Robert Conroy - 1882 - Custer in Chains

Among the dead, Ryder had recognized Custer’s two brothers and he’d been informed that all of Custer’s officers had been killed. The death total was one hundred and eighty seven out of the two hundred and ten men who’d accompanied Custer, and it was likely to go higher since some of the survivors were severely wounded. There were additional casualties from the two detachments commanded by Benteen and Reno that had fought desperately on the other side of the Little Big Horn. They too had almost been overrun by larger than expected numbers of Indians.

“If I’d arrived an hour earlier, how many others would still be alive?” Ryder wondered out loud.

“The survivors are lucky you arrived at all.”

Ryder wheeled. He hadn’t noticed the man in civilian clothes who was slowly walking up to him.

“Who the devil are you?”

“James Kendrick,” the other man said with a warm smile, “and I’m a freelance reporter who’s been following the campaign. I’m attached to General Terry’s headquarters. I’m surprised you didn’t notice me.”

“My mind was elsewhere, Mr. Kendrick. I was thinking of so many dead friends. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.”

Kendrick shook his head sadly. “I’m a decade older than you and I haven’t either, and the reporter in me says I have to find out what happened. For instance, why the devil did Custer divide his forces when confronted by a vastly superior enemy? For that matter, why did he attack in the first place? Then why didn’t Benteen and Reno come to his assistance sooner instead of waiting until you arrived with your guns?”

“Have you talked to Custer?”

“He’s still recovering and dictating a report to his aide. He’ll recover from his physical wounds, but I fear the loss of his brothers will be harder for him. I also feel that the official report will show General George Armstrong Custer in a most favorable light. I want the truth, lieutenant. For instance, is it true that your guns were left behind because only miserable nags were assigned to pull them?”

“Cavalry always gets first crack at the good mounts. Cavalry is supposed to ride ahead of the army; thus dragging artillery, and Gatlings are defined as artillery, would definitely slow them down. I did convince Lieutenant Low and General Terry that, with better horses, I would be able to keep up with Custer. Terry agreed after Custer left and he gave me good mounts, some remounts, and a total of fifty men. Low didn’t want to do it. He felt that he had to obey Custer’s orders and leave them behind. Riding hard and alternating horses, I was able to make up the lost time. I only wish I had gotten here sooner.”

“As do the almost two hundred men of the Seventh Cavalry who are now dead. The savages aren’t stupid, lieutenant. They retreated because it was obvious they were going to suffer heavy casualties if they didn’t, and that’s something they don’t want to do. The Indians realize that there are far more white men than red and they don’t want a stand-up fight if they can possibly avoid it. Every dead white man can and will be replaced but that’s not true for a dead red man. By the way, it looks like your guns managed to kill Crazy Horse which further demoralized them.”

“Another good reason for them to pull back,” said Ryder.

“I’m going to do you a favor and give you some information for free. Custer’s first draft of his report indicted you for dereliction of duty. It said that the reason you were late was because you were responsible for the poor horses and then took your own sweet time getting to the battle. You’re not alone. He also condemned Benteen and Reno.”

Ryder was stunned. “You can’t be serious. He was the one who insisted on the poor horses. It was a joke around the regiment that he hated the idea of machine guns taking the glory away from his cavalry.”

“He felt you should be court-martialed.”

“Son of a bitch!”

Kendrick laughed. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen. That report will never leave the camp. Terry knows the truth, as do a number of others. A sergeant named Haney told them what was happening and they put a halt to that nonsense. The only one in trouble is Reno and that’s because there are rumors that he was drunk. In the new and latest official version, you will be commended for recognizing the problem with the horses, replacing them, and riding like a bat out of hell to rescue Custer and what remained of his men. Along with a commendation, you will likely be promoted.”

“So why are you telling me all this?”

“I’m a reporter and I like to report the truth, and the truth is that Custer’s responsible for all the dead and wounded currently rotting on this hill. I’m going to write articles and perhaps even a book on this battle, only with my version showing the world just what a headstrong bastard Custer is. And I wouldn’t mind making a lot of money and a name for myself with it. On the other hand, I’m going to have to move quickly. Some very important people want him to run for president. If he becomes too powerful politically, his friends will protect him and the truth will never come out.”

“Thank you I guess, but any early promotion will be resented by others.”

“Christ, Ryder, they’re not making you a general, just a first lieutenant. Even Sergeant Haney thinks you deserve it for saving his Irish ass. He’s recovering nicely and sends his regards.”

Ryder laughed. The last he’d seen of Haney was on the knob where Custer was making his final stand. He’d had arrows sticking out of him and looked like a human pincushion. Haney was highly regarded and it was good to have the older NCO’s concurrence with his actions.

“Assuming I actually am promoted, what will happen to me then?”

“If the political part of this gets as messy as I think it will, the army is going to circle the wagons to protect one of their own, Custer, and you will be sent far, far away so nobody can ask you difficult questions. My guess would be Oregon or even Alaska, at least until things settle down.”

Oregon? Alaska? Ryder’s mind whirled. They were at the end of the world. What the hell had he done to deserve this? Why not just send him to Siberia? So much for being rewarded for doing the right thing, he mused. What the hell, at least he’d be promoted.

Libbie Custer stretched her bare legs under the silk cover and listened to her husband snore. It was comforting but also worrisome. He’d returned to the White House late after a meeting at the Willard Hotel with some political allies. As usual since it was a political meeting where women weren’t welcome, she hadn’t been with him and she didn’t like that. She worried about what he might have agreed to. He was still so naïve when it came to politics and she didn’t want his presidency to become a national disgrace like Ulysses Grant’s had become. She accepted that she was by far the smarter of the two very ambitious people and that George needed her to control him as well as lead him. She and George were a team and a team should not make decisions without both members being present. She was not yet forty and some said she was even lovelier than she had been when she was twenty.

She and George were also still passionately in love and there were many times when they laughingly thought their White House lovemaking would wake the servants.

It could have been paradise, but it wasn’t. She acknowledged that George was in well over his head. If power corrupts, then he was also being corrupted. He’d begun drinking heavily and he seemed distracted by events he didn’t quite understand. She didn’t think he had a woman on the side, or, she laughed softly, on her back. However, if he did, she would exact the only form of revenge a woman could. She would betray and humiliate him as well, and he understood that.