The eyewitness account of Private William Oliver Taylor, a soldier in Company A of the Seventh Cavalry, offers one of the most detailed surviving records of the Battle of Little Bighorn. Taylor was among the few men who escaped the battlefield and later reached the steamer Far West. His written account, produced in 1876, remains a vital primary source for historians studying the defeat of George Armstrong Custer’s command.
Taylor’s narrative begins on the evening of June 24, 1876, describing the regiment’s exhausting march through the Rosebud Valley. He noted the beauty of the campsite, with its clear brook, grassy plateau, and wild rose bushes in full bloom. Custer’s headquarters tent stood nearby, and Taylor observed the general sitting alone for a long time, appearing lost in thought and melancholic as dusk gathered.
Later that evening, a group of young officers gathered near one of the bivouacs. Taylor heard them singing songs including “Annie Laurie” and “Little Footsteps Soft and Gentle,” followed by the doxology. He remarked that it was an unusual choice of music for cavalrymen on an Indian trail. The mood shifted when the group broke into “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” a moment Taylor found irreverent given the circumstances.
The camp was quiet and peaceful, but Taylor reflected on the recent battle that had taken place nearby just a week earlier. Crazy Horse had repelled General Crook’s advance on the Rosebud. Taylor also noted that within a month, the same hostile forces would return to the area, only to be dispersed by the approach of General Terry from the north and Crook from the south.
Around 10 p.m., the men were awakened and ordered to saddle up for a night march. They traveled some ten miles, ascending the divide between the Rosebud and the Little Bighorn Rivers. They halted around 2 a.m. to await news from scouts. After daylight, coffee was made, though the water was poor. The men sat in small groups, discussing the prospects of a fight.
Custer had ridden ahead to a point where scouts had seen smoke rising from an Indian village and pony herds grazing in the valley some twelve to fifteen miles away. He returned a little before 8 a.m., riding bareback and apparently bareheaded, moving among the troops to announce that the Indians had been located. The command moved at once, traveling up the divide.
The regiment halted around 10:30 a.m. in a ravine, where the men were ordered to remain concealed and quiet. According to Captain Godfrey, Custer intended to attack the next morning. But the command’s presence was discovered, and it became necessary to act at once. The regiment crossed the divide shortly before noon.
The command was then divided into battalions. Major Reno led the advanced battalion, comprising Troop M under Captain French, Troop A under Captain Moylan and Lieutenant DeRudio, and Troop G under Lieutenants McIntosh and Wallace. Thirty Indian scouts accompanied them, guided by Lieutenants Varnum and Hare, with interpreters Isaiah Dorman and Frank Gerard. White scouts Charlie Reynolds, George Herendeen, and a man named Baron also joined. Two medical officers, Dr. DeWolf and Dr. Porter, were attached to the detachment. The battalion likely numbered just under 150 men.
Captain Benteen’s battalion, consisting of Troops D, H, and K, moved off to the left front. Custer took Troops C, E, F, I, and L on the right. The pack train, with Captain McDougall and Troop B as escort, brought up the rear.
Reno’s battalion followed an Indian trail down a valley through which flowed a dry stream known as Sundance Creek. During the march, the men passed a funeral tepee containing the body of a warrior. The Indian scouts set it ablaze. It was later learned the deceased was a brother of Circling Bear, also known as Old She Bear, who had fallen in the battle with Crook on the Rosebud eight days earlier.
As the battalion approached the Little Bighorn River, Reno received an order to quicken the pace. The river was approximately fifty to seventy feet wide and two to four feet deep, with clear, icy cold water. Men and horses drank eagerly. Taylor removed his hat, fashioned it into a scoop, and drank the last water he would have for over twenty-four hours.
After watering the horses, the command rode out of the river and onto the prairie. They dismounted to tighten saddle girths and soon headed down a long, narrow valley. On the right lay the heavily wooded river, flanked by lofty bluffs. On the left, low foothills rose, and the men caught sight of pony herds. Mounted men were seen riding in various directions, gathering their ponies and making signals.
The command moved at a brisk walk, then a trot. As faint puffs of smoke appeared and bullets began to ping, the order came to charge. Major Reno gave the command, and some men cheered in response to Indian war whoops. Reno shouted, “Stop that noise,” and once more the charge rang out.
