Grim Mourning and welcome to the Grim. I'm your host, Kristin. And today's episode will be opening the gate and entering the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument, located in Bighorn County, Montana. So grab your favorite mug, cozy up, and let's take a dig in history. The name Bighorn River is as infamous as it is iconic in the American West. Yet this river is not renowned for its scenic beauty or peaceful history, but for the tragic events that unfolded along its shores. Today, it serves as more of a national monument. It's a hallowed graveyard honoring those who perished in the Battle of the Little Bighorn or the Battle of the greasy grass. It must be remembered more as Custer's last stand. This pivotal conflict just saw the combined forces of the Lakota, Sioux, Northern Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes face off against the seventh Calvary Regiment of the United States Army in 1876 along the Little Bighorn River. Due to the expansion of the Crow Indian Reservation in southeastern Montana territory, a battle unfolded that would etch itself in the grim annuals of history. Now spoken of in somber whispers, this clash culminated in the catastrophic defeat of U.S. forces marking the bloodiest chapter of the Great Sioux War of 1876. But beneath the clash of warriors lies a darker tale of fractured alliances and contested lands. The Lakota, drawn to this place of conflict, were unwelcomed by the local Crow tribe, who held a treaty over the area with the U.S. government as far back as 1873. Crow chief Blackfoot had called upon the US military to intervene against these unwelcome intruders. The Lakota presence was born from a chain of misfortunes displacement by the U.S. expansion, forced migrations near Fort Laramie, or the Trail of Tears, and the growing white incursion into the Black Hills lands sacred to the Lakota, The shadow of Discord had long loomed over these lands where tribes clashed over territory As the U.S. deftly manipulated the simmering tensions with the Arab cousin, the crows aligning themselves with the U.S. the Battle of Little Bighorn transcended mere survival. It became a haunting stage for the eruption of emotion with spirits of displacement, betrayal and the relentless tide of colonization. Even now, the winds that sweep across Little Bighorn carry the faint echoes of the fallen. The whisper is a chilling reminder of the costs of America's manifest destiny. Yet who was the seventh Calvary in this tale of loss and eventually becoming a dark chapter in military history? The seventh Calvary emerged from the blood soaked aftermath of the American Civil War in 1861 to 1865. Its ranks filled with battle hardened men who carried the physical and emotional scars of that conflict from its earliest days at Fort Riley, Kansas. The regiment was marked by death and misfortune. Skirmishes and major engagements claimed the lives of 36 men and left 27 wounded. But it was disease that truly stalked them. Cholera swept through their ranks, taking 51 lives while six others drowned in the merciless rivers of the frontier. Death was an ever present companion. Looming over their every step like a relentless shadow. It seemed to stalk the regiment and inescapable force trailing their every move. In November of 1868, the seventh Calvary under Custer's command unleashed a brutal attack on Black Kettle's Southern Cheyenne camp at the Ouachita River. Though hailed by some as a military success, others condemned it as a massacre of innocent Indians. The era of blood and fire from the grim night seemed to cling to the regimen, shadowing their march to the infamous Battle of the Little Bighorn. Years later, in 1876, the regiment was fractured and weary. Half of its companies had been recalled from 18 months of grueling constabulary duty in the Deep South to Ford, Abraham Lincoln and the Dakota Territory, hastily reassembled for the coming campaign. Among the 718 enlisted, nearly 20% were raw recruits enlisted within the prior seven months. These green soldiers, many with no combat or frontier experience, were joined by European immigrants, primarily Irish and German, who had fled one hardship only to face another, and the harsh American wilderness. Archaeological findings paint a chilling picture. Many of the men were malnutrition, but their physical conditions are far from battle ready, despite being part of the best equipped regiment in the Army. As the seventh Calvary advanced toward the Little Bighorn, they carried with them a dangerous misconception. Based on flawed information from Indian agents that only 800 hostiles awaited them, these numbers, while once accurate, had become gravely outdated. Unknown to the army, thousands of reservation Indians who had temporarily joined Sitting Bull's forces for a summer buffalo hunt now swelled the ranks of the Lakota and the Cheyenne. What the army thought to be a manageable confrontation had grown into an overwhelming force. It captured and his commanders