Still Standing: Surviving Custer's Last Battle - Part 1

By Judith Gotwald and Don Solenberger

Custer's death at Little Big Horn is verified, but his widow is curiously drawn to an Indian survivor with ambition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456614355

Book preview

review.

Foreword

Life is change. Every decade or so a man or woman of exceptional character and personality crosses life’s stage. When he or she, however rarely, lives to old age, one can sometimes dissect his or her life into chapters of change. History influences lifestyles, preferences, and politics.   Change unfolds individually and socially. The segregationist can find himself within a few decades embracing Civil Rights. The warrior accustomed to settling disputes with force can become the distinguished statesman.

And then there are the Alexanders and Mozarts, geniuses at one thing or another, who live short memorable lives recorded and remembered without the seasoning of age. Historians can only wonder how history might have changed if such lives had not been cut short.

The flamboyant Custer is one such life, which still mesmerizes popular culture and the minds of historians. He was first known for the luck that made him a celebrated hero and the youngest general in the Civil War. His record was known for dashing victories. He would not live to learn from his defeat at the battle with the combined strength of all the Plains Indian tribes at the Little Big Horn in 1876. Never was a defeat so celebrated as to become almost honorable, despite the questioning eye of history casting doubts on the decisions made that fateful day.

Custer, cut down in his prime, led a life surrounded by major issues. Less than a scholar, he was becoming acquainted with the issues of his day not by careful study or education but through personal interactions. Custer was a social magnate. He knew the movers and shakers of his day, but he never forgot his humble origins. They plagued him. He was a frontier farmboy who found his way to the United States Military Academy at West Point. In the young United States’ far north, he was best friends with Southerners. His family was staunchly Democratic at a time when Whigs were gaining popularity. He knew what it was like to be an outsider, to be looked down upon.

Custer might have lived to outgrow soldiering. Where might he have turned to satisfy his need to succeed, his need to be noticed? He had a front row seat for many of the defining issues of his era. As a farmer, would his sympathies have been with other farmers in fighting the influence of the railroads and their economic hold on politicians? As a Northerner with strong Southern friendships, would he have been influential in healing relationships with the South beyond Reconstruction? Proud of his battlefield triumphs, would he have shown empathy to his friends in defeat? Would he come to understand the freed slave and a new United States, which pledged inclusiveness? As a military leader, where might he have stood on the post-Civil War American issues of graft and government reform?

We know that Custer continued to enjoy the popular rank of general in the public eye, long after his rank reverted to lieutenant colonel at the end of the War. He returned to military service but was beginning to explore options for private life. He toyed with writing, entrepreneurship and politics.

And what about Libbie, the wife of George Armstrong Custer? Elizabeth Bacon Custer, the devoted Army wife, triumphed over the devastating loss of her husband and three other Custer family members to forge her own identity as a writer and circuit speaker. A key issue of her time was women’s suffrage, and she lived to cast her vote as a female American citizen. The girl from a small frontier town left her Michigan home to live in New York City and to travel the world. How might her life been changed had her famous husband stood by her.

Still Standing asks the big if. What if Custer had not died at the Little Big Horn. What would survival have meant not only to the Custers but to their contemporaries? How would a man with the bigger than life personality of George Armstrong Custer emerge from defeat? One can only imagine, but in the imagining, perhaps there is something to learn and a story to tell!

This book is Part 1 of   a two part story.

For updates on the story, please visit: gotwaldcreationportfolio.com/still-standing/

Acknowledgements

Don Solenberger and Judith Gotwald would like to thank Steven Wright for his early contributions to developing the story line for Still Standing. His insights drawn from his Native American heritage were invaluable. Thanks also to Don’s daughter, Courtney Ann Solenberger-McNeill, the professional facilitator, who encouraged and helped make her Dad’s idea become a book.

The cover photo is by Malinda Mills / Nomadic Lass

This story was first published as a serial on venturegalleries.com.

Chapter 1

Indian Summer

Summer was new and the days seemed endless. Time itself seemed to stand still for young Sioux boys on the western plains. The year was 1854 and things were beginning to change for the Lakota Sioux. The rhythm of life was growing less certain.

For centuries, June had been predictable. Each spring, there were new boys entering into the pastimes of childhood for the first time. Likewise, some older boys were ready to move on to become warriors, husbands and providers. For the first time they would not be part of the fun. Despite the shifting cast of players, the last days of spring and first days of summer had for centuries meant long days of play for the boys of the Plains tribes. The rituals of youth were new only to them.

Curly and Hump were best of friends, spending nearly every minute of every day as companions. A few months earlier, their fathers and uncles had taken them on their first bison hunt. They would soon be considered men. Each boy was aware that this summer would be the last spent as children. They meant to make the most of it.