Taylor noted a detail that stayed with him for the rest of his life. As he glanced back, he saw Major Reno and Lieutenant Hodgson riding side by side. Reno was raising a bottle to his lips, then passed it to Hodgson. The flask was about half to two-thirds full of an amber-colored liquid. Taylor could not say for certain what it was, but he always had a strong suspicion. He noted that Indian warriors later described the soldiers as acting drunk during the battle, and one Cheyenne warrior reported finding whiskey on the bodies of fallen soldiers.
Taylor found himself in a difficult position during the charge. As the fourth man in the count-off, he was tasked with leading three horses into battle. He had tried to swap places with his number three man, Cornelius Crowley, but was unsuccessful. Crowley had been showing signs of mental instability, and the stress of battle only worsened his condition.
As the men rode toward the village, the river wound through the prairie, flanked by tall cottonwood trees and dense underbrush. Taylor observed set, determined faces among the men, some pale but not altogether with fear. He wrote that the death angel was very near, putting his seal on those who would soon be lying on the prairie or in the woods, dead, stripped, and gashed almost beyond recognition.
The order came to halt and prepare to fight on foot. Every fourth man remained in the saddle to hold the horses. The others dismounted, tied their horses together, handed the reins to the number four men, and sprang forward to form a skirmish line. Taylor reflected on the audacity of 150 cavalrymen charging a village that contained at least 2,500 Sioux warriors. He called it madness.
The lead horses, under the charge of Lieutenant Hare, were taken into the woods for greater safety. Taylor did not see Major Reno while in the woods and did not recall hearing any commands. The noise was plenty, and a few shots whistled through the underbrush. Then the skirmishers came rushing back into the woods, seeking their horses.
Taylor spotted Crowley rushing around, shouting, “Where’s my horse?” Taylor yelled at him and threw him the bridle rein. All was in the greatest confusion. Taylor dismounted twice and mounted again in a few moments, though he did not know why, unless he saw others doing it and thought they had orders.
As he proceeded, Taylor glanced to his left and rear. He saw a considerable number of mounted Indians dashing through the woods, seemingly intent on intercepting the men ahead. At first, he mistook them for the Indian scouts, but a second glance dispelled that notion. These Indians were stripped to their battle attire, wearing only a breech clout and a feather, with a whip dangling from their wrist and a musket in hand.
One notable figure wore a magnificent war bonnet adorned with long feathers that trailed down his back. Taylor was tempted to take aim at him, but the dense tree cover and his own mediocre marksmanship stayed his hand. He often wondered afterward whether that individual might have been one of the chiefs, perhaps Gall or Black Moon.
Taylor’s right stirrup became entangled in the dense underbrush, nearly tearing the strap and rendering it useless. He had to exercise great care to maintain his balance. Emerging from the woods, he came out onto the prairie a short distance from where the men had first entered.
The spectacle that greeted him was disheartening. A vast and ever-increasing throng of Indian warriors was hastening toward the soldiers at full gallop. This whooping, howling mass of expert horsemen had outflanked the left and severed the route back to the ford where the river had first been crossed. The nearest of them fired from the opposite side of their ponies, unleashing an intense and terrifying volley.
To Taylor’s left, a line of comrades was hastening eastward toward the bluffs, some half to three-quarters of a mile distant. The river at the base of the bluffs had steep, precipitous banks fringed with thick underbrush. The situation was grave, its suddenness leaving Taylor dumbfounded. Each man ahead of him had his right arm outstretched, firing his revolver at a parallel line of yelling Indians. Taylor promptly followed suit.
With his stirrup useless, Taylor’s seat and aim were compromised. Despite this, he endeavored to fire at an Indian directly opposite who seemed to be paying particular attention to him. In the heat of the moment, numerous thoughts raced through his mind. The likelihood of being wounded or captured was high, and the fate that awaited him was all too imaginable. He reserved one of the six bullets in his revolver for a last resort, intending to use it on himself if necessary.
The flight took the men through a prairie dog village, where numerous holes and mounds made for treacherous riding at breakneck speed. Taylor reached an ancient riverbed some three or four feet lower than the surrounding terrain. His horse negotiated the precipitous bank with a slight jump. As Taylor steadied himself, his revolver slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground.
