Casca 46: The Cavalryman

by Tony Roberts

  The following morning the missing man was looked for and finally discovered, a grisly mess. It caused a lot of consternation and questions were hurriedly asked, but as they had to move on, Reno ordered the men to move off. Stoneleigh’s remains were wrapped in a canvas and put onto one of the mules and then they set off for the main force back up towards the Yellowstone.

  They finally rejoined Terry’s force near the mouth of another watercourse, the Tongue, and when they got there, there was big news.

  Crook had been checked at the Rosebud by a large force, only the preceding day. The recon force had narrowly missed a pitched battle.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Another rest, one which was gratefully accepted. Casey sighed in relief and dismounted stiffly. The army was strung out all over the countryside, men lost in the darkness. It was around two in the morning. McFaddean patted his mount and unfastened the saddle. “About damned time,” he said with feeling. “I’ve just about reached my limit.”

  “You and me both,” Casey agreed. He stared out in the inky darkness but could see precious little. They were somewhere up Davis Creek, close to the Little Big Horn. Custer had pushed them hard these past two days.

  They all knew that Custer had been sent south as one of two pincers designed to trap the hostiles. Terry and Gibbon would move in from the north and between the two of them crush all opposition.

  They got out their bed rolls and blankets. They slept with their carbines, ready for action at a moment’s notice. The fact they were extremely close to a huge Indian force wasn’t in doubt; the size of the cropped grassy area they had found early that morning had told everyone that much. A pony herd that had cropped that much would have been staggering in number.

  “Wonder where they are,” Travers muttered, as if afraid to speak too loud lest he be overheard by the natives.

  “Not far away,” Musson said. “I can sense them.”

  “When you smell them you’ll know you’re close enough,” McFaddean quipped.

  “Makes a change from smelling you, in that case!” Travers added.

  “Shut up,” McFaddean said, then settled down to sleep.

  Casey couldn’t sleep; he was too restless, and after tossing and turning a few times, he muttered an expletive and got up, making his way by the faint light of the stars and the few lights of the camp to the edge of the column where he crouched and peered out into the dark. He had been around too long to not know something was going to happen the coming day. He could feel it in his bones. A battle, something.

  He had an odd sensation in his guts. They were faced with a massive enemy, and Custer seemed incredibly confident that he would prevail the coming day. Orders had been issued down the chain of command and Sergeant Kenny had told the group that they had to prepare for an assault. All very well, he thought to himself, but that depended on Terry and Gibbon being close enough coming from the other direction to trap the Sioux and Cheyenne between them.

  He idly ran his finger in the dust. If they had better weaponry then that wouldn’t be a problem if they ended up on their own, but the natives had guns like they had, and they also had bows and tomahawks. If they got in close then it would be mayhem. The cavalry’s only hope was to keep the enemy at distance and pick them off.

  He got to his feet and shivered. Time to get some shut-eye, if he could. Didn’t want to go into battle with eyes like piss-holes in the snow.

  He got a couple of hours sleep but they were up at five. Travers had the chow cooking over the re-stoked fire and dished up some beans. “Smoke on the horizon,” he nodded over to the west. “Could be their camp.”

  The others craned their necks and a buzz of excitement went up. They had no Gatlings with them, as Custer had decided they slowed them down too much, and the pack train was sufficient for his needs. So they were ready to move off quickly once the order came. Casey saw Custer standing at the lip of the rise just off to the right of where he was, surrounded by his fellow officers, and they discussed the smoke.

  Sergeant Kenny soon brought them up to date. “We’re going to be in Custer’s right wing,” he said to the company. “The plan is for Major Reno to take the center with three companies, Captain Benteen the left with three more and the remaining five on the right. We’re doubled up with E Company under Captain Yates as one wing on the right and Captain Keogh has the other three. Both these wings are under Custer’s command. B Company is staying behind with the pack train – we’re all going to be off at the double when they work out where we gotta go, so all of you make sure you got everything. We might be up and off at a second’s notice.”

