Crazy Horse and Custer: The Parallel Lives of Two American Warriors (32 page)

Of course, he never saw it that way. To lead men in combat in the manner Custer did, he had to be able to ignore the horrors of war, and he did. Custer’s eyes were blind to the field hospitals after a battle, with their stacks of amputated arms and legs. All he saw were the backs of his retreating enemies, never the dead cavalrymen lying around him.

Custer wallowed in romanticism. As with so many nineteenth-century romantics, he was unmoved by the deaths of thousands but tremendously affected by the suffering of one. During the Wilderness campaign he wrote Libbie: “One of my men of the 5th Mich. was shot in the heart by a sharp-shooter, and fell in a position as still
exposed to enemy fire. He was even then in the death-struggle, but I could not bear the thought of his being struck again, so rushed forward, and picking him up, bore him to a place of safety. As I turned a sharp-shooter fired at me—the ball glanced, stunning me for a few moments.”
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In the fall of 1863, after a cavalry skirmish on the Rappahannock River (which Custer with his usual enthusiasm pronounced “the greatest cavalry battle ever witnessed on this continent”), Custer wrote home: “Oh, could you but have seen some of the charges that were made! While thinking of them I cannot but exclaim ‘Glorious War!’”
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It
was
a “glorious war” for Custer, but what of his men? How did he get them to follow him into the teeth of Confederate artillery or on a charge against rebel infantry lined up behind a stone wall? It is a crucial question, for nowhere is the contrast between white man and red more marked than in this area. White soldiers followed their leaders into near-certain death, something Indian warriors would never do. Indeed, it might almost be said that a major distinction between civilization and savagery is that the civilized give far more power (and fame) to their leaders than the savage would even dream possible. Civilized men obey their leaders, while savages do not. Discipline is what makes an army—and civilization.

