PETER THOMPSON'S ACCOUNT

IN THE MORNING before mounting the companies form in single lines. Each man, commencing at the head of the company calls out in turn his number; one, two, three, four, and so these are repeated until the company is all numbered into sets of fours. Cavalry men dismount and fight on foot except when a charge is made, but when a dismount is ordered, number four remains on his horse, numbers, one, two, and three dismount and hand their bridle reins to number four who holds the horses, while they deploy as skirmishers or as otherwise directed. The men composing the four with myself were Fitzgerald [Pvt. John Fitzgerald], Brennan [Pvt. John Brennan], and Watson [Pvt. James Watson], and although composing one of the sets of fours that entered into action with Custer, not one of us ever reached the battlefield which proved fatal toCuster and his men. Both Brennan and Fitzgerald turned their horses toward the rear, when they had gone two miles beyond the lone teepee.

We soon gained the top of the bluffs where a view of the surrounding country was obtained. The detail of Company F which was sent to investigate the teepee, now passed by us on their way to the front with the report that it contained a dead Indian and such articles as were deemed necessary for him on his journey to the "Happy Hunting Ground."

About a half a mile further on we came in sight of the Indian village and it was truly an imposing sight to anyone who had not seen anything like it before. For about three miles on the left bank of the river the teepees were stretched, the white canvas gleaming in the sunlight. Beyond the village was a black mass of ponies grazing on the short green grass.

When the companies came in sight of the village, they gave the regular charging yell and urged their horses into a gallop. [Curley and Foolish Elk also reported thatCuster's men charged into a gallop when the Indian village came in sight.] At this time a detail of five men from Company F was sent ahead to reconoiter and from this point I was gradually left behind in spite of all I could do to keep up with my company. There were others also in the same fix. All urging on my part was useless. Getting vexed I dismounted and began to fasten on my spurs, when I heard my name called and, on looking up, I saw Brennan near me on horseback. He asked, "What is the matter?" I told him that I was afraid my horse was entirely played out. "Well," said he, "Let us keep together." I straightened myself up and said, "I will tell you what I will do." "I will trade horses with you if you will." He gave me a strange look and turned his horse around and rode towards the rear, leaving me to shift for myself. "Well," I thought, "I will get along anyway." I finished putting on my spurs, mounted my horse again, and rode on after my company, but my progress was very slow.

My spurs having been poorly fastened came off again, and seeing a pair lying on the trail, I got off my horse to secure them. Hearing an oath behind me, I looked back and saw my comrade Watson trying to get his horse on its feet. The poor brute had fallen and was struggling to gain an upright position. [Note: the accounts of Arikara scouts Soldier and anAnonymous Ree Scout both reported seeing Seventh Cavalry troopers kicking their downed horses just before the battle was about to begin.] Beside him, I saw Sergeant Finkle [Sgt. George A. Finckle] of our company sitting calmly on his horse looking on and making no effort to help Watson in his difficulty. But finally the poor animal gained his feet with a groan, and Finkle passed on with a rush to overtake our company. [Note: this was clearly the slow part of the troop -- Sgt. Finckle had already missed the chance to carry Custer's last order -- and live -- because his mount was giving out.]

By this time, the last of the companies had disappeared over the crest of the hill. I was still tugging away at the spurs, when Watson came up and asked what the trouble was and then passed on in the trail of the soldiers. I mounted my horse again but found that a staggering walk was all I could get out of him.

I then looked across the river at the Indian Village, it was all in commotion. One party of Indians were dashing down the river; others were rushing toward the upper end of the village. The cause of this commotion was Major Reno with three companies of men about a mile distant from the upper end of the village, dashing along in a gallop towards them. The officers were riding in order, a little in advance of their respective companies. It was a grand sight to see those men charging down upon the village of their enemies, who outnumbered them many times. The well-trained horses were kept well in hand. There was no straggling; they went together, neck and neck, their tails streaming in the wind, and the riders arms gleaming in the sunlight. It was no wonder that the Indians were in great commotion when they beheld the bold front presented by the cavalry. But alas! How deceptive are appearances. The cavalry dashed into the village where one of the noncommissioned officers halted and struck up the company's guidon alongside of a teepee before he was shot from his horse. The halt was but for a moment, for the Indians came rushing towards them in great numbers. At this juncture the dry grass caught on fire threatening the destruction of the village, but the squaws fearless as the braves themselves fought the fire and tore down the teepees which were in danger of burning. Major Reno seeing that he was greatly outnumbered ordered an immediate retreat to a grove of cottonwood trees, which stood on the bank of the river about a mile from the upper end of the village, where they found shelter for their horses and protection for themselves…

