Four

The Cavalry Charge

 

The disaster at Bull Run spelled doom for the command of General Irvin McDowell. The Lincoln administration had lost confidence in McDowell’s abilities to lead the army, and he was replaced by Major General George Brinton McClellan on July 27, 1861.

McClellan, the thirty-four-year-old Pennsylvanian and West Point graduate—second in his class of 1846—was well known in the upper echelons of the military, having served on General Scott’s staff during the Mexican War. He had subsequently been assigned as a West Point instructor, an engineering officer, and as an observer of tactics during the Crimean War in Europe. The general was the inventor of the famous “McClellan saddle,” a comfortable and practical alternative to the traditional saddle, which was presently standard equipment for mounted units.

In 1857, McClellan had resigned his commission and accepted a position in the railroad industry, eventually serving as president of the Ohio & Mississippi Railroad. He rejoined the army when Fort Sumter fell, and had been assigned command of the Ohio volunteers in Kentucky and western Virginia. During June and July, he had led his troops to victory in several skirmishes in western Virginia while guarding the strategically located Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, which brought him national attention. At that time, the general also had been instrumental in persuading the local citizens to follow their own principles and establish the state of West Virginia.

Major General McClellan—known as “Little Mac”—had been chosen by President Abraham Lincoln to reorganize every element of the army in order to restore sagging morale and produce a cohesive fighting force. He would be expected to transform an undisciplined mob of raw recruits into an army capable of withstanding whatever the Confederates could throw at him—which would be no small task.1

In creating his vision of the Army of the Potomac, however, McClellan’s innovative approach to cavalry saddles apparently did not translate into tactical ingenuity with mounted troops. Brigadier General George Stoneman was named chief of cavalry, but would serve in a purely administrative role. While Confederate colonel James Ewell Brown “Jeb” Stuart would redefine the purpose of cavalry as an independent arm, the mounted Union regiments were assigned to infantry generals who could find no better use for the horsemen than, in the words of one Pennsylvania cavalryman, “as escorts, strikers, dog-robbers and orderlies for all the generals and their numerous staff officers from the highest rank down to the second lieutenants.”2

George Armstrong Custer’s Second Cavalry was renumbered the Fifth Cavalry, and attached to Brigadier General Philip Kearny’s New Jersey brigade. Kearny had rejoined the army after Bull Run, and was a battle-tested officer, having lost an arm in the Mexican War while on duty as an aide-de-camp to General Scott. In 1859, he had served in Napoleon III’s Imperial Guard in the Italian War, and had been awarded the French Legion of Honor for bravery at Solferino.3

Presently, Kearny’s brigade was primarily detailed as part of the capital defense force, and the general was in need of staff officers. Second Lieutenant Custer, as the junior lieutenant in the Fifth Cavalry, was assigned to Kearny’s staff as an aide-de-camp. Custer wrote of his new duties, “I found the change from subaltern in a company to a responsible position on the staff of a most active and enterprising officer both agreeable and beneficial.”4

Kearny was also the strictest disciplinary Custer would ever encounter, quick-tempered with those who neglected their duty in the slightest—but he was lenient with the troops, blaming their faults on their superiors. Kearny paid close attention to training his men, a trait that Custer noticed. In fact, Kearny went as far as to send three hundred of his men against an enemy picket in an unauthorized raid to allow them to experience live fire for the first time. Custer accompanied this nighttime detail as an observer, and watched as the result of the ill-advised mission was Bull Run all over again—the Union troops turned tail and ran when the entrenched Rebels fired at them.5

Custer, however, closely followed Kearny’s manner of commanding troops and learned valuable lessons. The second lieutenant described this general, the first with whom he had daily contact, as “a man of violent passions, haughty demeanor, largely the result of his military training and life, brave as the bravest men can be, possessed of great activity, both mental and physical, patriotic as well as ambitious, impatient under all delay. He constantly chafed under the restraint and inactivity of camp life, and was never so contented and happy as when moving to the attack. He was always to be found where the danger was the greatest.” Ironically, much of that description would fit the future General Custer as well.6