With the Indians closing in, Taylor deemed it imprudent to dismount and search for his weapon in the tall grass. He hastened toward the river, where a chaotic scene unfolded. A struggling mass of men and horses thrashed about, their blood coloring the water. Taylor recognized Lieutenant Hodgson among them, hearing him cry out in pain as he was wounded.
Taylor guided his horse to the right, avoiding the melee, and soon found himself across the river. After a strenuous effort, he managed to ascend the steep bank. His exhausted horse, named Steamboat, refused to proceed further. The animal was broken-winded and had been slated for condemnation due to a shortage of mounts. His peculiar whistling noise when moving had earned him his name.
As Taylor dismounted, bullets whistled around him. He stood still for a few moments, allowing Steamboat to catch his breath. He then attempted to lead the horse forward, but it refused to budge. Frustrated, he prodded the animal with his carbine to no avail. Comrades hastened past, some mounted, others on foot, leading their horses over the top of the bluff.
The gravity of the situation was starkly apparent. To be dismounted in the face of hundreds of Sioux warriors was akin to staring into the abyss. In a fit of anger and disgust, Taylor gave Steamboat a parting kick, unslung his carbine, and began his ascent up the bluff, exposed to the rifles of the pursuers.
The slope was a funnel-shaped ridge, narrow at the top and flanked by deep ravines that terminated near the river. Taylor believed Providence had guided the men to this spot, for there was no other location where they could have made such a hasty and relatively uneventful ascent.
Taylor had ascended perhaps a third of the way when he was overtaken by a dismounted comrade named Myers, affectionately known as Tinker Bill due to his pre-enlistment occupation as a tinner’s apprentice. They walked together for a brief distance when, with a mere exclamation of “Oh,” Myers fell forward face down to the ground. Taylor leaned over him, but Myers was deceased, shot between the left ear and eye.
The thought struck Taylor that he might be next. Instead of continuing straight ahead, he veered to the right into a ravine, then turned left again, proceeding in a zigzag pattern up the slope. Near the top, he was overtaken by Frank Neely, a former comrade from M Troop, who was mounted and leading a horse. Neely generously offered the horse, which Taylor gratefully accepted. The new mount, Old Dutch, was not a significant improvement over the previous one, but Taylor was thankful to have a horse beneath him.
Taylor rode on, joining the main body of Reno’s command at the top of the bluff. They were soon joined by a few others who had narrowly escaped. Taylor reflected that in times past he had wondered how a man felt when faced with imminent death. Now he knew. Their escape was nothing short of miraculous, considering the overwhelming number of Indians and the disorganized state of the command.
As the men reached the top of the bluffs, the Indian fire and pursuit abruptly ceased. They were grateful but little understood the reason. Major Reno was pacing about in an agitated state, his hat lost in the chaos. A red handkerchief bound around his head lent him a peculiar and unmilitary appearance. The men, exhausted, had thrown themselves to the ground while the officers conferred.
The respite was brief. Captain Benteen soon joined them with Troops H, D, and K, which had been dispatched to the left two hours prior. They had been on route to join Custer in accordance with written and verbal orders. This reunion with Reno’s command occurred at 2:30 p.m., as Reno himself recorded.
Shortly thereafter, Captain McDougall arrived with B Troop, escorting the pack train. He had received orders from Custer to hasten and join him. Sergeant David C. Kipe of Captain Tom Custer’s Troop C had delivered the message to McDougall.
Taylor noted that Boston Custer, the general’s younger brother, was serving as a civilian forage master and had been riding with the general that morning. He had returned to the pack train for a fresh horse and was on route to rejoin the command when he encountered Trumpeter Martin, who was carrying a dispatch for Captain Benteen. Boston Custer rejoined the command just before the battle commenced. His body was later found near those of his two brothers.
For over two hours, the men remained on the bluff unmolested and inactive following the arrival of Benteen’s command. The first sergeants of Reno’s three troops conducted a census of the men present, accounting for those killed, wounded, or missing, as well as government property lost.
The men had heard distant firing in the direction Custer was believed to have gone. Taylor questioned why the command did not move. Although the three troops engaged in the valley were somewhat demoralized, he saw no justification for the entire command to remain idle. A few men had been wounded, but none so severely that they couldn’t ride with the pack train.
