The Last Days of George Armstrong Custer

by Thom Hatch

  Sioux chief Gall told Walter Camp that four eyewitnesses told him about a soldier who rode through the Indians on a very swift horse, which they could not catch. After the Indians chased him for about a mile or two, the soldier drew his pistol and killed himself. The pursuers were puzzled by this act because the man’s horse was faster than their horses and he was continually gaining ground away from them.

  It has been reported that Harrington had a premonition before the battle and drew a sketch that he mailed to a friend that depicted himself tied to a tree surrounded by hostile Indians. The soldier on that horse certainly could have been Harrington, racing away from his evident fear of capture.

  Stranger yet, however, is the legend of Harrington’s wife, Grace of Highland Falls, New York. Grace was said to have mysteriously vanished at some point after the battle, leaving two children behind. She was found two years later in Texas suffering from amnesia. An attack of pneumonia restored her mind, but she recalled nothing about the missing two years. Her daughter stated that the Indians told about a woman dressed in black who had been seen several times on the Little Bighorn battlefield during that two-year period, and she believed this to be her mother.

  There was one survivor of the battle who can be confirmed—Comanche, a claybank sorrel or buckskin gelding that has gone down in legend as being the only living thing found on the field following the Little Bighorn battle and has become one of the most famous horses in history.

  Comanche’s cavalry career began on April 3, 1868, when he was part of a herd of forty-one mustangs purchased by First Lieutenant Tom Custer for the army from a St. Louis trader. Upon arrival at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, for processing, which included branding of the distinctive “US” on his shoulder, Comanche was listed as five years old, stood fifteen hands, weighed 925 pounds, and was described as being a cross, 75 percent American and 25 percent Spanish.

  The horse quickly caught the attention of Captain Myles W. Keogh, commander of Company I, who was known to be an excellent judge of horseflesh. Although officers normally bought their horses from private traders rather than the army, Keogh decided that this particular horse would make an ideal second mount and purchased him for ninety dollars.

  It has been said that Comanche received his name following a skirmish with the Cheyenne on September 13, 1868, near the Cimarron River in southwestern Kansas. Keogh noted that the horse had been somewhat skittish during the brief yet furious fight but continued to perform admirably. The captain discovered upon returning to camp that the animal had been struck in the right quarter by an arrow during the encounter. The arrow shaft had broken off, leaving the flint inside, which was removed by the farrier. A soldier volunteered the information that he had witnessed the horse being struck by the arrow and he had squalled as loud as a Comanche Indian. Fittingly, Keogh named his brave horse Comanche.

  Comanche was wounded by an arrow once again in June 1870 and received an injury to his right shoulder in January 1871 while with Keogh on Reconstruction duty in Kentucky.

  From all accounts Keogh was shot off Comanche’s back during the Little Bighorn battle. The bullet was said to have passed through the forequarters of the horse and emerged to shatter Keogh’s left leg. Keogh, although severely wounded, apparently declined to shoot his horse for breastworks and may have been found near death still clutching Comanche’s reins in his hand.

  On the morning of June 27, while the remnants of Reno’s command and the Terry-Gibbon column examined the battlefield, several cavalry horses were found wandering about. Apparently First Lieutenant Henry Nowlan, who had been Keogh’s best friend, recognized Comanche and decided to save the horse. Nowlan found that Comanche had been wounded perhaps as many as seven times and was in extremely poor condition. The other horses either were too badly wounded to rescue and were shot or were simply left behind.

  Comanche, however, was transported by wagon fifteen miles to the steamship Far West, where a stall had been provided between the rudders and he was supported within by a sling. At Fort Abraham Lincoln, he was diligently nursed back to health by blacksmith Private Gustave Korn. At that time, the famous horse became a favorite for a young ladies’ riding mount—so much so that his use caused a bitter rivalry among potential riders at the fort. This problem was solved by Colonel Samuel D. Sturgis, commanding officer of the Seventh Cavalry.