Custer’s men were disciplined, of course. Still, it seems incredible that he could get thousands of Michigan boys to follow him in a charge against an obviously impregnable position. But they did. One reason was that Custer identified with his men. He praised them at every opportunity, always in the grandiloquent style of the age and with the added ingredient of Custer’s own enthusiasm. He and his staff worked hard at getting top-quality horses and arms for the men and saw to it that they were well fed and quartered whenever possible. Further, both with his brigade and his division, Custer created an atmosphere of closeness, even uniqueness, in a conscious attempt to make his outfits into one big happy family. In October 1863, after returning to his brigade following a leave, Custer wrote home, “I feel that here, surrounded by my little band of heroes, I am loved and respected.”
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If Custer was the head of the family, his staff was the wife, taking care of the details of housekeeping. He picked his staff carefully, for he wanted a happy, close-knit group around his headquarters. He had begun by persuading General Pleasonton to give him Lieutenant Yates, his Monroe friend, as an aide, and for the next dozen years, Yates would serve on his staff. For adjutant, Custer got Nettie
Humphrey’s suitor, Lieutenant Jacob Greene. For inspector general, quartermaster, commissary officer, ordnance officer, ambulance officer, and the other posts on his staff, Custer picked men of proven competence who also happened to be friends. They all admired Custer enormously, although none quite so extravagantly as Chaplain Theodore Holmes, who told Custer in March 1865, “I cannot express my gratefulness to the Almighty that He should have made you such a General and such a man.”
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Custer’s favorite aide was his younger brother Tom, who had enlisted as a private in 1864 and quickly received a commission, thanks to his older brother’s influence. Tom joined his brother’s staff in November 1864. Nepotism was common in the Union Army; General Philip Sheridan’s brother served on his staff, Lincoln’s son was on Grant’s staff, and so on. Tom did not have a cushy job. Although when they were alone the two Custer officers tussled like the youths they were, in public they maintained a stiff formality. And, as Tom put it, “If anyone thinks it is a soft thing to be a commanding officer’s brother he misses his guess.”
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Tom idolized his older brother and emulated him in all things, most especially in risk taking. Custer described Tom’s heroism at one of the battles in the Appomattox campaign: “Tom led the assault upon the enemy’s breastworks, mounted, was first to leap his horse over the works on top of the enemy while they were pouring a volley of musketry into our ranks. Tom seized the rebel colors and demanded their surrender. The colorbearer shot him through face and neck, intending to shoot him through the head. So close the muzzle Tom’s face was spotted with burnt powder. He retained the colors with one hand, while with the other he drew his revolver and shot the rebel dead. … With blood pouring from his wound he asked that someone might take the flag while he continued with the assaulting column.” Custer had to put Tom under arrest in order to get him to go to the rear and see a surgeon. For his actions that day, Tom Custer received the Congressional Medal of Honor. Custer remarked that it was Tom, not he, who should be the commanding general.
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Custer’s household staff also consisted of Custer worshipers. To do the cooking, he hired a runaway slave named Eliza, who said that she “jined up with the Ginnel” to try “this freedom business.” A cadaverous waif named Johnnie Cisco, who had adopted Custer with the prescience of a stray dog, helped care for his horses and did errands. The drummer boy Joseph Fought deserted his outfit at every opportunity to be with Custer. In addition, Custer surrounded himself
with dogs, goats, a pet squirrel, and a raccoon that slept with him at night, the animal’s head on the pillow next to Custer. To complete his happiness, Libbie lived with him whenever he was in permanent camp, and she added to the atmosphere around headquarters. When Tom Custer joined the staff, Libbie wrote a friend that “he adds much to our family circle—for as such I consider the staff.”
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Tom gave Libbie a second nickname. After a raid in the Shenandoah Valley, Custer and Tom returned to camp brimming with funny stories, of which the best was about a Dutchman who refused to allow the Union soldiers to use his house for a field headquarters, because “the Old Lady was agin it.” From then on, Tom and Custer started calling Libbie their “Old Lady,” especially whenever she disapproved of something they wanted to do. The name stuck for the rest of her married life, and Libbie always claimed to enjoy it.
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Custer’s hand-picked and molded staff was an important factor in his successful leadership, but there was more involved in his rise to fame. His own flamboyance helped his men identify with him. He dressed and acted in such a way as to make certain that he stood out from the crowd, that he would always be the center of attention. Most enlisted men respond positively to the eccentric commander (if he is professionally competent and fair with them) and Custer’s were no exception. Joseph Fought described Custer’s uniform: “He wore a velveteen jacket with five gold loops on each sleeve, and a sailor shirt with a very large collar. … The shirt was dark blue, and with it he wore a conspicuous red tie—top boots, a soft hat, Confederate, that he had picked up on the field, and his hair was long and in curls almost to his shoulders.”
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The bright red tie turned out to be the best touch of all. First the staff, then the field officers, and finally the enlisted men all took to wearing red neckerchiefs around their necks, and the red tie became the proud distinguishing mark of the 3rd Cavalry Division.

A Michigan captain who met Custer for the first time at Gettysburg was surprised by the general’s extreme youth, his blue eyes, girlish complexion, and the curls on his shoulders. Noticing Custer’s brilliant red tie, dashing black hat with a gold star pinning up the right side, and gold spurs on high-topped boots, the captain thought Custer must be a courier or an aide, surely not a commanding general.
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In combat Custer was an inspiring sight. Usually out front deliberately exposing himself to enemy fire, and always at the head of the column when engaged in a saber charge, waving his hat, pointing
with his sword toward the enemy, shouting encouragement to the men, he was as close to being the perfect cavalryman as the Civil War produced. Monaghan describes Custer on the march: “Surrounded by his red-necktied staff, Armstrong trotted along the road, restless as a game animal, popping his whip on his boot, whistling a tune to the accompanying band, his sharp nose turning watchfully from side to side with quick jerks that flipped his long hair.”
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In that romantic age, who could help but love him?