made their plans unaware they were walking into an inferno. Even as signs from the looming disaster emerged, Custer's confidence never wavered. His Crow Scouts experience in the ways of the plains warned him that the village ahead was the largest they had ever seen. But Custer dismissed their warnings, perhaps blindsided by ambition or unwilling to believe he was so outnumbered. The village stretched across the Little Bighorn River Valley, a seemingly endless sprawl of lodges and ponies. Scouts who had changed into their native dress, a foreboding sign they anticipated death, were released from duty and customs moved forward underestimating the warriors hidden within the village's shadow. John Martin. Custer's bugler and one of the last to see him alive, carried a desperate note for reinforcements as the battle unfolded. The village, which appeared quiet and unsuspecting from a distance, erupted near chaos as thousands of warriors emerged to meet Custer's 210 troopers. Custer's assumption that the Warriors were unaware of his approach proved fatal. Fresh pony tracks and reports of Indian scouts observing the Army's movements should have been enough to delay an attack. But Custard feared the village would disperse, forcing him to pursue fragmented bands across the wilderness with the fear driving him, he chose to strike immediately. As rifle volleys echoed across the valley, calling for aid from Benton and Reno, the realization must have done on Custer too late. His men were hopelessly outnumbered. Testimonies later revealed that the volleys were heard as late as 4:30 p.m., but by then no help could reach them. The tide of warriors overwhelmed the seventh Calvary. The sheer numbers sweeping across the battlefield like a flood. These events leading to that doomed attack remain steeped in early misjudgements and haunting missteps. Custer's Final View of the massive village from the Crow's Nest was deceptive. What seemed peaceful at a glance was a sleeping giant waiting to awaken. The battle was over before it truly began, and the Little Bighorn became a graveyard for custard. And his men. The echoes of rifle fire, the cries of warriors and the clash of steel lingering even today in the wind over this cursed valley. A chilling reminder of the arrogance and miscalculation that led to one of the most infamous massacres in American history. The soldiers were not only outnumbered. They were hopelessly outgunned. Recent archeological findings, due to scattered shell casings littering the battlefield, tell a grim tale. The Native Warriors wielded repeating rifles capable of rapid fire while the seventh Calvary relied on single shot Springfield rifles, creating the perfect nightmare. With thousands of warriors surging from the encampment like a storm. While the soldiers, outmatched and surrounded, struggled to reload after everything well shot, each past reload became a harpy closer to oblivion. It's also important to note that prior to their journey, Cassatt refused for additional companies of Calvary and two Gatling guns. Leaning more into his arrogance and belief of superiority of his troops force. Many believe the entire seventh Calvary was wiped out that day. But this is a chilling misconception. Reno and Ballantine's. Companies fought elsewhere along the river, completely unaware of the horrors befalling the 200 men under custards command. They would not know the fate of their comrades until was far too late for Custer's five doomed company, as there were no survivors. The battle was almost over as soon as it began. One crew chief chilling remarked. It was finished in about as long as it takes for a hungry man to eat his dinner. The swift and savage end of Custer's command left behind only silence, blood and the ghostly echoes of a massacre that would shadow history forever. Custer's strategy at Little Bighorn carried ominous undertones aimed not solely at engaging warriors, but capturing women, children and the elderly vulnerable lives to be used as pawns. His plan was to strike terror in the hearts of the Sioux in the Cheyenne fighters, forcing their surrender by threatening their families. Historian Evan Connell described Custer's chilling logic by seizing the encampment before resistance could fully form. The Warriors would have no choice but to yield lest third danger their loved ones. This approach was not new for custard. In his book My Life on the Plains, written two years earlier. He had outlined his belief that the proximity to women and children would dissolute indigenous groups from fighting their families safety, acting as a powerful argument in favor of peace. However, this time his gamble would prove tragically misguided. As the seventh Calvary advance to Custer, its officers speculated on his movements. Lieutenant Edward Godfrey believe that custard aimed to force non-combatants into a chaotic fight, scattering the camp and leaving the Warriors defenseless. Yet the Sioux and the Cheyenne were acutely aware of the threat