Meanwhile, I was persuing my way along the trail on foot leading my horse for I was afraid he would fall down under me, so stumbling and staggering was his gait.

After the disappearance of Custer and his men, I felt that I was in a terrible predicament to be left practically alone in an enemy's country, leading a horse practically useless.

While meditating upon the combination of circumstances which had brought me into this unhappy condition, I looked ahead and saw Watson, but was unable to overtake him slow as he was going. He suddenly turned aside from the trail as if he wished to avoid some threatening danger. While I was wondering what it :could be, I saw a small party of Indians, about thirty in number driving a small bunch of ponies and mules, coming toward us. I thought my time had surely come; It was too late to retreat.

While I was making calculations as to leaving my horse and trying my luck on foot, I thought I was seeing something familiar in their appearance. On coming close, I saw they were our Ree scouts and two Crow Indians, one of whom was Half Yellow Face or Two Bloody Hands. He had received this latter name from the fact that on the back of his buckskin shirt the print of two human hands was visible, either put there by red ink or blood.

When close enough I gave them to understand the condition I was in and asked for an exchange of mount. Half Yellow Face only shook his head and said "Heap Sioux," "Heap Sioux," "Heap shoot" "Heap shoot," "Come," and motioned for me to go back with them. I shook my head and answered, "No." They made their way to the rear and I went on ahead. The animals the scouts had they had captured from the Sioux.

I had lost sight of Watson and thinking that I could make my horse go faster by mounting, I did so. I had not gone far before I became aware of the fact that I had company. When I had nearly gained the top of the hill, I saw five Sioux Indians. We discovered each other about the same time. The other two brought their guns to their shoulders and aimed at me. Almost instantly my carbine was at my shoulder, aiming at them; but it was empty; while in the ranks or on horseback, I made it a practice to carry it empty. There we sat aiming at one another; the Indians did not fire and I couldn't. True, my revolver was loaded, but I was not fool enough to take my chances, one against five.

After aiming at me for a few seconds, they slid off their ponies and sneaked after the other three. I now looked around to see how I was going to make my escape, for I knew I could not retreat; with five I could not cope, and within the last few moments a few more Indians had gained the trail ahead of me; and to make my way down the face of the bluff, I knew was nearly impossible, as the Indians were climbing up to gain the trail.

Looking to my right, I saw a ravine and at the bottom of it a small clump of wild cherry bushes. But beyond and on a higher elevation than on which I stood was a pillar of rocks, which I thought might afford me a means of defense. I knew I would have to act quickly if I was to save my life, so dismounting from my horse, which had carried me so many miles, I dashed down into the ravine toward the bushes; but the sudden flight of a flock of birds from that point caused me to turn aside and I made a bee line for the pillar of rocks above me. After arriving there I took inventory of my ammunition. My pistol contained five cartridges, my belt contained seventeen cartridges for my carbine, a very slim magazine as a means of defense. I had left nearly a hundred rounds in my saddle bags, but owing to the incomplete condition of my prairie belt I was unable to carry more with me.

Belts for carrying ammunition were, at this time, just coming into use, and a great many of us had nothing but a small cartridge box as means of carrying our ammunition when away from our horses.

I was disappointed with my place of defense. I found that the pillar was barely eighteen inches through; it was about seven feet high with a piece of rotten cottonwood on top. It had been built by Indians for some purpose or other.

After completing my inventory, I sat down and began to reflect on my chances for my life, if I remained where I was. I knew that if the cavalry drove the savages from their village, they would scatter in all directions, and if any of the straggling devils came across such an unfortunate as myself, I would stand a poor show. I looked back toward the trail where I left my horse; he was still in the same place with an Indian riding around him. I thought that if he was going to be stripped, it was a pity that the ammunition I had left should fall into the hands of an enemy.