  The terrain was hilly and steep, so there wasn’t much scope to spread out at that moment. “I hear Custer thinks most of the hostiles are non-coms,” McFaddean declared, taking a swill of water. “Doubts there’s a lot of warriors to face. We ought to be able to take a whole load of ponies if that’s true.”

  “We’ll see,” Casey said. He personally believed there were more braves to face than some were thinking. He made sure he had plenty of ammunition on him. He had a distinct feeling he was going to need it that day. One order Custer had passed around was that their sabers were to be boxed. Not a sensible move, Casey thought, but there was nothing he or anyone else could do about that. Orders were orders.

  They set off in their wings. Riding behind Reno’s wing towards the rear, they made their way up towards a high ridge that separated two valleys. The one on the other side was the Little Big Horn.

  “Look,” Musson pointed off just to the left of their route. A few natives were visible on the skyline, and even as they watched, the seven figures dropped away out of sight. The men exchanged glances. Any element of surprise had now been lost. They stopped on the highest point and once again the officers scoured the way ahead through glasses. “Amazing they’re still out of sight, isn’t it?” Travers commented. “You would have thought up here we could see something!”

  “Those ridges down there could hide a whole army and we’d never know it,” Casey nodded at the series of folds in the hills as it dropped down to the valley. Creeks cut through the terrain, forming small ridges that crossed their intended route.

  “Where the hell are they?” McFaddean muttered.

  “I think if we continue down, then we will soon find them,” Musson said gloomily.

  “Don’t sound so pessimistic, Musson,” Travers said. “Anyone would think you don’t want to get into a fight!”

  “Same thing happened at Sedan,” Musson grumbled. “We were well and truly fucked there. Surrounded and shut into a trap. One good thing about that, though, which is something we won’t have here.”

  “And what’s that?” Travers asked.

  “The Prussians took us prisoner. I don’t think these people do that, do they?”

  “Uh, nope,” Casey said. “If they surround us, we either have to hold them off or we get slaughtered to a man.”

  With that comforting thought, they set off once more. Benteen’s three companies rode off to the left to scout and cover the main body’s line of march. Major Reno went on ahead, descending into a valley with a creek running along it. Custer’s group came behind and slightly to the right but they couldn’t ride wide because of the steep slopes. The land was too restrictive.

  “Heard someone say there was a lone tepee up ahead,” McFaddean announced suddenly. “Think we’re heading for it.”

  “Odd,” Casey replied, “why the one? What is it doing up there on its own?”

  “Who cares?” Travers shrugged. “Maybe it’s a squaw giving birth?”

  Some of the others chuckled. They continued along the creek, Reno’s group on the left and Custer’s on the right, and they soon came to a swampy area and halted to water the horses. The day was warming up and dust was becoming a problem. All those horses in close proximity were kicking up a lot of it.

  They set off again. Casey wiped his face. The combination of sweat and dust was making things uncomfortable, and he was beginning
to worry about the narrow confines of the creek they were riding down. Ahead, scouts had gotten to the single tepee and waited. The main column now converged on the same side of the creek. Casey got more concerned. If any ambush was sprung now, they’d be, in the words of that French general at Sedan, in the chamber pot.

  They all slowed at the tepee. A single dead Indian lay inside. He’d been shot. Then suddenly someone shouted out in excitement. Ahead, a few miles away, were a number of hostiles, making their way down towards the river and woodland standing close to the banks. Custer galloped to the head of the column and smiled. This was what he had been looking for! “Come on!” he turned to the waiting men, “there’s the hostiles. Ride after them!”

  As one, the column surged forward, pursuing the distant band. Casey glanced at his comrades. They were all excited – this is what they had signed up for. The Eternal Mercenary wasn’t convinced. A hundred or so couldn’t have made the huge number of tracks they had been following, nor had ownership of the thousand or more ponies that had cropped all that grass up in the hills.

