One Crowded Hour: The Little Bighorn

 David Larson's One Crowded Hour: The Little Bighorn weighs in at over 400 and 60 some pages, so it's not a light read. For those of you new to U.S. History who have never heard of Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Gall, Reno, Benteen, or Custer, I can't imagine how you've remained ignorant of one of the most exciting and controversial episodes of the Old West and The Indian Wars. Here are the facts, not all of which are without dispute: In June of 1876, the U.S. Army sent three columns into Montana Territory after Sioux and Cheyenne who had left the reservation. 

(Note, the autographed book giveaway is down to the last two days. Enter now to win). 

Custer led the Seventh Cavalry in one of these columns and his scouts found a large Indian village camped along the Little Bighorn River. The natives were not only restless, finding that no casino plans had been formalized, they were expecting blue-coated guests. Thousands of Sioux, Cheyenne, and Arapaho had gathered for the dance. Custer's scouts, including Crow and Arikara, warned him that the number of hostiles in the valley exceeded the recommended daily allowance by several thousand calories. While Custer may not have said, "Nothing in this world is more surprising that the attack without mercy," he nevertheless persisted in ordering an attack. While Benteen was tasked with accompanying the slow train of mules with packs, Custer ordered Reno to charge from the south, while he took a larger force to attack from the north, apparently planning to capture the women and children as hostages to persuade the warriors to surrender. 

Reno's diversionary attack was successful in that more Indians than he had ever seen before counterattacked him. His force dismounted and were driven into the trees. Realizing they had situated themselves perfectly for an opportunity to die in place, Reno led a retreat back across the river and up a coulee. The native attack eventually relented and Benteen joined Reno, but the pack mules with the ammunition and supplies were slow moving.

Custer had been making his way north and had previously sent Benteen a message that a big village had been located. He called for Benteen to come quickly and to bring the packs--two seemingly contradictory directives.

While Reno and Benteen dawdled, with Reno's exhausted men and horses trying to recover from the devastating counterattack, Custer and his force rolled on the search tables. Instead of defenseless hostages, the dice revealed all the warriors that had been attacking Reno, and probably even more, all dressed up and looking to fill their dance cards. The music started and the Sioux, Cheyenne, and Arapaho utterly exhausted their dance partners, surrounding and overwhelming Custer's 210 men with their own variant of the attack without mercy--Custer was surprised to death, but the arrows and bullets contributed.

Reno and Benteen didn't bug out during the night, with many wounded who would have been left behind, and spent another day under Indian attack with little cover. The arrival of the relief force finally persuaded any remaining hostiles to seek a new venue. The Seventh Cavalry had lost 270 men with many more wounded. The survivors posted reviews indicating, "No stars given. Not what we expected. Would not recommend."

David Larson, of course, relates the story much better and with a heavier word count. His book is a work of fiction heavily blended with, and I believe, consistent with at least some versions of the facts. I initially enjoyed the tale as it revolved around Custer and the major army players, their plans and interactions. Once the story turned to the two young men who wanted to join the cavalry, Will and Jake, I thought it became overwrought and forced. The descriptions and dialog were off putting. However, I merely skimmed most of that. I wanted a fast-paced tale steeped in historical fact rather than speculation or pure fiction.

My mixed feelings took a turn for the better once we got into the approach of the battle and the actual clash of arms. Larson successfully conveys the savagery and horror of the battle from the perspective of the outnumbered troopers. He charges in with Reno and the action never falters, following companies and individuals through the bloody conflict. The story becomes a gripping and compelling read.

Following the last stand and its aftermath, Larson recounts the subsequent lives of several of the survivors from the Little Bighorn until their deaths. If I remember correctly, the last survivor died in 1950.

The thrilling tale of the exciting fight on the banks of the Greasy Grass substantially outweighs the overwrought aspects of the account. I give it five sabers out of five. 

This may be your final chance to get in on the autographed giveaway. 