In a short time, the capable and enterprising Custer had risen from aide-de-camp to assistant adjutant general. He remained on Kearny’s staff until an order was issued that fall that forbade regular army officers from serving on the staffs of volunteer officers. The War Department reasoned that volunteer officers, who often organized their own units and had little or no formal military training, were not as professional as regular officers. It became desirable for junior officers to be tutored by the best men available in order to assure that the future staff officer corps would be as competent and experienced as possible.7

In early October, Custer was stricken with a mysterious illness—the nature and extent of which are unknown—and was granted a leave of absence. He first visited the Reed household in Monroe, Michigan, to see his sister and her husband, and then traveled to his parents’ newly purchased eighty-acre farm in northeastern Ohio.

At that time, Custer learned that his brother, Tom, sixteen, had run away from home a month earlier and lied about his age to join the army. This impulsive act by the boy had greatly distressed his parents. Emanuel Custer had thwarted Tom’s initial attempt to enlist in Monroe by informing the recruiter that the boy was underage, but the determined youngster had slipped across the border to the state of his birth to accomplish the task. Tom was six years younger than Armstrong and worshiped his older brother. He imitated just about everything Armstrong did—in this case joining the army and marching off to war. For the next three years, young Tom Custer, as a member of Company H of the Twenty-first Ohio Infantry, would participate as a common foot soldier in such bloody battles as Shiloh, Stones River, Chickamauga, Missionary Ridge, Chattanooga, and the Atlanta Campaign.

The brothers had gone their own ways as they sought to establish their careers. One day there would be a joyous reunion for Armstrong’s wedding, and then the opportunity to serve together, with actions that would have Armstrong bursting with pride over Tom’s performance under fire.8

Armstrong Custer returned to Monroe, where he was welcomed as a local war hero, and enthusiastically immersed himself in the social scene. The dashing young officer was invited to parties, patriotic rallies, and community dances. He could be found on most nights romancing an adoring young lady or carousing with friends and other soldiers on furlough at any one of the establishments that served up alcoholic beverages and the merriment of music.9

This reckless behavior, however, led to an episode that would greatly affect the future of George Armstrong Custer—negatively in the short term but positively for the remainder of his life.

On one particular evening, Custer had frequented a local tavern and imbibed to excess. He and a male companion staggered through the streets of Monroe on their merry drunken way toward Armstrong’s sister Ann’s house. The two soldiers created quite a ruckus as they loudly laughed and sang without any regard whatsoever for the delicate ears of those within listening distance of the boisterous serenade.

The two revelers happened to pass the Bacon residence, where they were observed by Judge Daniel Bacon and his nineteen-year-old daughter, Elizabeth.

Circuit Court Judge Bacon was one of Monroe’s most respected citizens. The judge had recently shaken Custer’s hand publicly at a rally and hailed him a hero for his service. That evening, this proper gentleman was appalled by the uncouth behavior displayed by the young army officer.10

Custer was unaware of it at the time, but Elizabeth “Libbie” Bacon—who would always remember “that terrible day”—would in time become the object of his affections. Partially due to the improper public display of the young man on that winter’s night, Judge Bacon would forbid any contact between his daughter and this raucous cavalry officer.

In addition to his disgusting drinking habit, however, Custer would face another seemingly insurmountable obstacle to winning the affections of Libbie Bacon and the approval of her widowed father. Judge Bacon may have been cordial with Custer publicly, but he would never entertain the thought of inviting the young army officer into his home. Custer, through no fault of his own, had been born on the wrong side of the tracks. Under no circumstances could he be an acceptable suitor for such Monroe “royalty” as Elizabeth Bacon. Although he had attended West Point, his recent behavior had demonstrated that he may have received an education but due to his breeding and upbringing had retained his working-class habits—and no commoner would ever win the hand of Libbie Bacon, the prettiest girl in Monroe, Michigan.11

George Armstrong Custer had been born on December 5, 1839, in the back room on the first floor of his parents’ house in New Rumley, Ohio. He was the first child born to Emanuel Henry and Maria Ward Kirkpatrick Custer, who each had lost a spouse and brought two children to their marriage.