  On April 10, 1878, Sturgis issued General Order No. 7, which read:

  1. The horse known as “Comanche” being the only living representative of the bloody tragedy of the Little Big Horn, Montana, June 25, 1876, his kind treatment and comfort should be a matter of special pride and solicitude on the part of the 7th Cavalry, to the end that his life may be prolonged to the utmost limit. Though wounded and scarred, his very silence speaks in terms more eloquent than words of the desperate struggle against overwhelming odds, of the hopeless conflict, and heroic manner in which all went down that day.

  2. The commanding officer of “I” troop will see that a special and comfortable stall is fitted up for Comanche. He will not be ridden by any person whatever under any circumstances, nor will he be put to any kind of work.

  3. Hereafter upon all occasions of ceremony (of mounted regimental formation), Comanche, saddled, bridled, and led by a mounted trooper of Troop I, will be paraded with the regiment.

  Thereafter, Comanche lived a life of privilege as the “2nd commanding officer” of the Seventh Cavalry. He roamed the post at will, rooting through garbage pails and begging for buckets of beer at the enlisted men’s canteen. Comanche would follow Private Korn around like a puppy, once trailing the blacksmith into town and creating a jealous ruckus on the front lawn of a home Korn was visiting. When Korn was killed in 1890 at Wounded Knee, however, Comanche became quite despondent and his health began to fail. He passed away on November 6, 1891, at age twenty-eight.

  Professor L. L. Dyke, a naturalist at the University of Kansas, volunteered to have Comanche mounted if the animal would be donated to the University Museum at Lawrence. His offer was accepted. Comanche was exhibited at the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair and then went on display at the museum. He presently stands in a humidity-controlled glass case designed to discourage souvenir hunters—including students wishing for good luck on a test—from plucking hair from him.

  There was at least one soldier singled out by the Indians for extraordinary bravery during the battle. Perhaps the most intriguing and difficult puzzle to solve with respect to the battle is the identity of this cavalryman who distinguished himself as the bravest man the Sioux ever fought.

  The controversy was ignited by an interview on February 27, 1877, in which Sioux chief Red Horse said:

  Among [the soldiers] … was an officer who rode a horse with four white feet. The Indians have fought a great many tribes of people, and very brave ones, too, but they all say that this man was the bravest man they have ever met. I don’t know whether this man was Gen. Custer or not; some say he was. I saw this man in the fight several times, but did not see his body. It is said that he was killed by a Santee, who still holds his horse. This officer wore a large-brimmed hat and a buckskin coat. He alone saved his command a number of times by turning on his horse in the rear in the retreat. In speaking of him, the Indians call him “The man who rode the horse with four white feet.” There were two men of this description, looking very much alike, both having long yellowish hair.

  From the context of Red Horse’s statement, it would seem that this action occurred during Reno’s retreat from the timber to the hilltop. Former battlefield superintendent Edward S. Luce claims that only four officers wore buckskin that day—both Custer brothers, W. W. Cooke, and Captain Myles Keogh. Author Edgar I. Stewart adds to that list Captain George Yates and First Lieutenants James Calhoun, Algernon Smith, and James E. Porter. None of those officers were members of Reno’s battalion, but they were with Custer.

  Oddly enough, in spite of the glaring discrepancies, many believe that the officer alluded to by Red Horse was Captain Thomas
French, although he was one of the first officers to reach the bluffs and could not have covered his men, apparently was not wearing buckskin, did not have long yellowish hair, and was not killed.

  It should be noted that tactics employed by Indians on the field of battle make it quite difficult to piece together one consistent story from various eyewitness accounts. Indians did not fight as an organized unit, rather once the battle commenced they were free to fight as individuals and for that reason generally had no idea regarding specific time frames, places, movements of their comrades, or an overall perspective of events.

  Although Red Horse’s statement would lead us to believe that the “bravest man” was with Reno, no one in that command comes close to fitting the description. Perhaps another officer, this one in Custer’s battalion, was actually the subject of the Indian’s admiration—as the last man to die.