 

 

 

Battle of Raab and a giveaway

 

 In June of 1809, about 40 miles from Vienna, while Napoleon's main force and those of Austria's Archduke Charles maneuvered for battle on the Danube, Eugene de Beauharnais commanding French and Italian troops engaged Archduke John near Raab. John had deployed his troops--mostly militia and landwehr with cavalry and artillery--in a defensive position behind the Pancza stream. Beauharnais attacked and after a back and forth battle for the farm at the bridge near the center, concentrated fire from the French guns drove back the Austrian artillery and allowed the French cavalry to ford the river and threaten John's left flank. The French then retook the farm again and John was forced to withdraw.

We replayed this battle, and finally finished it yesterday. In the photo above, taken on the next to last turn, the French are on the left and the Austrians on the right. Our battle differed in the details from the historic conflict. First, I enhanced the quality of a couple of the Austrian brigades to make things more interesting. Second, I deployed the French without much thought, just as I took them from the travel box--this was an away game in a friend's basement pantry. That placed the Severoli's Italian division on the far left and the divisions of Durutte and Seras on the right with Pacthod's division in the center with Grouchy's cavalry in reserve.

An Italian brigade began the fight with and attack across the bridge at the top of the picture; they were repulsed by the defenders, and finally destroyed by artillery fire. The other Italian brigade maneuved farther to the Austian right where they threatened to cross the swamp and stream to attack from the flank. Shortly after that, the Austrian players pulled their troops back from the stream on the French right to strengthen the center and Austrian right. That left the Austrian left wide open. Seras' division and part of Durutte's division waded the Pancza. The Austrians responded with cavalry and artillery. The French withstood both, repulsing the cavalry, and finally taking the farm at the center from the flank. The Austrians reached their break point but successfully inflicted some losses on the French, eliminating both brigades of Seras' division with their grenadiers and an enhanced brigade before ending the game.

We had a good time, but my poor positioning at the start kept me from concentrating my artillery fire, and the French cavalry never did anything more than threaten the Austrian center. It was a delight to open the purple testament of war, push painted men about the field, and roll the bones to determine their fate.

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In honor of the French victory, or for Halloween, perhaps, I've got a giveaway going. Enter to win an autographed book - a choice of either any the Rac Press anthologies featuring one of my stories, or one of the books from the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire Series.  

I finished going over the edits on my adventure book for boys. I'll get it back to the editor this week after I insert a dedication. Look for it in November in ebook and paperback.

 

Passing of the Chateau

 

Le Chateau au Chat Gris has passed over the horizon. Not to worry; the cat is fine. This weekend we left Byzantium to visit family and look into a replacement for the 1999 Rattling Battle Wagon. The latter is now up for sale, and I'll be cruising in La Longue Carabine Rouge. 

The sunset of the chateau is a sad event. Most of our children grew up there. The youngest may not even remember our other homes - and she just got married. Another daughter and Les Freres Corses lived there with us for a year or two and then for another year after we left for Byzantium. We didn't get to enjoy our last trips to the place because we were busy moving our belongings and hauling off the accumulation of debris--discarding memories.

Stuff accumulates in life, and it's a constant struggle to decide which items can still be of service, which are so attached to memory that they can't be discarded, and which ones should've been sent to the trash at least two moves ago. We had a lot of the latter and hauled several pickup loads to the graveyard of discarded stuff - unfortunately, those loads also included items laden with memory. I know I took too much time sorting through the junk and reminiscing, but some artifacts of anamneses require a lingering stroll through the valley of recollection before jettison into the void. Trash mingled with articles past their prime meshed with cherished souvenirs departed from our lives by the pickup load.

Needless to say, we were exhausted from both the physical labor and the constant questioning about the relative worth and resolution to retain or reject individual accretions of time. I can see the benefit of retaining nothing--the decision is made one time and never has to be revisited again. However, what happens to the memories when the triggers vanish? What then summons the genie of reminiscence? Does the recollection fade like Marty McFly's family photograph? 