I thought that my time for acting had again arrived and that I had better seek other quarters, so I determined that I would try to reach the trail where it made a turn toward the river. I began to make tracks once more in a lively manner, and in a short time reached the point I had started for. At this point the trail was washed very badly on both sides as it descended towards the river. I looked back and saw a mounted Indian coming full speed after me…

The trail I was on led directly to the river and thence into the village. The commotion in the village had subsided; the signs of life were few; it appeared to me that it was deserted, so quiet and deathlike was the stillness. But when I looked closer, I could see a few Indians sneaking around here and there, and every once in awhile an Indian would dash out of the village as if anxious to get to some given point in the least possible time.

While making these observations, I also made a pleasant discovery. Down at the foot of the hill I was descending, I saw a white man riding in a slow, leisurely way. Suddenly he left the trail and made his way up the river. Wishing to have company, I was about to call for him to stop, but happily for me I did not, for I saw the reason why Watson, for such he proved to be, turned aside. He was making his way towards a party Indians who were standing close to the river bank near a clump of underbrush. They were talking and gesticulating in a very earnest manner. The day was extremely warm, but for all that the Indians had their blankets wrapped around them. Some of the blankets were stamped with the large letters I.D. meaning Indian Department. I knew then they were some of the hostiles we were after.

Watson had evidently not made this discovery. I was anxious to save him and if I did I must act quickly. So leaving the trail I ran down the hill at full speed and came to a place where there was a deep cut with steep sides that I would not have dared to face had I been able to check myself in time. But I could not; so I gave a leap which landed me many feet below, and strange to say, I did not lose my balance. Fortunately for me the soil was soft and loose to light upon.

When I got close enough to Watson, I called to him in a guarded voice. On hearing me, he checked up his horse and looked around. I rushed up to him and asked him where he was going. He answered, "To our scouts, of course." I then told him when he passed our scouts on the trail above. "Well," said he, "Who are those ahead of us?" I told him I was under the impression that they were hostiles and that we had better keep clear of them. He came to the same conclusion. The problem that now perplexed us was what we were to do. We finally concluded to enter the village by way of the trail. "And now, Watson," said I, "I will help myself along by hanging to your horse's tail, as I cannot otherwise keep up with you." So we started in the proposed direction. [Note: Thompson did not overplay the dramatically dangerous nature of his situation after he was left behind by his Seventh Cavarly comrades. One of the Seventh Cavalry's Arikara scouts, who watched part ofThompson and fellow straggler Watson's encounter with the five Sioux from the distance, was amazed to learn later that they survived.]

We had not gone far, before we saw a sight that puzzled us very much. Coming out of the river was one of our Crow scouts, mounted on his horse with the end of a rawhide rope over his shoulder, which he held firmly in his right hand. At the other end of the rope, straining and tugging to get away, was a Sioux squaw. The rope was tied around both her hands, but, struggle as she might, she could not break away.

While looking on and wondering where the Crow was going we were further astonished by seeing General Custerdash out of the fording place and ride rapidly up to the Crow and commence to talk to him.Custer was well versed in several Indian languages. The conversation with the Indian did not last long, and what the nature of it was I do not know, but the Crow released the Sioux woman, and she seemed glad to be free came running towards us in a half stooping posture and in her hand was a long bladed knife of ugly dimensions. So fierce did she look that my hand involuntarily sought the handle of my revolver. She must have noticed the movement for she made a short circle around us, ran over the bank, crossed the river, and disappeared in the village.

