Chapter 8

Ripe for the Sickle of War

While Lyon made plans for Sweeny, and McCulloch and Price pondered strategy, the Texans under Colonel Elkanah Greer continued their efforts to reach the seat of the war. The men of the South Kansas-Texas Regiment were sworn into Confederate service on June 13 and shortly thereafter elected their company and regimental officers. Some of these, such as Lieutenant Colonel Walter P. Lane, had substantial military experience from the Texas War for Independence, the Mexican War, or service against Native Americans, but “most were as blissfully ignorant of the ruthless nature of war as the men they commanded.” Nor did Greer burden his men with excessive training or discipline during the five weeks in which the regiment sat idle in Dallas, awaiting arms and equipment being shipped to them from San Antonio. A few stole from the local citizens, but overall the Texans behaved themselves and got along exceptionally well with the townsfolk. Their boredom was acute, but the handful of men who deserted and returned home faced severe consequences for having broken the social contract between the community and “its” company. A father in Rusk County informed his son that one such man was hissed at “wherever he goes,” concluding, “John, I want you to go as far as the company goes & not to return till the company returns. . . . I would rather never see you again than for you to come off as he has.”¹

When the promised supply wagons finally arrived on July 6, their contents proved to be both heartening and dismaying. The Texans received spacious Sibley tents and a generous amount of camp equipage. There were so many wagons that three were assigned to each company. The arms, however, were an acute disappointment. Although three companies had arrived in Dallas with Colt’s rifles and Sharps carbines, most had only shotguns or common hunting rifles. Greer’s hopes of upgrading these arms with captured Federal equipment were rudely dashed, as the wagons brought only outdated, single-shot, muzzle-loading pistols. “These pistols were a useless weight on our horses, swung on the horns of our saddles,” one veteran remembered. Greer was actually in such a hurry to depart that he distributed weapons and accoutrements en route, a few of the companies receiving nothing until they reached Arkansas. The resulting issue was haphazard. Some men obtained two pistols, others only one. Captain Johnson Russell’s Cypress Guards never received cartridge boxes or cap pouches, while others got fewer than they needed. Captain D. M. Short’s company from Shelby and St. Augustine was given old-fashioned shot bags and powder flasks. Overall, the men were actually better off with the assortment of weapons they had brought with them from home.²

Although frustrated, Greer had reason to believe that his long delay was worthwhile. For the shipment from San Antonio also included a complete four-gun battery of six-pounders, their caissons, and mules. He assigned these to a previously organized but weaponless artillery unit, commanded by Captain John Good, which had arrived earlier. With the First Texas Battery and the more than one thousand mounted men of his own unit, Greer led a formidable force when his men marched out of Dallas on July 9. The town gave them a good send-off, for as a result of their long stay, “many of the ardent youth of the regiment had become smitten with the charms of the Dallas fair.” Although the parting was difficult, no one expected the separation to be prolonged. Confident that each man could whip five Yankees, they expected to be back before winter.³

Their route took them north to Colbert’s Ferry, where they were to cross the Red River and enter the Choctaw Nation. This proved dangerous when on July 16 the water rose unexpectedly as a result of rains upriver. Douglas Cater of the Rusk County Cavalry recalled seeing “a wall of water eight feet high” suddenly engulf “a wagon and team about midway of the river.” Although the vehicle and its mules were lost, no one drowned. The teamsters imperiled during this episode were Mexican American civilians previously employed in that capacity by the U.S. Army who had accepted service with the Confederacy. Cater had a strong dislike for one of them. “Old Mike, our company’s wagon driver, knew very little about driving a team of any kind,” he recalled. As a consequence, Mike “was sure to let the wagon get turned over, emptying its contents into the dirt, and sometimes making us go hungry by getting provisions too full of dirt to use.” None of the other members of Cater’s regiment criticized the Mexican Americans in their reminiscences, however.⁴

The march to Fort Smith was largely uneventful but tiring, as Greer set a fast pace. Although some men resented the inevitable regimentation of military service, their commander did not insist on more formality than was necessary. “Off duty, both officers and privates were associates,” noted Cater. The young soldier had brought along his violin, and one of the officers, also a violinist, often joined him in playing for the men. Rank had no place in such entertainment. “We were all boys in camp,” he explained.⁵

