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.”

Original Size

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.”