to their families. When Captain Yates companies approached the Metis in Tale Coulee, even the Warriors engaged in the Reno Valley fight. Disengaged to defend the village, hundreds surged back to protect the vulnerable, cutting off Custer's forces and sealing their fate. Some evidence suggests that Custer ventured further north with the aid companies attempting to cross the river near 42 Stryker refugees fleeing from the encampment. Archaeological findings indicate he may have been within reach of women and children when resistance mounted. What began as a calculated maneuver to capture hostages turned into a desperate retreat. The fort abandoned Custer's men and fell back to would become known as Custer's Ridge, where they were surrounded and annihilated. Left behind after the Battle of Rosebud a week earlier. And how's the body of an old sheep bear? A Sandbach warrior who had succumbed to his wounds. The tepee marked the place where Custer gave Reno his final orders to attack. Setting in motion the fateful events of the battle, survivors later used this eerie structure as a reference point. Its presence, a reminder of death and displacement, haunting these lands. As the dust settled over Little Bighorn, the fields lay silent. But the whispers of the wind and the weight of the lives lost. Custer's plan, steeped in grim calculation, unraveled into chaos. The Warriors defended their families with unyielding resolve, leaving the seventh Calvary to face the full force of their fury, understandably, and with it right today, the lone tepee and the bluffs of Custer's ridge stand as a spectral witnesses to the ill fated gamble and chilling legacy. When Custer made his fight, the first strike at the Battle of Little Bighorn came under a ominous cloud of miscalculation and chaos. Major Reno's detachment companies Agee and M charged forward at Custer's orders. Penned by Lieutenant William W Cook based on reports that Sioux Scouts were alerting the massive encampment ordered to bring them to battle Reno across the Little Bighorn River, near what is now known as Reno Creek, around 3 p.m. on June 25th. But as they advanced, the soldiers quickly realized the Lakota and the northern Cheyenne were not fleeing. They were waiting in full force. The eerie shrouds of trees along the southern bank mass, the size of the encampment, hiding its sheer scale until Reno's men were nearly upon it as they broke into the open field, the sight of the sprawling villages struck like a revelation. The hunker pursued teepees loomed ahead. Their occupants, far more numerous, had prepared than Reno had expected. Sensing the trap, Reno abruptly halted his advance and ordered his men into a skirmish line, a formation that diminished their firepower and left them exposed. The island quiet shattered as Lakota warriors surged from the village. The war cries of filling the air. Reno's flying faltered at the left flank, collapsing under an onslaught of more than 500 warriors forced into the cover the timber along the River Bend. Reno had his men face relentless attacks. The warriors, determined to drive them out, set fire to the brush, smoke curling like ghostly fingers toward the panicked soldiers. Among the chaos, a Curry Scout bloodied knife was shot in the head. His blood and brains scattered across Reno's face, shaken and disoriented. Itd Reno gave the order to retreat, abandoning the wounded to a grisly fate. As his men scrambled to escape, they were relentlessly pursued by the Cheyenne, who picked off the stragglers in close combat. Horses stumbled and fell down a steep riverbank as warriors pulled soldiers from their mouths, ending their lives with clubs and tomahawks. Atop Reno Hill, the shattered remnants of his forest were soon joined by Captain Banerjee in his column and the pack train. Together, the surviving 340 troopers dug into the hard ground with knives and improvising tools desperate to create defenses. Heavy gunfire echoed from the north. But Reno refused to move, even as his men heard the eerie volleys signifying Custer's desperate fight. The horizon burned with dust and smoke obscuring what lay ahead. But Captain, where through his spyglass saw a horrifying sight. The massive Indian encampment stretched before him, with riders swarming and shooting at fallen bodies at what would become known as Last Stand Hill. As night fell, the soldiers remained pinned on the bluff, surrounded by warriors who performed war dances in the firelight. Their shadows flickering like spectres of doom. Sporadic gunfire continued, and even the earth itself seemed to tremble under the weight of the battle's fury. By dawn, the silence was almost deafening. But the horrors of Little Bighorn were far from over. The tale of Custer's fight at the Battle of Little Bighorn is a haunting enigma shrouded in uncertainty and death. The final moments of custard and his battalion remain largely a mystery, as none of the 210 men under his immediate command survived to tell the tale. What remains