Emanuel Custer had been born in Cresaptown, Maryland, on December 10, 1806, the oldest of seven children. His namesake grandfather, who was of German descent, had served in the Revolutionary War, and his great-grandmother was a cousin of the mother of George Washington. Emanuel moved to New Rumley in 1824 to follow in the family tradition and learn the blacksmith trade from his uncle. When his uncle left blacksmithing to work a farm, Emanuel took over as the village smithy. He was respected throughout the community and had served as a justice of the peace. He did not drink or gamble and smoked tobacco only in a pipe. If Emanuel had a vice, it would be politics. He regarded his loyalty to the Democratic Party, which could be called nothing less than militant, to be as sacred as his church ties—he had helped found the New Rumley Methodist Church and was deeply committed to that faith. Emanuel was also a member of the New Rumley Invincibles, the local militia. He lost his first wife in 1835, leaving him with two young sons, Brice and John.12

Custer’s mother, Maria Ward Kirkpatrick Custer, was born in 1807 to Scotch-Irish parents in Burgettstown, Pennsylvania. The family relocated to New Rumley, Ohio, in 1816, where Maria’s father, James Ward, opened an unlicensed tavern. After being arrested and fined, James obtained the proper paperwork for his establishment, which was attached to the family home and located adjacent to the town square.

The tavern was not a friendly neighborhood bar by any means, however. James, who was highly volatile and had a habit of settling matters with his fists, along with his two sons, was often involved in frequent brawls with patrons, and the place soon became quite notorious. It was in this rowdy and vice-ridden environment that Maria was reared. At the age of fifteen, she escaped the tavern by marrying a twenty-seven-year-old customer named Israel Kirkpatrick. She soon gave birth to a son, David, in 1823, and a daughter, Lydia Ann, two years later. In 1825, her husband died, and she was left a widow with two young children.13

Emanuel and Maria had probably known each other for years and eventually began dating. On February 23, 1836, the couple married, and the combined family moved in together in Maria’s ancestral log home that had been the tavern until her parents died.14

The first two children born to Emanuel and Maria Custer died in infancy before five healthy children were born—George Armstrong (1839), Nevin (1842), Thomas (1845), Boston (1848), and a daughter, Margaret (1852).

The Custer family was not by any measurement well-to-do, but Emanuel and Maria compensated for the lack of material possessions by creating a home full of love and family unity. The children from the three families bonded together with true affection, and to which family a child belonged was never an issue. Each child was loved and disciplined equally.

The Custer household was said to be always in a happy uproar. Emanuel acted like a big kid around his children—romping, wrestling, and playing as aggressively as any of them. He also made them the target of practical jokes and dodged their mischief in return, which became a lifelong practice between them. The class prankster at West Point had been well schooled.

In later years, Emanuel lamented about his inability to provide more for Armstrong and the other children, to which Custer replied, “I never wanted for anything necessary. You and Mother instilled into me principles of industry, self-reliance, honesty. You taught me the value of temperate habits, the difference between right and wrong. I look back on the days spent under the home-roof as a period of pure happiness, and I feel thankful for such noble parents.”15

Maria, who was thin and frail, was often referred to as being in ill health or an invalid. Custer adored his mother throughout his life and was certainly her favorite child. He had been named after a missionary, and constant prayers were offered for him by Maria to let the boy grow up to serve God in the ministry. Perhaps due to this doting, Armstrong never quite severed that invisible umbilical cord between him and his mother, and some of his most painful experiences as an adult would be parting with Maria.16

