CHAPTER IV.

BRAVE CUSTER'S LAST SHOT.

"Cannon to the right of them, Cannon to the left of them, Cannon in the front of them, Volleyed and thundered. Onward through shot and shell, Into the mouth of hell, They who had fought so well, Rode the six hundred." --_Charge of the Light Brigade._

The Crimean war may have presented its phases of reckless daring to the world, but I doubt if such a case as Custer's gallop to glory and death has been paralleled since the days of Leonidas and his deathless Spartans in the world-famed pass of Thermopylæ.

They literally rode to destruction, as may be seen when it is officially stated that not one regular soldier in the whole command lived through the battle.

After leaving the attack at the upper end of the village to Reno's case, Custer and his men struck along the route selected, at as rapid a pace as the nature of the ground permitted.

This line of travel was just beyond the crest of the high bluffs, and no doubt the leading principle that actuated the general into selecting it, was an idea that their movements might be concealed from the enemy.

In this, however, the project failed utterly, for great numbers of Indian scouts had posted themselves on the crags and their rifles kept up a continued musical refrain far from pleasant to the ears of the devoted band, more than one of whom threw up his arms and fell from his steed as the bitter lead cut home.

It was a dangerous ride, and yet in the face of this murderous fire these valiant men rode on, turning neither to the right nor the left, but keeping straight forward.

Now and then a trooper, exasperated beyond endurance by the fall of some dear comrade, would discharge his carbine at the Indians who showed themselves boldly on one side.

Owing to the rapid motion these shots were indifferently rewarded, only a few of the most expert hitting the objects of their aim.

On ordinary occasions old Pandy Ellis would have been one of the first to prove his markmanship, but something seemed to keep his attention riveted in one direction, and amidst the storm of hissing bullets, growing momentarily louder and more threatening, the prairie ranger rode as calmly as if indeed there was no danger.

But if our old friend paid little attention to this deadly discharge from all quarters, others made up for his lack of interest, and growls of dissatisfaction arose on all sides; not at their leader, but because it was almost impossible to return the fire of the enemy.

With his usual disregard for danger, Custer rode in the advance, where his form was a prominent mark for all concealed sharp-shooters; but the general, in spite of all, seemed to bear a charmed life.

He leaned forward in the saddle, and seemed to be scrutinizing some point of land, toward which his attention had been drawn by Bloody-Knife, one of his Crow scouts.

It was at this moment, after a gallop of nearly three miles after leaving Major Reno, that Custer gave a start and uttered an exclamation as a bullet grazed his flesh, making a slight but burning skin wound.

Aroused to action by this, his quick eye took in all the surroundings, and immediately the order was given to change the route.

Passing over the crown of the bluffs, the cavalry rushed down toward where the Little Big Horn ran noisily over its bed.

Indians seemed as thick as blackberries on a July day.

From every bush and rock they made their appearance, ugly-looking and determined on mischief.

All the way down to the level bank of the river men kept dropping, and with them horses, but in spite of it all the brave squad kept straight on.

Just at this moment a new form appeared among the blue coats.

Where he came from no one had the slightest idea, not even keen-eyed Pandy himself.

The first the ranger knew of it, he saw some one mounted on a white horse dash by him, and a boy dressed in the becoming suit of a hunter drew rein beside the yellow-haired chief.

Custer turned his head for the first time since changing the course of his troop, and his face expressed evident displeasure when he saw the boy.

"Mason, boy, you here?" the officer ejaculated.

The young fellow did not seem to pay any heed to the dismay that was plainly perceptible in the tones of the general.

"General," he almost shouted, putting out a hand to seize Custer's bridle, but which was impatiently put away by him, "to go forward is impossible. They are ten to your one."

"To retreat is also impossible, even if we wished it," said Custer, grimly.

It was indeed so; the command could never scale the bluffs again in the face of those defending them.

Again the boy appealed.

"General, the whole river bank is a mass of reds. It is a trap, an ambuscade. Turn back, or halt, if you value your life," he exclaimed.

Several of the officers were waiting for a reply; but Custer, firm and brave to the last, did not hesitate in his course.

He realized that a terrible error had been committed in dividing his troop; but he possessed the spirit to persist in his former plan, hoping to come out all right in the end.

His fellow officers saw the lips pressed firmly together.

Then came the one word:

"Forward!"

The foot of the bluffs was reached, and then the truth of the boy's assertion became manifest.

Another moment, and the gallant command was completely surrounded by a struggling, yelling mass of Indians, many of whom were mounted.

Then commenced the deadliest fight that has ever been known to take place on the plains.

All the attendant noises of a great battle, cannon excepted, could be found here.

The Sioux seemed crazy with both anger and delight; and many a poor fellow, struggling hard in the midst of this sea of humanity, was actually pulled from his horse into the arms of death.

There was no halt made at all.

The command kept compactly together, using their weapons as best they could, but never thinking of retreating.

On, on, was the cry; forward, the shout.

Being prevented from fording the river by the overwhelming force, Custer and his men rode along the shore.

Every second the number of opponents swelled, as those upon the heights came down upon the scene of action; and still the little band went on, trampling down and riding over those who would not get out of the way.

As a single man in a crowd is pushed hither and thither, like a feather floating on the water and at the mercy of the wind, so Custer and his command were drawn away from the river.

Everywhere was their trail marked by the dead, until it came to the slaughter-pen.

After leaving the water, the remnant of the gallant Seventh attempted to make a break out of this infuriated mass, but the tide had set in against them.

Five, ten minutes of this awful fighting, and then there came a time when retreat was utterly out of the question, much as they might have wished it. The Sioux had forced them into a ravine, and here was enacted the closing scene of the bloody drama.

Custer saw the inevitable finale; hope of a rescue there could be none, as Reno had received positive orders, and Terry and Crook were far away in different directions.

In this ravine they must die, then.

"My God!" exclaimed Custer, "we are trapped like foxes. To stay here means death. Forward, men, forward. Down with the hounds!"

Wounds counted as nothing at this dread moment; so long as a man could keep his seat, he was in good luck; it was the death bullet that told.

"My Heavens! the general's shot!" shouted a soldier close to Pandy Ellis.

Custer was reeling in his saddle; the film of death already showed itself in those clear eyes, but bracing himself, he discharged his revolver full in the face of Black Sculley, the renegade, who had given him his death-wound.

The scoundrel rolled over with a curse; Custer's last shot had done its work.

As the general fell from his saddle he was caught in the arms of the boy hunter, who had dismounted.

While the awful din raged around, and men were covering one another with blood, the soul of as gallant an officer as ever drew sword passed away to a better world.

Custer died at the head of his command.