I suppose, if there's nothing else to resurrect the remembrance, it dies that second death, buried forever beneath the deep soil of new experiences and recent recollections, never to rise again. However, I think other experiences, words, smells, and those with whom we made the memories can ignite the spark to blow the souvenirs from the tomb to enjoy a walk in the sun of life again--for at least another brief moment--and having risen once, the recollection becomes easier to recall, and may spring forth at new opportunities as the experience that prompted the resurrection becomes another association. Of course, there may be a way to seize pick and spade to extract the remains of memory from the sod at will, but the soil grows unyielding over the years and who can remember where to dig?

On a happier note, I did get to have ice cream with Les Freres Corses, and we discussed the adventure book to be published in November, as well as some possibilities for the sequel. As I expected, the one whose name starts with  C, as he put it, performed true to form and wants that character to get the magical powers in the sequel. The ideas are coming together. In the meantime, I have a detective story to finish.

Knights of Spain

 

I finally did it. I submitted a manuscript for a contest. If all goes well, I'll still be ecstatic about the publication in November of my adventure book for boys, Accidental Pirates, and may forget to be too disappointed if my manuscript isn't well received. On the other hand, because there's always another hand, I remain cautiously optimistic about the manuscript. It's a great story with gobs of action/adventure (which is really the thing I do best, well, except for witty banter--of which there's also a plethora), with a timely subject. I consider it a love note to America and to literature.

Speaking of the boy's adventure book, it's still in editing. My structural edits were well received, so it has moved on to the next phase.

Let's get to the book reviews. I've got two here.

Knights of Spain, Warriors of the Sun by Charles Hudson provides a fascinating look into Hernando de Soto's exploration of the American south in the mid 1500s. Tremendously well researched, the story follows De Soto and his hundreds in La Florida in the quest for treasure. The journey took the Spaniards from one tribulation to another, from one encounter to another--that's the gist of it--rinse, repeat, rearrange, and repeat again. The pattern with the encounters usually included capturing the chief and getting food and slaves for good treatment of the hostage chief. On more than one occasion the natives recruited the Spaniards into hostile actions against their neighbors. De Soto never did find significant treasure and didn't survive the adventure, surrendering his hit point total gradually before he was twice buried and then dumped into the Mississippi River. All things considered, a good time was not had by all and the survivors gave the new world native B&Bs very low ratings and could not recommend them to friends.

The book, however, is well worth the read. The Spaniards were no soft slouches and the natives they fought often proved to be valiant and skilled warriors. Had the adventures not had the horses, they might've all been slain or forced to depart much earlier. None of the horses made it out. I was impressed with the sheer size of the expeditionary force and especially with the number of hogs they took.

I give it five conquistador helmets out of five. It's full of good information and detail, including archeological evidence about the expedition and the native settlements.

 

In stark contrast to the above review, my thoughts about Joan of Arc's Champion to Sorcerer: The Dark Fall of Gilles de Rais by Thaddeus Shade never rose above disappointment. It's a short work of 65 pages. While Knights was extensively noted, I don't recall a single footnote or end note in Champion. Each chapter begins with an overview of what the chapter will cover, then provides the information promised, recounts what was reported, and finally tells what the next chapter will reveal. As you might guess, it's incredibly repetitive.  I could forgive the wearisome repetition if there had been any substance to the material. It really felt like a summary of wikipedia articles or a term paper without reference notes. You may note Joan of Arc in the title. She was finally discussed near the end. The gist of the information is that Giles de Rais met Joan of Arc and was completely taken by her. He accompanied her in combat and was devoted to her. After she was captured and burned, he sought so deeply for divine power that he pursued alchemy, astrology, and necromancy and eventually died under mysterious circumstances. There's no story and very little fact. Rumor and myth are summarized and repeated. If this book were a meal, it would be a styrofoam plate that had been passed near the aroma of food.

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