  It was clear they weren’t going to catch the fleeing natives before they got into cover on the other side of the river. Reno’s command were sent on ahead, while Casey and his comrades went with Custer off to the right uphill. There was no sign of Benteen’s command. Casey got more and more concerned about how things were going.

  “What do you think?” he asked Musson, riding alongside.

  The Frenchman was looking more and more morose as they went on. “Shit,” he said briefly. “Benteen is supposed to be with us, but he is not here. We are still riding with our heads up our behinds – our scouts should be doing a better job!”

  “Maybe they’re looking in the wrong direction.” Casey took a good look around. To his left, down towards the valley, he could see Reno’s men pursuing the fleeing natives towards the river and woodland growing thickly along the banks. Up ahead the land rose in a series of folds, hiding plenty of ground. It was bare of vegetation, steep and stony. Nothing stirred there. He saw the scouts up ahead, much more easily visible now that only Custer’s wing was present. There were around two hundred and fifty men and horses moving along in two columns. The scouts were hesitating, clearly unhappy about what they thought lay ahead.

  The wing moved on along the path of the creek, and turned north along a fork. Yet again they stopped to water their horses. The men were getting restless. “Was that a shot?” Travers asked suddenly, turning to the left.

  “Yeah,” McFaddean said slowly, “and another!”

  A whole rattle of shots came to them, distorted by the distance and carried to them on the wind. It seemed a disciplined rate of fire. “Army. That’s Reno’s battalion,” Sergeant Kenny said, nodding slowly.

  The shooting faded. Custer, peering across the valley, was talking to a sergeant, dictating a message. The sergeant saluted and rode off. Custer motioned to his captains to continue along the ridge. They mounted up and carried on north, keeping to the steep bluffs. “Where the hell are we going?” Travers asked from behind Casey. “The fight’s back there, if those shots are anything to go by!”

  The others nodded. Up they went, slowly gaining height. A rider came galloping up from behind and hailed Custer. “Uh-oh,” Casey said, “trouble. That rider looked in a hurry. Bet he’s got news from Reno.”

  The shooting was almost continuous now, the discharges coming to them from a long way off. They watched as Custer and his inner circle rode to the edge of the bluffs and peered into the valley. Within moments another rider was galloping off, thundering off back the way they had come. Casey and his men looked at each other. There was tension now amongst the soldiers. Something was going on and they were still not part of it.

  “This is dumb,” Travers said, leaning towards Casey and Musson. “Benteen’s off gotten lost or something, Reno’s down in the valley shooting like all hell’s broke loose, we’re up here like a bunch of sightseers and who knows where Terry and Gibbon are! Custer’s fucked up, taking on all these Indians alone!”

  The order came to continue along the bluff, high above the Little Big Horn, and they came to the top of the climb, where a trail led down to the valley.

  They all sat in the saddle and gaped at the sight of tepee after tepee sprawled out across the land ahead of them across the river. It was enormous. Smoke drifted up to the left of this, half hidden by the rises in the land. The sound of shooting was coming from that direction.

  Casey knew at that moment they had bitten off more than they could chew.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sergeant Kenny came riding up to the troop. “Get ready you lot,” he growled. “Orders are to proceed on down the trail, that Coulee there, and find a ford to cross. Word is Major Reno is in trouble and we need to ride to his assistance.”

  “All of us, Sarge?” Casey asked, seeing E and F companies preparing to move but not the rest of the command.

  “Nope, just the two companies. Be prepared for a fight. Let’s go!” They followed Custer himself and Captain Yates, riding down the coulee, a steep-sided ravine that wriggled down towards the valley. A few mounted Indians could be seen, galloping away from the approach of the eighty or so soldiers. As they reached the bottom, Captain Yates snapped out more orders. Casey and his company were ordered to support E Company, and so they took up a position about five hundred yards from the river up on the steep slope that climbed away from the Little Big Horn.