The Crow then left Custer and rode in a jog trot towards the river and disappeared. [Note:Custer apparently didn't like the looks of the ford at Medicine Tail Coulee (it required his men to cross four abreast) and so he quickly rode off for a quick "scout" while his men dismounted on the river bank, as White Shield and and Goes Ahead witnessed. After meeting Thompson and the Crow scout with the roped enemy squaw on the banks of the Little Bighorn -- and finding no better alternative crossing places -- the eye-witness record says Custer then returned to the ford at Medicine Tail Coulee in this scenario, tried to cross there, got shot by White Cow Bull, and died "in the water of the Little Bighorn." Or at least that's one plausible way to read the eye-witness record of the battle. However, there's also another, equally plausible but much, much darker read on the scene withCuster and the roped squaw, namely that Curley was Custer's procurer and they were both there to rape and murder the Sioux woman. See Who Killed Custer -- Part 11 "War Crime Time" for more info.]

Custer was mounted on his sorrel horse and it being a very hot day he was in his shirt sleeves; his buckskin pants tucked into his boots; his buckskin shirt fastened to the rear of his saddle; and a broad brimmed cream colored hat on his head, the brim of which was turned up on the right side and fastened by a small hook and eye to its crown. This gave him opportunity to sight his rifle while riding. His rifle lay horizontally in front of him; when riding he leaned slightly forward. This was the appearance of Custer on the day that he entered his last battle, and just one half hour before the fight commenced between him and the Sioux. When the Crow scout left him, he wheeled around and made for the same point in the river where we had first seen him.When he was passing us he slightly checked his horse and waved his right hand twice for us to follow him. He pointed down the stream, put spurs to his horse and disappeared at the ford, never uttering a word. That was the last I ever saw of Custeralive. He must have gone thence directly to his command. We wondered why none of his staff were with him. In all probability he had outrun them. His being alone shows with what fearlessness he travelled about even in an enemy's country with hostiles all around him.

We reached the fording place as soon as possible, but all signs of Custer were gone. Whether he had gone through the village or waded down the stream to reach his command is a question that cannot be answered; but as we had seen no signs of him crossing to the opposite side, we naturally thought that he had made his way down the stream.

When we came to the fording place, we found that the water was rushing very rapidly. Both banks were wet with the splashing made by the animals going to and from the village. We stopped a moment to consider the best way to proceed and how to act. When we looked into the village we could see the guidon fluttering in the breeze. This was the flag which had been placed there by the corporal just before he was shot. The sight of this increased our courage.

Our plan was for Watson to cross the river first to show how deep the water was. Being very thirsty I forgot everything else, and stooping down, began to dip water from the river in my hands and drink. While I was thus engaged and when Watsonhad forded to the middle of the stream, I heard the crack of three rifles which caused me to straighten up quickly and look around to see what the trouble was. Standing on the opposite bank of the river and at the very point we wished to gain were three Indians, with their smoking rifles in their hands. Watson, looking around at me said, "What in thunder is the matter?" I answered, "If you don't get off your horse at once, you will get shot." He did not need a second bidding, neither did he dismount in military style, but more like a frog landing with feet and hands in the water at the same time. This ungainly dismount caused the water to fly in every direction. The Indians no doubt thought that they had finished him for two of them turned and disappeared in the village.

The one that was left stood facing me, still disputing our passage across the river. From his decorations of paint and feathers, I judged he was a chief.

Watson began to crawl out of the water. If he was as thirsty as I was before he dismounted, I will guarantee that he was in that condition no longer.

I made up my mind to climb to the top of the bank and let drive at our painted friend. I called to Watson to keep quiet for a few moments, and began to walk backwards up the bank keeping my eyes fixed on the Indian and watching his every movement. When he saw my maneauvers, he took aim at me and shot. But the only result was that the lead lay buried in the red clay at my side. The bank being very wet, my feet slipped from under me several times. The Indian without lowering his rifle blazed away a second time, with the same result as before. I began to get very angry and climbed to the top of the bank in no dignified manner. The red devil still kept aiming at me; I was a better target for him now than before. When I thought it time for him to fire, I dropped to my left side, the bullet whistling over my head, buried itself in the bluff behind me. As this duel had been one-sided so far, I determined to try my hand. So, loading my carbine which was done in a moment, I took aim at him as he turned to go to his pony which was about thirty feet back of him on a slight elevation winding up his rawhide rope as he did so, I fired, but missed him because Watson who was on the line with the Indian made a movement which distracted my aim. I threw open the breech lock of my carbine to throw the shell out, but it was stuck fast. Being afraid that the Indian would escape, I worked at it in a desperate manner and finally got it out far enough to use my thumb nail, which proved affective. The cartridge was very dirty, a nice predicament for a man to be in when at close quarters with an enemy. I was careful to put in a clean one next time, and calling Watson to remain quiet for a moment, I fired when the Indian was within three feet of his horse. The ball plowed through his body, and buried itself in the ground under the horse, throwing the dirt in every direction. The Indian threw up his hands and fell with his head between the legs of his pony. It may seem hard to take human life, but he had been trying to take mine, and self preservation is the first law of nature.

