Tag Archives: 7th cavalry

Do You See Me

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Crow rider impressing the 7th cavalry with his riding skill

The parade of the troopers showed their massed formation with each cavalry member dressed in their best uniforms, and carrying their newest weapons and using their military bearing to its best advantage. They wanted to appear to be invincible to the tribes who didn’t utilize this type of concentrated warfare.

There were times before the situation between the tribes and the whites became too adversarial that the two soon to be warring parties had contact. When this happened it was an occasion for them to impress each other with their strength and abilities, and especially their power.

The Indians on the other hand fought a more individual style of warfare with warriors banding together in large or small groups, but with each individual having his own style of riding and fighting, and they used their body paint as both a protection and a warning to all seeing them how powerful they were. Taunting their enemies with war cries and declarations of their strength and bravery were common even if they didn’t understand each other’s language.

The rider above is showing his prowess by his horsemanship and daring with his riding skill while calling out his challenge to the troopers watching him. “Do you see me? I am not afraid of your bullets. I welcome meeting you in Battle”. There was no fighting this day but it wasn’t long before each side would test their style of combat for better or worse.

Tethered

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Scene from the reenactment of the Battle of the Little Bighorn

Night was just beginning to fall. The sun was at the edge of the land casting its golden light horizontally across the prairie lighting up one side of everything in sight. In moments it will have dropped behind the low hills and darkness would take over for its share of the daily cycle. Calm was setting in and there were the final sounds of the day shutting down. A tethered horse knickered nearby. The muffled sounds of people getting their fires going in preparation for fixing supper. The constant background sound of the Little Bighorn river gently flowing past. Soon everyone will have completed their chores, checking on their stock, making certain things were buttoned up and secure. There was just enough time to wander the edges of the camp and take a few pictures. It was the end of a very good day.

The setting was the final night of the reenactment of the Battle of the Little Bighorn at the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument near Crow Agency, Montana. Every year reenactors recreate the battle using people from the Crow tribe and groups like the 7th Cavalry reenactors and others to replay the battle that never changes. It is a spectacular event with Indians riding bareback amid the swirling dust, horse herds being run thru the viewing areas, the 7th cavalry drilling in formation, or fighting for their lives in the battle.

Even though the battle reoccurs each day of the event, it is an incredible display of emotion and historical accuracy, at least as much as it can be without the loss of life, on the very ground the original battle took place or as close to it as possible. The actual place where Custer and the men of the 7th fell is in the National monument itself. However the reenactment takes place literally yards from the edge of monument. Passions run high as all participants get in the spirit of the reenactment. Then at the end of day things quietly revert back to present day and the time travel is finished for the day.

Tethered is an image taken at just that perfect moment between the ending of the light of the Golden hour and the coming night. The image of course has been photoshopped and presented in its new form without apology for its reinterpretation, showing how memories can be presented as fine art and also as my personal connection and interpretation of the Battle of the Little Bighorn. After all an image is just an image regardless of how it came to be created and once created becomes art in its final form. And as always art is in the eye of the beholder.

Into The Storm

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It was the usual warm day up in Montana that early morning of June 25th. The sun was out, bringing a sky so blue it hurt to look at it. A few big, bulging clouds made their towering way across the sky, like huge slow moving dreadnoughts under all the sail they had, billowing and straining, moving majestically from West to East.

The scuttlebut was that today was the day. Something big was going to happen and the tension was so thick it made the hair stand up on your arms. The enemy was close and everything felt like it was going to bust loose any second.

Like happens every day in Montana the weather changed. The slow moving clouds so white and pure the moment before began to turn into that dark ominous grayish black underbelly that foretold a storm was coming. A big one from the looks of it. Thunder and the occasional lightning strike was seen and heard across the low rolling hills to the West. That and the electricity of the moment had the horses on the picket lines spooked as the wind picked up.

Suddenly all hell broke loose as the advance group of troopers already mounted and riding along the picket lines, the bugler sounding “To Horse, to horse” on his bugle, let everyone know this is it, mount up. They were about to ride into the storm.

