Saluting, around wheeled Ned. He had one glimpse of the general’s face. The blue eyes were blazing, the broad-brimmed hat was being swung to the column urging forward at a trot. “We’ve caught ’em asleep, boys!” cheered the general’s high, clear voice. “Now for a charge!”
Down along the column Ned went thundering, for the back trail. Familiar faces, dusty and sweaty, but resolute all, grinned at him; a hand or two waved. From the murk at the rear of the eager ranks he looked behind him. The column had topped the ridge. Headed by the general and the adjutant and young “Autie,” the stars and stripes and the headquarters or “general’s own” flag close following, with the cavalry guidons of red and white streaming in the sun to mark each troop, horses at hard trot, men leaning forward, hat-brims flaring, bridle-hands forward, carbines and pistols not yet drawn, rank by rank, guidon by guidon they dipped over, into a hollow, and disappeared. They were gone: but they left a cheer behind.
Ned did not look again. He had his duty to perform.[291] He was not certain as to where he would find Major Benteen; but it would be somewhere toward the river; the branching of the trails would guide.
“Go on! Go on!” he urged, into the pricked ears of his horse, another “Buckie.”
“Thud-ity thud! Thud-ity thud! Thud-ity thud!” The brush and the rocks reeled dizzily past, the brown trail of many hoofs flowed under. He extracted the message from his blouse, to read it and to be sure of it in case it was lost. Yes, that was it in Adjutant Cook’s hasty scrawl:
Benteen, come on. Big
Village. Be quick.
Bring packs.
Cook, adj’t.
P. S. Bring packs.
“Cl’k!” clucked Ned to Buckie; and pricked him again with the spurs. They must make it. The general would be depending upon them. Adjutant Cook had repeated the words “Bring packs,” which showed how important was the matter.
“Thud-ity thud! Thud-ity thud! Thud-ity thud!” The lather was white where the bridle reins rubbed Buckie’s wet neck; his breath whistled, occasionally he snorted to blow from his straining nostrils the dust and moisture; but he never faltered. Good horse!
Far and faint from the right were heard a spattering of rifle-shots, like a skirmish fire; and then cheers![292] That must be Major Reno, or Captain Benteen; and off there would lie the river.
Gallop, gallop, up the back trail, with the rounded slopes, sagey and hot, girding the long, long way. Where was Captain Benteen? Where was the pack-train? Ah, here came somebody—a rider also galloping hard. Out whipped Ned’s revolver; but soon the speck resolved into a man in white-man’s garb. Looked like a soldier. It was “Bos!” “Bos” Custer, forage-master.
He saw Ned, and waved. Ned drew rein barely for a moment, as they met.
“Where you been?”
“Back to get a fresh horse.”
“Where’s Captain Benteen? Seen him?”
“Just left him. Straight on. Keep the trail. A fight, isn’t it?”
“You bet.” And Ned was away, in the one direction; “Bos” galloped on to join his big brother. Five of the Custer family were to be together in that battle: three brothers, a brother-in-law, and a nephew.
Ned kept watch ahead for any token of the Benteen column. Hurrah! There they were—a long mass of dusty blue, moving at a trot, down the trail, Captain Benteen and his aide leading. The pack-train was not in sight. On galloped Ned (revolver stowed again in holster), and met Captain Benteen, who had been watching his approach.
[293]
“A dispatch from headquarters, sir,” panted Ned, holding it out.
As he rode, Captain Benteen rapidly read it. Ned held himself prepared at a word to whirl and carry the order on to the packs. But as the captain read, the spattering of shots in the distance before suddenly swelled to a continuous clamor. The captain raised his head, listening, gazing. Louder, and louder, rang the gun-fire, as if the battle was approaching. The Indians were being driven this way? What——? But the captain’s order rang smartly.
“B’tall-yun, draw—pistols! Gallop—march!”
With a cheer they lunged ahead, pistols held high, eyes alert, ready to meet the fleeing Sioux and turn them back again.
The valley widened; in this direction had ridden the Major Reno battalion, recalled Ned, as he, too, galloped, pistol high.
“Right and left into line—march!” shouted Captain Benteen, to cover the ground with battle front.
Then, as all were galloping, forming the line, the draw opened upon a wide cross valley, and there was the battle field—a brushy, broken arena, cut by the willow-bordered crooked stream, hazy with smoke of burning grass and powder through which echoed shot and shout and chant, and through which dimly could be seen horsemen careering in all directions, as if attacking a common object in their midst. Upon[294] a bluff to the right was another battle—soldiers above, Indians below.
The gallop quickly ceased. Now where to go, or what to do, first?
“Look out! Here come some!”
The cry and the murmur swept from man to man. A confused mass was rapidly bearing up the valley, toward them.
“No, that’s all right. They’ve signaled. They’re Crows, with a pony herd.”
So they were. As they wildly scampered past, driving off their spoils, Indian-fashion, voices hailed them, inquiring where was Reno, where was Custer. One of the Crows waved his hand at the bluff.
“Soldiers there,” he said.
“Right oblique, trot—march!” ordered Captain Benteen. And for the bluff they made.
The men upon the bluff proved to be Major Reno and his battalion. They were dismounted, and were firing at long range down the slopes. The fighting below had been by the rear guard, in the retreat to the bluff. Major Reno wore a handkerchief tied about his head. Ned thought that he had been wounded, but he had only lost his hat. He had lost his revolver, too. He greeted Major Benteen feverishly.
“Where’s Custer? Have you seen Custer?”
“No.”
“Neither have I. He promised to support me. It[295] was too hot in there for us. We were driven out. Five to one.” The major appeared almost beside himself. “Why, I tell you we’re fighting all the Sioux nation, and all the outlaws and half-breeds east of the Rocky Mountains. Dismount your men, captain, and deploy them as skirmishers along that hill on the south.”