As the Texans moved across the Indian Territory, many expressed disappointment because most of the Native Americans they encountered were hardly picturesque. Their route took them through areas inhabited largely by Choctaw highly acculturated to the white people’s ways, living as farmers. They were pleased to note many homes flying Confederate banners, and two Choctaw asked to join the regiment. They served honorably and apparently encountered no prejudice due to their race. In fact, on July 19 at Boggy Depot, a group of Choctaw women presented a flag to Greer’s unit. The regiment treated this banner with the same respect it did other emblems of their social contract with civilians, carrying it in so many battles that it was literally shot to pieces.⁶

The same rains that simultaneously impeded Lyon’s operations to the north, but helped McCulloch by raising the level of the Arkansas River, hampered Greer’s movements. He did not reach Fort Smith until July 29. There he found that McCulloch had taken the offensive, leaving instructions for the Texans to abandon their baggage and all wheeled vehicles and join the main column by forced marches. It took two days to replace worn-out horses, place the sick in the fort’s hospital, finish issuing arms and equipment, and distribute scant supplies of ammunition. On July 31 the South Kansas-Texas Cavalry started north along the Wire Road to join their compatriots. Good’s battery remained behind. As Greer’s men passed through Van Buren at the start of their trip, a brass band honored them by playing “Dixie.” Hearing the tune for the first time, Sergeant Samuel Barron of the Lone Star Defenders was impressed. The Texans began to sing it almost incessantly, for it seemed to suit the occasion.⁷

Because of the distances involved, it took some time for letters written by Greer’s men to reach home and appear in hometown newspapers. Meanwhile, locals kept track of events as best they could. Although some sensed a crisis approaching, most appear to have been confident. A typical article, from the Clarksville Standard, proclaimed: “The news by the Ft. Smith Times shows that the actual work has commenced near the Arkansas border. . . . Huzza! for McCulloch and his men—the men of Missouri, of Arkansas, of Kentucky, of Tennessee, and last but not least of Texas. Forward, brothers!—the field is before you, and the harvest of hirelings and knaves is ripe for the sickle of war.”⁸

A few days before Greer’s force reached Fort Smith, Lyon renewed his offensive operations against the Missouri State Guard. His target was Forsyth, a community of some five hundred people lying at the head of navigation on the White River. Thirty-five miles south of Springfield, it was more than fifty miles distant as measured over the rough, twisting country roads of the day. Lyon’s scouts and local Unionists reported that Forsyth served as a rallying point and supply depot for men of McBride’s Division who had not yet reached the encampment at Cowskin Prairie. As Lyon faced his main enemy to the southwest, the Forsyth post potentially threatened his left flank. Lyon’s decision to attack it thus made strategic sense. But as so often happens in war, Lyon’s information was faulty in part. Although the town was stocked with supplies, there were only a few State Guardsmen at Forsyth, and the expedition against them took a greater physical toll on Lyon’s troops than it was worth.⁹

As usual, the enlisted men were the last to learn about strategic maneuvers. When the First Iowa marched from its camp outside Springfield to the center of town and stacked arms on July 20, the men expected to be sent home, as their ninety-day enlistments were about to expire. Mail was distributed, boosting spirits considerably. Eugene Ware of the Burlington Zouaves received ten dollars from his father. He celebrated by buying candy, soda water, and a new wool shirt, then taking a bath in a nearby hotel. When the bugle sounded reassembly, he and his comrades were surprised to find a portion of the First marching south rather than north. As rumors about their destination filtered through the ranks, they were cheered at the prospect of meeting the enemy before their service ended.¹⁰

The Iowans were also happy to be with Sweeny of the Second Infantry, who was far more popular with the troops than Lyon. Forty years old, erect and slender, Sweeny’s heavy beard and drooping eyelids gave him a somewhat sleepy appearance in photographs, but he was a man of great energy. Although he later affected a rakish plumed hat, the red-faced Irishman now wore a simple cap of Mexican War vintage. His empty right sleeve, pinned to the front of his coat at the waist, testified to his sacrifices in that previous conflict. “We all liked him very much,” Ware recalled. “He was a typical Irishman, full of fun, strict in discipline, and with a kind word for everybody.”¹¹

The expedition contained almost 1,200 men. Along with the Burlington Zouaves, Sweeny took five additional companies of the First Iowa. This battalion was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel William H. Merritt, who rode a white horse and cut a dashing if unmilitary appearance by sporting a white coat. Captain David S. Stanley, a West Point graduate and Ohio native whose Southern friends had hoped he would join the Confederate army, led Companies C and D of the First U.S. Cavalry. Stanley had considerable service on the frontier, but another officer, baby-faced Lieutenant George Sokalski, age twenty-two, was only weeks out of West Point. The son of a Polish soldier and political refugee who had served in the U.S. Army, Sokalski was allegedly the first Polish American to graduate from the U.S. Military Academy. He now commanded a section of guns detached from Totten’s Battery. The Second Kansas, under Colonel Robert Mitchell, completed the force. This regiment had captured so many horses during its march to Springfield that Captain Samuel N. Wood’s company, the Kansas Rangers, was now mounted.¹²

