Survivor

Published: 2007 - January/Febrary

It was a heavy burden on his life up to the very last moment; up to that cold December 27th, 1922, on which he was run over by a truck, he was always asked the same question. Nosey parkers, journalists, neighbours, everybody wanted him to recount, for the umpteenth time, the story of the ride that was to change his life, though he just fulfilled an order.For more than 40 years, the memory of this event would draw people to his home, arrogant people whose recurrent request was “Mr. Martini, tell us how it happened, and tell us the truth. Come on, Mr. Martini. Was it your fault?” The latter question made his mind fly back in time, to his origins in a distant land. He had been born in Sala Consilina, a village near Salerno. We don’t know many things for sure about the life of Giovanni Martini, and as for his birth, only the year is definitive, as testified to by himself: 1853. At a very young age, in May 1866, he enlisted as a drummer in Garibaldi’s Italian Volunteers Corps, and participated in the campaign in the northern region of Trentino. For the young man, Giovanni Garibaldi was the personification of liberty and of service to the country. He’d never have imagined that for the same sense of service, he was to go ashore at the far end of the ocean, and to go down in history as John Martin, sole survivor of the battle of Little Big Horn. The following year, 1867, he joined Garibaldi once more, fighting in the battle of Mentana. He emigrated to the United States in 1873, embarking in March at Glasgow on the S. S. Tyrian. Landed at Castle Clinton, New York, Giovanni Martini enlisted on June 1st, 1874 in the US army, under the name of John Martin, as a trumpeter for a five-years period of service, and was assigned to squadron H under Captain Frederick Benteen, of the 7th Cavalry Regiment commanded by Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer. From his entry in the musterroll we know that he stood “1.68 metres, brown eyes, black hair, dark complexion. Disciplined and keen soldier.” In 1875 – gold had just been found in the Black Hills – Custer got the order to lead an expedition, whose official aim was mere exploration; unofficially, however, it was about creating an outpost in order to oust the Native Americans from their territory. The young lieutenant-colonel, called Long Hair by the Indians, was spoiling for a big fight; he wanted to prove his bravery in a historic encounter, and it had to be against the Natives. Eventually, this led, for the first and only time in the history of the West, to a union of several tribes who had once been at enmity but were now ready to combat the White Man together. Their commanders were Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse at the head of the Sioux and the Cheyenne, respectively. It was June 25th, 1876. No soldier had ever seen such an American Indian contingent. Historians tell of a camp of thousands of Sioux and Cheyenne, armed and ready for battle. Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer realized that his 242 cavalrymen wouldn’t suffice. The old soldier’s memories are vivid. His story, when told to the journalists, is only now and then disrupted by emotions. Long Hair sent for him, and for all the haughtiness and bravery he had shown until then, even the lieutenant-colonel saw now that he was unable to face all those Indians on his own. Custer asked for his name. “John Martin, colonel”. “You’re having a strange accent, trumpeter. Where do you come from?”. “From Italy, Sir. What are your orders?” Just a few words, and the advice to run as fast as he could, in order to deliver the order to Benteen to go to the rescue of the brigade. John was about to leave, when Lt. William W. Cooke, perhaps not sure if the small Italian trumpeter had completely got Custer’s words, and to avoid misunderstandings anyway, gave him a written message that became legendary since: “Benteen. Come on. Big village. Be quick. Bring packs. W.W. Cooke – PS: Bring pacs”. The trumpeter opened his glove, inserted the letter and mounted his horse. Dust ascended behind him, and the silence was broken by the first volleys of gunfire and the shouts of the warriors that turned into distant echoes as he moved on. As if not to hear those voices blown across by the wind, he spurred his horse, he rushed downhill tantivy, and in little more than one hour, he managed to reach Major Benteen, and delivered the message. The feat saved his own life, but not that of the commander, who was slaughtered by the American Indians, as were all of his soldiers. Martin, the only survivor among hundreds of dead men, should feel guilty for many years to come: if his horse had been less strong… or if one of the Indians had taken more accurate aim… When he died, he was buried at the national cemetery of Cypress Hill, Brooklyn. This is the story of an Italian emigrant, born in the far south, who changed over from Garibaldi to Custer. This is the story of Giovanni Martini – the last white man who saw Custer alive.