From an early age, Custer would work around his father’s blacksmith shop, riding the newly shod animals and tending to them, which enabled him to develop an early skill in horsemanship. Young Autie also attended the “cornstalk” militia musters and parades, and Emanuel would proudly show off his little son executing the military manual of arms. Young Armstrong viewed these days with his father as holidays, and the colorful uniforms, the sound of the fife and drums, and talk of war apparently made a lasting impression on him. Emanuel was so proud of his son’s interest in the militia that he had the town tailor make a miniature reproduction of his own uniform for Autie to wear.17

The Custer children attended school in New Rumley, and Armstrong gained a reputation as a competent student who took his studies seriously enough to satisfy his teachers. He had a penchant for sneaking adventure novels, such as Jack Hinton, or Tom Burke of “Ours,” or Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon—which was also a childhood favorite of future Little Bighorn comrade, Irishman Myles W. Keogh—into class and reading them instead of his textbooks. Emanuel would purchase a book for Armstrong to read whenever he could squeeze out a little money from the family budget.

The boy was not a bookworm, however, but a spirited and fun-loving youngster who was a natural-born leader and quite a favorite with the young ladies. One classmate remembered, “Custer was what he appeared. There was nothing hidden in his nature. He was kind and generous to his friends; bitter and implacable toward his enemies.”18

In 1849, Emanuel sold his blacksmith shop in town, and the family moved to an eighty-acre farm on the outskirts of New Rumley. Armstrong and his siblings worked the farm—plowing, sowing, harvesting, and tending to the livestock. One by one, however, the older Custer children left home to find jobs or get married.

Whether it was his disinterest in education at the time or the cost of sending the children to a subscription school, Armstrong was soon apprenticed to a furniture maker in Cadiz, the county seat. This arrangement was not to his liking, however, and he was sent to live at the age of ten with his half-sister Lydia Ann Reed and her husband, David, in Monroe, Michigan. Ann, as she was called, became a surrogate mother and trusted confidante to Custer, a relationship that would continue throughout his life.

Armstrong lived with the Reeds for five or six years, and attended Stebbins’ Academy. He was not a model student by any stretch of the imagination, disliking homework and cramming at the last minute before tests. He had started his pranks and mischief at an early age and became a popular leader. One classmate, a teacher’s son, said, “He was a rather bad boy in school, but one thing would be said of him, he always had his lessons, yet he was not considered an unusually bright lad.”19

In 1856, at age sixteen, the recent graduate accepted a job teaching in a one-room schoolhouse at Locust Grove, earning twenty-eight dollars a month. Known as a “big-hearted, whole-souled fellow” with a fun-loving disposition, he then moved on to teach at Beech Point, near Athens, Ohio, and earned two extra dollars a month by chopping wood for the school fireplace. It was at Beech Point that Armstrong boarded with a prosperous farmer and became enamored with his daughter—Mary Holland. The relationship would become a casualty of his appointment to West Point.20

Although Custer could call two towns his childhood home, much of his formative years were spent in Monroe with the Reeds. Monroe, one of the oldest settlements in Michigan, was located on the western shore of Lake Erie, twenty-five miles south of Detroit. This former trading post, established by French-Canadian trappers in 1785, was named Frenchtown but had undergone a name change in 1817 after a visit by President James Monroe. The city was connected to the outside world by lake steamer and the railroad, and the residents regarded themselves as being quite cosmopolitan, which created a society of the upper crust—and beneath that elite class existed those whose lives were of little or no consequence except to cater to those who mattered.

