|On the whole battlefield there was no man more calm and collected than
General Lyon, notwithstanding the great responsibility that rested upon
him and the fearful odds against which he fought. Now on horseback and
now on foot, he moved among his men, encouraging them by his manner and
with now and then a few brief words, making suggestions to his officers,
listening to the reports of his aids, calling back those who sought to
flee and steadying those who showed signs of giving way, rallying the
lines where they began to break and closing up gaps between companies
and regiments, he seemed a tower of strength where it was greatly
needed.
When it became apparent that Sigel had been routed, and not only could
no help be expected from him, but the regiments of the enemy which had
been engaged with him would now be turned in the direction of the main
column, General Lyon remarked to an officer that he feared the day was
lost. “But we will make another effort to save it,” said he; and with
this remark he moved to give some directions to Captain Totten, who was
serving his battery on the brow of the hill.
He was close to the most advanced section of the battery when his horse
was killed by a cannon-shot, and the general was somewhat stunned by his
fall to the ground. The colonel of the Second Kansas had been wounded;
the regiment was close in line with the First Iowa, and with these
regiments General Lyon undertook to lead an advance against the enemy,
when he was struck down by a bullet. He fell into the arms of his
faithful orderly, Lehman, who had kept close to his side, and breathed
only a few times after the latter had laid him gently on the ground.
Thus fell one of the truest soldiers, one of the purest patriots, one
of the most devoted men in his country's cause that the world has ever
seen. He loved his country for his country's sake, and hated slavery and
all its concomitants with deadly hate. While it existed he tolerated it,
because it was one of the institutions of the land; but when it
raised its hand for the destruction of the Union, he was its most
uncompromising foe. He believed in no half-way measures, in no
patched-up peace; and when the governor of Missouri set up the theory
of the right of the state to refuse to send troops to the war or permit
their enlistment within her boundaries, General Lyon would neither offer
nor accept any compromise. He held that the national government was
paramount to the state or any other local authority, and considered the
question one not to be argued.
In fighting the battle in which he lost his life he did so, not that
he was confident of victory, with the odds so greatly against him, but
because he considered it better to fight and take the chances of defeat,
rather than not fight at all. He justly believed that a well-fought
battle, even if lost, would leave no room for the charge, which the
rebels were making daily and hourly, that the Northern men were
cowards, who dared not fight. He knew that a retreat would enable
the Confederates to overrun all that part of the state as far as
the Missouri river; that it would give great encouragement to the
secessionists all through the state, and would equally discourage the
friends of the Union cause. There was a hope--just a hope--that he might
win, and so he risked the battle and prepared to abide by its results.
After the death of General Lyon the command fell upon Major Sturgis,
who immediately consulted the rest of the officers as to what should be
done. Ammunition was nearly exhausted, the rebels were pressing hard,
and it was speedily decided that the only safety lay in retreat, as a
continuance of the battle would simply lead to greater slaughter without
any prospect of victory. And so a retreat was ordered.
The withdrawal was made in good order, the enemy making no attempt
to follow. It has been stated that the rebels were at that moment
contemplating a retreat from the field, and had not the Union troops
withdrawn they would soon have found themselves victorious. This
statement rests upon report rather than authority, and certainly the
Confederate historians do not give any credence to it. Some ground for
the statement may be found in the fact that the last repulse of the
rebels before the order for retreat was given was a severe one, and
resulted in a disorderly retirement of the attacking column. At one time
the rebels were within twenty feet of the muzzles of Totten's guns,
and it was only by the most determined resistance on the part of the
infantry supporting the battery that the assailants were driven back.
Most of the wounded were brought from the field in the wagons and
ambulances that followed the column, but so great was the number that
there was not room for all. Many were left on the ground, and so was the
body of General Lyon, which was afterward recovered by a flag of truce
that went out in charge of one of the young doctors attached to the
service, partly to recover the body and partly to care for or bring in
the wounded. Our young friend Harry was detailed to drive one of the
wagons that went to the field with the flag of truce. Greatly to their
disappointment both the youths had received strict orders to stay with
the wagons on the day of battle, so that they did not see anything of
the momentous events of the day. In the distance they heard the firing,
and now and then could get a glimpse of a column of men in motion, but
so far as the actual battle was concerned they practically saw nothing.