Confederate Major General Joseph B. Kershaw, who fought against Custer at Appomattox, told of meeting Custer on the last day of the war: “The sun had gone down, peaceful evening settled on the scene of recently contending armies, when a cavalcade rode up briskly. A spare, lithe, sinewy figure; bright, dark, quick-moving blue eyes; florid complexion, light, wavy curls, high cheek-bones, firm-set teeth—a jaunty close-fitting cavalry jacket, large top-boots, Spanish spurs, golden aiguillettes, a serviceable sabre … a quick nervous movement, an air telling of the habit of command—announced the redoubtable Custer.”
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Custer backed his appearance with performance. He embraced the time-honored advice to all combat leaders: never send your men to do something you wouldn’t do yourself. To begin with, Custer always rode with his men. In camp he lived like a king, but on a raid or campaign he ate what the enlisted men ate, slept less than they did, and pushed himself harder. In March 1865 he told Libbie about one experience: “Last night I slept on the ground by the roadside, the rain coming down in torrents, our wagons several miles in the rear. Nothing to eat since daylight. My only protection was the fine rubber poncho given me by Captain Lyon. For pillow I had a stick laid across two parallel rails. Before I got the rails I slept a little, then woke to find myself in a puddle about two inches deep. Later I slept soundly. When the wagons came and I told Eliza about it she said, ‘Oh, I ’spect you wanted Miss Libbie with you … and she just as willing, and she’d have said, “Oh, isn’t this nice!”’”
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In the Union Army, Custer’s endurance was legendary. One observer wrote, “On the eve of the surrender … in one of those last strenuous days I came upon General Custer, sitting on a log, upright, a cup of coffee in his hand, sound asleep.”
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Custer’s bravery was equally legendary and a source of pride and inspiration for his men. At Gettysburg he attacked a division with a squadron, without reconnaissance. “I’ll lead you, boys,” Custer called out as soon as he spied the huge enemy force blocking his path. “Come on!” The charge utterly failed, but he was cited for
gallantry.
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On the third day at Gettysburg, Custer rode to the head of his brigade. “Come on, you Wolverines!” he shouted, his voice clear and defiant as a bugle. Those who fought behind Custer testify to the magic of that call. He rode four lengths ahead of his men and headed straight for the enemy, under Major General Wade Hampton, who was simultaneously charging the Union lines with his division. An officer far off to one side heard the two lines meet. The sound reminded him of the roaring crash when a woodsman felled a great tree. In leading the charge, Custer was disobeying a direct order (a practice that would soon become a habit), and he left dead Michigan boys everywhere, but he was pleased. “I challenge the annals of warfare to produce a more brilliant or successful charge of a cavalry,” he wrote in his report on the engagement.
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At Brandy Station in the fall of 1863, Custer was surrounded (he was also surprised on three occasions and surrounded on two others). Riding ahead of the 5th Michigan, deployed in columns of squadrons, Custer stood up in his stirrups and shouted, “Boys of Michigan. There are some people between
us
and home: I’m going home, who else goes?” He ordered the band to strike up “Yankee Doodle” (Custer had the band with him always; it played stirring marches for his charges). Tossing his hat aside with a dramatic gesture, he drew his sword and rode back and forth at the head of the regiment, mad with battle ecstasy. “You should have heard the cheers they sent up,” Custer wrote. “I gave the command ‘Forward!’ And I never expect to see a prettier sight. I frequently turned in my saddle to see the glittering sabers advance in the sunlight … After advancing a short distance I gave the word ‘Charge!’—and away we went, whooping and yelling like so many demons.”
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Sad to relate, the charge was not a model of cavalry in action. An unseen ditch caused horses and men to pile up in an impossible mêlée. Custer lost his horse, then another; finally he got the men re-formed and managed to cut his way through to safety.
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On May 11, 1864, at Yellow Tavern, Custer’s men were getting pounded by Jeb Stuart’s artillery. Custer dashed over to Major General Wesley Merritt, a fellow West Pointer who commanded the division Custer then served in. “Merritt,” Custer said, “I’m going to charge that battery.”

“Go in, General,” Merritt responded. “I will give you all the support in my power.”

Just then the two young generals saw Phil Sheridan riding up (Sheridan had replaced Pleasonton as head of the Cavalry Corps after Grant took command in March 1864). Custer hurried off to
start the action while Sheridan was watching but before Sheridan could countermand the order to charge. At the head of eighteen hundred cavalrymen, their red neckties bright in the sun, with the band playing “Yankee Doodle,” Custer galloped into the Confederate lines, then through their defensive works, onto their artillery. His brigade captured two guns and a hundred prisoners; best of all, Jeb Stuart had been mortally wounded and Sheridan had seen the whole thing. He sent his congratulations to Custer and soon thereafter made Custer a major general, with a division to command.
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