On the night of June 24, 1876, Lieutenant Charles Varnum received orders directly from Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer to take his Native American scouts to a high lookout point and report what they could see. The Seventh Cavalry had been tracking a large gathering of Lakota and Cheyenne warriors for weeks, and Custer wanted reconnaissance before committing his force. Varnum reached the observation post around 2:00 a. m.
on June 25th with his Crow scouts. From that position, the scouts pointed urgently toward the valley floor, insisting they could see a massive camp and a great herd of horses below. Varnum strained to see what they described but could only make out a single lone tepee near the water. He sent a written message to Custer reporting what the scouts swore they saw, even though he could not verify it personally.
When Custer arrived at the lookout, he also struggled to see the village the scouts described. The Crow guides insisted it was there. Scout Mitch Bouyer offered a grim forecast, telling Custer he would find more Indians than he had ever encountered. Custer remained doubtful of the reports and rejected the scouts’ pressing advice to attack immediately while the village was still unaware of the army’s presence.
As the column moved forward, Varnum saw three cavalry companies, including his own Company A and his close friend Lieutenant George Wallace’s Company G, pushing ahead of the main body. Custer ordered the attack to begin and directed Varnum to go with the leading units. In a moment that Varnum later believed saved Wallace’s life, he shouted to his friend to hurry forward with the fighting men rather than remain behind. Custer heard the remark, seemed briefly irritated, then gestured for Wallace to join Varnum and lifted his hat in apparent approval.
Varnum’s group crossed the river and pushed down the valley, encountering significant numbers of Native Americans moving in apparent disorder. As warriors began to gather against them, soldiers dismounted and formed a skirmish line along the tree line by the river. From this position, Varnum caught sight of Company E, mounted on gray horses, moving over the hills on the far side of the village. He later noted that some troops were clearly trying to reach the distant end of the camp.
This observation directly contradicts some later accounts that claimed Custer’s movements were entirely hidden from Major Marcus Reno’s men. Varnum stated that Custer probably saw Reno’s forces as they went down into the valley. Reno’s roughly 120 men soon became engaged in intense fighting. After battling in the timber for ten to thirteen minutes, Reno ordered Varnum to check the rear and report back.
When Varnum returned, he heard cries of “charge, charge, we’re going to charge” coming from inside the woods, but there were no official orders and no trumpet signals. What followed was a disorderly retreat. Riding a thoroughbred racehorse, Varnum quickly reached the front of the fleeing column and tried to stop it, calling for the men to dismount and fight. “We cannot flee from Indians.
We must get down and fight,” he yelled. Reno, leading the retreat, rejected the suggestion with a sharp reminder that he was the commanding officer. During the confused withdrawal, Varnum and Sergeant Culbertson helped a wounded man, Varnum’s orderly Private Elijah Strode, onto a loose horse. Strode had been badly shot and his own mount was injured.
The retreating group finally reached the hilltop that would later become known as Reno Hill, where Varnum saw widespread disarray among the soldiers and felt as though they had been soundly defeated. The position became more secure when Colonel Frederick Benteen arrived with Companies D, H, and K, followed by Captain Thomas McDougall with Company B and the supply train. Word came that Lieutenant Hodgson had been killed during the river crossing. When Captain Weir suggested moving forward to support Custer, Reno declined, saying he had already lost half of his force.
A key element of Varnum’s later account questions common narratives of the battle. Sometime after Benteen’s reinforcement arrived, Varnum heard gunfire from downstream near the creek. He mentioned it to Lieutenant Wallace, and as the firing grew heavier, he cried out, “For God’s sake, what is going on? ” Varnum was certain Custer was in a heavy fight.
This challenges assertions that no firing was audible from Custer’s position or that it was impossible to tell Custer required aid. Roughly two hours after reaching the hilltop, Varnum observed warriors advancing and beginning to shoot. He later went with Captain Weir to a vantage point that looked toward Custer’s field. They saw mounted Native Americans riding in every direction and heard intense gunfire, but could not make out any army formations.
What they did see were pale shapes spread across the distant ground. First thought to be stones, they were later understood to be the unclothed corpses of Custer’s men. By then, warriors from all the surrounding hills and valleys were massing against the position by the river. Reno began pulling back along the high ground to find a defensible location.