David Reed operated a successful draying business, but the family belonged to the Methodist Church while the “socially acceptable” people were Presbyterians. These aristocratic families—many of which were headed by military veterans—were quite snobbish and unwelcoming to newcomers, especially those of the plebeian class. One member of Monroe royalty stated, “We did not associate with the [Reeds and] Custers. They were quite ordinary people, no intellectual interests, very little schooling.”21

Monroe had sent comparatively few young men off to fight in this war. Most of those of fighting age had gone off to big cities like Detroit or Toledo, where school or business opportunities were greater. The women and girls, however, pitched in to the war effort, forming Societies for Knitting and sending innumerable socks and undergarments to the front lines. The faithful workers also made linen havelocks—a cover for a military cap with a long rear flap as a protection from the sun—and were quite indignant to learn that the troops were using them to clean their rifles. Although Monroe suffered with the sorrowful sight of funeral cortéges on the streets for those who had served and died, a young officer like George Armstrong Custer on furlough was treated like a hero—until proving otherwise.22

Now, perhaps predictably, this West Point graduate with lower class roots had shamed himself and his family by carousing through the streets of Monroe like a common drunk—and it was his trusted confidante who would come to his rescue. On that same night that he had been observed by the judge and his daughter, the overindulgence in strong drink by her brother came to the attention of Ann, who was deeply religious. She was shocked and dismayed by the condition of Armstrong when he reached her doorstep.

A determined Ann Reed—with Bible in hand—took Armstrong into her bedroom, shut the door, and evidently delivered a temperance lecture for the ages. Apparently, she made her brother promise before God that he would never touch another drop of intoxicating beverage as long as he lived. Perhaps amazingly, her efforts were successful. From that day forth, Custer never again touched alcohol, not even wine at formal dinner parties.23

In February 1862, after four months away, a sober Second Lieutenant George Armstrong Custer returned to Washington with renewed ambition. He had heard that several former West Point friends in the Confederate army—Tom Rosser, who had distinguished himself at Bull Run, John Pelham, and Stephen Ramseur—had already been promoted to captain, and it was rumored that Jim Parker had become a lieutenant colonel, only two ranks below general. It appeared that Custer once again lagged at the rear of his class.

Custer reported back to his company to find that they had been quartered in canvas-roofed huts with mud and stick chimneys and stone slab stoves. The winter had been consumed with monotonous drilling and constructing fortifications that stood a scant twenty miles from those of their enemy. The officers and men were anxious to resume the war and get it over with once and for all now that the weather would be improving.

During this slow period, army commander General George McClellan, who was exceedingly popular with the men, had been working out the details of creating a viable army that could not only compete with the Confederates but defeat them. He had organized regiments, brigades, and batteries that would complement the intense training of his men, which he had placed first on his agenda. He did not want to experience another debacle like Bull Run.

This was a complicated role, but one that McClellan had been born to play. In the midst of this, however, he was being pressured by President Lincoln to advance on the enemy without delay. Thus far, the general had resisted. McClellan may have been rightfully called overly cautious—even obsessed with caution—but, conversely, Lincoln was motivated to order action by the hammering of bad press his administration was suffering through and hoped that an operation against the Rebels would stifle critics. McClellan remained adamant that he needed more time for training and preparation before undertaking an extensive mission, which left the president fuming and had strained relations between the two men.

It was not just the president who had lost patience with McClellan, however. Even the public, which had provided his most ardent support, as well as the press and his allies in Congress and members of the president’s cabinet, urged him to take action against the enemy. McClellan understood that his position was now at risk in such a political climate—he would likely be replaced as commander if he did not acquiesce to the consensus of Northern opinion.24

On March 9, Confederate general Joseph E. Johnston decided to abandon his lines around Centreville, near Manassas, and withdraw his army south of the Rappahannock River toward central Virginia. Johnston feared that an offensive by Union forces up that river could cut him off, leaving his men in an indefensible position. This movement made its way to the ears of General George McClellan.25

McClellan, who had already prepared a plan to advance on Richmond, was finally compelled to act. He would send 155,000 troops by ship to Union-held Fortress Monroe at the tip of the Virginia Peninsula, situated between the James and York rivers. Upon arrival, these troops would march fifty miles up the Peninsula and attack Richmond from the southeast.