  A statement by Cheyenne chief Two Moon describes this bravest man, who would have been on the Custer battlefield while the Cheyenne rode up the ridge. “We circled all around him—swirling like water around a stone. We shoot, we ride fast, we shoot again. Soldiers drop, and horses fall on them. Soldiers in line drop, but one man rides up and down the line—all the time shouting. He rode a sorrel horse with white face and white forelegs. I don’t know who he was. He was a brave man.… He wore a buckskin shirt, and had long black hair and mustache.… His men were all covered with white dust.”

  Cheyenne warrior Wooden Leg describes the last man killed: “It appeared that all of the white men were dead. But there was one of them who raised himself to a support on his left elbow.” Wooden Leg described how this man was finally killed, then: “I think he must have been the last man killed in this great battle where not one of the enemy got away. This man had a big strong body. His cheeks were plump. All over his face was a stubby black beard. His mustache was much longer than his other beard, and it was curled up at the ends.”

  Similar statements by Indian eyewitnesses have led many historians, including two excellent researchers, Edward S. Luce and Charles Kuhlman, to conclude that this brave officer was Captain Myles W. Keogh. Author Bruce A. Rosenberg also suggests that Keogh was this man, quoting a Captain Will A. Logan, who was with Gibbon’s column, as saying that an “Irish or Irish-American” officer was the last to die.

  David H. Miller, who interviewed seventy-one Indian survivors of the battle, describes the bravest man—whose white metal bars, captain’s bars, had little meaning to the Indians—in terms similar to Wooden Leg. Miller wrote: “He was the last man of Custer’s command to be killed on the ridge. This brave man may well have been Captain Myles Keogh, gallant Irish soldier of fortune, former papal guardsman and Civil War hero.”

  Of the officers wearing buckskin, those on Custer Hill—the Custer brothers, Yates, Cooke, and Smith—must be ruled out, if not for other reasons, by the location where their bodies were found on the field. The body of Porter, who was Keogh’s second-in-command, was never found. Calhoun was killed nearby, but, as was the case with Porter, he was a lieutenant, not a captain. In addition, most of the above do not fit the consensus description—the black hair and mustache in particular.

  Every description, except for the white feet of his horse, Comanche, would seem to point to Keogh as the last man to die that day. More than one eyewitness described the dust on the field, which could have coated Comanche’s sweaty forelegs and given the impression of white feet.

  Perhaps Myles Keogh was not the celebrated “bravest man the Sioux ever fought” as described by Chief Red Horse and the identity of that man will remain unknown. There does exist, however, more than enough evidence to indicate that Keogh fought with a courage that distinguished him in the eyes of his enemies and that he was probably the last man killed at the Battle of the Little Bighorn.

  Predictably, there were many people over the ensuing years who would claim to be the sole survivor of the Little Bighorn battle. Some who basked in their fifteen minutes of fame were said to have even gained financially by fleecing gullible tourists or selling their stories to ambitious Eastern journalists. Given the number of alleged survivors, it is a wonder that any bodies were found on the battlefield.

  To be fair, the Indians did relate several stories describing soldiers who rode for their lives away from the fighting, but none of these escapees has ever been identified or their freedom substantiated. A couple of sets of bones have been found some distance from the fighting, which may explain the fate of those who fled. In one case, however, a dead cavalry horse was found several weeks after the battle above the mouth of Rosebud Creek, which raised speculation that its rider had escaped—but perhaps by deserting when the column passed that point on the approach to the Valley of the Little Bighorn.

  The most famous “lone survivor” was Curly, one of Custer’s Crow Indian scouts. Curly had been released prior to the battle but may have witnessed the initial stages as he departed. He later returned to the steamship Far West and tried to tell about the fate of Custer but was not understood. For years, however, Curly encouraged researchers with several tantalizing tales of his harrowing escape that day—how he had fooled the hostiles by stripping off his clothing and fashioning his hair Sioux-style, or how he had secreted himself inside the carcass of a dead horse, or how he had crawled under a blanket and hidden in a ravine. None of the stories was true. At the tenth reunion of the battle, Curly was confronted by Sioux chief Gall, who stated that had Curly been on the field that day he would have been dead. The Crow scout did not dare to refute Gall’s assertion.