Last summer, they had spent most of their time with their horses, mastering riding and weaponry skills. Curly and Hump would ride circles around the Indian camp, daring each other to greater feats, especially when the girls of the tribe were watching. This year, they adopted a more challenging game. Raid. The object of Raid was to sneak into a neighboring camp at night and steal something — anything — for no other reason than to prove they were masters of stealth.

Tonight the game was to take a new twist. Instead of raiding a neighboring Indian camp, the boys found themselves hiding in the bluffs overlooking the supply road to Fort Laramie.

Earlier in the day, Curly and Hump had been hanging out at the trading post near the fort. They had nothing to buy or trade, but they found it to be a fascinating place. They watched and listened as soldiers and wagon trains came through. If they were quiet, people would forget they were there. They would learn all sorts of things which they thought might be important, even if they had no idea how at the moment.

And so on this day they took up their favorite positions on one end of the trading post porch to watch the passing scene. Soldiers were coming and going. They rode up to the post on large horses bigger than those Curly and Hump were used to. They tied their horses to a hitching bar, something Curly and Hump never bothered to do. They strode into the post with their arms swinging but came out with a sack in one arm and a bottle in the other.

No soldier entered the post without a greeting from a few soldiers resting on the other end of the porch. Most visitors to the post were of the same rank, so they addressed one another with no military protocol.

Hiya, Larkin. Missed you on our scouting expedition yesterday.

Missed you, too, Foster. I drew drudge duty in the fort. What did I miss?

We rode twenty miles east. Saw a couple of Indian camps. Ran into one wagon train. Settlers. Religious in nature. Just what this territory needs.

Any women with them?

All the soldiers laughed.

None that would catch your eye, Larkin. Looked like they were all taken. Children all over the place.

Another soldier muttered, That’s never stopped Larkin before.

The men laughed louder.

Larkin accepted the insult. Sounds like you are speaking for yourself.

Curly and Hump just looked at each other. They were learning English from these short exchanges. Hump mouthed silently, Sounds like you are speaking for yourself.

For Curly and Hump, the most important part of the exchange was new information. Curly signaled it was time for them to leave. Hump instinctively knew the plan. They whistled for their horses, which came at an enthusiastic trot. Fleet was Curly’s horse, a gift from his father. Boldheart was Hump’s horse. Boldheart was an older horse, passed on to him after the death of an uncle in battle. Hump accepted the horse as an honor. Both boys loved their horses as if they were human, almost as extensions of themselves. They jumped onto the horses’ backs and headed east.

+ + +

Curly and Hump rode Fleet and Boldheart along the hills parallel to what the soldiers called The Holy Road. Neither Curly or Hump knew where the dusty road began or where it ended, but they knew that hundreds of people—soldiers, trappers, and settlers—were following it through their hunting grounds. Anything along that road was in their territory and was fair game to them.   

They rode for an hour, careful to stay behind the bluffs and out of sight. As soon as they found a protected area, they left their horses to graze and went ahead on foot, crouching as they inched toward the edge of a bluff. The Holy Road lay below them with a small meadow between the road and a stream.

They waited. It wasn’t long before they heard the first hoofbeats, moans of cattle and the rumbling and clanking of wagons, loaded full of household and farming equipment.   

The day was drawing to a close. Curly and Hump hid in the deep grass at the edge of the bluff. They guessed that this would be the best stopping point for the settlers to spend the night. They were right. As the wagons came close, a man at the front waved his arm above his head in a wide circle.

The first wagon swung wide into the meadow and stopped. The dozen wagons following pulled close to the one in front of it, forming a tight circle. At the end of the procession was a solitary man on horseback herding a few tired cows and some spare horsepower.

The animals were led close to the stream, largely blocked from Curly and Hump’s line of sight. The wagons were crammed together so tightly that Curly and Hump could catch only glimpses of the inner circle and what was happening between the enclosure and the stream.

Older children were carrying buckets of water for cooking and cleaning. Women busied themselves making fires. The men were scattered. Some seemed to be inspecting wagons; others tended the working livestock. One mother filled a tub with several of the buckets of water carried by the older children. They began to bathe two toddlers. Small children ran about almost as freely as Sioux children, but Hump and Curly noticed that they were never far from parental eyes. They felt not the least bit envious.

Hump looked at Curly and shrugged. Silently, they agreed that this domestic scene might not be the challenge they were hoping for in their game of Raid, but it was something to do. If they were clever, they could make it sound more exciting tomorrow when they bragged to their friends.