The combined commands of Reno and Benteen established a curved defensive line with about 300 men facing an estimated 5,000 warriors. They held the position until the night of June 26th despite a critical lack of water. Worried about their desperate state, Varnum went to Reno with a plan to slip away after dark with one other man to get reinforcements. Sergeant George McDermott volunteered to go with him.
Reno rejected the proposal, saying he could not afford to lose two good riflemen and was convinced they would be killed. “Varnum, you are a very disagreeable companion,” Reno told him. Captain Weir later told Varnum that Reno would allow the scouts to go if they consented. Varnum had only four scouts left, two of whom were injured.
After much discussion, they finally agreed to try to find help that night, and Reno wrote dispatches for them to carry. In the end, however, they did not leave. Unhappy with Reno’s messages, Varnum inserted additional text of his own into them, an act that enraged Reno and led to official punishment for Varnum. By the evening of June 26th, the fighting had died down.
The surrounded soldiers thought rescue columns were near, and the warriors had departed. After midnight, they took horses to the river for water, one by one. Around 9:00 a. m.
on June 27th, dust appeared in the lower valley, revealing an approaching cavalry force: General Alfred Terry with four companies of the Second Cavalry and six companies of the Seventh Infantry. Terry and his staff brought the terrible news. Custer and all five companies with him had been slain, their stripped and mangled bodies lying along the riverbank. Varnum avoided describing the scene in detail in his later writings, noting only that they were “our officers and close friends, killed and skinned.
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The wounded were moved to the infantry camp where doctors began treating them. On June 28th, burial parties began the somber work of interring the dead. Lacking proper tools, bodies were buried where they had fallen, covered with only a shallow layer of earth. All officers were identified except for Lieutenants Harrington and Sturgis.
Officers’ remains were placed in shallow graves and marked. Varnum gave few particulars about the condition of his friends’ remains or the burial process because Reno had disciplined him for altering the dispatches on June 26th, which prevented Varnum from helping to bury his friends who had died with Custer. Among the very few survivors found on Custer’s field was Comanche, Captain Myles Keogh’s horse. Badly wounded but still alive, the animal was treated and lived until 1891, becoming a regimental mascot and a symbolic relic of the battle.
On June 29th, the column marched to the steamboat Far West, waiting at the mouth of the Little Bighorn River. Varnum had lost all his personal gear and had to borrow clothes from other officers for the trip back. Long before Little Bighorn, Varnum had begun his service with the hopeful enthusiasm of a West Point graduate. In 1872, he finished his studies at the United States Military Academy alongside his good friend George Wallace, a bond that would last through years of frontier battles.
The Army posted the new lieutenant to Company A of the Seventh Cavalry Regiment, based in Elizabeth Town, Kentucky, under Captain Miles Moylan. In October 1872, only months after receiving his commission, Varnum was directed to take 25 men to Huntsville, Alabama. Their objective was to aid the US Marshal in carrying out arrest warrants authorized under Reconstruction-era legislation. The post-war South’s political atmosphere was still charged with stiff opposition to federal power.
On this assignment, Varnum discovered a conspiracy to liberate the captives in his charge. He gave his men a severe directive: should anyone try to free the prisoners, they were to shoot the prisoners at once. This uncompromising stance prevented any rescue efforts, and Varnum completed his task without violence. By the spring of 1873, Varnum had returned to his regiment’s main force in Cairo, Illinois.
While moving a deserter, the man plunged into the Ohio River. Although Varnum had inadvertently caused the mishap, his swift response averted a potential death. The summer of 1873 introduced Varnum to the frontier clashes that would shape his professional life. The Seventh Cavalry moved to the Yellowstone area to shield Northern Pacific Railroad survey crews from Native American opposition.
On August 4th, while reconnoitering a path for the supply train, Varnum accompanied Custer’s detachment of about 100 men when they came upon some 250 Native American warriors. As gunfire erupted around them, numerous officers dismounted for cover, but Varnum stayed mounted for the entire skirmish. The deed drew Custer’s notice. When later asked about Varnum’s actions, Custer replied with brief praise: “That is what he did.
