No doubt the course of American history would have been altered considerably if George Armstrong Custer had not survived his visit to Yankton in 1873.

Here's at least part of the story.

Custer was born in New Rumley, Ohio, in 1839, and when he was 22, he graduated from the U. S. Military Academy -- at the foot of his class.

However, during the Civil War his dash and daring as a cavalry officer earned him a brevet, or temporary promotion, to brigadier general when he was still in his early 20s. When the war ended, he was reduced in rank to lieutenant colonel and given command of the Seventh Cavalry Regiment.

For several years the unit was stationed in Kentucky, where it had the unsoldierly duty of breaking up illicit whiskey stills and suppressing the Ku Klux Klan. Then came the orders to Dakota Territory, and Custer and his men were elated over the prospects of eventual glamorous action against the Indians.

Little did they know what the future had in store!

The regiment -- some 800 or 900 men and as many horses and mules -- traveled by steamboat to Cairo, Ill., where several trains were required for the trip farther west. Because Yankton was then the end of the Dakota Southern line, the Mother City provided a brief stopover for the ill-fated unit.

The first cars arrived at Yankton on April 9, 1873, and a campsite was selected just east of the Rhine (later Marne) Creek along the railroad tracks.

It was an exciting time for Yankton as the tent city known as Camp Sturgis sprang up on the flatland beyond the town. Wives of some of the officers traveled with the regiment in those days, and they found rooms in a local hotel. More than three dozen laundresses -- some with children -- were also part of the entourage, and they were located in what was known as "Suds Row" accessible to fresh water in the creek. There were always rumors of hanky-panky between the men and the ladies with their washtubs, needles and thread.

Local entrepreneurs took advantage of the situation. Joseph R. Hanson and his partner, C. H. McIntyre, contracted to supply 300 tons of hay for the cavalry mounts and mules. James M. Stone provided 300 cords of wood for what would eventually be a month-long stay.

Elizabeth Custer, the commandant's wife known popularly as Libbie, opted to remain near the camp in what she later described as a rented half-finished cabin with no plastering, no stove and "hardly weatherproof." She and her black servants -- Mary and Ham -- did what they could to make it habitable.

Then, what was planned to be an almost leisurely sojourn before the overland march to "permanent" quarters at Fort Lincoln in northern Dakota, Mother Nature introduced Custer to the true meaning of "the land of infinite variety."

On April 13 the mild springtime weather suddenly changed, and for two days intermittent sleet and snow made camp life miserable. On the 15th a spitting rain turned to powdery, windblown snow; and, as the blinding blizzard mounted, the precisely organized military cantonment became a frenzied arena of confusion.

As tents were blown down, Custer gave the order for the men to take individual initiative -- to try to lead their horses to shelter in Yankton's warehouses, stables and livery barns. The colonel himself was then confined to the unheated cabin, feverishly ill.

The regimental surgeon managed to get by with some medicine for the ailing commander, suffering from what some historians have referred to as pneumonia. His condition may also have been complicated by exhaustion and sudden exposure to a harsher climate than the warm southern weather Custer and his men were accustomed to for so long.

Later, in her book titled Boots and Saddles, Libbie Custer conceivably embellished the severity of the storm, but other reports indicate that it was a full-fledged two-day prairie blizzard.

She told of a half dozen troopers who found their way to the cabin and how she wrapped them in carpets to keep them warm; how she administered the precious medicine with chilled fingers to her sick husband, fearful that she'd drop the vial; and how the ingenious Mary managed to provide hot coffee and some nourishing meat and potatoes which she cooked over a flame made of bits of candles.

Yanktonians rallied to the plight of the Seventh Cavalry. Judson LaMoure was credited with organizing a rescue party to save the laundresses and children who had been left behind in the camp. A light stagecoach was mounted on runners and apparently hand-pulled by men when horses were useless in the blinding snow. Several trips were required to bring the women to safety; and it was reported that a baby was born -- and survived -- in a tent.

In her memoirs Libbie Custer wrote that some soldiers had feet and toes amputated, but she mentioned very few details of her husband's recovery. However, he did regain his health in time to reorganize his regiment and to release a flowery resolution of gratitude which said, in part:

"Whereas, in this terrible emergency and when in a condition of comparative helplessness, and when, without assistance, a large portion of the lives of this command must have been lost by exposure, the citizens of Yankton, acting in concert and harmony with the territorial officers, hastened to the relief of this command, and by extending the hospitality of their homes, the freedom and use of their legislative and public halls, to the officers and men of the Seventh Cavalry, and by granting the use of their stables, workshops and other buildings as shelters for their horses, they undoubtedly preserved the lives of a great number belonging to this command, besides saving to the Government the value of the public animals amounting to many thousands of dollars; therefore, be it,

"Resolved, That in acknowledgment of the noble generosity, the unbounded and universal hospitality, the unwavering and constantly repeated kindness with which every member of this command was treated ... we desire in this feeble manner to convey ... our heartfelt and lifelong gratitude for extending the helping hand to us in our hour of need ..."

Had Custer died in that Yankton blizzard 121 years ago, he would not have led the expedition into the Black Hills which resulted in the ensuing gold rush and the never-ending controversy over Indian land rights. Nor would he have subjected his Seventh Cavalry to the tactical blunders at Little Big Horn to reclaim the glory of his Civil War fame.

And so it is that of such fateful and sometimes minor details of history the future of men and nations is ultimately shaped.

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Originally published April 11, 1994