are fragments of oral histories from the Lakota and the Cheyenne and chilling evidence left behind on the battlefield. Gunfire heard by Reno and Benton's men on the bluffs of June 25th, 1876, was likely the dying echoes of Custer's desperate last stand. Unaware of his fate until General Terry's arrival two days later. The soldiers were reportedly stunned to learn that Custer's forces had been utterly annihilate. Three and a half miles away. When the Army finally reached the site, they were greeted by a grim scene, body stripped of clothing, mutilated in ritualistic defiance and scattered across the battlefield. Even Custer himself found on a hill later dubbed Last Stand hill for two gunshot wounds, one to the chest and another to the temple. While some accounts suggest these wounds were inflicted post-mortem, others whispered of Custer's suicide to escape capture a grim possibility that adds to the dark aura surrounding the event. The eerie chaos of the battle site told its own McCabe's story. Dead Horses uses makeshift barricades, markers of the places where soldiers made their final stands. Scattered shell casings and disturbed Earth hinted at frantic skirmishes and doomed attempts to hold positions. Lakota and Cheyenne Warriors later recounted how Custer's men were overwhelmed in waves, the resistance collapsing into disorder and death. Some soldiers reportedly threw down their weapons in futile attempt to flee, only to meet their end under clubs and lances of their pursuers. Cheyenne Oral tradition holds that buffalo calf rode woman delivered the fateful blow that knocked custard from his horse. While other accounts suggest that sharpshooters along the river sealed his doom, what is clear is that the battlefield became a stage for chaos, with warriors swarming the outnumbered cavalry in what described as a buffalo run of a relentless destruction. The aftermath was no less chilling. Bodies were hastily buried where they fell. Shallow graves, offerings, scant protection against time and the elements. Markers were later replaced to memorialize the dead. But the ground still holds secrets where some remains never recovered and others lost to erosion in time. Archaeological evidence suggests that the final moments of Custer's battalion were a desperate retreat where soldiers falling in small clusters as they were picked off one by one. The eerie silence of the battlefield today belies the carnage that once unfolded there. The last stand hill with its weathered markers and a burlesque stand is a grim reminder of the lives lost and the mysteries that remain. The ghosts of the seventh Calvary linger in the whispers of the wind and their stories forever etched into the haunting soil. A Little Bighorn. The Battle of Little Bighorn remains one of the most haunting and infamous clashes in American history. A devastating and overwhelming victory for the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes, guided by the visions of Sitting Bull and led by the indomitable Crazy Horse and Chief Gar, their forces overwhelmed the U.S. seventh Calvary, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custard. The 700 strong Calvary met its doom on the windswept plains. Five of its 12 companies were annihilated with custard himself falling alongside two of his brothers, a nephew and his brother in law. The death toll was staggering. 268 dead and 55 gravely wounded, including six who later succumbed to their injuries. Along the fallen were four crew and at least two Akari scouts guides who knew these lands all too well, but still could not escape their fate. In the eerie silence that followed the public's reaction to this blood soaked chapter of the Great Sioux War was deeply divided. Custer's widow, Libby Custard, set to work, immortalizing her husband as a tragic hero, painting the battlefield as a site of his valiant stand. For decades, this narrative loomed large with custard, hailed as a martyr of American expansion. Yet, as the decades wore on, cracks appeared in the story. By the 1930s, the aura of heroism began to fade. Libby's death in 1933 and the release of Glory Hunter The Life of General Custard by Friedrich F.A. Walter exposed a more complex, flawed figure. Cynicism Born from the great Depression and the rise of historical revisionism gave way to the darker, more jaded view of Custer's legacy. A man driven by ambition to a fateful, fiery end on the desolate banks of the Little Bighorn. The fallout from the battle sent shockwaves through the nation. News of Custer's massacre reached the east like a ghostly specter during the country's centennial celebrations. The Steamboat Far West transformed into a floating field hospital carrying the wounded, along with the story of the defeat, which spread with unsettling speed, igniting a maelstrom of sorrow, outrage and legend building. The battlefield itself became a spectral site of unanswered questions and lingering spirits. The army, hampered by both a need for survivors and the