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In his memoirs, Varnum confessed to feeling fear during this first exchange. He had been anxious about whether he would keep his nerve once the shooting began. Custer’s recognition confirmed he had survived this vital trial for a fighting officer. Nearly a week later, on August 11th, warriors attacked Custer’s column as they tried to ford the Yellowstone River.
Varnum carried out Custer’s instructions exactly, guiding soldiers along a gully to turn the enemy’s flank and push them back. The tactical movement won him distinct recognition in Custer’s official dispatch detailing the encounter. These early combat experiences provided Varnum crucial seasoning for the coming years as tensions mounted between the growing United States and the Western Native tribes. His next major mission was the Black Hills Expedition of 1874, a large-scale 60-day journey covering nearly 1,200 miles of rough country previously uncharted by the US government.
Its stated goals were to chart the territory, record its topography, and evaluate its natural assets. Word of potential gold in the region generated further enthusiasm for the undertaking. Custer commanded the venture with more than a thousand personnel comprising cavalry, infantry, artillery, scouts, and civilian experts. Varnum served as a subordinate officer, acquiring important skills in wilderness travel and prolonged campaigns.
The journey verified common speculation: gold was indeed present in the Black Hills. This finding, extensively reported in national papers, sparked an influx of miners that broke the 1868 Fort Laramie Treaty, which had secured the Black Hills for the Lakota Sioux. Varnum rarely referenced this expedition in his later writings, even though it was fundamental to the chain of events preceding Little Bighorn. By May 1875, tensions had increased as prospectors unlawfully crossed into Sioux lands.
The army was given conflicting directives, formally ordered to block these incursions while the administration also sought talks to buy the territory. Varnum and his company were stationed at Fort Randall with orders to stop miners from accessing the Black Hills until treaty talks concluded, a hopeless duty given the wave of fortune seekers and the government’s hesitation to uphold the treaty. The winter of 1875 to 1876 became a decisive juncture when Lakota groups declined to report to agencies by January 31st, 1876. The War Department sanctioned military force against them, initiating the operation that would end at Little Bighorn.
In March 1876, while on vacation in Tallahassee, Florida, Varnum received urgent orders to report to Fort Abraham Lincoln in Dakota Territory to prepare for the coming summer campaign. He arrived on April 22nd, finding Major Reno in temporary command while Custer testified in Washington concerning fraud in the Bureau of Indian Affairs. After Custer’s return, he left specific directions for Varnum: assemble and lead the Native American scout detachment for the operation. This duty indicated growing confidence in Varnum’s skills and judgment.
He began enlisting interpreters and scouts who would prove essential to the mission. Fred Gerard was hired as the Crow language interpreter, Isaiah Dorman as the Sioux interpreter, while Charlie Reynolds and a scout called Bloody Knife worked as guides. The duty of commanding the scout group represented a major step up for the young lieutenant. In later years, Varnum held a distinctly reserved viewpoint when speaking of Little Bighorn.
He declined to write any chronicle of what he termed the “Custer Massacre,” confining his narratives purely to his own observations. This reluctance to participate in the disputes about the battle suggests how profoundly the events affected him and his wish to avoid the political arguments that followed the catastrophe. The battle left a lasting mark on the Seventh Cavalry. Following the fight, the regiment dealt not only with the shock of losing five companies and their commander, but also with internal strife that threatened to break the unit apart.
Colonel Benteen was locked in fierce arguments with Captain Weir, so deep their hostility damaged the unit’s cohesion. Reno came under even greater scrutiny, was briefly placed under arrest and formally charged concerning his actions during the battle. His conduct toward fellow officers became progressively more unstable and antagonistic. Amid this upheaval, Varnum was assigned duty that took him away from frontline fighting.
From November 1876 to October 1879, he served as regimental quartermaster, overseeing provisions and logistics for the Seventh Cavalry as it recovered. The year 1877 presented new trials as Varnum took part in the Nez Perce War. Chief Joseph and about 750 Nez Perce, rejecting forced removal to a reservation, tried to flee to Canada while avoiding US troops. Varnum fought in the action at Canyon Creek on September 13th, 1877, where the Seventh Cavalry tried to block the Nez Perce but did not halt their progress north.