Yes, Major Reno and his 200 men had started in to charge the village, across the river; but it had looked as if they were being drawn on into an ambush; when they had halted, to survey, out had swarmed the Sioux, thicker and thicker. Afoot they came, and ahorse. “Hi-yih hi-yih yip-yip-yip!” had they cried, frightfully. The Rees, on the left flank, had fled pell-mell. The major had dismounted his men in some timber; but no Custer was in sight, the Indians were surrounding, and he had ordered a retreat to the bluff on this side.
That had been a close call. In the retreat Lieutenant Don McIntosh and Lieutenant Benny Hodgson the acting adjutant had been killed, and so had Doctor DeWolf, and “Lonesome” Charley Reynolds, and black Isaiah. Faithful Bloody Knife, too, had fallen; struck down, said somebody, at Major Reno’s side. Twenty-nine other men also were dead. A score were missing. The bodies of most of the killed were down there still.
The battalion might have done better had they stayed in the timber by the village and fought dismounted.[296] But where was Custer? Where was the general?
The bugles shrilled.
“Cease firing, men! Cease firing!” bade the sergeants, along the skirmish line of kneeling men, protecting the bluff.
Now might all pause from squinting over hot carbine barrels, and wipe foreheads. The Indians in the valley were galloping away, along the hills and stream, toward the north.
What was the matter there? Oh! Listen! Custer must be in action. His carbines were rattling fast and faster. Why doesn’t he send some word, though? Why was the battalion kept here? Why didn’t the major order an advance?
Listen now! Crash! Volley firing! And again “Crash!” Another. Surely “Old Curly” was giving it to them heavy. Who was that coming? Ah, McDougall and the packs. Good! The general had sent word for the packs; wasn’t it time to push ahead in force and join him, or help him out by attack?
Water was needed; but when soldiers tried to get it from the river below they were promptly fired upon. The shooting in the direction where the general was died away to a fitful clatter; few Indians were to be seen; and at last Major Reno did order a movement north on the bluffs, toward the general. Then the Indians gathered fast and furious, and the command was driven back to the first bluff. The general’s battalion[297] had been in sight, two miles distant, on a hill. At least, over there was an eddy of riding and irregular firing. From the place many Indians suddenly came hurrying to attack the other white soldiers. So it looked as if the general had been defeated and his rear-guard had been defending his retreat.
But why didn’t he send a courier through or make signals, to inform the rest of the regiment?
The bluff was a lively spot. Thicker and thicker the Sioux and the Cheyennes were besieging it. From every side, from above as well as from below, shrieked their taunts, whined their bullets. The day was almost spent. As the sun sank into the desolate hills the red foe yelped the louder, fired the faster; every bunch of sage and every rock seemed to harbor an Indian; down by the willow-bordered stream the squaws sang vengefully in the village still standing and triumphant.
Even at twilight the Indians did not dare to charge. Steadily and desperately the soldiers replied to their bullets. Officer and man shot as one; and Ned among them. His stubby cavalry carbine repeatedly jammed on him. It wouldn’t extract the shell. On right and left he heard his mates complaining of their carbines also. They must stop and use their knife-blades, to pry loose the shells.
The twilight faded; the dusk settled; and the Indians quit. The reports of rifle and carbine ceased; and for an instant quiet blessed the valley. Ned was[298] glad to rise and stretch his cramped legs and back, and look about.
“Hark!” again cautioned somebody. “I hear commands! Troops are coming! Hurrah for Crook!”
“Don’t you see them over there? Right over there against the sky-line! Ah—now they’ve disappeared. But they’re coming—Terry or Crook or Custer! Hurrah!”
“Hurrah!” welled the cheers, from this hill and all along the bluff, where the Reno men also were stirred.
“Sound stables, Fletcher,” bade Captain Benteen, of Ned. “Loud as you can, to reach them and guide them.”
With parched and cracked lips Ned did his best, pealing from his battered trumpet the rollicking, familiar tune:
Come off to the stable all ye who are able,
And give your horses some oats and some corn;
For if you don’t do it your colonel will know it,
And then you will rue it as sure as you’re born.
“Now listen!”
It did seem as though answering bugle call floated in through the dusk. But after shots had been fired, and more calls had been sounded, officers and men must agree that their hopes deceived them. Nobody was coming. So where was Custer?
Barricades of boxes and horse carcasses were being piled up, and the order went forth to scoop out rifle[299] pits, for the next day’s fight. The darkness gradually settled. There was no water for coffee, and every mouth was too dry to chew bread. The bluff was miserable, but the village below was gay. Great fires flared redly; and about them the Indians were prancing and yelping in a tremendous scalp dance. With flames and shrieks and hoots and firing of guns and beating of tom-toms the dances lasted all night. But the Indians were not unmindful of the watchers on the bluff; for when Major Reno sent out scouts to find an open way they speedily crept back, with word that they had encountered nothing but Sioux, Sioux, Sioux, everywhere.
No matter; Custer would come, in the morning; and soon would come Terry and Gibbon, and Crook the Gray Fox.
The digging of the little rifle-pits took most of the night. Ned had been helping one of the squads. They had finished their pit, and he had closed his eyes, for a moment (he was so tired!), when he wakened with a jump. Two rifle-shots echoed in his ears. To the signal up-swelled a hideous clamor again, of whoops and rapid reports; the bullets pelted in, ringing upon the rocks and cutting the dry earth and the brittle sage. There was no need for “Assembly”; into the pits dived the men.
The east was barely pink. Dawn scarce had arrived. The hour must be very early. But for white and red the day had begun.
[300]
“Give it to ’em, men; give it to ’em, but be careful how you shoot. Make every bullet ............