Theodore W. Golden, a former soldier of the Seventh Cavalry, carried a secret for decades. As one of the last men to see General George Armstrong Custer alive, his personal account is a rare historical treasure, and in 1904 he committed it to paper in a letter. Golden served under Custer from 1873 until the general’s death at the Battle of the Little Bighorn.
In the spring of 1876, his battalion moved from Louisiana to Fort Lincoln in the Dakota Territory, where Custer joined just days before the column departed on what would become the Great Sioux War expedition. After establishing a supply camp at the mouth of the Powder River, the command moved toward the Tongue River, expecting to reunite with Major Marcus Reno, who had left on a reconnaissance mission. Reno rejoined the column on June 18th, and it became clear that Custer’s demeanor had shifted. He appeared sullen, tense, and unlike his usual self.
On hearing Reno’s report, however, his old energy returned as he swiftly organized the command and moved toward the Rosebud. A war council was held near the mouth of the Rosebud to study Reno’s findings. On the night of June 21st, a final council took place on the steamer Far West, where Custer received his last instructions. General John Gibbon was asked when he could reach the mouth of the Little Bighorn River; he answered, “Not before noon on the 26th.
” It was said that Custer was offered the Second Cavalry Battalion and artillery, but refused both, insisting his command was sufficient and worrying that artillery would slow their movement. Many officers believed this was part of a plan to secure an independent command. On the afternoon of June 22nd, the regiment paraded before Generals Terry and Gibbon before taking the trail Reno had discovered. From then on, the command followed that trail with long, rapid marches.
Yet despite having a scout assigned for that purpose, no attempt was made to scout the surrounding country or send word to General Gibbon. On the night of June 24th, they pretended to stop for the night, but were secretly told to stay saddled for a night march. Custer’s earlier lively energy had returned, and he appeared entirely focused on finding and fighting the Indians. The scouts, including Bloody Knife and the Crow scouts, estimated the enemy force at around 1,000 to 1,200 warriors.
About 11:00 p. m. , the men were ordered to saddle up. A scouting party pushed ahead to find the Indians, but difficult terrain slowed the advance, and dawn found the command in a ravine at the bottom of high bluffs.
Shortly after sunrise, the scouts reported they had found the village in the valley of the Little Bighorn, but Custer was said to be doubtful. The command’s presence was soon detected when Indians were found trying to open a lost box that actually held ammunition. Custer resolved on an immediate advance. As the command was being split, the half-breed Crow interpreter Mitch Bouyer warned Custer that there were more Indians in the valley than the command could handle.
According to Golden, Custer asked Bouyer if he was afraid to go on. Bouyer said he was ready to go wherever Custer went, but warned that if they entered the valley, neither of them would come out alive. Golden was assigned to serve as an orderly under Lieutenant Cook, the regimental adjutant. Custer ordered the companies and battalions into line, with Reno’s battalion to follow the trail, Benteen’s battalion to move off to the left and scout the country, and McDougall to bring up the rear with the pack train.
Custer, with five troops, moved off to the right. During the ride, the command saw a huge dust cloud moving down the river valley. Custer, accompanied only by his orderly trumpeter, rode to a high point and waved his hat, seemingly in greeting to someone in the distance. Returning to the front of the column, he told Captain 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 replied, “General, we will do all that man and horse can do. ” The bugles sounded the charge, the first heard since leaving the Rosebud, and the command raced northward down the river. After several failed attempts to descend into the valley, Custer spoke briefly with Cook, who quickly wrote a note and summoned an orderly.
Golden answered first and was handed the dispatch: “Deliver this to Major Reno. Stay with him until we join together, then report to me immediately. ” A moment later, the back of the column raced past and disappeared into the ravines. Golden realized he was alone in enemy territory.
He rode toward Reno’s command, which he found by the dust cloud over it. Only a few long-distance shots were fired at him. After a six-mile ride, he reached Reno and delivered the dispatch. Reno looked at it quickly and put it in his pocket.
Around that time, the scouts became frightened and ran, not stopping until they reached the Powder River wagon train. It soon became clear that the Indians were moving around the flanks and closing in behind. Reno’s men were forced to fight their way toward timber, losing horses along the way. Once in the timber, they had better cover for a time, but pressure mounted.