When I fired this shot, Watson jumped to his feet and began to lead his horse out of the stream toward me. I asked him if his horse was not played out; he said it was. In that case, I told him, that he had better leave it as it would take us all our time to take care of ourselves. He studied for a moment and then waded out of the stream leaving his horse with everything on it as I had done.

After he joined me, we had a consultation as to the best course for us to pursue. It was clear that the Indians still held the village, and it would be foolish for us to again attempt to enter it. To wade downstream was an impossibility. We finally decided to go down the right bank of the stream and see if we could not get sight of Custer's command, and join our ranks where we were much needed.

Watson cast a last fond look at his horse and then we started on our perilous journey. We saw plenty of Indians on our side of the stream; they seemed to get bolder and more numerous, but so far they were some distance away. We kept very close to the underbrush, which lined the bank of the river.

Suddenly a small band of Indians came up towards us on a jog trot, which made us seek cover. When they had passed, we moved on our way. Again we were sent to cover by the approach of more Indians. No doubt they were coming this way in order to enter the village by the ford. We concluded to seek some sheltered nook to cover ourselves from the extreme heat of the sun, and to wait until the Indians had quieted down for they were beginning to be like a swarm of bees. They were coming from every direction; so unlike what they were a half an hour previous, when they were first surprised by the Seventh Cavalry for surprise it must have been to them. But now they were beginning to recover themselves. After they had driven Major Reno across the river we noticed that the village was beginning to teem with life. The herd of ponies which had been grazing at quite a distance were now rounded up close to the teepees; so that the Indians had available mounts. Ponies were dashing here and there with their riders urging them on; the dust would rise and mingle with the smoke of the burning grass and brush. The squaws had got the fire under control and had it confined to a comparatively small space.

We managed to secret ourselves in a bend of the river, which turned like the letter S, and gave us running water on three sides of us. In a clump of red berry bushes we found a log which made quite a comfortable seat for us. Peering through the brush I thought I recognized the horse which Billy Jackson, our guide, had ridden. One of its hind legs was fearfully gashed by a bullet. I called Watson's attention to it, but he did not think it was the same horse. He had met Jackson when on the trail on the top of the hill but a short distance from the place where it turned towards the village. He said Jackson was in a fearful state of mind. Watson asked him what was the matter. He replied, "Have you seen Custer?" Watson, surprised, answered, "No," and again asked what was up. Then Jackson informed him Custer had shot at him cutting away the strap that connected his stirrup to the saddle, and in order to save his life he had ridden away. Watson said he saw that the stirrup strap was broken off and Jackson without any hat, presented a wild appearance. He cast fearful glances around him as in mortal terror. Suddenly he put spurs to his horse and rode away, his long hair streaming in the wind and looking right and left as if expecting his enemy to appear at any moment. "And the strangest part of it," added Watson, "was that instead of taking the back trail, he struck straight from the river across the country and as far as he could see him, he was urging his pony to its utmost speed. I then asked Watsonif that did not account for Custer's presence away from his command. He shook his head and said he did not know. [Note: there is actually a fairly rational, fairly conceivable explanation for Billy Jackson's story. See Mysteries of the Little Bighorn for more info.]

We had scarcely been concealed ten minutes before we heard a heavy volley of rifle shots down the stream, followed by a scattering fire, I raised to my feet and parting the brush with my gun; the stalks being covered with long sharp thorns, which made it quite disagreeable for a person's clothes and flesh. Looking through this opening down the stream, I could see Custer's command drawn up in battle line, two men deep in a half circle facing the Indians who were crossing the river both above and below them.