Ghost Child

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The battle at the Little Bighorn was a tremendous victory for the gathered tribes against the white soldiers of the United States Western Frontier Army entering their hallowed ground. There had been many smaller engagements between the two adversaries with the Indians normally realizing small victories if any. This time it was different. The overwhelming number of warriors engaged the soldiers and took the victory in fairly short order, handing a defeat to the cavalry unlike any they had ever seen before.

The number of the soldiers of the 7th cavalry killed in the battle at the Little Bighorn river is placed at approximately 260 killed and buried in place where they fell. The number of Indians that were also killed is not exactly known although they were far, far less than their adversaries numbering perhaps in the dozens if that many. Most if not all of the bodies of the slain warriors were removed from the field of battle immediately after the fight was over and taken back to the camp and their families.

The battlefield became a quiet eerie place where the only sounds were the rushing of the wind through the tall Montana grass where the dead had lain and the occasional call of a raven flying overhead. The gunshots, battle cries and the screaming of the victors over the moaning of those still alive after it was over were long gone. Silence reigned supreme over the Greasy Grass. It became a place where the spirits wandered over the low hills and along the riverside. It was a place of big medicine.

As time passed there were the occasional reports of things that couldn’t be explained occurring. A shadowy figure riding slowly in the near dark of impending dusk. The sound of hooves breaking the surface of the gently moving river. A pale rider just visible in the light of a full moon as he crossed slowly from one bank to another. It is unknown whether the young rider was a participant in the battle, becoming a casualty, or simply a dream produced by the medicine of the battle. In any case if you happened to be there now on that long ago battlefield, and by chance stayed until the river was illuminated by the light of a full moon, you might see the ghost child riding on his endless vigil. Remember there is big medicine there. And there are things that cannot be explained.

Half Yellow Face

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Half Yellow Face  (or Ischu Shi Dish in the Crow language), (1830? to 1879?) was a distinguished Crow Warrior who is probably best known for his role as one of the six Crow scouts serving with General George Armstrong Custer and the 7th Cavalry during the Battle of The Little Bighorn. He was attached to Major Reno’s force and thus survived the battle. Due to an earlier death than the other five remaining scouts, White Swan, White Man Runs Him, Hairy Moccasin, Goes Ahead, and Curly, he is the least known member of the Scouts even though he was a “pipe-carrier” and believed to be the leader of the scouts due to his prestige, experience, and age. He led a fascinating life and if you consult Wikipedia and search for Half Yellow Face you will find an extensive history and links to other sources of information describing him and his life.

The photographic image above is of a modern Crow warrior wearing the regalia of Half Yellow Face at the gathering of the Crow tribe called Crow Fair. It has been enhanced to show the power, mystery and honor that is still attributed to this hero of the Crow tribe to this day.

Misses His Friends

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Young men and war. How glorious it is. Sitting around the campfire, hearing the elders talk about battles they had when they were young warriors. Riding out across the prairie with a comrade and speaking of brave deeds you would do if given a chance. Scalps you would take, coup you would count, enemies dying on your lance or from your arrows. The excitement, the stories to bring back to the lodge of your prowess in battle, the admiring glances of the young maidens. All this and more if you can only get into the next fight. How agonizing not to have participated yet and be a respected warrior.

Then it happens. You get your opportunity to wage war with your sworn enemy. In this case it is the blue coats that have been relentlessly entering your land, running off the game, killing anyone they see. They’re coming and it will be a big battle, the biggest anyone has ever seen. The biggest in the memory of even the oldest old man in the village. Bigger even than the old mans grandfather could have remembered were you able to ask him. All the tribes are joining together to take part in this exciting, exhilarating, awful, incredible magnificent event. The medicine men have been singing of visions they have had where the Greasy grass is covered with the dead, the women going from body to body making sure no one is alive. Guns, rifles, and pistols laying about for the taking. Reputations made, brave acts to sing about for generations. And you and your friends will play a part. You will  be the relentless, merciless warrior and be victorious in this battle just as you have dreamed of since you  were a child.