The flag of truce was gone several hours, and did not return until
evening. It was successful in its mission, and those in charge of it
were courteously received by the Confederate officers, though they met
with many scowls on the part of the rebel soldiers. Until the flag of
truce appeared the rebels were not aware of General Lyon's death, and of
course when they heard of it they considered it an additional laurel for
their side. General Price sent Colonel Snead, his adjutant-general, to
identify the body of the fallen hero and deliver it to the men who came
for it, and he did so. Here is his account of the incident, together
with his estimate of the general's character:
“General Price thereupon directed me to identify Lyon's body, and to
deliver it to the bearer of the flag of truce. It had been borne to the
rear of the Federal line of battle, and there, under the shade of an
oak, it lay, still clad in the captain's uniform which he had worn just
two months before when, relying upon the strength of his manhood, on the
might of his government, and on the justice of his cause, he had boldly
defied the governor of the state and the major-general of her forces,
and in their presence had declared war against Missouri and against all
who should dare to take up arms in her defense. Since that fateful day
he had done many memorable deeds, and had well deserved the gratitude
of all those who think that the union of these states is the chiefest of
political blessings, and that they who gave their lives to perpetuate it
ought to be forever held in honor by those who live under its flag. The
body was delivered to the men who had come for it--delivered to them
with all the respect and courtesy which were due to a brave soldier and
the commander of an army, and they bore it away towards Springfield,
whither the army which he had led out to battle was slowly and sullenly
retreating.”
[Illustration: 105]
Colonel Snead adds:
“The Confederates remained upon the field which they had won, and
ministered to the wounded and buried the dead of both armies. Before the
unpitying sun had sunk behind the western hills, all those who had died
for the Union and all those who had died for the South had been laid to
rest, uncoffined, in the ground which their manhood had made memorable
and which their blood had made sacred forever.”
Jack was waiting for Harry when the latter returned, and as soon as the
team had been unharnessed and the animals fed, the two youths had an
animated talk.
“The doctor told me to drive as fast as I could,” said Harry, “and you
can be sure I did. He had the flag of truce--a big napkin or towel tied
to a stick--and this he kept waving in front of the wagons as we went
along. We did n't see anybody until we got pretty near the battlefield,
and then we came upon a picket of fellows in butternut clothes and
armed with shotguns and squirrel rifles. Yes, we did see somebody, as we
passed several of our wounded soldiers who had tried to follow the
army on its retreat, but were too weak to do so and had sat down by
the roadside or were still hobbling on as fast as they could. One poor
fellow of the First Iowa, who had been shot in the leg, was using his
gun for a crutch. He asked for a drink of water and we gave it to him,
and we gave water to some of the others, who seemed to need it badly.
The doctor says a wounded man always suffers terribly from thirst, and
one of the first things he always asks for is water.
“When we got to the rebel picket they stopped us and at first would n't
let us go on or send inside to the commanding officer or anybody else
in authority. But the doctor good-naturedly said they could see for
themselves that he was the bearer of a flag of truce--that he had a
message to deliver, and the best way to find out whether he was right
or wrong was to send to the nearest commissioned officer and ask him to
come there.
“This appealed to the common sense of the sergeant, who did n't seem to
be a bad fellow, but simply ignorant. He sent for his captain, and in
a little while the captain came. It was hard to distinguish the captain
from the soldiers, as they were all dressed alike; some of them had
pieces of red cloth sewed on their sleeves, and the captain had stripes
on his shoulders that looked just a little like shoulder-straps.
“The doctor delivered his message, and the captain told him to wait
awhile till he could report to General Price. Then the fellows of the
picket began to talk to us, and we got on pretty well, though we thought
they boasted a little too much under the circumstances about having just
licked our army and made us go back to Springfield.
“They asked us for tobacco, but we had n't any, and then they hinted
that a little coffee would taste very well. We told them we had been
short of coffee for the last two weeks. They would hardly believe us,
but declared that while we had n't had as much as we wanted, they had
been forced to go without it altogether. Fact is, they did n't look as
though they had been well fed. One of'em took an ear of corn from his
pocket and said it was to be his supper, his breakfast having been just
like it.
“The captain came back with another officer, and then we went on to
where the general's body was lying. The soldiers crowded around us,
the same sort of butternut fellows as we met at the picket. One of 'em
started to say something insulting to us, but the captain shut him up
with a word, and after that the only affronts we had were scowls and
occasional mutterings about the Yankees and Dutch. The captain came with
us to the place where the picket was, and then let us go. The doctor
thanked him for his politeness, and offered him a cigar, which he
accepted with the remark that it was the first he had seen for two
months.”