Taylor reasoned that all officers must have been aware that Custer was engaged with the Indians nearby, as he hadn’t had time to proceed far. The sudden withdrawal of the strong Indian force that had driven them from the camp could only indicate one thing: another attack on the camp, real or threatened, from a different direction.
Later in the afternoon, around 4:30, a squad of twelve comrades was seen ascending the bluffs. Some had become dismounted in the woods or just outside when the command departed. They had remained hidden until the Indians seemed to have left the area, then emerged and headed on foot in the direction Reno had taken.
There were fourteen in the party initially, but two refused to attempt escape in daylight and remained behind. They were later discovered and killed by the Indians. The party that managed to escape consisted of George Herendeen, a scout, six soldiers from G Troop, three from M Troop, and two from A Troop. During their journey, they encountered only five Indians, whom they easily repelled without sustaining any losses.
After crossing the river, which was waist deep, one of the A Troop men discovered Taylor’s horse grazing tranquilly where he had left him. The man brought the horse along and later returned him to Taylor, having assumed Taylor had perished. Not a single item of Taylor’s equipment or personal belongings was missing, despite the horse having been in close proximity to the Indian line for nearly three hours.
Taylor mentioned that another group of men had also remained in the woods, unbeknownst to the first party. This second group comprised Lieutenant DeRudio, Private Tom O’Neil of G Troop, Frank Gerard the interpreter, and William Jackson, a half-breed scout. After numerous close calls and an absence of approximately thirty-four hours, these four men reached the lines late in the evening of the 26th. This brought the total number of men known to have been left behind during the charge to eighteen.
Shortly after the party of twelve rejoined them, the men received orders to fall in around 5 p.m. They mounted their horses and headed in the direction Custer was believed to have taken. A brief ride along the bluffs, which obstructed their view of the Indian village, brought them to a ridge that offered a partial view of what would later be identified as Custer’s battlefield.
They spotted numerous Indians in the distance and others closer by. Soon, the Indians began advancing toward them, and the advanced troop under Captain Weir came under attack. The entire command was then ordered to retire and returned to their previous position.
By this time, the Indians had the men completely surrounded, and a fierce fire was unleashed upon them. The pack train, wounded men, and horses were placed in a depression between two ridges while the men took position on the ridges, lying close to the ground. Taylor believed this occurred around 6 p.m., which aligns with Major Reno’s report. Captain Godfrey suggested it may have been slightly later, but Taylor believed Godfrey must be mistaken, as it would have been impossible for them to travel only a mile, engage in battle, and return to their starting point in two hours.
Two substantial ridges sloping from the steep bluffs that overlooked the river and stretching back toward the east formed a depression that offered some shelter for the horses and wounded. Although this position was subjected to constant long-range fire from the east, those responsible for holding the horses lay as flat as possible, fervently wishing for nightfall.
Taylor reflected that the day had been exceedingly strenuous and fraught with danger, leaving even the most seasoned veterans and new recruits pale-cheeked. In retrospect, he found it astonishing that the large Indian force which had so swiftly annihilated Custer and his five troops did not press their advantage and pursue with equal vigor. Fortunately, they hesitated, and their firing, though continuous until dusk, eventually ceased around 9 p.m.
Casualties, according to Captain Godfrey, were comparatively few. Taylor was aware of only three fatalities and a few more wounded. After dark, scouts were dispatched to search for signs of Custer’s command, but they swiftly returned, reporting that the area was swarming with Indians.
A trumpeter was then ordered to sound various calls from a nearby eminence, hoping to reach Custer’s command and guide them to the position. Facing the direction Custer had taken, the trumpeter blew three or four calls with all his might. The last of which Taylor recalled was Taps, a call typically sounded after tattoo to extinguish lights and also played during a soldier’s burial.
Taylor wondered whether it was mere chance that led the trumpeter to play Taps on that still night, or something more. As the echoes faded into the darkness, a profound sense of sorrow settled over their hearts. Nearby lay the fresh shallow graves of comrades who had fallen that afternoon, hastily covered by their fellow soldiers. No ceremony, just a simple trench, a thin layer of earth vulnerable to the next rain.
In the valley below, along the steep hillside and near the woods, more of the command lay unburied, victims of that chaotic retreat. Unknown to them then, the mangled remains of over two hundred of their regiment lay farther away. Taylor wrote that it seemed fitting in hindsight that Taps was blown unthinkingly yet appropriately, with no answering call to their anxious ears.