The expedition’s first day’s march began at noon and ended on the banks of the James River. The distance covered was only seven miles, but temperatures were so high that several men suffered heatstroke. There were not enough tents, so when it began to rain that evening over one hundred of the men took shelter in a nearby Baptist church and in the covered bridge that spanned the James. They made a late start the next morning, as the rain continued, sometimes coming down in torrents. Soon they were joined by several dozen Home Guard volunteers from Christian and Taney Counties under a Captain Galloway. One of their number, former sheriff John M. Layton, acted as the expedition’s guide thereafter. Sweeny’s men passed only a few homes that morning, but some of them flew the Stars and Stripes conspicuously.¹³

In the afternoon, as the rain continued, the expedition reached the village of Ozark. Here Sweeny confiscated shoes and clothing from a store allegedly belonging to a local Secessionist. These items were desperately needed to supplement the men’s bedraggled outfits. The local mill provided two wagonloads of flour, and at the opposite end of the village they discovered a store that sold “rot gut” whiskey. The owner, who was apparently a Secessionist, obviously feared confiscation, for instead of attempting to sell his wares he had shifted his stock to a wagon. But his attempted escape was foiled when it sank axle deep in the mud a short distance from town. Stanley’s troopers grabbed the stock with glee. Sweeny allowed his men a liberal portion of the captured liquor, but he saw that it was issued in a strictly military fashion. As the entire expedition stood in ranks, forming a line half a mile long in the continuing drizzle, the sergeants from each unit searched the town for buckets or any other containers that might hold liquid. After filling these with whiskey from the wagon, they passed them down the ranks, allowing each man to fill his tin cup. Some of the soldiers noted with horror that their sergeants had grabbed chamber pots, but no one refused the beverage. In fact, the Iowans broke ranks in their eagerness to imbibe. Sweeny rode over and joked with them until they got back into line. When one Kansas soldier wrote home that “all were in good spirits,” he meant it both figuratively and literally.¹⁴

The march continued south into the mountains, where Sokalski’s artillery encountered particularly difficult conditions. Slick with mud, the road was so rough that it ripped the shoes from many of his horses. There was no joy that evening as the men camped in an open field. The unending rain developed into a severe storm after midnight, knocking down most of the tents. The Burlington Zouaves drew picket duty, and Ware spent a miserable night at a muddy crossroads. Having seen some riders in the distance during the day, they piled fence rails into a barrier in case of a surprise attack.¹⁵

On the following day, July 22, a long march finally brought the expedition to the vicinity of Forsyth. While the infantry rested, Sweeny dispatched Wood’s mounted company of the Second Kansas to attack an enemy outpost his scouts had located three miles from the village. The Kansans accomplished this mission without firing a shot, but unfortunately a few State Guardsmen escaped to raise the alarm. The captured Missourians, who had seen only a small portion of the Union force, stated that there were 150 State Guardsmen in Forsyth. As this information meant Sweeny would enjoy overwhelming numerical superiority, he ordered Stanley to ride ahead with his cavalry and Wood’s mounted Kansans, surround the village, and prevent the enemy’s escape. No sooner had the riders passed than one of the captured Missourians bragged to Sweeny that there were actually 1,000 State Guardsmen in Forsyth. Alarmed, Sweeny sent an orderly after Stanley, urging him to use caution, then rushed his infantry and artillery forward as quickly as possible.¹⁶

In fact, there were only seventy-five State Guardsmen in Forsyth. The unit to which they belonged is unknown. Twenty-five of them were unarmed, and the remainder had only shotguns and hunting rifles. Camped in and around the courthouse, they were commanded by a major whose name is not given in the only extant Southern report of the encounter. Present by coincidence were Lieutenant Colonel John H. Price, inspector general for the State Guard, and L. M. Dunning, a quartermaster. When word of the Federals’ approach reached Forsyth, the entire civilian population began to flee, apparently fearing the vengeance of Kansans for past atrocities committed by Missouri “border ruffians.”¹⁷