Later that month, at the Battle of Bear Paw Mountains, Varnum again experienced combat as the Nez Perce were finally trapped just 40 miles from the Canadian border. During this operation, Varnum met Martha Jane Canary, more famously known as Calamity Jane. She offered nursing to injured soldiers, earning profound gratitude from Varnum and his troops. Colonel Samuel Sturgis, leading the Seventh Cavalry during this campaign, gave particular praise to Varnum for his ability and zeal in handling the supply column throughout the arduous chase.
A decade later, Varnum confronted a different kind of conflict. In 1887, Army officials charged Varnum with conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. The case concerned his permitting soldiers under his orders to whip the disloyal wife of a sergeant. The court convicted him of conduct harmful to good order and military discipline and delivered a formal rebuke that went into his permanent file.
The most significant event in Varnum’s later service occurred in December 1890 at Wounded Knee Creek in South Dakota. The Seventh Cavalry, which included Varnum, was sent to disarm a band of Lakota Sioux led by Chief Big Foot. Tensions had risen across the area as the Ghost Dance spiritual movement expanded among Native tribes, causing government agents to fear an uprising. On the morning of December 29th, 1890, the Seventh Cavalry encircled Big Foot’s group and began gathering weapons.
During the search for more firearms, a clash broke out. Varnum witnessed the horrifying instant when the entire opposing line stood up as one, threw off their blankets, and turned with rifles ready, firing a point-blank volley into the troops. In the ensuing chaos, Varnum lost his old friend, Captain George Wallace. The two men had graduated from West Point together in 1872 and had served alongside each other for 18 years.
Wallace died while checking a ravine for concealed weapons. Varnum’s company took serious losses, with four men killed and seven wounded in the first exchange. The next day, December 30th, 1890, during what would be called the Battle of Drexel Mission near White Clay Creek, Varnum carried out the deeds that would win him the Medal of Honor. When Indigenous fighters pressed forward against the withdrawing soldiers, Varnum ignored commands to fall back.
Instead, he spearheaded a countercharge against the oncoming warriors, retook a command post that had been left undefended, and ensured the safe withdrawal of two units without further losses. The official commendation for Varnum’s Medal of Honor acknowledged his exceptional bravery throughout the action. Wounded Knee signaled both the symbolic conclusion of the Indian Wars and one of its most sorrowful episodes, with estimated Lakota deaths numbering between 150 and 300, many of them women and children. For Varnum, Wounded Knee completed a cycle that had started at Little Bighorn 14 years earlier.
He had lived through the most notable failures and triumphs of the Indian Wars, witnessing firsthand the violent reshaping of the American West. His military service extended well beyond the Indian Wars. In 1898, he was sent to Cuba during the Spanish-American War with Company B of the Seventh Cavalry. His overseas service lasted just half a year before illness compelled his return to the United States.
The army elevated him to major on February 1st, 1901. In September 1904, he was transferred to the 9th Cavalry, followed by a promotion to lieutenant colonel in April 1905. Another reassignment moved him to the 4th Cavalry and later to duty in the Philippines. Varnum left active service on October 31st, 1907, owing to health problems.
The retirement was brief, as he maintained a link to military affairs through consultant positions with the Idaho National Guard and as professor of military science at the University of Maine. World War I recalled Varnum to active duty in 1918. The army raised him to the rank of colonel and appointed him as a finance and disbursing officer at Fort Mason, California. He formally retired for a second time on April 8th, 1919, ending his official military career.
In his private life, Varnum married Mary Alice Moore in 1886, and they raised three children together. After retiring, he made his home in San Francisco, staying in frequent contact with his army associates. Charles Varnum outlived every other officer of the Seventh Cavalry who had fought at Little Bighorn, as well as Libbie Custer, the widow of his former commander. He passed away in 1936 at the age of 86 and was laid to rest at San Francisco National Cemetery.
His notable 47-year connection with the military included 32 years with the Seventh Cavalry. From Little Bighorn to Wounded Knee, from the Spanish-American War to World War I, Varnum’s career spanned a period of profound change in American history. His life connected the age of frontier cavalry charges with the modern mechanized warfare of the 20th century, leaving behind a record of bravery and perseverance through some of the nation’s most difficult military trials.