Lincoln had argued for an overland route, but Little Mac firmly believed that on such a march as that his communications would be placed at risk. Further, the navy could easily deliver supplies to his men on the water route. The president grudgingly agreed to the plan—at least his army commander was taking to the field.

McClellan set his plan in motion after hearing about General Johnston abandoning his position. He ordered the cavalry to trail the retreating Rebels in an effort to gather intelligence.26

Custer had endured the routine of daily duty throughout February, but now the opportunity for possible glory presented itself. On March 9, the Fifth Cavalry rode out, leading a Union column southwest toward Centreville. Custer was baffled—and likely disappointed—by the fact that his unit was marching overland rather than traveling by water with the main body of troops. What he did not know was that this ride was an essential part of McClellan’s master plan. The general not only wanted the cavalry column commanded by General George Stoneman to provide reconnaissance, if possible, but to act as a feinting movement to attract the enemy’s attention while the transports were being loaded for the trip down the river.

Custer’s disappointment at not being part of the larger movement was appeased when he learned that he was the only commissioned officer in his company—the other field officers were off on assignment—and he would therefore for the first time in his career command a troop of cavalry. Company commander Custer would be in charge of about one hundred horsemen who had been assigned to four platoons of twenty-five men each.27

On the second day out, the blue column approached Bull Run, and the advance guard reported that there were fortifications with artillery ahead but no soldiers in sight. Custer and several others cautiously rode up to investigate, and discovered that the “artillery” was nothing more than blackened logs—known as “Quaker guns”—set up to deceive Union forces. It was noted that the enemy had only recently abandoned this position and had burned their supplies—the air was filled with the odor of burned bacon—to keep them out of Yankee hands. Not only that, but scouts had detected Confederate pickets entrenched on the hill beyond the railroad line at nearby Catlett’s Station.

Word of those discoveries was sent back to General George Stoneman, who was still seething about the embarrassing disaster at Bull Run and wanted nothing more than to retaliate against the enemy. Stoneman ordered regimental commander Major Charles J. Whiting to dispatch a company to attack those pickets and strike a blow for the Union.

George Armstrong Custer had been waiting at Major Whiting’s location when Stoneman’s courier arrived with the order to “Drive in the pickets.” Custer immediately volunteered his company for the assignment and was accorded permission.28

Second Lieutenant Custer formed his company in a column of twos, and rode down the road toward a showdown with the enemy. The Union horsemen pushed fencing out of their way and advanced across the pasture to the base of the hill where the pickets were known to be posted. Bullets were being fired from the enemy position, which convinced Custer that he must order a charge up this slope without delay—there would be no time to bring in artillery to blast them out of there. He ordered his men to “Draw sabers!”

George Armstrong Custer, his own saber pointed toward the enemy, dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks and yelled, “Charge!”

Every horse sprang forward as the company eagerly followed their young commander up the sloping terrain. Hooves tore up the ground and threw clods of dirt in every direction while the adrenaline-fueled cries of men with hearts thundering filled the air. The blue-clad riders were met with a ferocious fusillade of bullets from the Confederate picket line. Custer stated that “the bullets rattled like hail,” but the cavalrymen pressed forward toward their objective.

By the time they topped the crest of the hill, they found that the Rebels were now fleeing for their lives in fear that their position would be overrun by the audacious charge. Custer urged his horsemen onward and maintained his pursuit until encountering a skirmisher line of about three hundred of his enemy, who opened up with a blistering volley of small arms fire.

At that time, with at least one man slightly wounded and one horse down, Custer prudently ordered his men to retire. The troop and its jubilant commander returned to camp, where Custer reported directly to a pleased General Stoneman that the mission had been accomplished—they had driven in the pickets.

For the first time in his military career, George Armstrong Custer had led a troop of men on a successful cavalry charge—it would not be the last.29