Two

Rumors of War

 

In October 1860, the entire cadet corps passed in review for Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, in front of an estimated six thousand spectators. The cadets had waited in ranks with muskets in hand for three hours until the prince finally presented himself, which predictably soured their opinion of the distinguished royal visitor from across the Atlantic Ocean.

Cadet Tully McCrea summed up the sentiments of the cadets when he wrote that the prince “is a grand humbug in the shape of a well dressed Dutch boy with monstrous feet.” This rather unflattering description should serve as fair warning not to make military men stand in ranks for excessive periods of time—a practice known to all soldiers as “hurry up and wait.”1

It was at about this point in time that the affairs of the country could not be ignored, and the cadets began paying more attention to their geographic roots. Political disagreements on a national scale had provoked a widening abyss of social standards between elected officials separated by the Mason-Dixon Line, and sectionalism became an issue at West Point. Southern cadets had always been resentful toward their Northern contemporaries, who they believed had an advantage at the Academy due to receiving a superior early education. But it was not the issue of education that was invading the ranks at this time; rather, all eyes and ears were focused on the escalating debate about the immediate future of the United States of America that was occurring in the nation’s capital. Most cadets, especially those from Southern states, were taking a greater interest in the volatile political scene as it played out on the national stage.

The most radical of rumors circulating warned that the South would secede from the Union if Abraham Lincoln was elected president. Northern cadets stood behind Lincoln, and dissention gradually spread throughout the ranks. Although it seemed unthinkable that the representatives from both sides would not solve their problems and avert this drastic measure, the debate became more and more invective until secession became a real possibility.

For this reason, the school administration decided to eliminate sectional issues, such as slavery, from classroom debate. To the credit of the staff officers, none of the cadets formed groups and isolated themselves, and outspoken abolitionists still remained friends with advocates of slavery.

But then an event occurred that strained relationships almost to the breaking point between the two factions of cadets.

John Brown’s raid on Harpers Ferry in October 1859 caused a wave of turmoil at West Point, and an attitude of polarization pervaded through the ranks. Brown believed that he was God’s appointed instrument to rid the country of the sin of slavery. To that end, he had attempted to start an armed slave revolt by seizing the U.S. Arsenal at Harpers Ferry. Brown had been thwarted by U.S. Marines led by Colonel Robert E. Lee and assisted by Lieutenant Jeb Stuart. The fighting ended with ten of Brown’s men killed and seven others captured, including Brown. John Brown was subjected to a sensational trial and was found guilty of treason against Virginia. On December 2, 1859, amid much fanfare, he was hanged at Charles Town, western Virginia.

Southerners were furious at this attempted slave insurrection at Harpers Ferry, and blamed Northern Republicans for allowing it to happen. Spokesmen for Southern states then took an unprecedented step and put the country on notice that if a Republican president was elected in 1860 they would secede from the Union.

At West Point, discussion and heated arguments about Brown’s motives and the issue of slavery caused a collision of ideals—and the occasional shoving match or fistfight—with Northerners and Southerners forced to take sides and defend their positions. This attitude was decidedly contrary to the military discipline that was necessary for an army or an army-in-training to operate properly.

In time, a truce of sorts was declared, esprit de corps prevailed, and the atmosphere of confrontation gave way to more of a sense of friendship and comradeship. With the guidance of staff officers and upperclassmen, the young men made a concerted effort to refrain from engaging in political discussions. The corps gradually returned to a routine calmness but with the knowledge that the separation of loyalties—the bad blood of sectionalism—could flare up and longtime friendships could at a moment’s notice be strained and even irrevocably broken.2

With all of these factors playing out, the school year was anything but business as usual. Armstrong Custer and his classmates received good news when Congress voted to reduce the school term from five to four years—meaning they would graduate in 1861 instead of 1862. The negative aspect of that decision was that the reason for this change was the growing threat of war between the North and the South and new officers might be required to fight to preserve the Union.

