Red Devils -12 Libby Custer's Tales

February 7th

I wrote to Mrs. Custer at the address given me by Mr. Hudson. I explained that I was doing a project on her husband as being a famous man that I wished that I had met (although the more I read about the man the less I like him.)

I was surprised how quickly she replied. She must have sat right down and wrote having got my letter. And Mr. Hudson was right. She is going to be a very great asset to me in writing my story.

148 E 18^thStreet

New York City, New York,

February 5^th, 1880

Dear Miss Kellogg,

I was so pleased to get your letter and to know that you want to write an essay about my darling Armstrong. That is what we called him, never George. And I myself am in the midst of writing up my life with him, in an attempt to counteract the slurs that have been put against his name. He didn’t deserve to be treated so, and I will make sure history knows the true story.

How interesting that you are the daughter of Mark Kellogg. I have a story to tell you about him which happened in March, 1876. We had been in the East on vacation, and when we reached St. Paul the prospect before us was dismal, as the trains were not to begin running until April, at the soonest. The railroad officials, mindful of what the general had done for them in protecting their advance workers in the building of the railroad, came and offered to open the route.

The train on which we finally started was an immense one, and certainly a curiosity. There were two snow-ploughs and three enormous engines; freight-cars with coal supplies and baggage; several cattle-cars, with stock belonging to the Black Hills miners who filled the passenger-coaches.

There was an eating-house and  several day-coaches, with army recruits and a few passengers (including your father), and last of all the paymaster's car, which my husband and I occupied. This had a kitchen and a sitting-room.

At first everything went smoothly. Sometimes we came to drifts, and the train would stop with a violent jerk, start again, and once more come to a stand- still, with such force that the dishes would fall from the table. The train-men were ordered out, and after energetic work by the stalwart arms the track was again clear and we went on.

One day our speed was checked so suddenly that the little stove fairly danced, and our belongings flew through the car from end to end.  Before our train there seemed to be a perfect wall of ice; we had come to a gully which was almost filled with drifts.  

After one tremendous dash,  the ploughs and one engine were so deeply embedded that they could not be withdrawn.  

The impenetrable bank of snow was the accumulation of the whole winter, first snowing, then freezing, until there were successive layers of ice and snow. It was the most dispiriting and forlorn situation. Night was descending, and my husband,  described to me the discomfort of the officers and Bismarck citizens (including your father) in the other coaches in not having any place to sleep. His meaning penetrated at last, and I said, "You are waiting for me to invite them all to room with us?" He said, “Exactly.”

I was invited to take the farthest place towards the wall, in the large bed; then came my husband. After that I burrowed my head in my pillow, and the servant blew out some of the candles and brought in our guests.  The noise through the long nights that followed, convinced me that the general had assigned the places closest to us to the oldest, fattest, and most rank civilians. (I don’t mean that of your father, of course, as he was young and very good looking.)

Every morning I awoke to find the room empty and all the beds folded away. The general brought me a tin basin with ice-water, and helped me to make a quick toilet; our eleven visitors waited in the other coach, to return to breakfast with us in the same room. Every one made the best of the situation.

We tried to be merry at our meals, and made light of the deficiencies that occurred each time we sat down. The increase at the table quickly diminished our stores, and I knew by the careful manner in which the wood was husbanded that it was nearly exhausted.  

Finally the situation became desperate, and with all their efforts the officers could no longer conceal from me their concern for our safety. Search was made throughout all the train to find if there was a man who understood anything about telegraphy, for among the fittings stowed away in the car a tiny battery had been found, with a pocket-relay. A man, which was your father, of course, was finally discovered who knew something of operating, and it was decided to cut the main wire. Then the wires of the pocket-relay were carried out of our car and fastened to either end of the cut wire outside, so making an unbroken circuit between us and our Fort Lincoln friends. Mark was hailed as our hero that night.

In a little while the general had an answer from my brother-in-law Tom, most characteristic: "Shall I come out for you? You say nothing about the old lady; is she with you? The "old lady" begged the privilege of framing the reply. I regretted that the telegram could not be underscored - a woman's only way of emphasizing - for I emphatically forbade him to come.

Against our direct refusal he made all his preparations, and only telegraphed, when it was too late to receive an answer, that he was leaving garrison.  

He went to Bismarck, and looked up the best stage-driver in all the territory, and hired him. This driver was cool, intrepid, and inured to every peril. At an old stage-station along the route he found relays of mules that belonged to the mail-sleigh. At last a great whoop and yell made me aware for the first time that Colonel Tom was outside.

 

When we and the dogs were packed in we began that terrible ride, amid the cheers of those we were leaving. It was understood that we were to send back help to those we left, which, of course, included your father.

The snow never ceased falling, and I know too much of the Dakota blizzard not to fear hourly that it would settle into that driving, blinding, whirling atmosphere through which no eyes can penetrate and no foot progress.

When at last I saw the light shining out of our door at Fort Lincoln I could not speak for joy and gratitude at our release from such peril. All the help that Bismarck could give was sent out at once, and even the few cattle that survived were at last driven over that long distance, and shelter found for them in the town.

