By Christian M.

We don’t know,

What happened that day,

We don’t know,

How long it was,

We don’t know,

How glorious it really was,

We just have to imagine,

We just have to ask the one who was there,

And read his mind,

We just can guess,

So here is my guess.

A crimson sun rose in the east.  It rose slowly, it seemed; sad, but yet happy; none could explain.  It seemed to cry out to them.  As it rose higher, the bugle call reached the ears of every soldier, the morning call to wake them.  At the mess hall, the news reached their ears that at noon they were leaving.  This seemed to puzzle them for they thought they were going to wait for the other generals, and more support.  But they obeyed their command, and their commander, General George Armstrong Custer.

They loaded their rifles; they filled empty food packs and ammunition belts.  They trimmed up their horses, just the way they liked them best for battle.  When all was ready, Custer rode out to the front.  A cool breeze filled the air; a chilly one, a deathly one.

At first they trotted out of the camp. Then they sped to a canter.   ”Just through those two little hills, sir. Little Big Horn, sir, up ahead,” a scout reported to General Custer. “And, sir, clouds of smoke all over.” He threw a salute and retreated to the rear of the line of horses.

Custer called a halt and the soldiers brought forth what food they had to their mouths.  Everything was checked over again, and the soldiers were then told what was about to happen.  They were to attack through the two hills.  There the horde of Sioux Indians were waiting.

As they advanced at a gallop, Custer should have seen the mirror and smoke signals.  Major Reno, who had taken a group around to a different side of the valley, should have known that the village he rode down upon was a fake.  But it was all too late.  The mass of Indians were upon them; a million arrows whizzed by every ear of every soldier.  A whir of knives, screams, spears, arrows, swords, bullets, and men were all in tangled mess.  Crazy Horse, the Sioux leader, could not stop his Indians from making a mad rush towards the U.S. Army.  And Custer could do nothing to stop it.  The U.S. was outnumbered 15 to 1 and they could not do a thing about it.  It was hopeless.  All they could do was to die with as many Indians as they could.  

Your guess is as good as mine as to who was the last left alive. Was it Custer?  Maybe it was Major Reno?  Who was it?  None know but one, and his name was Comanche-a horse.  He was the horse of Captain Myles Keogh.  He was the only creature still breathing.  He lived for a few more years.  But none did he ever tell, who was the last man left alive.  Or who killed Custer.  Or anything.  It is all with him.  One, we can never get an answer from.

We can only, imagine…

Christian M. lives in northern Michigan and camps each summer on an island in Lake Michigan.  He loves to play baseball, play basketball, and write, but he can’t choose between them!  He is twelve years old.