Custer was torn between loyalties. After all, his father was a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat, which caused him to be outspoken against the Republicans. Custer condemned John Brown’s raid, but claimed his rancor was due to the fact that the abolitionist had captured the father of an Academy friend from the class of 1859, James Washington, and would have killed the man. James Washington, the great-grandnephew of George Washington, would later describe Custer as being “the rarest man I knew at West Point.”3

The presidential election was nearing, and one night the Southern cadets hanged a dummy of Republican presidential candidate Abraham Lincoln in effigy. This insulting display was cut down by Northern boys before daylight, but word spread and the flag of truce between the two sides was severely tattered and torn. Emotions once again ran high, perhaps beyond the point of no return, and even the best efforts of corps leaders and staff officers could not quell the antagonism.4

Examinations were at hand, but Custer and his friends chose to argue politics rather than study until long after taps. He wrote a letter on May 5, 1860, in which he said, “I will change the subject by saying a few words on politics.” His few words filled two and a half pages, and claimed that the Republicans “will either deprive a portion of our fellow citizens of their just rights or produce a dissolution of the Union.” He went on to say that Southerners had been insulted until “they determine no longer to submit to such aggression.”5

It would appear that Cadet Custer was caught in a sticky web of geographic and political loyalties that could have him fighting alongside his Southern comrades if war broke out. Could it be that only a Democratic victory in the presidential election would solve his problem of allegiance to his northern roots as opposed to his newfound friendships and political leanings? Perhaps his happy-go-lucky personality saved him from having to publicly choose sides, and he was able to appease most of his classmates with his sense of humor and comical antics.

On November 6, the fears of the South were realized when Lincoln won the election with 39.8 percent of the popular vote over a splintered trio of Democratic candidates—Dickinson, Lane, and Hunter, all supporters of slavery. As was expected, this victory caused serious rumblings of discontent to spread throughout Southern states.6

“The election has passed,” Custer wrote to his sister, Ann Reed, “and I fear there will be much trouble.” Southern cadets, to a man, vowed to resign from West Point if and when their states seceded. Although it was rarely spoken aloud, most cadets believed that this event was only a matter of time. “You cannot imagine how sorry I will be to see this happen,” he continued, “as the majority of my friends and all my roommates except one have been from the South.”7

The inevitable soon became reality. Southern secession was initiated by South Carolina on December 20, 1860, and before long was followed by Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas. Custer’s friend, John “Gimlet” Lea of Mississippi, was one of the first of his class to leave, and others who had resolved to join the Confederate forces were torn between loyalty to their states and the desire to remain at West Point long enough to earn their diplomas. They had worked hard for almost four years and were deserving of official recognition for their efforts. But letters from home and national headlines nagged them. Tough decisions by young men, most of whom had not yet approached full maturity, would have to be made.

West Point’s librarian, Oliver Otis Howard, recalled: “Probably no other place existed where men grappled more sensitively with the troublesome problems of secession.”8

One day when Custer was walking one of his extra guard duty tours, two of his classmates from the South chose to leave their diplomas behind and depart the Academy. John Kelly and Charles Ball were carried on the shoulders of friends toward the gate that led to the steamboat landing. Custer explained, “Too far off to exchange verbal adiex, they caught sight of me and raised their hats in token of farewell, to which, first casting my eyes about to see that no watchful superior was in view, I responded by bringing my musket to a ‘present.’”9

Meanwhile, classes continued, and the cadets made an effort to maintain their normal routine. In January 1861, Armstrong Custer was involved in an incident that furthered his reputation as the unofficial Academy prankster. Apparently there was this particular rooster that crowed too much and too loudly for the likes of Custer and his companions. The rooster belonged to Lieutenant Henry Douglas, whose quarters—and chicken coop—lay across the Plain from Custer’s tower room in the Eighth Division.

Cadet Morris Schaff wrote, “Custer slipped down one night, took him from his perch, and later he was in a kettle boiling over the gas-burner, his feathers on an outspread newspaper. When the feast was over, the one delegated to dispose of the feathers was not careful as he carried them off, and the result was that the next morning there was a string of yellow feathers from the Eighth Division clear across the area. This delinquency, not recorded in the Military Academy’s Records, helped break the routine, offering a pleasant relief and contrast at a time when clouds hung dark and passions were stirring deep.”10

Had this delinquency been recorded and Custer’s role found out by the authorities, the resultant demerits would have pushed him over the number allowed and he would have been dismissed from the Academy. It seemed that nothing, not even the threat of war or the possibility of dismissal, could keep the class prankster from his appointed duties.

In February, the Confederate States of America was formed in Montgomery, Alabama, with Jefferson Davis, the man who had signed Custer’s appointment to West Point, as president. The Provisional Confederate Congress authorized raising an army and established a financial basis to support the new nation.

