses he caught of the village, he feared Custer was as outnumbered as Reno had been. Most of the Indians near him suddenly left, rushing to join their comrades at the lower end of the village. Golden spotted Herendeen and called to him.
The scout told him that the fifteen dismounted men from the outfit had reached a spot in the timber about two hundred yards away, but their attempts to cross the open ground to the river were met with fire. Before leaving, the Indians had set the river bottom on fire, seemingly to hide their movements or flush out the wounded. The smoke became their salvation, allowing Golden and Herendeen to reach the river under cover. They crossed with some difficulty and found one of the Crow scouts, who pointed them toward the command.
When they rejoined, they found Benteen’s battalion had arrived, but there was no word of Custer. The men told their story, and soon a white flag was seen waving from the river bottom near where Golden and Herendeen had hidden. Lieutenant Hare risked his life to crawl to a lookout point on the bluffs, signaling that they were friendly forces. The party below crossed the river and joined the command, revealing themselves to be the dismounted men left behind during Reno’s retreat.
In the chaos of the retreat, Golden had noticed Lieutenant McIntosh riding ahead on McCormack’s horse. His lariat had come loose and was dragging on the ground, the picket pin striking sagebrush and creating a dangerous situation. Several men tried to warn him, but he did not seem to hear. Moments later, his horse fell, and Golden could not tell if he was shot.
As he rode past, he saw the lieutenant lying still, either dead or unconscious. They found him in the same place the next day, after the Indians had left, and it appeared he had indeed died. Standing on the bluffs, Golden heard an angry conversation nearby. Captain Weir shouted, “By God, if you won’t go, I will.
And if we ever get out of this situation, someone will answer for it. ” Soon after, Weir’s D Troop mounted and moved into the valley toward the far-off firing. Without clear orders, the whole command followed, except for Benteen’s and Godfrey’s troops, which kept some appearance of military order. They rode down the valley until they met Weir’s troop in retreat, overrun by a much larger force of Indians.
The command quickly formed a line and held back the advancing crowd until Weir’s men passed through and reformed behind them. As the retreat continued, Colonel Benteen, who seemed to have taken charge, turned to Lieutenant Wallace and said, “Wallace, there’s no point in falling back anymore. Form your troop with your right side secured here, and we will make a stand. ” Wallace smiled slightly and replied, “I don’t have a troop, only two men.
” Benteen laughed harshly and answered, “Form yourself and your two men, and I’ll tell you about our situation once I figure it out myself. ” That small group formed the center of the defensive line. Others joined, and the men took cover behind sagebrush, building rough barricades and opening fire. They held the Indians back until nightfall.
During the night, the command changed position, set up a corral and hospital, and dug in as best they could. At dawn, the battle resumed and continued without pause until about three in the afternoon, when the Indians suddenly began taking down their lodges, packing their travois, and moving up the river valley, 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 on the second trip, suffering leg injuries that required amputation.
His leg was removed that night. The next day, General Terry and General Gibbon arrived with reinforcements and news of the fate of Custer’s battalion. On June 28, after moving the wounded across the river, the men went to the battlefield and buried the remains of Custer’s command. Except for Custer himself, few bodies had escaped mutilation.
As Golden remembered, the fallen leader’s body showed no such signs. In discussions with army officers and frontier veterans afterward, the general agreement was 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 deadly lack of support between 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’s experience with Custer led him to see the general as dangerously brave, inclined to take chances without fully weighing the odds against him. He believed one possible reason for Custer’s actions, despite the orders he had received, was his strong sense of shame from the president’s treatment of him. Custer may have wanted to clear his name with a bold and decisive victory, like his triumph at Washita, and restore himself in the public’s view as the leading Indian fighter of his day.
Whatever his reason, Golden concluded, all had to admit that Custer fought with bravery and finally gave his life alongside the comrades who had ridden with him to success in many previous battles.