Harry Turtledove - Alternate Generals

Clemens even remembered a mention of Ouster’s testifying against his brother at some trial in New York in the former President’s obituaries.

I guess that’s what happens when you outlive your popularity, Clemens thought, pausing a moment to write down the memorable line that had just occurred to him in hopes of being able to use it later., Another drink, Sam read back his notes. Maybe Custer was lucky after all, at least as far as newspapers and history are concerned.

Clemens was about to try his luck at another nap before the arrival of the next stop’s reading material when the compartment door was opened by the porter who quickly ushered in a new traveler.

“I’m sorry, suh, Mr. Clemens, but the train is getting crowded,” the porter apologized.

“That’s all right, Armstrong,” Clemens replied.

“I understand.”

“I hope you don’t mind the company,” the welldressed dandy replied.

“Not at all,” Sam answered with a sly grin as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a cigar, “provided that you aren’t worried about stinking up your fancy duds with my cigar smoke.”

The dandy thought to himself for a moment, weighing his lack of alternatives, and—much to Sam’s chagrin-declared, “Not a problem,” and took a seat across from the writer.

Resigned to the company, Sam lit the cigar and set his notes aside.

“Forgive me for being so rude,” the dandy said sheepishly.

“I should have introduced myself. My name is Autie Reed.”

Clemens cocked an eyebrow in recognition. Custer’s nephew who was with him at Little Big Horn; a fortuitous turn of events.

“Sam Clemens,” the author offered.

Reed brightened.

“The author!” he exclaimed.

“My!

I just loved Tom Sawyer Reed quickly softened his tone as if due to embarrassment, and added with a bit of melancholy.

“Sorry for the outburst, but I guess you are used to that.”

Clemens nodded, wishing that such positive outbursts were more common.

Reed continued.

“It’s sort of ironic, I guess. I was reading Tom Sawyer when I was with my uncle on the Plains, and now I get to meet you on the way to his funeral.”

“Sorry for your loss,” Clemens said with a perfect touch of false sincerity.

“And the county’s,” Reed added.

“Of course,” Sam replied, hoping that the nephew hadn’t noticed that he had rolled his eyes out of reflex after hearing such a stupid platitude.

Reed brightened for a moment and looked up.

“So are you going to write about the funeral?” the nephew said hopefully.

“Something like that.”

“Well, I can help you,” the nephew replied eagerly.

“I know all about my uncle and his heroic exploits. There was never a greater man in the entire history of this great country.”

“So I’ve read,” Clemens said guardedly, gesturing towards the newspapers that were strewn about the compartment.

“I was with him at the Little Big Horn when we destroyed Black Kettles Cheyennes.”

“Really,” Sam said, taking out his note pad in feigned surprise.

“I thought we almost lost that one.”

Reed backpedaled slightly.

“Well, casualties were high and all, but uncle’s plan worked and eventually we routed them.” The nephew shrugged, and added, “But I guess you know all about that.”

“Maybe,” Sam replied slyly, and shrugged in land.

“After all, it was that battle and the notoriety that followed it that led to him being placed on the presidential ballot.”

“That was never his intention,” Reed said defensively.

“He was first and foremost a soldier on a mission, and after that it was simply the will of the people.” ... and the newspapers and the people who owned them, Sam thought silently, and then said, “But, of course. Why don’t you tell me about your recollections of that day?”

“Sure,” Reed replied enthusiastically, then asked, “will you use it for whatever you plan on writing?”

“I reckon I might,” the author replied, took a new drag from his cigar, and balanced his note pad for easy access.

“Well, it was June 25,1876, and the whole Custer gang was there.”

“The Custer gang?”

“That’s what we called ourselves. Uncle Autie—that’s what I called him before he became President—Uncle Tom, Uncle Boston, and Uncle Jim, that’s Jim Calhoun not Custer. He’s my other uncle.”

“And yourself,” Clemens added, “Autie Reed, the nephew of the great man.”

“Right,” Reed confirmed, getting on with the story.

“The General…”

Clemens held up his hand to interrupt, and asked, “General Terry?”

“No,” Reed explained, “I guess I should have said the Colonel since that was his current rank.”

“Custer?”

“Right.”

“His rank was colonel but you called him “General’?”

Reed chuckled.

“I know it sounds funny, but we did,” Reed continued to explain.

“That was his rank in the Civil War.”

“But not during the Plains campaign?”

“No.”

“He was a colonel.”

Reed smiled.

“Lieutenant Colonel,” he corrected.

Clemens smiled slyly, and said, “I’m glad we got that straight.”

“You just have to take that sort of thing for granted in the Seventh Cavalry. Uncle Autie was special. He commanded respect, no matter what his detractors said.”

“like Sherman, Grant, and Hancock,” Clemens offered, citing the names of the most vocal of Custer’s enemies.

“Yes,” Reed confirmed.

“Uncle Autie showed them when he got his turn at the head chair.”

Clemens decided to redirect the nephew back at his own firsthand account as the writer himself was more than aware of the mudslinging and accusations that had occurred between Custer and his rivals during the election.

“You were saying about June 25?”

“Right,” Reed agreed, and continued with his story.

“Well, the entire expedition against the Sioux was under the command of Brigadier General Alfred H. Terry who had placed Colonel Custer in charge of our command over Captain Benteen and Major Marcus Reno.”

“They weren’t part of the Custer gang?”

“Oh, no. Uncle Autie didn’t like them much and the feeling was mutual. The General didn’t tolerate incompetence, and they held it against him. That’s why it was up to my uncles to take the reins of leadership. Everybody else just had to follow orders.”

“The General’s orders?”

“Exactly,” Reed said emphatically.

“Now, on that fateful day our scouts had indicated that there was a large group of hostiles along the Little Big Horn River. The other commanders were easily intimidated by this information and would have opposed my uncle’s plan to proceed with his attack no matter what his plan was, so he decided not to tell them.”

“Benteen and Reno?”

“Right,” Reed confirmed.

“Uncle knew that any discussion would lead to opposition, so therefore he proceeded with his plan in a manner that would provide them with no opportunity to get in his way.”

Clemens gave a quick smile and a nod as if in agreement to the soundness of Custer’s decision.

“We all rode together to that fateful ridge, holding back the Cheyenne and Sioux who believed that by sheer attrition and greater numbers they would take the day, not realizing that the secondary commands under Benteen and Reno would come around in support.

Though we lost close to two hundred men on that bloody ridge, we held on, dispersing their greater numbers with the arrival of the fresh horses and men and succeeded in driving them off until we emerged victorious.”

“The casualties were high?”

“Very.”