Fort Lincoln, Dakota, September 1875 Dr. Newman
Dear Sir,
I take the liberty of addressing you a few lines in regard to the Christian work in which Mr. Matchett has been engaged in at this post. He came under the auspices of the Indian Bureau, intending to labor among the tribes of the Upper Missouri River, but owing to some obstacles encountered at points above on this river, he returned here some weeks ago to await further instructions from those under whom he is acting.
In the mean time he has devoted himself to the missionary work among the soldiers - a class, by the way, whose moral welfare, at least on the frontier, is as sadly neglected as that of any of our aboriginal tribes. Mr. Matchett enters into his work with great earnestness and zeal. He has impressed all with whom he has associated with his unselfishness, his honesty of purpose, and his great desire to do good.
It is but due to him and the holy cause he represents, and a pleasure to me, to testify to the success which has crowned his labors, particularly among the soldiers of this command. If our large posts on the remote frontier, which are situated far from church and Church influences, had chaplains who were as faithful of Christians as I believe Mr. Matchett to be, and who, like him, are willing to labor faithfully among the enlisted men, the moral standard, now necessarily so low among the neglected class, would be elevated far above its present level, and great results would follow.
Hoping you will receive these lines in the spirit which prompts me to send them, I am truly yours,
G. A. Custer, Brevet Major - General U. S. A.
May 20th, 1976, 10 PM 46 miles from Fort Lincoln
I am determined to sit up, even though it is 10 PM and write to you, notwithstanding I have had tremendous days work. I have breakfasted at four o'clock, was in the saddle at five, and between that hour and 6 PM I rode 50 miles over a rough country, unknown to everybody, and myself only as guide.
To shorten the story, we marched fifty miles and got back before dark, having settled the question beyond a doubt that all stories about large bodies of Indians being here are merest bosh. None have been here for six months, not even a small hunting party.
General Terry just left my tent a few moments since, and when I asked him not to be in a hurry he said, "Oh I'll leave you, for you must be tired and want to go to bed." I did not tell him I was going to write to you before I slept.
Bloodly Knife looks on me in wonder at me because I never get tired, and says no other man could ride all night and never sleep.
What I am going to tell you is for you alone. But ***** came to me the other day, and asked me to arrange that he should be stationed at our post next winter. He says he wants to be in a garrison where the duty is strict, and, above all, he desires to prove that he is, and desires to be, a man, he believes that he could do much better than he has if he could serve under me. He says the very atmosphere of the post seems filled with evil for him. I have a scheme by which I think I can accomplish his coming, and I believe you will approve.
In camp 10 miles west of the Little Missouri, May 31st
Nearly all my amusement is with "Bos" and Tom. We lunch together every day.....I have about made up my mind that when I go on expeditions like this you are to go too. You could have endured this as well as not.
Powder River, about Twenty Miles above its Mouth, June 9, 1876
We are now in country heretofore unvisited by white men. Reynolds who had been guiding the command, lost his way the other day, and General Terry did not know what to do about finding a road from O'Fallon's Creek across to Powder River. I told him I thought I could guide the column. He assented; so Tom, "Bos" and I started ahead with Company D and the scouts as escort, and brought the command to this point, over what seems to be the only practable road for miles on either side, through the worst kind of Bad Lands. The general did not believe it possible to find a road.
It is now nearly midnight, and I must got to bed, for reville comes at three.
Monday June 12th - before Breakfast
I rose early this morning, without waiting to be called to breakfast, in order that I might write my letter.
Tuck regularly comes when I am writing, and lays her head on the desk, rooting up my hand with her long nose until I consent to stop and notice her. She and Swift, Lady and Kaiser sleep in my tent.
You need not be anxious about my leaving the column with small escorts, I scarcely hunt anymore.
Mouth of Tongue River, June 17th
On our march here we passed through some very extensive Indian villages - rather the remains of villages occupied by them last winter. I was at the head of the column as we road through one, and suddenly came upon a human skull lying under the remains of an extinct fire. I halted to examine it, and lying near by I found the uniform of a soldier. Evidently as cavalry uniform, as the buttons on the overcoat had a "C" on them, and the dress-coat had the yellow cord of the cavalry uniform running through it. The skull was weatherbeaten, and had evidently been there several months. All the circumstances went to show that the skull was that of some poor mortal who had been a prisoner in the hands of the savages, and who doubtless had been tortured to death, probably burned.
Mouth of the Rosebud, June 21, 1876
I am now going to take up the trail where the scouting-party turned back. I fear their failure to follow up the Indians has imperilled our plans by giving the village an intimation of our presence. Think of the valuable time lost!
I like campaigning with pack-mules much better than with wagons, leaving out the question of luxuries. We take no tents, and desire none.
I now have some Crow scouts with me, as tehy are familiar with the country. They are magnificient looking men, so much handsomer and more Indian-like than any we have ever seen, and so jolly and sportive.
They have formerly given themselves to me, after the usual talk. In their speech they said they had heard that I never abandoned the trail; that when my food gave out I ate mule. that was the kind of man they wanted to fight under, they are willing to eat mule too.
June 22d - 11 A.M.
I have but a few moments to write, so we move at twelve and I have my hands full of preperations for the sout.....Do not be anxious about me. You would be surprised to know how closely I obey your instructions about keeping with the column. I have to have a good report to send you by next mail.....A success will start us all back towards Lincoln.......
June 25th, 1876, General George Armstrong Custer, his family and personal command were mass assassinated on the Little Big Horn...........
agtG
