On the morning of June 25, 1876, Private John Martin, an Italian-born trumpeter in the United States Army’s Seventh Cavalry, was called to the side of his captain, Frederick Benteen. The regiment had marched through the night and halted to make coffee several miles from the divide between the Rosebud and Little Bighorn rivers. Martin was told to report to Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer as his orderly trumpeter. He rode up to the general, who simply looked at him and nodded.
Custer was speaking with an Indian scout named Bloody Knife, who described a large Sioux village in the valley below, several hundred tepees and roughly five thousand warriors. Martin sat a short distance away and listened. He could not understand the scout’s words, but from Custer’s questions and the interpreter’s replies, he grasped the situation. Custer wore a blue-gray flannel shirt, buckskin trousers, and long boots.
His yellow hair was cut short, no longer the flowing mane of earlier campaigns. Within minutes, he mounted his horse and rode bareback through the camp, speaking in low tones to his officers. By 8:30 the command was ready to march. The scouts went ahead, and the regiment followed about fifteen minutes later.
Martin rode two yards behind the general, matching his pace at a walk. They reached a deep ravine and halted. Custer left with the scouts and rode toward the Crow’s Nest, a high point on the divide, to search for the Sioux village Bloody Knife had described. He was gone a long time.
When he returned, fresh pony tracks had been found nearby, and word came that the Sioux had already spotted the command in the ravine. Custer immediately ordered Martin to sound officer’s call. For two days there had been no trumpet calls, every precaution taken to hide the march. Now secrecy no longer mattered.
The officers gathered quickly for a serious conference, then returned to their companies. The column moved again and crossed the divide around noon. Custer pointed off to the left, and Captain Benteen, with three troops, left the column and rode in that direction. Martin wondered where they were going, for his own troop was among them.
The rest of the regiment advanced in two columns: Major Marcus Reno with three troops on the left, Custer with five on the right. They followed a small stream toward the Little Bighorn River, scouts riding in and out, Custer sometimes galloping away to look around. They came upon an old tepee containing a dead warrior, set ablaze by the Indian scouts. Nearby, a scout named Fred Gerard spotted Indians between the command and the river and called out that they were running away.
Custer ordered his Indian scouts to pursue, but they refused. He then motioned to Reno and told him, through the adjutant, to cross the river and attack the village. Custer said he would support him with the whole regiment, and that Benteen would hurry up and attack the village in the center. Reno’s three troops left at a trot toward the river.
Custer’s column swung to the right and followed at a gallop, stopping only once to water the horses. Custer seemed in a hurry. After a mile or two, they reached a large hill overlooking the valley and rode around its base before halting. Custer took Martin with him to the top.
Below, across the river, lay a big village, several hundred tepees in plain sight. No warriors were visible, only squaws and children playing, a few dogs and ponies. Custer seemed both surprised and pleased. He said the Indians must be asleep in their tents.
He scanned the valley with his glasses, but saw no sign of Reno’s column. Turning in his saddle, he took off his hat, waved it to the men below, and shouted, “Hurrah, boys! We’ve got them. We’ll finish them up and then go home to our station.
”
Custer rode back down and spoke briefly with the adjutant. The column moved on fast until it reached a large ravine leading toward the river. Custer pointed down into it, then called for Martin. They had traveled about three miles from where Reno’s trail had diverged.
The general spoke quickly, without stopping. “Orderly, I want you to take a message to Colonel Benteen. Ride as fast as you can and tell him to hurry. Tell him it’s a big village and I want him to be quick and to bring the ammunition packs.
”
Martin answered, “Yes, sir. ” As he checked his horse, the adjutant stopped him. “Wait orderly, I’ll give you a message. ” He wrote hurriedly in a small book, tore out the leaf, and handed it to Martin.
“Now orderly, ride as fast as you can to Colonel Benteen. Take the same trail we came down. If you have time, and there is no danger, come back, but otherwise stay with your company. ”
Martin’s horse was tired, but he started back as fast as he could go.
The last he saw of Custer’s command, they were galloping down into the ravine, the gray horse troop in the center. Before he reached the hill where he and Custer had looked at the village, he heard firing behind him. He looked around and saw Indians, some waving buffalo robes, some shooting. They had been waiting in ambush.
As he approached the summit, he encountered Boston Custer, the general’s brother. Boston was riding at a run but checked his horse and shouted, “Where’s the general? ” Martin pointed behind him. “Right behind that next ridge, you’ll find him.
” Boston dashed on. It was the last time anyone saw him alive. From the top of the hill, Martin looked down and saw Reno’s battalion in action. Only ten or fifteen minutes earlier, he and Custer had stood there and seen no Indians at all.
Now warriors were everywhere, riding around and shooting at Reno’s men, who had dismounted and formed a skirmish line. Martin did not stop to watch. He had to find Benteen. Some Indians spotted him and opened fire.
Several shots came his way, five by his count, but he was not hit. His horse was struck in the hip, though he did not know it yet. The day was warm and his horse was hot. Martin kept moving at his best speed.
He did not know where Benteen was or where to look for him, only that he had to find him. He followed the trail back to the place where the horses had been watered and searched the surrounding country. Soon he saw Benteen’s command approaching. Martin waved his hat and spurred his tired horse, but the animal had nothing left.
It was only a short distance before he encountered Benteen, riding well ahead of his troops with his own orderly trumpeter at a fast trot. Captain Weir was at the head of his troop, two or three hundred yards back. Martin saluted and handed over the message. He told Benteen what the general had said, that it was a big village and he should hurry.
Benteen asked, “Where’s the general now? ” Martin replied that the Indians they had seen were running, and he supposed Custer had charged through the village by then. He intended to tell him about Reno being in action, but Benteen interrupted. “What’s the matter with your horse?
” Martin said he guessed it was just tired out. The colonel replied, “Tired out? Look at his hip. ” Only then did Martin see the blood from the wound.
Benteen said, “You’re lucky it was the horse and not you. ”
By then Captain Weir had come up. Benteen handed him the message to read and told Martin to join his company. Martin was given another horse and rode on with his troop.
The pack train was in sight about a mile behind, mules walking, trotting, and running to keep up. The column moved faster than the packs could travel, and soon the mules were out of sight, visible only by the dust they raised. Martin had delivered his message and survived. Behind him, the battalion descended into the ravine, and the battle that would become known as Custer’s Last Stand unfolded without him.
His account, given years later, preserved the last known movements of Custer’s command and the desperate ride that carried the order to Benteen, a message that would not arrive in time to change the outcome on the ridge above the Little Bighorn.