They waited together, comfortable in their silence. As the aroma of cooked meat rose into the air, they pulled some dried pemmican from the leather pouches tied to their waists and gnawed at their rough dinner. They knew each other so well that there was no need for words. Soon it grew dark. Quiet slowly settled over the circled wagons.

As the full moon rose, the last figures left the fireside, busying themselves with a few final chores. One by one, they climbed into the wagons for the night, Hump pointed to the horses and a few cows tied close to the stream. Curly signaled no. Hump saw why. Two men were standing guard near the livestock.

Both boys hoped for a challenge. The game had no point if it was too easy. They would hold the livestock as an option, but silently they waited for a greater challenge to arise.

They started to climb down from the bluff toward the camp. They heard the settlers’ horses whinny. The boys paused. The animals sensed their presence. The guards paid no attention as they whispered to one another. Curly and Hump sneaked into camp from the opposite side, staying close to the wagons. They could hear the slow, rhythmic, sleep breathing from the wagons as they paused to look around.

Embers from a cooking fire cast a dim light and long shadows. Near the fire was a cooking pot and several dishes and spoons. Moving closer to the fire would risk detection. The guards’ backs were turned but the slightest sound would surely draw attention.

Curly, the smaller of the two, motioned that he would make his move. Curly weighed his options: move fast and risk making a noise or take more care and risk longer exposure to danger. He decided to strike for the middle.

He moved deliberately, but boldly. He walked to the fire and grabbed the cooking pot, turned as if it were his own campfire, and walked back to Hump, who was waiting by the wheel of a wagon.

Hump touched Curly on the back in silent congratulations. Hump wanted a piece of the action and started toward the fire. Curly grabbed his arm. Again they heard the horses sensing what the guards did not. Curly turned to head back for the bluffs. Hump took one last look at the camp. He saw something under the wagon where he had been hiding. He grabbed it and followed Curly, not looking at his prize. The boys climbed the bluff. As soon as they were out of earshot of camp they felt the first thrill of their success.

Suddenly, a loud shout rose from the camp. Several rifles sounded. Curly and Hump ducked low. Had they been seen? Quickly, the camp was astir. Curly and Hump felt the instinct to run but knew that their moving forms would be silhouetted in the moonlight. They would make easy targets for the settlers with powerful shotguns.

They watched carefully, preparing themselves to make the right move at the right time. The men were hastily pulling on jackets and grabbing for rifles. Both Curly and Hump noticed that their attention was directed toward the livestock. The men were not coming toward them but headed towards the creek and their horses and cows.

This was the moment they were waiting for. They broke into a run and did not stop until they reached Fleet and Boldheart, who carried them home.

The boys encountered no one as they arrived at camp. Night was nearly over. Daylight would break in only a few hours. They ducked into Curly’s family tipi. A low fire burned. The boys sat quietly by the fire surrounded by Curly’s family sleeping under buffalo robes. Curly set his cooking pot on the fire with pride. He whispered to Hump, asking him to show him what he had found. Hump looked down at his prize and tried to hide it. Curly grabbed for it several times and finally succeeded in wresting it from Hump. He moved it close to the fire and he saw Hump’s trophy—a doll.

Embarrassment overtook Hump. Curly tried to contain his laughter. Both boys rushed from the lodge to avoid waking the family.

It was to be a long, memorable night of camaraderie. That night, when they were done reliving their exploit, they would sleep on the prairie with Fleet and Boldheart.

+ + +

Daybreak soon dawned on one of the longest days of the year. Hump and Curly awoke to the chatter of other boys, racing about the camp, collecting their horses. As soon as all the boys were all on horseback they would make their plans for the day.

Lone Bear shook a groggy Curly awake.

I saw the present you left for mother, he said excitedly. Tell me about it.

Curly was dragging, his long night finally taking its toll. It was nothing, he answered his younger brother as he stretched and yawned.

Hump woke up with more energy. Nothing? he said. We faced a whole tribe of soldiers on the Holy Road.

Lone Bear listened, his eyes growing wide as Hump continued his story. Curly added nothing as Hump weaved a story with practiced ease. The soldiers were many. The guns were big. Lone Bear never stopped to think that with all the paraphernalia of a soldier’s camp, their loot was a simple cooking pot! Hump was like a second big brother to him, not to be questioned.

When Hump neared the end of his story, Curly broke in. Lone Bear, fetch Fleet for me. Lone Bear looked confused. Fleet was only a few yards away and would surely come with a whistle, but he dutifully followed his brother’s order.

With Lone Bear distracted, Curly nudged Hump. I was waiting to hear the part about the doll, he said.

I was getting to it, Hump answered with no embarrassment, knowing that warriors had bragging rights to even the smallest victories.