Predictably, this act had a profound effect on the cadets, as well as the administration. West Point Superintendent Pierre G. T. Beauregard, a Louisianan, was relieved of duty after only five days in that position. The separation of allegiances became even more evident than before at the Academy with impromptu and intense contests of regional pride.

In one instance, on February 22, to honor George Washington’s birthday, the corps assembled at the chapel to listen to the farewell address by outgoing president James Buchanan. Following the speech, the cadets were marched back to their barracks and dismissed for the day.

At about 9:30 that night, while they were in their quarters, the band down in the Plain below performed “The Star-Spangled Banner.” This stirring tune evoked wild cheering from those Yankee cadets who stood in their windows facing the band, which was a clear violation of regulations. Cadet Schaff wrote, “It was begun at our window by Custer, for it took a man of his courage and heedlessness openly to violate the regulations.”

The playing of “Dixie” followed, and the Rebels—led by Custer’s boisterous friend, Tom Rosser—tried to outshine their comrades in volume. Every window was filled with cadets yelling at the top of their lungs in a passionate competition.

There can be no doubt that the young men on either side who participated were aware that the camaraderie the corps had enjoyed in the beginning was rapidly coming apart at the seams due to the whirlwind of national events. These primal screams were as much a protest of that dilemma as a show of support for their cause.11

Sadly enough, as winter turned into spring, these rivalries more often than not escalated into arguments that resulted in blows being exchanged. There were no secrets about loyalties between classmates, and tensions mounted with each day. One can only imagine the emotions that passed from room to room as these young men struggled to come to terms with the notion that today’s friend and comrade in arms would likely be tomorrow’s enemy on the field of battle.

Armstrong Custer wrote, “The cadets from the South were in constant receipt of letters from their friends at home, keeping them fully advised of the real situation and promising them suitable positions in the military force yet to be organized to defend the ordinance of secession. All this was a topic of daily if not hourly conversation.”12

At the dinner table one evening, Cadet Pierce M. B. Young addressed Cadet Custer, “Custer, my boy, we’re going to have war. It’s no use talking: I see it coming. Now let me prophesy what will happen to you and me. You will go home, and your abolition Governor will probably make you colonel of a cavalry regiment. I will go down to Georgia, and ask Governor Brown to give me a cavalry regiment. And who knows but we may move against each other during the war.” Young may not have actually thought that his boyish prediction would be fulfilled. He and Armstrong Custer would indeed be meeting under adversarial circumstances.13

In a letter to his sister on April 10, Custer predicted that he expected the outbreak of war within a week—and for the first time proclaimed where his loyalties would take him. “In case of war,” he pledged, “I shall serve my country according to the oath I took here.” In spite of his friendship with his Southern classmates, he would honor the oath of allegiance to which he had sworn upon entering West Point and offer his services to the governor of Ohio.14

George Armstrong Custer would fight on the field of battle to preserve the Union, if necessary, even if it meant facing off against his closest friends. This decision must have been agonizing to someone known as being fiercely loyal to his friends. And it can only be speculated as to what extent his Southern comrades had gone when trying to persuade him to follow them to the South and serve in the Confederacy. Custer may have been known as being happy-go-lucky but this decision would have been made in dead seriousness, likely over sleepless nights filled with tormenting thoughts.

On April 12, the spark of rebellion ignited into full-fledged conflagration when Southern artillery under the command of former West Point Superintendent Beauregard opened up on Fort Sumter in Charleston harbor. The fort fell two days later, which compelled President Lincoln to call for seventy-five thousand volunteers to preserve the Union.

The months and days of waiting had come to an end. Southerners at West Point had no choice but to head for home. Thirty-seven cadets, including Custer’s best friend, Texan Tom Rosser, departed the academy to offer their services to the Confederacy.15

The class of 1861 was graduated early, on May 6, with Judson Kilpatrick delivering the valedictory address. Four days later, Kilpatrick would participate in the opening skirmish of the war at Big Bethel in Virginia and suffer a severe wound, making him the first Regular Army officer wounded in action. He would be sidelined until September.

