A Buffalo Hunt (Part 9 of 11)

The prairie grass grew tall by the end of June that summer, knee high, tall enough for a man to hide in it, tall enough for an Indian to creep virtually unseen to within yards of his enemy.

As word spread among the Indians that there were more soldiers near the northern end of the village, most left Reno Hill, some traveling along the ridge, some along the banks of the Little Bighorn, all rushing to the new threat about three miles distant.

Custer’s men had to see them coming, racing along the ridge, racing along the river below, crossing the fords and diving into the ravines, circling around to the north and east of Custer’s command.  Those on horseback at times visible as they darted in and out of the ravines, those on foot largely hidden once they started creeping ever closer through the tall grass.

Captain Calhoun’s skirmish line at first faced south perpendicular to the ridgeline, the troopers on foot firing their single shot rifles as targets briefly appeared and again disappeared in the ravines among the brush and tall grass.  Firing, reloading, and firing again.  One out of four in the rear holding the reins of four horses.  Signs of incessant movement through the grass in the ravines to the west caused Calhoun to realign the skirmish line to face the river, the troopers again firing wherever they perceived movement.  From the cavalrymen’s position the grass seemed to sway to and fro, as if by a constantly shifting breeze.

As that “shifting breeze” drew too close for comfort, Company C held in reserve was ordered to charge into the ravine that is now known as Calhoun Coulee, apparently an attempt to flush the Indians out and chase them off.  Down the ravine they thundered, Indians scattering left and right to escape the charging mounts.  They advanced several hundred yards, revolvers blazing, but the Indians didn’t flee as expected, they just scattered to one side or the other, and as the horsemen slowed their mounts to turn back to Calhoun Hill, they were quickly enveloped by the hundreds of Indians who now surrounded them, Indians springing from the tall prairie grass, some shooting the soldiers or their horses, others dragging the troopers from their saddles, beating them with war clubs, hacking them with knives.  In a matter of seconds, the pursuer had become the pursued.

On Calhoun Hill the skirmish line helplessly watched the wild melee below, unable to fire for fear of hitting the cavalrymen rushing back up the hill engulfed within a sea of Indians, the wild jumble quickly reaching and enveloping the Company K skirmish line, the soldiers casting aside their single shot carbines virtually useless in hand-to-hand fighting and scrambling for their mounts, horses rearing and bucking and running away riderless, many troopers left stranded now on foot, some turning to fight, others fleeing in terror, the swarm of cavalry and Indians flooding north along the ridgeline, the whole of it consuming Captain Keogh’s company who could not fire on the boiling mass as it grew closer for fear of hitting their own cavalrymen only to became part of the stampede, now joined by swarms of Indians on horseback.  Any sense of order disintegrated, the Indians describing what took place as a “buffalo hunt”.  Buffalo don’t often turn to fight; they just run to try to save themselves.  That the fight turned into a buffalo hunt may seem unlikely to those who want to believe in the valiant last stand, for those who believe that the flight response is disgraceful, but that is very likely the scenario that played out.  The Indians claimed that some troopers “went crazy” pointing their revolvers to their heads and squeezing the trigger, behavior surprising to the Indians, but apparently those campfire warnings that it was better to die by one’s own hand rather than suffer the torture that might accompany capture had had their effect.  A few troopers may have managed to escape to the imagined safety of the other two companies positioned a little less than a mile north.

Custer and the men of Companies E and F must have watched the rout with growing alarm.  Those with field glasses, the officers and scouts, would have been able to distinguish every detail of the unfolding disaster, but most troopers probably gathered that it was going badly.  The same infiltration of Indians in the tall prairie grass was apparent in the ravines in front of them.  Additionally, Indians on horseback were swarming around to the east of the hill.  What had been a singular fighting force of over 650 had been reduced to several splinter groups, Custer’s own battalion of slightly more than 200 now reduced to fewer than 100.

It isn’t clear when or why Company E made its foray into the ravine below Custer Hill.  Some speculate that soldiers filled with terror made a dash toward the river in an attempt to escape, a theory that makes little sense because the ravine was probably teeming with Indians.  Why would anyone think that fleeing towards the village would offer an avenue of escape?  It’s more likely that Company E was ordered to chase off the Indians creeping through the tall grass just as Company C had been.  For whatever reason, most of Company E perished in the ravine.  That left a little more than fifty on Last Stand Hill, fifty facing what may have been as many as fifteen hundred warriors.  Their single-shot carbines would have been of little use once the Indians rushed them.  Most would have discarded them, relying instead on their revolvers.  They would have been fighting on foot, their horses either shot or run off.  To their credit, they died in a tight cluster, so perhaps this one small group of men did make a last valiant stand.  The number of Indians that closed upon them was just too great.

Indians did not have the sense of time that we have.  They had no watches, no calendars.  They relied instead on where the sun stood in the sky, when the snows came, when the snows melted, how long it might take to do something.  Asked how long the battle lasted, one Indian stated that it was about the amount of time it takes a hungry man to eat his meal.  What is striking about his description is his referral to a ”hungry” man, not just a man, but a “hungry” man.  A hungry man can gulp down his food fairly quickly.  So how long did the battle last?  Ten minutes?  Fifteen?  Twenty?  Only a hungry man could say for certain, but it probably wasn’t very long.