 And then after a time filled with smoke and war cries, violence and death it is over. The Greasy grass is indeed covered with the dead just as foreseen by the visionaries and the spoils of war have been collected and it’s time for feasts and celebrations, and dancing and story telling, and a time to come down from that glorious battle high and look around you for your friends. That’s when you find that several of them are not at the celebration and never will be again. They’re among the dead laying in the Greasy grass. Killed by the enemy you were victorious over.

Suddenly in the aftermath of what was your greatest adventure you see that those friends that you rode with and boasted with and fought alongside of are no more. They are the same as the enemy now, lifeless and scattered across the land waiting for loved ones to come gather them for preparation to spend eternity in that other world where the dead reside. Songs will be sung about them that will live in the hearts of some for a while but the truth is they are gone forever now and will not share anything with you ever again. This death today is permanent. There will be more conquests and defeats for you to come, very likely more  of the latter than the former but those boyhood friends will not be a part of them. Now you think and mourn, the shine has gone off the day and in reflection you find that there is a high price to pay for glory. Perhaps too high but that’s something to think about later. His name tonight is Misses His Friends.

Hostiles!

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click to enlarge

In our ongoing work of researching events that have taken place here in the West we have discovered a little known fact relating to the Battle of the Little Bighorn and it is nothing short of amazing. Although thousands of hours of research and numerous books have been devoted to the climatic events of June 1876 where General George Armstrong Custer led the valiant men of the 7th Cavalry into one of the greatest defeats in American history at the hands of the largest assemblage of Indians ever gathered, they missed one amazing fact.

That fact was there was an unknown photographer attached to the regiment to record the anticipated victory of the General in the expected upcoming battles with the various tribes. His name is unrecorded in the rolls of the members of the expedition so it is surmised that he must have volunteered to accompany them after the orders were cut for the forth coming action by Custer and the 7th. It is more probable that Custer met him and hired him out of his own pocket to immortalize his place in history, which would account for him not being on the official records. We are diligently working to learn more about this photographer but have been stymied by the lack of information we can make up.

We were researching the early records of the battle in a dim musty room in the basement of the Bighorn county courthouse in Hardin Montana for a project of our own, when a decrepit old file folder fell out from behind a desk we were moving and split open. Inside was a treasure trove of faded pictures, handwritten notes, folded maps, a few letters from some of the enlisted men they had given the photographer to be mailed when they got back to civilization and other odds and ends.

As far as can be determined these items were placed in the courthouse around 1915 two years after the Courthouse was built, and were destined to be held there until a proper museum could be built where they were then to be put on display for all to see. Evidentially the folder containing all of the items had slipped down behind the desk and were forgotten until we happened across them.

As we sorted through the hundreds of pictures of the daily lives of the men of the 7th cavalry, including various depictions of actions that took place along the way of men on horseback, wagons filled with the supplies needed to support a mission of this size  pulled by mules, the Officers leading the troop, even the General himself, and remarkably even some of the hostiles, the image above came to our attention.

Images printed on paper from fragile pixels, as opposed to those images done on glass plates, or the even older method used by Daguerreotypes, were just coming into favor at this time and this one was beautifully hand-tinted with the utmost care taken to recreate the colors as they must have been when the picture was recorded. Each print had been carefully noted with the men’s names, the date of the image, the location, etc. in pencil on the back of each print. Unfortunately in this case of this image the names and some of the other information had been disfigured and faded due to the image getting wet at some point.

We were able to make out the name of the river, “Little Bighorn”, the date “something illegible – 1876”, and mysteriously the phrase “Hostile’s!”. Whether this pertained to Indians in pursuit of what appear to be two scouts returning, or some other event related to Indian activity we cannot ascertain at this point. Perhaps more information will turn up as we study this material further.

We are incredibly fortunate to have discovered this invaluable material and are busy sifting through it gleaning whatever new information might be hidden within its faded remains. We will be passing on anything we find that sheds new light on this important time in our history, and perhaps more about this unknown photographer.