preservation of reputations, began a controversial investigation. Meanwhile, Custer's widow, Elizabeth, fiercely protected her husband's image. Cassie has a gallant hero. Even as a darker truth emerged, the native forces, the Battle of Little Bighorn, marked both a triumphant and a forewarning. The victory fracture their unity. A scarcity of gaming grass forced their great encampment to disperse. Oglala Sioux Black Elk recounted the haunting exodus families fleeing the under cover of night. Their lives forever altered by the specter of vengeance looming on the horizon. The aftermath was no less ghostly. The once celebratory warriors returned to the reservations, their numbers dwindling as the relentless machinery of the U.S. Army resumed its campaign. By May 1877, the resistance of figures like Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse was crushed, and the Great Sioux War came to a harrowing close. The land at the heart of the conflict, the Black Hills, remained steeped in contention. Seated under the shadow of starvation. The Sioux never relinquished their spiritual claim, refusing the monetary compensation offered for their sacred lands. To this day, the Black Hills stand as a testament to the grim chapter of betrayal, loss and enduring defiance, an eternal battleground where history refuses to rest. The site of the Battle of Little Bighorn, steeped in blood and tragedy, is often described as one of the most haunting battlefields of America. Visitors have long reported chilling encounters with ghostly soldiers and Native American warriors, as well as an unsettling sound that seemed to echo that chaos of that fateful day. The spectral figures of soldiers and warriors clad in full battle gear have been seen wandering the battlefield. These apparitions are most frequently reported near last stand hill, where Cassatt and his men made their doomed final stand against overwhelming forces. Some visitors claim to experience a vivid and harrowing visions of the battle itself. The reports showing phantoms engaged in combat, hearing the clash of weapons and the shouts of war cries and even feeling the oppressive chaos. The fight as if we're living it in real time. A historic stone house near the battlefield has gained a notorious reputation for its paranormal activity. Visitors have described seeing eerie lights, hearing disembodied voices and encountering a chilling apparition of a headless cavalry man within its walls. The battlefield is alive with ghostly echoes of the past. Reports include disembodied screams, crackle, gunfire and cries of anguish. These haunting sounds, as some believe, are residual echoes of the ferocious battle that unfolded on these grounds. The Little Bighorn remains not only a historical landmark, but also a place where the veil between the past and the present seemed dangerous, lie thin, drawing both history enthusiasts and seekers of the supernatural to its hills. Today, the little Battlefield National Monument is more than a place of remembrance. It's a chilling reminder of lives violently cut short here, where winds whisper through the unyielding grass and the ghosts of the past linger. The monument honors both the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne and their Apollo, a warriors who defended their way of life and the soldiers who perished in the losing fight. The spirits of those who clashed on this fateful field seem to echo still forever bound to haunting the legacy of this story land. The Sioux nations have long asserted the rifle claim to the Black Hills as sacred land intertwined with their heritage and identity. This contention is deeply connected to the events surrounding the Battle of Little Bighorn in 1876, where their forces, along with the northern Cheyenne and their Arapaho, achieved a decisive victory against the U.S. seventh Calvary. The Triumph underscored their determination to defend their land and way of life. However, their resistance could not halt the relentless tide of the U.S. expansion. In 1980, the U.S. Supreme Court acknowledged that the Black Hills have been wrongfully seized in violation of treaties made with the Sioux to address the historical injustice. A trust account was established with 102 million in compensation. Despite the monetary offer, the Sioux have consisted only refuse to accept it. Holding steadfast to their belief that no amount of money can replace their sacred lands. To the haunting legacy of the Black Hills and the Battle of Little Bighorn endures as a powerful reminder of the cost of conquest and the enduring struggle for justice. The grave, Grave for Little Bighorn National Monument was an expressive from well-known Buffalo coffee house and gifts for more honorary grounds in the area. Please visit the dash grammy.com. For now, we're closing the gate on the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument. We hope you enjoyed our dig into history if you did. Subscribe today. Join us next time when we open the gate on The Grim.