A peculiar incident occurred that night, one that Taylor assured readers was true. After the Indian firing ceased, the men, relieved of the terrible strain, moved about freely, eager to know the next move. Sergeant Fehler, an elderly German with a placid nature, assumed the duties of first sergeant of Company A, as the regular first sergeant had been wounded.
Taylor saw Sergeant Fehler near the low end of the herded horses and pack mules. He approached and asked, “What are we going to do, stay here all night or try to move away?” Major Reno, standing quite near, heard the question and turned at once, remarking, “I would like to know how in hell we are going to move away.”
Taylor was surprised at Reno’s words and manner, but he continued, telling Sergeant Fehler that if they were going to stay, they ought to be making some kind of barricade, for the Indians would be at them the first thing in the morning. Reno, still standing there, spoke up at once, saying, “Yes, sergeant, that is a good idea. Set all the men you can to work right away.”
Sergeant Fehler then began to order men to take boxes of hardtack, pack saddles, sides of bacon, dead mules and horses, in fact anything they could use, and make a barricade across the lower part of the depression. This was finally done, but not without a great deal of entreaty and urging by the sergeant. Strange as it may seem, very many of the men showed but little interest in the work, and the officers less.
Taylor offered as the only excuse for this seeming indifference that they doubtless expected General Custer would make his appearance during the night and that their labor would be wasted. That barricade proved of the greatest service the next day, saving the lives undoubtedly of many of the men who were not slow to seek its protection from the merciless fire opened on them the next morning.
The barricade commanded the only feasible approach for a mounted charge against their lines. The Indians started to make such a charge the next day but received such a warm reception at the very beginning that they gave up the idea. Taylor firmly believed that had it not been for this barricade, the Indians would have ridden over them as they did over Custer’s men.
Taylor was unaware if Companies M, K, B, and D made any special efforts to fortify their positions at that time. He saw no evidence of it being done. As for Company H, he knew they did not.
Soon after the barricade was completed, around 10 p.m., Taylor was detailed as picket guard. The party consisted of six privates and one corporal, all from A Troop. They advanced about three hundred yards down the slope in front of the breastworks, posting two sentinels, one on the right and another about a hundred yards to the left.
Ahead of them lay two hillocks, approximately fifty yards apart, which they could not see behind. However, those hillocks were used that afternoon and the next day as a vantage point to pick off men who recklessly exposed themselves.
Taylor was assigned as the second relief, allowing him to sleep for two hours before his turn came. Before lying down, he carefully scrutinized the landscape, committing to memory the features and the taller growth of sagebrush that might be mistaken for an Indian’s approach in the dark. Satisfied, he fell into a deep, untroubled sleep, which they all greatly needed after having had little rest the previous night.
It seemed like a very short two hours when he was awakened to relieve the first sentinel, who reported all was well. Taylor took a slightly different position and sat down to watch, as walking would have made him conspicuous. The shouting and sound of drums from the Indian camps could still be heard.
Taylor reflected on the day of unparalleled excitement, a day of fierce combat and ultimate triumph for the Indians. The sudden appearance of the soldiers at the edge of their camp, the valiant defense of their homes by the warriors, and the defeat of the white men with over two hundred lying dead on the plains and hills nearby was a testament to the Indians’ prowess.
What a bounty had fallen into their hands: horses, saddles, blankets, arms, carbines, revolvers, ammunition, money, and clothing of all kinds. There was indeed great cause for rejoicing and the dancing of scalps. Yet amidst the celebration, many a lodge held a lifeless form, a husband and father who had ridden out to defend his family just hours before. In other tepees, the wounded lay helpless, some nearing the ghost land of their fathers, bearing their fate with stoic indifference. The lamentations for the dead were loud and sincere, a customary expression of grief.
During the night, amidst the savage yells and discordant drumbeats, the men heard the sound of a bugle, which brought them all to their feet. Custer was coming at last, they thought. They listened intently, and again the bugle notes reached their eager ears, this time more distinct. But it was not an army call Taylor was familiar with, though some claimed it was.
One thing was clear: it came from the camp of their foes below. As if to mock their budding hopes, the drums beat with renewed vigor and the wolf-like yells grew louder and more intense. The explanation was not difficult to comprehend. Taylor recalled that one of the trumpeters of G Troop had fallen in the bottom during the retreat, and the Indians had likely acquired his bugle, using it to entertain their comrades and add to the general commotion.