The Indians while fighting remained mounted, the cavalry dismounted. The horses were held back behind and inside of the circle of skirmishers. The odds were against the soldiers for they were greatly outnumbered, and they fought at a great disadvantage. Their ammunition was limited. Each man was supposed to carry one hundred rounds of cartridges, but a great many had wasted theirs by firing at game along the route. It does not take very long to expend that amount of ammunition especially when fighting against great odds.

Watson took hold of the sleeve of my coat and pulled me down urging me to be careful, as the Indians might see me and called my attention to the village which was in a perfect state of turmoil. Indians were leaving the village in all speed to assist in the fight against the cavalry; others from the battlefield with double burdens of dead and wounded were arriving. Then commenced a perfect howl from one end of the village to the other, made by the squaws and papooses. The noise gradually became louder and louder until it became indescribably and almost unbearable to the ears of civilized persons. Then it would almost die out until some more dead or wounded were brought in, this would put fresh vigor into their lungs. I could not keep still and so got onto my feet again. The firing was continuous, I removed my hat so that I would not attract attention, and looked over the panorama, as it was spread out before me. [Note: Curley also spoke memorably of the continuous roar of battle.] I could see that the fight was well under way; hordes of savages had gained a footing on the right bank of the river and had driven the soldiers back a short distance. [Note: this may be when Spotted Calf killed an officer with his tomahawk, as Foolish Elk recounted.]

The Indians were riding around in a circle and when those who were nearest to the cavalry had fired their guns (riding at full speed) they would reload in turning the circle. [Note: this is an interesting observation -- the first description I know of by a white of the "stationary wheel" technique which allowed the mounted, circling Indian cavalry to (1) maximize the concentration of their firepower, and (2) minimize their exposure to American soldiers's fire. See Sioux and Cheyenne Military Tacticsfor more info.] The well formed ranks of the cavalry did fearful execution, for every time the soldiers fired I could see ponies and riders tumbling in the dust, I could also see riderless ponies racing away in every direction as if anxious to get away from such a frightful scene. Cavalry men were also falling and the ranks gradually melting away, but they sternly and bravely faced their foes; the cavalry men fighting for $13 a month. Indians for their families, property, and glory. It seemed to be the desire of each to utterly exterminate. the other.

Round and round rode the savages in a seemingly tireless circle. When one fell either dead or wounded he was carried from the field; but there remained plenty to take his place; but if a soldier fell there was no one to take his, and if wounded there was no one to bring him water to quench his thirst; if dying, no one to close his eyes. It was a sad, sad sight. Lucky indeed was that soldier who died when he was first shot, for what mercy could he expect from a Sioux. If their enemy fell into their hands wounded or dying, it was simply to be put to the worst torture possible. Being in our present predicament, we were utterly powerless to help as we wished we could. We knew our duty, but to do it was beyond our power. Look where we could, we saw Indians; we two on foot could not cope with scores of them on horseback.

During the fight between Custer and the Sioux, scores of Indians had stationed themselves on the bluffs overlooking the village as far as we could see, so that any movement on our part would have led to our discovery; but nevertheless we made up our minds not to remain long in our present place of concealment. So we began to map out a course by which we could join our command, where we felt we were so much needed. We found that we had made a mistake and had taken a wrong trail. The trail we had followed had been made by buffalo, when going to and from the river.

Both Watson and myself had failed to notice the trail made by the cavalry in making their efforts to reach the lower end of the village. And thus we were brought to the fording place near the center of the village. A person could easily be mistaken, for the road over which they passed was rocky, sandy, and hard, consequently, the marks left by the horses' feet were very faint.20 Notwithstanding, this mistake left us in a very critical condition.

Looking in the direction of the battle, I saw that the cavalry were being driven towards the foot of a small hill; their number greatly reduced. The firing was growing less every minute, but the Indians still kept up their seemingly tireless circling, making a great cloud of dust.

The Indians who seemed to be detailed to bring in the dead and the wounded were continually coming into the village with double burdens showing that the soldiers though greatly decreased in numbers were still doing eff ective work. The squaws and papooses now kept howling without intermission. The noise they made resembled the howling of a coyote and the squealing of a cat.