  Other alleged former members of Custer’s command who offered fanciful stories of a daring escape appeared off and on in the press around the country, but only one has been found to have even a thread of credibility. This claimant was Frank Finkel (aka Frank Hall), a resident of Dayton, Washington, who was the subject of a feature story in the Walla Walla Bulletin on March 20, 1921.

  Finkel/Hall related in the story that he had been wounded several times that day and escaped when his horse bolted. He happened upon a trapper’s cabin the following day and was nursed back to health. At that time, he reported to Fort Benton, where an officer in charge did not believe his story. Finkel/Hall soon thereafter deserted and became a farmer near St. Louis before moving to Dayton, Washington, where he lived for many years. His description of the terrain was said to have been nearly perfect, and his body did show scars from apparent bullet wounds.

  Finkel/Hall claimed that he had been a member of Tom Custer’s Company C. A check of the official muster rolls reveals a “Sergeant George August Finckle,” with Company C, born in Berlin, Germany, in 1844, who had apparently been a captain in the German army before enlisting in the Seventh Cavalry in January 1872. Sergeant Finckle was presumed to have been killed in the battle. There were two cavalrymen named Hall, Edward and John; both were with Company D and known to have survived the battle.

  Aliases were a common practice at that time and different spellings of names appeared on various documents, so it is virtually impossible to confirm or debunk the claim by Finkel/Hall. One curious note: he died in 1930 from a malignancy caused by a bullet in his side that had been received decades before—perhaps fired from an Indian rifle at the Little Bighorn battle.

  Another more recent claimant to the title of survivor is a farrier with Company L named William H. Heath, an emigrant from Staffordshire, England. His name has been listed as one of the casualties of the battle, but official records in Pennsylvania show that he was buried in Schuylkill County Cemetery on May 2, 1891—after dying of a brain tumor. It has been speculated that Heath in his capacity as a farrier may not have been with Custer’s column at all but could have been detailed to care for an injured horse or some other such duty. Heath, who had enlisted in October 1875, may have deserted, leaving behind $1.14 due him for tobacco and $15.00 for clothing. His personal effects were sold at auction in March 1877 and brought $5.

  Most of the world had not even been informed about the battle when a curious docu
ment dated July 4, 1876, surfaced. This petition had been allegedly signed by 235 or 236 of the Seventh Cavalry survivors of the Little Bighorn—accounts vary but approximately 80 percent of the survivors of Reno’s and Benteen’s commands were said to have signed.

  This document was sent “To His Excellency the President and the Honorable Representatives of the United States.”

  The text read:

  We, the enlisted men the survivors of the battle of the Heights of Little Big Horn River, on the 25th and 26th of June 1876, of the 7th Regiment of Cavalry who subscribe our names to this petition, most earnestly solicit the President and Representatives of our Country, that the vacancies among the Commissioned Officers of our Regiment, made by the slaughter of our brave, now heroic, now lamented Lieutenant Colonel George A. Custer, and the other noble dead Commissioned Officers of our Regiment who fell close by him on the bloody field, daring the savage demons to the last, be filled by the Officers of the Regiment only.

  That Maj. M. A. Reno, be our Lieutenant Colonel vice Custer, killed; Captain F. W. Benteen our Major vice Reno, promoted.

  The other vacancies to be filled by officers of the Regiment by seniority.

  Your petitioners know this to be contrary to the established rule of promotion, but prayerfully solicit a deviation from the usual rule in this case, as it will be conferring a bravely fought for and justly merited promotion on officers who by their bravery, coolness, and decision on the 25th and 26th of June 1876, saved the lives of every man now living of the 7th Cavalry who participated in the battle, one of the most bloody on record and one that would have ended with the loss of life of every officer and enlisted man on the field only for the position taken by Major Reno, which we held with bitter tenacity against fearful odds to the last.