Let us turn for a moment to General Sigel. His part of the plan of attack was perfectly carried out. He arrived before daylight in the position assigned to him and had his guns in position and his troops drawn up ready to begin the attack as soon as he heard the sound of Lyon's guns. From the point where he stood he could look down upon the rebel camp and see the cooks busy with their preparations for breakfast, and he so arranged his skirmishers that they captured every man who straggled out of camp, and thus prevented any warning of the presence of an enemy. Anxiously did he wait for the signal to begin the attack. He and his officers around him saw that they would make a complete surprise of the part of the camp they were to attack, and already felt sure that the battle would be in their favor.
It was a few minutes past five when the first of the rebels were encountered by Lyon's advance, and by five-thirty the battle had begun. Captain Totten planted his artillery in a good position and threw a 12-pound shell into the enemy's camp. Shell after shell followed from his batteries and Dubois's, and then the sounds of Sigel's cannon were heard answering from the other end of the line.
A rebel officer afterward told the writer of this story that he was asleep in his tent when an orderly came to tell him to get his regiment under arms, as the Yankees were coming.
“Is that official?” queried the officer, as he languidly raised his head.
Before the orderly could answer the sound of a cannon was heard, and a shell tore through the tent and narrowly missed its occupant.
No explanation was needed. “Well, that's official, anyhow,” exclaimed the officer as he sprang from his blankets and went through whatever toilet he had to make with the greatest celerity.
Sigel's shot fell among the Arkansas and Louisiana troops, while those of Lyon were delivered at the Missourians. Very quickly the rebel forces were under arms; their tents fell as though by magic, and from a peaceful camp the spot was changed into a scene of war as by the wand of a magician.
The scrub-oaks and underbrush masked the movements of the rebels and enabled them to form their line quite near that of Lyon's forces without being seen. They waited for Lyon's advance, which was not long delayed, and as the Union troops came advancing through the bushes they were met by a withering fire from the rifles of the Missourians at close range. This was on the slope of Bloody Hill, and on this hill for five hours the battle raged between the opposing forces.
Neither side attempted a bayonet charge, as the ground was quite unsuited to it on account of the density of the brush and the uncertainties that might be behind it. Most of the Missourians were armed with ordinary shotguns and hunting-rifles; consequently they could not have attempted a bayonet charge, even though other circumstances had permitted one.
The opposing lines advanced, retired, advanced again, and often were not more than fifty yards apart. Sometimes the ground was held and contested for several minutes, and at others only for a very brief period. Now and then came a lull, when for half an hour or so hardly a shot would be fired, the antagonists each waiting for the next move of their opponents. The stillness at these times was almost painful and in marked contrast to the roar and rattle of the small-arms and the deep diapason of the artillery whenever the battle was renewed.