We saw your father after that at the garrison on several occasions. You were so lucky to have such a clever, witty and charming father. He talked about you girls all the time. 

Is this the sort of thing you want to know about? I think I will leave it for now, as this is already going to make a very fat envelope.

Yours sincerely,

Mrs. Libbie Custer

 

February 12^th

I was so thrilled to get Mrs. Custer’s letter, and shared it eagerly with Cora Sue. She had known our Pa better than we did. I would like to think it was true that he talked about us with her, but rather doubt that he thought much about us at all. He hardly ever wrote, and only visited maybe once in a while when it suited him in the early days of our living with Aunt Lillie. And then when he went to Dakota territory, we never saw him again after that.

So I wrote back to Mrs. Custer (I certainly couldn’t call her Libby, though that is how I thought of her) and said how wonderful it was to read her words and to know that she had known our Pa, and encouraged her to write again soon with more of the information about General Custer and their life in Bismarck.

And the next letter was not long in coming.

February 11, 1880

Dear Miss Kellogg,

I am as pleased to get your letter as you seem to be to get mine, and it is good for me to have an audience for what I am writing. Writers have trouble sometimes in knowing if their thoughts are making sense - so if you don’t understand what I write, pleased tell me. That would be useful for me, as I want my book to be so readable that people won’t want to put it down.

Anyway, I will just ramble on about our early life as some of it will be necessary for you to know about the Indian situation at the time of the massacre.

We went to Dakota in the spring of 1873. That must have been about the time your daddy came to work with Colonel Lounsberry at the Bismarck Tribune. He was so proud of those first editions of the paper and he told me that he did some of the editorial work for the first few papers.

  This removal to Dakota meant to my husband a reunion with his regiment and summer campaigns against Indians; to me it meant months of loneliness, anxiety, and terror.  Our march took us through the grounds set apart by the Government for the use of the Sioux Indians at peace with our country. We had not made much progress before we began to see their graves. They do not bury their dead, but place them on boards lashed to the limbs of trees, or on high platforms raised from the ground by four poles perhaps twenty feet. The body is wound round and round with clothing or blankets, like a mummy, and inside the layers are placed firearms, tobacco, and jerked beef, to supply them on the imaginary journey to the happy hunting-grounds.

  Our first visitor from Agency Indians was Fool-dog, a Sioux chief. He was tall, commanding, and had really a fine face. When he was ready to go home he invited us to come to his village before we left on our next march.

At twilight my husband and I walked over. The village was a collection of tepees of all sizes, the largest being what is called the Medicine lodge, where the councils are held. It was formed of tanned buffalo-hides, sewed together with buckskin thongs, and stretched over a collection of thirty-six poles. These poles are of great value to the Indians, for in a sparsely timbered country like Dakota it is difficult to find suitable trees. It is necessary to go a great distance to procure the kind of sapling that is light and pliable and yet sufficiently strong for the purpose. The poles are lashed together at the tops and radiate in a circle below. The smoke was pouring out of the opening above, and the only entrance to the tepee was a round aperture near the ground, sufficiently large to allow a person to crawl in. Around the lodge were poles from which were suspended rags; in these were tied their medicines of roots and herbs, supposed to be a charm to keep off evil spirits.

The sound of music came from within; I crept tremblingly in after the general, not entirely quieted by his keeping my hand in his, and whispering something to calm my fears as I sat on the buffalo robe beside him. In the first place, I knew how resolute the Indians were in never admitting one of their own women to council, and their curious eyes and forbidding expressions towards me did not add to my comfort. The dust, smoke, and noise in the fading light wore not reassuring. Fool-dog arose from the circle of what composed their nobility, and solemnly shook hands with the general; those next in rank followed his example. The pipe was then smoked, and the general had to take a whiff when it came his turn.  

Coming out of the light into this semi-darkness, with the grotesque figures of the Indians, as they danced around their chiefs and contorted their bodies to the sound of the drum and minor notes of the singers, made it something unearthly in appearance; their painted faces, grunts and grins of serious mirth as they wheeled around the tepee, made me shiver. How relieved I felt when the final pipe was smoked and the good-bye said!  

Most of the country passed over in our route belonged to the Indian Reservations, and the Government was endeavoring to teach the tribes settled there to cultivate the soil. They had hunted off most of the game; an occasional jack-rabbit, the plover, and a few wild ducks were all that were left.   As we approached an Indian village, the chiefs came out to receive us. There were many high-sounding words of welcome, translated by our guide, who, having lived among them many years, knew the different dialects.

The Government had built some comfortable log-houses for them, in many of which I would have lived gladly. The Indians did not care for them, complaining that they had coughs if they occupied a house. A tepee was put up alongside, in which one or two families lived, while little low lodges, looking like the soldiers' shelter-tents, were used for the young men of the circle to sleep in. The tools and stores given by the Government were packed away in the otherwise empty houses.

Again, I think that is about all I can comfortably get into one envelope. I will write again soon, and you must write to me too, and ask me questions if you would like to.

And I would be interested to know how you and your sister happen to be in Connecticut now, when I am sure your daddy told me that you lived in Wisconsin.

Best wishes,

Libbie Custer (pictured above)