Little Bighorn Battlefield | Montana's Hidden Battle History & Lone Survivor - Talk With History

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Welcome to Talk with History.

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I'm your host, Scott, and my wife and historian, Jen, is traveling

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for a special project this week.

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So I thought I would bring you a story from our past travels.

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So I hope you enjoy this history road trip.

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We stopped along the ridge that outlined the battlefield of Little

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Bighorn, overlooking the river.

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Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall figure walking straight

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towards Jen and not stopping.

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That's odd.

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Traveling through Montana with the family had been an otherworldly experience.

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It really is someplace you have to be.

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We had driven up from Wyoming via Devil's Tower, and I couldn't stop

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gaping at the wide open plains that had inspired so many songs.

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Cowboys and western tall tales.

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There it was.

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The sign indicating that we were entering the Crow Indian Reservation.

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The little bighorn battlefield monument is on the reservation.

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It's beautiful, isn't it?

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And about 70 miles from both Sheridan, Wyoming, and Billings, Montana.

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It's pretty out there.

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As we drove up to the monument, I wondered what it must have been

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like the morning of June 25th, 1876.

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147 years before our trip across these great plains.

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Nobody survived Custer's Last Stand.

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Or so they thought.

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It was supposed to have been an easy ride, at least according to Custer.

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We had ridden many days and weeks to get to this river.

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What was it again?

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Little?

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Big?

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Something?

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I could barely think of that now, that we were surrounded by the

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very people we had been chasing.

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Bullets and arrows whizzed through the air as chaos and fear took over the plains.

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I felt the ground tremble beneath me from the onslaught

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of warriors and soldiers alike.

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My heart pounded in rhythm with the beat of the war drums

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that echoed from the distance.

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My best friend and partner the past couple years, Captain Kyo, rode with

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me, guiding me through the pandemonium.

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Together we had pressed forward, his steady hand and firm voice reassuring

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me despite the chaos around us.

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We had been through many battles together, but this one felt different.

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There was a sense of desperation in his voice, a tension in his demeanor.

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Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in my flank, my legs gave way, but I fought

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to stay standing, to continue fighting.

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But the pain was too much, and I stumbled, accidentally bringing Captain Keo with me.

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I tried to rise, but the pain overpowered me.

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I watched as he was swallowed up by the chaos, disappearing from my sight.

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I lay there in the dust, the battle raging around me, the noise slowly

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faded, replaced by a strange silence.

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The Indian warriors had moved on, leaving behind the fallen and the broken.

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Days passed in a haze of pain and fear, the battlefield was a grim sight,

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littered with the casualties of war.

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I was alone, nursing my wounds, waiting for the end, but it never came.

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Instead, I saw the blurs of blue uniforms appear.

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They approached cautiously, their eyes scanning the

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devastation across the hilltop.

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They found me, injured and barely able to move.

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They spoke in hushed voices, their hands gentle as they tended to my wounds.

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Their touch was kind, their voices soothing.

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I felt the pain recede, replaced by a warm, comforting sensation.

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They fed me, gave me some water, and slowly, they left.

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I regained my strength.

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In the days that followed, I gained enough strength to show my

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gratitude and accept their help.

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They seemed to understand my loss, my pain.

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They treated me with respect, almost reverence.

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I was a survivor, a living testament to the battle that had consumed so

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many at the Little Bighorn River.

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As I regained my strength, people said I was more than just a survivor.

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They said I was a symbol.

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A beacon of hope amid the devastation.

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I just knew that I was Comanche, the horse of Captain Keo.

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I was the lone survivor of the Battle of Little Bighorn.

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The man walking towards Jen briefly disappeared as he walked behind a truck.

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I started to turn and walk towards Jen as well.

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I had lost sight of her for a moment as a tour group passed in front of me, but

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then, surprisingly, I heard laughter.

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The group passed, and there was the man chatting happily away with my better half.

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He recognized me from the channel, she burst aloud.

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He grinned sheepishly, almost as if embarrassed.

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I saw the collaboration you guys did with JD, and I've

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followed your channel ever since.

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I smiled.

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JD's a friend of ours with another history YouTube channel.

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Great guy, super supportive.

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Of course, the first time Jen ever gets recognized from the channel, we're about

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as far away from home as we've ever been.

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In fact, we were a little over 2000 miles away and we got a picture with him and

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he went on his way, all of us smiling.

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Quite a different interaction with a stranger than Custer had.

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The story here at Little Bighorn was so much more complex than I expected, with

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broken promises, ominous forewarnings, and ultimately the decimation of

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Custer's troops on Last Stand Hill.

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The story of Comanche, the horse of Captain Miles Keough, is true, The

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horse was found on the battlefield by U.

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S.

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soldiers who presumed he hadn't been taken due to his two gunshot wounds.

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He was standing over his captain.

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And the soldiers eventually nursed him back to health.

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The horse stayed at Fort Meade until 1887 when he was shipped to Fort Riley, Kansas.

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He remained at Fort Riley for the rest of his life.

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Comanche received hero attention at Fort Riley.

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On April 10, 1878, General Order No.

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7 was issued stating, The horse known as Comanche being the only living

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representative of the bloody tragedy of Little Bighorn, June 25, 1876, his

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kind treatment and comfort shall be a matter of special pride and solicitude

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on the part of every member of the 7th Calvary to the end that his life

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be preserved to the utmost limit.

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Further, company, I will see that a special and comfortable stable is fitted

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for him and he will not be ridden by any person whatsoever under any circumstances,

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nor will be put to any kind of work.

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Having led near every parade at the fort during his time there, he became

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something of a celebrity and was treated with reverence and pride by every soldier.

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On November 7th, 1891, Comanche died of colic, a digestive disorder

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not uncommon in elderly horses.

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He was 29 years old.

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I

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highly recommend, if you ever have a chance to go to Little Bighorn,

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you're in the Montana, Wyoming area.

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You go do it.

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It's a must see, and it really takes you back in time.

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Thank you for listening to the Talk with History podcast, and please

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reach out to us at thehistoryroadtrip.

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com, where you can chat with us and our community of fellow history travelers.

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That is thehistoryroadtrip.

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com.

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Thank you, and we'll talk to you next time.

Little Bighorn Battlefield | Montana's Hidden Battle History & Lone Survivor

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