Watson kept himself during the time of our concealment buried in deep thought. He seemed to come to one conclusion, and that was that the 7th Cavalry was going to be whipped. He said, "the Indians greatly outnumber the soldiers; while we have been here, we have seen more Indians, twice over the combined strength of the Seventh." I told him that I could not bring myself to believe such would be the case but Watson persisted in his conviction and said, "It's no use talking, they are going to get the worst of it." But I was just as positive in my belief that the cavalry would win.

The plan we had mapped out for ourselves was to climb the right bank of the river and gain the trail of the cavalry and then, if possible, join our company. It was a foolish undertaking for, a short distance below us, the bluffs came close to the river and the water washing at the base for so long a time, had caused the bluff to cave in and for the distance of a hundred feet up was so steep that even a goat could not climb it. On the top of the bluff just where we desired to go there were seated three Indians with their ponies but a short distance behind them. We did not feel any way alarmed on their account for we felt able to cope with that number. So we left our retreat and moved down as far as we could for the cut in the bank. I felt exceedingly thirsty and said to Watson that I proposed to have a drink. So, jumping from the bank, I landed at the edge of the water and I just saw that the water tasted good. I asked Watson to hand me his hat and I would fill it with water for him and he did so. When I was handing his back to him I noticed that the three Indians had discovered us and were watching our every movement. But without fear, we commenced our march up the hill, keeping as near to the cut bank as the nature of the ground would permit. When about half way up the bluff, I noticed something that made me hesitate.Watson was a short distance behind me and was keeping watch on the flat below. What I discovered was several Indians peering at us over the edge of the bluff; in all I counted eight and concluded that they were too many for us, especially with an uphill pull on our side. While I looked at them, one rose to his feet and beckoned for us in the most friendly manner to advance. But I knew he was a hostile and we stood no show whatever on foot with such a number against us. So I turned around and called to Watson to run for it, and I went after him full speed, but kept my eye on the movement and seeing that they were making preparations to fire at us, I called out, "Stretch yourself, Watson."And he did and gradually left me behind. The Indians let fly with their rifles with the usual result.

One of the Indians mounted his pony and rode on the edge of the bluff abreast of us. Jerking off his blanket he waved it in a peculiar manner and shouted out some lingo to those in the village and then pointed towards us. We felt we were discovered.

It was our intention to hide ourselves in our former place of concealment, but the Indians were watching us; so passing it we came back again to the fording place. We looked to see if the horse was still there but there was no trace of it; no doubt it had passed into the hands of the Indians. Passing the ford on the run, we came to some underbrush; when we slowed down to a walk. Watson still being some distance ahead of me.

I now heard the clatter of hoofs behind me. On looking around, I saw a white man and what I supposed to be a Crow Indian. I called for Watson to stop and told him that we had friends coming. I turned around, intending to wait until they came up. No sooner had I faced them than they stopped, turned their horses across the trail, dismounted, threw their guns across their saddles, and took aim at us. To say that we were astonished would faintly express our feelings. There was nothing left for us to do but run. [Note: August De Voto and an Anonymous Sixth Infantry Sergeant also spoke of white men fighting on the Indians' side at the Little Bighorn. See Mysteries of the Little Bighorn for more info.] The trail we were on ran through a thick clump of bushes, and we put our best foot first in order to gain its shelter. But before we could reach it, they fired at us but as usual missed; but the twigs and leaves were cut by the bullets and we came to the conclusion that we were not to be killed by the Indians. But if we were not wounded in our bodies we were in our feelings.

We determined to ambush them if they attempted to pursue us. We followed the trail for several hundred feet, then forced our way through the brush and with our revolvers cocked, lying at our feet and our guns in our hands we waited and watched for their appearance. But we waited in vain. They must have suspected our intentions. One thing we made up our minds to do, that was to kill the white man even if the Indian escaped.

We had been two hours and a half in our concealment in the bend of the river watching the fight between Custer and the Indians. It had taken us one half hour to reach this place, making three hours in all. The firing in the direction of the battlefield had just now ceased, showing this act of the tragedy was ended.