Soon all the boys were on horseback, riding freely on the plains around the camp. At first they rode for speed. Then they turned to tricks, ducking low on either side of their horses. When all the boys were duly impressed, the older boys looked for a new audience and began riding closer and closer to camp.

The young girls of the camp were busy with chores, preparing food, washing and mending clothing and tents, and looking after the youngest and oldest members of the tribe. The boys’ antics were an entertaining sideshow. The mothers would wait as long as they could before interfering. Pay attention to your work, they chided. The girls responded with obedience but stole a glance whenever they could.

When they tired of this pastime, the younger boys rode to the bank of the river flowing by the encampment. The horses needed rest and water but that would not stop the boys’ fun. They dismounted and left their horses to drink and graze. They grabbed sticks from the bushes and scooped up some mud from the river bank.

Each boy took a position along the river and began flinging mud from the end of their sticks, aiming at the others. With each successful strike a boy would run up to his victim and touch him with the stick.

Curly and Hump joined the younger boys by the river but they stayed put, watching from horseback. Last year, they had played this game with the others, but somehow, today, following their night’s adventure, it seemed like child’s play.

Look at Lone Bear, Hump said as the younger boy rushed to touch another boy with his stick. He is counting more coup than any of the other boys.

Curly had spent much of his childhood listening to the warriors returning from battle with tales of counting coup. Touching a fallen enemy would transfer the enemy’s power to the victor.

Lone Bear will be a great warrior someday, Curly answered with pride.

Like his brother, Hump added.

Like his father, Curly replied.

Your father is not a warrior, Hump said. Has he ever counted coup on an enemy?

Curly would have been offended had this comment come from anyone but Hump. Hump hung his head, recognizing that his words stung in a way he had not intended.

Some warriors draw strength from touching their enemies in defeat, Curly said. Our father has not taught us this. Our father has found strength elsewhere.

Hump did not know how to answer. He knew Curly’s father well. He was a quiet man, known throughout many tribes for his wisdom. It would be easy to ridicule him for not fighting and not taking revenge on his enemies. But Crazy Horse had always been different. Hump could see that his friend Curly had many of his father’s traits. He regretted his remark deeply.

Still, Lone Bear shows promise, he concluded.

The sound of approaching horses brought all fun to an end. Curly and Hump, still on horseback, motioned to the boys to come away from the river to higher ground. The boys quickly obeyed. All horses were left to roam as the boys hid in the grass. It was unsettling to look down at their homes where their mothers and fathers were facing imminent danger. They felt helpless.

Soon the horses came into sight. Several dozen cavalrymen stopped near the edge of camp. A wagon carried a large gun. One soldier rode ahead to the center of camp with another rider, not in uniform.

Who is that man with the soldier? Hump asked Curly in a whisper.

Curly had seen this man many times near the fort and at the trading post.

It is Wyuse. He is a half-breed. He has no dealings with us. He lives with the white man.

The boys watched as Conquering Bear, their tribal leader, came to meet the soldiers. They could not hear what was being said, but Conquering Bear led the soldiers to a tipi. He looked inside but nothing seemed to be happening. Conquering Bear, the soldier, and Wyuse walked back and forth between the tipi and the troops several times. They could see that Conquering Bear was losing patience. Wyuse and the soldier walked away toward the awaiting troops.

Suddenly the boys heard the loudest noise they had ever heard. It was like a hundred gunshots. A percussive roar filled the air. For a brief moment all fell quiet. In seconds, every warrior in the village appeared. Arrows flew. All the soldiers lay dead. Wyuse screamed and ran, ducking into the nearest tipi.

The respected tribal leader, Conquering Bear, was lying in a pool of blood.He was the village’s only victim.

The ensuing rage was instantaneous. The boys watched as warriors dragged Wyuse from his hiding place to the center of camp. Each took a turn kicking him until he lay still. The braves walked away, leaving the body of Wyuse only a few yards from where Conquering Bear still lay. All attention was turned toward their fallen leader.

Slowly, the boys emerged from their hiding places. They walked to the center of camp unnoticed by their elders who were busy caring for their chief. The oldest boys, Hump and Curly included, took turns filing silently past the body of the dead half-breed, lifting their breechcloths in disdain.

+ + +

No one needed to say a word. It was clear to even the smallest child that something terrible had just happened and that their adults had no more power to control events than they had. Curly and Hump stood with their friends who only moments before had been reveling in youthful exploits. Now they could do little more than watch with rage growing inside them. The blast of a single gun had changed everything.

The village seemed to be paralyzed. But it was quickly coming back to life. The men of the village gathered around their tribe’s fallen leader, Conquering Bear. The women brought a buffalo robe and spread it on the ground.

Four warriors carefully lifted his bleeding body and laid him on the robe. One man stood