Custer’s class of 1862 was subjected to an abbreviated curriculum that would supplant the final year of studies and was scheduled to graduate on June 24, 1861.16

Cadet Custer had racked up an additional 192 demerits during his academic year. Throughout his years at West Point he had been in constant danger of dismissal, and had tallied an impressive four-year total of 726 demerits. Nevertheless, the class mischief-maker, who excelled in horsemanship, athletic prowess, and leadership skills but lagged behind in academics, had overcome his own outrageous pranks and antics to qualify for graduation from West Point. George Armstrong Custer had satisfactorily completed his studies and was commissioned a second lieutenant. Incidentally, his best subject in that final year was artillery tactics—his worst, cavalry tactics.17

Custer’s record at West Point can best be summed up in his own words, “My career as a cadet had but little to commend it to the study of those who came after me, unless as an example to be carefully avoided. The requirements of the academic regulations, a copy of which was placed in my hand the morning of my arrival at West Point, were not observed by me in such a manner at all times as to commend me to the approval and good opinions of my instructors and superior officers. My offences against law and order were not great in enormity, but what they lacked in magnitude they made up in number. The forbidden locality of Benny Havens possessed stronger attractions than the study and demonstrations of a problem in Euclid, or the prosy discussion of some abstract proposition of moral science. My class numbered upon entering the Academy about one hundred and twenty-five. Of this number only thirty-four graduated, and of these thirty-three graduated above me. The resignation and departure of the Southern cadets took away from the Academy a few individuals who, had they remained, would probably have contested with me the debatable honor of bringing up the rear of the class.”18

It was no wonder that when Superintendent Richard Delafield handed Custer his diploma his fellow cadets exploded in riotous applause and cheering.

Perhaps predictably, however, Custer found himself in trouble before even receiving orders assigning him to his first duty station. On June 29, he was Officer of the Guard when an argument over whose turn it was at the water faucet broke out between two cadets—one of whom was William Ludlow, who would be chief engineer on Custer’s Black Hills Expedition of 1874. The incident escalated into a fistfight. Inexplicably, Custer disregarded his duty to break up the fight and send the combatants to the guardhouse. Instead, he told the surrounding crowd of cadets, “Stand back, boys; let’s have a fair fight.”19

The Officer of the Day, First Lieutenant William B. Hazen, a West Point instructor and future Custer critic, was one of two officers who happened along to witness the event, and Custer was placed under arrest. Within a few hours, his classmates departed the Academy and proceeded to Washington for further orders—but without Custer. He was detained, and the uncertain status of Second Lieutenant George Armstrong Custer’s future career wasn’t settled until July 5, when his court-martial was convened at West Point.20

Nine officers listened to evidence regarding the charges of neglect of duty and “conduct to the prejudice of good order and military discipline” for Custer’s failure to “suppress a quarrel between two cadets.” First Lieutenant Stephen Vincent Benet—namesake grandfather of the Pulitzer Prize–winning author—served as judge advocate.21

The cadets involved in the altercation—Ludlow and Peter Ryerson—testified that their disagreement was but a minor “scuffle” and not a serious breach of military discipline. Custer prepared a four-page statement, and argued that the discord between the two cadets was but a “trifling” matter of little consequence. He also noted, “I plodded my way for four long years,” and now he only desired to be permitted to serve his country and march off to war. Custer was aided by First Lieutenant William B. Hazen, the officer who had reported the incident, who acted as a character witness.22

The court was not impressed by Custer’s defense. On July 15, he was found guilty on both counts. His sentence, however, was the ruling that he only be “reprimanded in orders.” This leniency was “owing to the particular situation of Cadet Custer represented in his defense, and in consideration of his general good conduct as testified to by Lieutenant Hazen, his immediate commander.”23

Under normal circumstances, Custer likely would have been dismissed from the service, but the Union needed trained officers to fight a war. The fact that he escaped severe punishment was the beginning of “Custer’s Luck,” the term Custer and others would employ to characterize the favorable events that occurred to him until the day he died. In this case, his luck had been supported by influential friends in Washington. Congressman John A. Bingham had learned of the court-martial and interceded to help save his appointee’s fledgling military career.24

Three days after the verdict, on July 18, a telegraphic order was received that directed the superintendent of the Academy to release Second Lieutenant Custer at once and have him report without delay to the adjutant-general of the army for duty. Custer departed West Point by steamer destined for Washington by way of New York City—the final member of his class to leave that post.25

At almost the last possible moment, the military career of George Armstrong Custer nearly ended before the ink on his diploma had even dried, but now he was free to apply the lessons that he had learned at the military academy on the battlefield. He was about to experience combat for the first time, and it would not be the glorious event that he may have envisioned as a West Point cadet dreaming of bombs bursting in air. And it was likely that no one—Northerner or Southerner—could foresee that this first major battle would only be the beginning of an escalation of hostilities that would last for years and cause immeasurable suffering and hardship.