  They were ordered to form skirmish line, so they dismounted and loaded up. Across the river the few natives who rode back and forth were slowly reinforced. Casey watched as the women and children retreated into the distance. The main reason for them being sent down was now gone. They couldn’t cross the river as the dozen or so warriors opposing them were keeping up a harassing fire, and two of E Company had been hit right at the water’s edge.

  “Can’t get across here,” Casey muttered to Musson. “The battle’s moving away, too,” he said, looking off to the left. The sounds of shots had diminished in frequency and sounded much further away. “You think Reno’s been driven back?”

  “Possible,” Musson conceded, “or he’s been overrun. In which case we’re next.”

  Casey nodded in agreement. “Come on, Custer, get us out of here.” His words could only be heard by those immediately to his left and right, but those that heard them concurred wholeheartedly. To Casey it looked as if the Lieutenant Colonel was looking for the women, hoping to take them captive, thus forcing the warriors to give up. He scanned the land across the river with his glasses.

  The order came down the line to ready for volley fire. The natives were growing bolder and increasing on numbers, riding in from the left, from the direction of the shooting. That was a bad sign and Casey grew even more grim-faced. His years of battle experience was telling him everything was going to hell yet the commanders seemed far too slow to grasp this. Maybe they hadn’t been faced with this situation before.

  They blasted off a few volleys but it achieved little. Finally they were given the order to mount up and move back up the hill. “About damned time!” Musson said with feeling.

  Casey got into the saddle, but he saw the Indians begin to cross as they retreated. They were going to be pursued no matter where they went. “Fucking mess,” he grumbled. The new route was across the steep coulee beyond their position, down one side, then up the other, encouraging their steeds to climb hard onto the ground above the coulee. E Company were to their left, lower down, exchanging shots with the encroaching natives. A new group under a chief came riding over the river to join the pursuit.

  The soldiers now had to form a skirmish line to keep the advancing enemy at a distance. Some of the troopers shouted in frustration that they couldn’t hit the rapidly moving Indians, riding back and forth, loosing off a shot here and there. Casey knew just how hard it was to hit one, let alone kill. They just had to somehow keep the natives from getting close in. If they got at the troopers, that would be it.

/>   Progress was hazardous but they kept on going; E Company further down the hill were in more danger, but Casey and his comrades gave them enough support fire to allow them to keep up with F Company. Custer led them on up the ridge, then after ten minutes of riding up the slope and across it, angling away from the river, they met up with the other companies close to a grassy hill.

  Casey looked from the east, off to his right, around behind him, then turned the other way and scanned the left. Ahead, to the north, there was nothing visible. From the south he could see groups of Indians making their way up the deep coulee towards the other side of the hill, and to the west, in the direction of the river, more were spreading out and advancing, shooting as they came.

  “For Christ’s sake,” Casey said in an undertone, “get us out of here now!”

  Custer, though, was not thinking of retreat. Sergeant Kenny came over, riding from the side of Captain Yates. “Companies E and F are to scout to the north and north-west,” he said, his face strained. “The Colonel wants to see if there is a crossing further along so we can capture their womenfolk.”

  “God, Sarge, we’ve no time for that!” Casey complained, throwing an arm out wide to the south. “We’ve got the entire Sioux and Cheyenne nations coming for us! They’ve clearly seen off Reno, Benteen’s nowhere in sight and Terry’s not going to be here any time soon.”

  “Soldier, Captain Benteen is on his way. Orders have gone out to him to make his way to us double quick.”

  Casey glanced to the east. Shooting could be heard coming from that direction now. “Sounds as if he’s going to have to fight his way here. We’re out on a limb, Sarge.”

  “Orders are orders,” Kenny snapped. “Now move it!” he pointed angrily at the Eternal Mercenary.

  Grumbling, Casey pulled his horse round in line with the others who were obediently following the captain across the grassy ridge. Another hill stood ahead of them, and they rode at a canter, with more shots beginning to rattle out behind and to their left. As they passed the second hill, shooting erupted from behind. Casey looked sharply at his companions. “That’s Calhoun back at the hill. They’re the front line.”