It did not occur to them then that there were probably eight or ten more bugles in the Indian camp, taken from Custer’s five troops, each troop being allowed two. This incident sparked much speculation since then. One theory suggested that a half-breed or Indian familiar with army posts and friendly with a trumpeter had learned to blow a few calls. Another theory proposed that one of Custer’s trumpeters was taken prisoner and, before being killed, was allowed or forced to blow the bugle. In Taylor’s opinion, the most plausible explanation was the initial one.
Taylor’s two-hour duty passed quickly, and the shouting and drumbeats from the Indian camps grew fainter. The only sound remaining was the mournful howl of a prairie wolf in the direction Custer had taken. When the third relief arrived, Taylor reported all was well and sought the soldier’s couch, the hard ground, and soon fell fast asleep once more.
His next awakening came at early dawn, as he had anticipated, around 3 a.m. Just as the light was growing, two rifle shots rang out from a low ridge in their front. This may have been the Indian signal to open fire, for in less time than it takes to write about it, a shower of bullets followed from all along their line.
It was hardly necessary for the corporal to order them back to their lines. They retreated quickly and, upon arrival, threw themselves down behind the breastworks, the construction of which was now proving its wisdom. Besides the greater part of A Troop engaged in holding this line of defense, the force consisted of stragglers from other troops and several citizen packers.
At one point during the day, Taylor observed an officer whose company was stationed in another part of the field, a more perilous position than theirs, safely sheltering himself behind the thickest part of the breastworks. From the moment the Indians commenced firing early in the morning until late in the forenoon, it was imprudent for anyone to expose themselves above the barricade.
The Indians did not maintain a continuous fire, as their ammunition was too precious for that. However, if a man dared to stand up or reveal even a small part of his body, a shower of bullets would ensue, though not always finding their mark.
Taylor cited Captain Benteen as an illustration. Benteen, who has faced criticism for not promptly obeying Custer’s orders, nevertheless demonstrated remarkable bravery throughout the entire command. His troop held a position on a ridge to the right of the breastworks, approximately a few hundred yards south. Regrettably, they had neglected to dig pits or create any shelter from the anticipated fire, an oversight that an experienced soldier like Benteen should have anticipated.
Due to their exposed position, they suffered significant casualties, at least ten wounded and, according to one account, eighteen wounded and three killed outright. As a result, Benteen sought out Captain Moylan, requesting some of the materials used in the barricade, which was slightly longer than necessary for the number of men behind it.
Throughout this time, Benteen remained in full view of the Indians, making no effort to seek shelter. The bullets kicked up dust all around him as he calmly walked down to the lines and later returned in the same manner, carrying a carbine and measuring the distance from his foot to a point where a bullet had just struck the ground in front of him, less than two feet away.
This incident left a lasting impression on Taylor, as he was in the same zone of fire mere feet away from Benteen at the time. Taylor was part of the party detailed to carry materials for Benteen’s breastworks. As he hurried up the ridge with a box of hardtack on his shoulder, a bullet struck the box, nearly knocking it off. He had doubts about completing the trip, but he did, unharmed.
When they returned to their company, they took a circuitous route to avoid exposure. Taylor had just reached his place behind the works when the man next to him, a citizen packer named Frankman, raised his head to take a shot. A bullet struck him between the eyes, killing him instantly. He made no sound or movement, a painless death.
Frankman had been noticeable for his continuous firing without apparent cause or result, despite warnings to be more cautious. Ultimately, an Indian sharpshooter located him and put an end to his actions. A few moments later, Taylor and a comrade moved Frankman’s body back a few feet, as it was too gruesome a reminder lying between them.
Taylor had lost his own revolver, so he took the one carried by the packer, which was a government issue weapon and would be of great service to him in the intense fighting ahead. Life seemed very precious throughout that eventful day, as the close proximity to death was unsettling. Taylor believed most soldiers felt that without divine intervention, their situation was hopeless.
During the forenoon, Captain Benteen rode over to the north side, where Major Reno was positioned, and requested reinforcements. He feared the Indians would soon charge his position, and with only one troop, H, to hold the south line, the odds were against them.