BATTLE OF WILSON’S CREEK.
August 10, 1861.
General Lyon having returned to Springfield after his expedition to Curran, found himself greatly embarrassed by his position, and was forced by circumstances to determine the question whether he should, with his inferior force, give battle to the enemy now pressing upon him, or attempt a retreat to Rolla, encumbered with an immense train, and exposed to the probability of being compelled to defend himself at any point on the route where they might see fit to attack him. Their cavalry force was large, and with this they could by their celerity of movement cut off his communication and flank him whenever disposed. His appeals for reinforcements had not been granted, yet he was daily indulging the hope that he would soon be furnished a sufficient force to enable him to meet the enemy with a reasonable prospect of success. The days were passing on, the enemy was drawing nearer, and General Lyon was compelled to make his decision. The alternative was before him, either to retreat and leave the finest section of the State open to the ravages of the enemy, or make the attempt to expel the foe, even though he might sacrifice his own army in the effort. On the afternoon of the ninth of August, he held a consultation with his officers, when after a full discussion of the question, it was deemed advisable to attack the enemy in his camp at Wilson’s Creek, nine miles south of Springfield. The attack was to be made simultaneously by two columns, at daylight on the following morning, Saturday the 10th; the first under command of General Lyon and the second under General Sigel.
The rebel leaders were Generals Sterling Price, Ben McCulloch and Brigadier-General John B. Clark. Somewhat singularly, both parties had planned an attack at the same hour, but the darkness of the night induced the rebels to postpone their movement. Their tents were pitched on either side of Wilson’s Creek, extending a mile east and south of the road, crossing to two miles west and north of the same, the creek running nearly in the shape of a horizontal ᔕ. At the crossing of the Fayette road the hills on each side of the stream are from two to three hundred feet high, sloping gently on the north, and abrupt to the south side. The valley is about half a mile wide.
While on the verge of this, his last engagement, General Lyon was impressed with a sad presentiment—not regarding his own fate—but a fear for his brave command. A terrible responsibility rested upon him. With no adequate strength with which to cope with the enemy, hemmed in and growing weaker every day, his position was both perilous and painful. Unsupported, with his cry for help passed over, he saw nothing before him but the barren satisfaction of dying, bravely performing his duty, and protecting to the last the little army that he felt to be doomed. With these feelings—sadly bitter they must have been—this glorious man entered upon his last battle field.
The following day was one of remarkable quiet, and enlistments in the Springfield regiment went on rapidly. During the afternoon, Captain Woods’ Kansas cavalry, with one or two companies of regulars, drove five hundred rebel rangers from the prairie west of the town, capturing eight and killing two men, without loss on their part.
At eight o’clock in the evening, General Sigel, with six pieces of artillery and part of Colonel Salomon’s command, moved southward, marching until near two o’clock, and passing around the extreme camp of the enemy, where he halted, ready to press forward as soon as he should be apprised by the roar of General Lyon’s artillery that the attack had begun. The main body, under General Lyon, had moved at the same time, and halted about five miles west of the city, from whence, after resting, they proceeded again about four miles in a south-westerly direction, and slept until 4 A. M. on Saturday, the day of battle.
At five o’clock the pickets of the enemy were driven in, and the northern end of the valley, with its thousands of tents and camp-fires, became visible, and this most destructive battle, when the numbers engaged are considered, commenced. The roar of the artillery was terrible,—the rattling of the musketballs was like a storm of great hailstones, and the clash of steel like hammers ringing on countless anvils.
Riding forward in the thick of the fight, his war-horse bearing him more proudly than usual that fatal day, General Lyon performed the work of a dozen heroes. A stern sadness was on his face—a resolute fire burned in the gray depths of his eyes. Twice was he wounded, leading on his men, and his war-steed fell under him, pierced to the heart with a bullet. Those who loved him grew anxious for his safety, for there was something wonderful in the steady courage that made him forget the wounds that would have driven another man from the field.
A member of his staff approached him as he stood by his dead horse, and seeing blood upon his forehead, asked if he was hurt.
“I think not seriously,” he answered; and mounting another horse, he plunged again into the terrible melee.
At one time, when the whirlwind of battle was at its height, General Lyon desired his men to prepare for a charge, and the Iowans at once volunteered to go, and asked for a leader. On came the enemy, crushing in their strength, and there was no time for choice.
“I will lead you,” exclaimed the impetuous and fearless General. “Come on, brave boys,” said he, as he took his position in the van, while General Sweeney prepared to lead on a portion of the Kansas troops, and the serried ranks of glittering deadly steel resistlessly moved on.
In the very act of leading those valiant men, with his hand uplifted in an effort to cheer them on, and his noble face turned partly to his command, but not altogether away from the enemy, a bullet pierced him, and he fell, regretted not only by his devoted little army, but by every man, woman and child who ever heard how bravely he fought for the flag they love.
The battle continued from six until eleven o’clock, with but little cessation; and then the gallant Unionists, overwhelmed by superior numbers, were forced to retreat. In good order they accomplished it, and the enemy made no attempt to follow, though their combined forces amounted to about 20,000, while General Lyon’s command did not exceed one-quarter of that number.
DEATH OF GENERAL LYON.
The Federal loss was 223 killed, 721 wounded and 292 missing; the rebel loss, (McCulloch’s report,) 265 killed, 800 wounded, 30 missing; Price’s report of Missouri troops, 156 killed and 517 wounded.
The death of the brave General Lyon was universally deplored. Countless were the tributes to his memory, and deep the sorrow when his body was borne homeward, surrounded with military honors. From amid the murky smoke and fearful glare of battle his soul was called home—the flashing eye dimmed—the good right hand unnerved, and the fiery spirit, that scorned danger and hated treason, was quenched forever.