Golden recalled that as a charge was being considered, some fifteen men were without horses. Lieutenant MacIntosh had lost his own mount and took one belonging to Trooper McCormack, who said grimly that they were all finished anyway and he might as well die on foot as on horseback. As the men mounted and came out of the timber, they were shocked to find that Reno was not charging the Indians but leading a charge toward the bluffs on the other side of the river. The Indians gathered on their flanks and fired heavily on the retreating column, though their shooting was poor and losses were relatively light.
Golden noted a persistent rumor that Reno had become so excited that he fired all the bullets in his revolver and then threw the weapon away. Golden insisted this story was wrong, saying the revolver in question was owned by General Benteen or his family. During the retreat, Golden’s horse fell and threw him into sagebrush. He escaped with minor injuries and ran for the timber.
From his hidden position, he witnessed the desperate crossing of the river. He saw Lieutenant Hodgson struggle in the water with what appeared to be a wound, grip the stirrup strap of a passing trooper, and cross to the bank. Hodgson appeared hit again and fell, rising unsteadily. A second trooper stopped to help, but then threw up his arms, staggered in the saddle, and fell heavily to the ground.
Hodgson tried to move toward the ravine, then turned to face the Indians, drew his revolver, and began firing. An instant later, shots came from Golden’s side of the river, and Hodgson staggered and fell. Golden remained hidden and undisturbed while the Indians stripped and mutilated the bodies of the fallen along the riverbank. He heard heavy firing downriver and feared Custer was as outnumbered as they had been.
Most of the Indians near him suddenly left, rushing to join their comrades at the lower end of the village. Golden met the scout George Herendeen, who told him that the fifteen dismounted men were in the timber about two hundred yards away. The Indians had set the river bottom on fire, apparently to hide their movements or force out the wounded. The smoke became their saving grace, allowing them to reach the river under its cover.
They crossed with difficulty, met a Crow scout, and rejoined the command. Upon rejoining, they found Benteen’s battalion had arrived, but there was no news of Custer. Soon after, a white flag was seen waving from the river bottom. Lieutenant Hare risked his life to signal to the party below, and the dismounted men crossed the river and joined the group.
Golden also recalled that during the retreat, Lieutenant MacIntosh’s lariat had come loose and was dragging, its picket pin striking sagebrush and creating danger. Several men tried to warn him, but he seemed not to hear. Moments later, his horse fell. Golden could not tell if he had been shot.
The next day, MacIntosh was found in the same place, dead. From the bluffs, Golden witnessed an angry exchange. 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.
” Weir’s troop moved into the valley toward the distant firing, and the whole command followed without clear orders, except for Benteen’s and Godfrey’s troops. They soon met Weir’s troop in retreat, overrun by a much larger force. They formed a line, held back the Indians until Weir passed through, then pulled back and reorganized. As they continued to retreat, Colonel Benteen told Lieutenant Wallace, “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 replied, “I don’t have a troop, only two men. ” Benteen laughed harshly and said, “Form yourself and your two men, and I’ll tell you about our situation once I figured it out myself. ” This small group formed the center of the defensive line.
Others joined, taking cover behind sagebrush and building rough barricades. They held the Indians back until nightfall. During the night, they changed position, set up a corral and hospital, and dug in. At dawn the battle resumed, continuing until about 3:00 in the afternoon, when the Indians suddenly began packing their travois and leaving up the river valley, out of rifle range.
Twice during the afternoon, volunteer groups went out for water and drew Indian fire both times. Madden of K troop was hit on the second trip and suffered wounds requiring amputation; his leg was removed that night. The next day, General Terry and General Gibbon arrived with help and news of the fate of Custer’s battalion. On June 28th, 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. Golden remembered that the general’s own body showed no such signs. Golden offered his view on the causes of the disaster, saying that army officers and frontier veterans generally agreed on three main factors. 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, created a crucial lack of support.
Second, Custer’s early arrival nearly twenty-four hours ahead of plan was harmful. Third, the loss of horses and surplus ammunition badly limited the command’s effectiveness. Golden described Custer as dangerously brave, inclined to take chances without fully considering the odds. He believed one possible reason for Custer’s actions, despite his orders, was his strong feeling of shame over President Ulysses S.
Grant’s treatment of him. Custer may have wanted to clear his name with a bold and decisive victory similar to his triumph at Washita, restoring himself as a leading Indian fighter in the public view. “Whatever his reason,” Golden wrote, “we must all admit that he fought with bravery and finally gave his life with the comrades who had ridden with him to success in many previous battles. ”
Signed sincerely, Theo W.
Golden.