A Complete Rout (Part 6 of 11)

What do you do when your orders no longer make any sense?  Do you blindly follow what you can readily see could result in the complete annihilation of your command, when it becomes obvious that circumstances are different than what had been assumed when the orders were issued?  Major Reno must have had those very thoughts.

His battalion had forded the Little Bighorn and moved briskly toward the southern end of the Indian village a couple of miles distant, adjusting formation, troopers first in column of fours then spreading out to advance abreast in rank.   But as they grew closer, Indians began swarming from the village, a few at first, but more and more by the minute, angry Indians, hostile Indians.  As gunfire erupted all around a couple of troopers lost control of their terrified, wild-eyed mounts, galloping off into a swarm of Indians, never to be seen again.  The battalion’s advance slowed, then stopped.

Reno ordered the men to dismount and form a skirmish line in groups of four as cavalry was trained, three troopers on the skirmish line, each kneeling on one knee about five yards apart, the fourth trooper holding the reins of four horses in the rear.  They were able to hold that position for about a quarter of an hour, but it became clear that there were overwhelming numbers of Indians, and they were quickly enveloping the battalion’s flanks.  If they remained in their current position, they would soon be surrounded.

Reno ordered the men to mount and led them to the trees and thickets along the river where they formed a new skirmish line with the river at their back.  Major Reno apparently judged this to be a good position; with the river at their back the Indians could not surround them, but they also had no convenient avenue of escape should the Indians breach their ranks.  Tactically, the battalion was in a very poor position, and it didn’t take long for it to become apparent.

The brush and thickets in the timber may have at first given the troopers a false sense of security.  While they were no longer in the open, the timber also offered the Indians the cover needed to creep closer so they could spring upon their enemy with tomahawks and war clubs.  Having maintained a steady fire for a half hour, they were running low on ammunition, and the position was becoming untenable.  Reno ordered the men to mount up, presumably to retreat to the ford two miles distant.  At this moment a bullet slammed into the head of the Arikara scout Bloody Knife mounted next to Reno, his blood and brains said to have splattered onto Reno’s face triggering a wave of fear and panic, clouding his mind, paralyzing his judgement.  Reno ordered the men to once again dismount, then immediately reversed his decision and ordered them to remount.

The troopers who heard Reno’s commands found them confusing.  Mount or dismount?  Many claimed they heard no orders.  It’s possible that in the din of the fighting they just couldn’t hear their major’s voice.  Whether he had given orders or not, Major Reno bolted, some of his men following, some not, the fear and panic spreading.  In the face of abject terror, all discipline and order in the battalion disintegrated.  There would be no organized retreat to the ford.  Those who followed Reno plunged their horses directly into the river, horses and troopers swimming the deep water, Indians on horseback in wild pursuit, some shooting troopers, others clubbing them.  The troopers offered little to no resistance; their flight response had taken hold.  They wanted nothing more than to get away.  Some made it, some did not.  The survivors gathered on a hill east of the river.  Their fear somewhat subsiding, they formed a defensive perimeter to ward off any further attack from the Indians.

Left in the timber were a number of troopers whose horses had been killed or wounded in the fighting or who just were unable to join those who fled.  Over the next couple of days, they would hide as best they could.  Some were found by the Indians and killed.  Those who survived eventually made their way across the river and up the hill, most under the cover of darkness, to join the remainder of Reno’s survivors.  There they remained under siege until General Gibbon’s relief column arrived a couple of days later.

It hadn’t been an inspirational episode for the Seventh, nothing that they could look back on with pride.  While the retreat to the timber had been orderly, what followed was a complete rout.  All pride set aside, save for their escape, chaotic as it had been, all would likely have been killed and scalped, their bodies stripped naked and mutilated.  Reno was under the impression that Custer would provide support, whatever that meant.  Yet when the situation became unmanageable, Custer and his battalion were nowhere to be seen.  At the last glimpse of them, they were atop the bluffs on the east side of the Little Bighorn and headed downstream.