Everybody was surprised at this unexpected turn of affairs, and the Germans of Sigel’s and Salmon’s regiments began jabbering away delightedly, and the color-bearers were beckoning with their flags to the advancing hosts to “come on”—when, all at once, two batteries of artillery, one on the Fayetteville road and one on the hill where it was supposed Lyon’s men were in pursuit of the flying Confederates, opened with cannister, shell and shrapnel, while the gray-coated troops, supposed to be the Iowans, advanced from the Fayetteville road and attacked the Federal right, and a battalion of cavalry made its appearance, apparently ready and waiting to charge!
The jabbering of the German soldiers was now something wonderful, but it had a different tone from that of a few minutes previously! It is impossible to describe the consternation and frightful confusion that resulted. So surprised and frightened were the soldiers that they could not understand these were Confederates who were firing upon them and coming rapidly forward to sweep them from the face of the earth. They hurried and skurried about crying, some in English: “It is Totten’s battery!” others in German: “Sie haben gegen uns geschossen! Sie irrten sich!” (They are firing against us! They make a mistake!) And then making no effort to fight worthy of the name, they began to retreat.
The artillerymen, all of whom were recruits from the infantry, who had seen but little service of any kind, could hardly be brought forward to serve their pieces, although directed by Sigel himself; the infantry would not level their guns until it was too late; indeed, they could not be made to stop running, let alone to turn and fight. Salomon cursed in German, in English, in French. Sigel threatened and bullied and coaxed. No use. As well try to stop a herd of stampeded buffaloes. Lieut. Farrand, with his company of cavalry brought off one piece of artillery which had not been unlimbered and put in position, and away it went the wheels bouncing two feet from the ground and the postilions lashing their horses like race riders.
On came McCulloch’s and Price’s men, the Louisiana regiment of Col. Hebert (pronounced Hebare) which had been mistaken for the 1st Iowa because of its pretty steel gray uniform, was in front, and following them were the Arkansas regiments of Dockery and Gratiot, the 5th and 3d, Greer’s regiment of Texas cavalry, Lieut. Col. Major’s Howard and Chariton county battalion, Johnson’s battalion mounted Missourians, and some other detachments. Up to the very muzzles of the cannons they came, killing the artillery horses and what artillerymen were reckless enough to remain, firing fairly into the faces of the panicky Teutons and forcing them to throw themselves into the bushes, into by-roads, anywhere to escape and scamper away as fast as their legs could carry them. The color-bearer of Sigel’s own regiment was badly wounded; his substitute was killed, and the flag itself was captured by Capt. Tom Staples, a Missourian, of Arrow Rock, Saline county.
When the plateau was reached, the cannon captured and the field gained, the infantry stopped and cheered, Reid’s and Bledsoe’s batteries fired parting salutes into the flying blue-coats, and then, leaving the cavalry to pursue, both infantry and artillery turned about and went up to the other end of the valley to assist their brethren in that quarter, and to participate in the final triumph of the day.
Away went the Germans, down to the south into Christian county, throwing away guns, cartridge boxes, even canteens,—everything that hindered rapid flight,—wandering about and hiding when they could with the Texas, Arkansas, and Missouri cavalry leaping upon them incessantly and slaying them wherever they made the least show of resistance. At Nowlan’s mill, on the James, three miles from the battle-ground, it was told that four fugitives skulked under the mill-dam and, refusing to come out, were riddled with buckshot.
The next day men lay scattered all over the country, wounded or dead; and yet Sigel lost but comparatively few killed. Prisoners were taken in great numbers—run down by the Texas rangers and driven in like flocks of sheep, as timid now and as harmless. Sigel himself got panicky after awhile and fled for Springfield, across the country, accompanied by only two guards, giving rise to the wicked stanza of the song sung in the Confederate camps after the battle, concerning the battle of Wilson’s Creek,—how,
Old Sigel fought some on that day,
But lost his army in the fray;
Then off to Springfield he did run,