The question may be asked why we attempted to join our commands after two hours and a half. My answer is, a sense of duty, and love for our comrades in arms. Then others may ask why we did not go sooner. We were repulsed at the ford; we were surrounded by Indians on the bluffs; we were without horses; and when we did make the attempt we did so at nearly the cost of our lives.

We were now undecided which way to go. We knew we were surrounded by Indians and we would be very fortunate if we escaped at all. The noise in the village was as great as ever, which told us that the Indians still held it. We were ever on the alert, but could see very little on account of the underbrush. I ventured to rise myself and scanned the top of the bluffs to see if there were any Indians in sight. But I could not see any, and this puzzled me very much, but on looking down to the lower end of the bluffs I could see a body of men on horseback mounting slowly up the trail on top of the bluffs. Then I saw several guidons fluttering in the breeze, which I knew as the ones which our cavalry carried on the march. I called Watson's attention to the approaching horsemen, but he was firmly convinced that they were Indians. I then drew his attention to the orderly manner in which they moved, and the guidons they carried and told him that we better try to join them before they passed us. "Well!" said he, "Let's move." So we started, following the trail until we were entirely clear of the brush and then began to climb the face of the bluff in order to reach the trail on which we saw the cavalry were moving [Watson's concern was legitimate. The night of June 25, Lt. Charles DeRudio thought he saw Capt. Tom Custer and other Seventh Cavalry troopers riding across the river in the moonlight, but it turned out to be Indians in captured Army uniforms.]

We had scarcely got clear of the underbrush before we became aware of the fact that we had run into a hot place. Before we reached the foot of the bluff we came upon an opening in the timber and brush with several large cottonwood trees lying upon the ground, stripped of their bark. They had undoubtedly been cut down by the Indians during some severe winter when the snow was very deep and the ponies had to live upon the bark, not being able to get the grass.

Near the water's edge, some distance up the river, we saw a large body of Indians holding a council, and that we might avoid them we kept as close to the cover of the brush as possible and went as rapidly as we could towards the face of the bluff.

So intent were we in our endeavor to escape the attention of the Indians by the river, that we did not perceive another party which was in the road we wished to take until the gutteral language of the savages called our attention to them. I jumped behind one of the fallen cottonwood trees; where Watson went, I could not at the time tell. I peeped over the fallen tree and saw a group of mounted Indians gesticulating, grunting out their words, and pointing towards the advancing cavalry. Suddenly they broke up and advanced toward my place of concealment. I began to think they had seen me and crouched as close to the tree as possible. Drawing my revolver, I made ready to defend myself. I made up my mind that all but one shot should be fired at the Indians, and that one would go into my head, for I had determined never to be taken alive. With open ears and eyes I awaited their coming. They passed my hiding place without seeing me and made their way toward the river. I jumped to my feet and started off at once, hardly caring whether the Indians saw me or not, for the presence of the cavalry had put fresh courage into me. I had not gone far before I heard my name called and on looking around I saw Watson coming after me at full speed. I was glad to see him safe, it gave me renewed courage, and we hoped that we would soon be entirely safe. After we began to climb the hill, I found my strength was giving out, and in spite of the fact that we were in full view of the Indians, I laid down to rest and all my entreaties for Watson to go on and save himself were fruitless. He would not budge. But there was something that made us move sooner than I wished; a large body of Indians had crossed the river and were coming across the flat toward the hill we were climbing. I struggled to my feet and staggered after Watson. The heat at this time seemed to be intense, but it might have been on account of my exhausted condition. Watson made no complaint, for like myself he knew it would do no good. After we had climbed nearly half way up the bluff, the Indians commenced to fire at us, but that did not trouble us, because we knew that the Indians when excited were very poor shots; and in our case the bullets went wide of the mark.

We were becoming so tired that the presence of the Indians was no longer a terror to us. The hill we were climbing seemed very long, so much so to me that I fell down and lay there without any inclination to move again, until Watson called my attention to the head of the column of cavalry which now came into plain view. So with renewed energy we made our way up amid showers of lead. The savages seemed loathe to let us go.

Battle of the Little Bighorn