By the time Stanley’s force arrived, all the women and children had evacuated the town, although a number of male civilians, still trying to escape, were mistakenly identified by the Federals as members of the State Guard. Approaching from the northwest, the cavalry captain could see before him the courthouse that dominated Forsyth, the White River running along the town’s southern border, and rain-swollen Swan Creek, which wrapped around its northern and eastern boundaries. His Regulars and Kansans numbered more than 250 men, but Sweeny’s messenger had warned him that the enemy might have 1,000, so he proceeded with care. Leaving the road, they used fields of corn and other natural cover to approach the town from the west, covering the final few yards dismounted.¹⁸

The major commanding the State Guard had already decided to abandon the town. He divided his force in two, instructing one group to take positions just to the south, on the bluffs across the river. The other group occupied a hill east of the town, across Swan Creek. Many of his men either failed to hear these orders or decided that discretion was the better part of valor and decamped precipitously. Consequently, only a few dozen Missourians were waiting as the Federals came into view. They put up a sharp though not particularly skillful fight for some thirty minutes. The group on the river bluffs opened fire at long range. Although this wounded two men and killed Stanley’s horse, it gave away their position. Unruffled, Stanley had his bugler give the signal to charge. Remounting, the Federals moved through the town, across the river, and up the bluffs. After driving away the force there, they continued east to the hill, sweeping all of the high ground and putting the Missourians to flight. Newspaperman Franc Wilkie took part in the attack, as did Thomas Knox of the New York Herald and a St. Louis correspondent named Fish. Feeling no obligations of journalistic neutrality, Knox and Fish fired their pistols at the fleeing State Guardsmen. Apparently victorious, the Federals soon started back toward the town. But the fight was not over. Although most of the Missourians had retreated in the face of Stanley’s charge, a Lieutenant Parrish rallied a few men along the river and kept up a steady fire from dense cover. On the hill near Swan Creek, which Stanley had not searched thoroughly, Colonel Price gathered seven survivors. They had ample targets, for following a brutal forced march Sweeny arrived with the infantry and artillery.¹⁹

Because of the thick woods beyond the town, Stanley’s location and accomplishments were not immediately clear to Sweeny. The Federal commander assumed that he faced a formidable enemy still in possession of the town and chose his positions accordingly. Placing the Second Kansas astride the main road leading to Forsyth, he sent Sokalski’s artillery off to his left, across Swan Creek, to high ground overlooking the town from the north. Merritt’s battalion of the First Iowa accompanied the guns, forming on their left in support, blocking a country road running into the town along the creek. When Sokalski noted numerous figures milling about among the distant buildings, he opened fire. In short order three solid shot crashed into the courthouse. As it happened, Sokalski was firing on his own men, specifically Wood’s Kansas Rangers, the three newspaper correspondents, and some of Galloway’s Home Guardsmen who had remained in the town. No one was killed, but before the error was discovered Wilkie was wounded by flying debris.²⁰

From the hill east of town, John H. Price’s small band of Missourians opened fire on the Union battery. Shifting his target, Sokalski replied with canister, supported by the muskets of the Iowa battalion. After perhaps half an hour, Price withdrew. To the Union right, the Kansans fired a few long-range volleys, apparently at the Missourians under Parrish. After a brief period these State Guardsmen retired as well. In all, no more than an hour had passed from the time of Stanley’s first approach until Forsyth was securely in Union hands. Although each side was certain it had killed dozens of its enemy, the casualties were actually insignificant. Two of Stanley’s troopers had been wounded and four of their horses were killed. Wilkie, the civilian hit by friendly fire, was actually the most dangerously wounded man on the Union side. A single Missouri State Guardsman was wounded, and two Guardsmen were captured.²¹

It was nearly dark when Sweeny entered the town. A lieutenant from the Second Kansas rushed to the courthouse, raising the flag of the Emporia Guards from its spire. The building, which the State Guard had used as a barracks, contained not only weapons, but also large amounts of ammunition, food, blankets, camp equipage, and one thousand pounds of lead. There was also a stock of bulk cloth, military and civilian clothing, shoes, and boots. Three wagons and a number of horses and mules were captured as well. Sweeny gave the weapons to Galloway’s Home Guard and distributed the clothing and footwear to his own threadbare men. Because the lead’s vast weight made its transportation difficult, some of Sweeny’s men threw it down the town well.²²

The Federals remained in Forsyth during the night of July 22. What happened next foreshadowed the fate of many Missouri communities in the years to come. During the long march through the state the men of Lyon’s Army of the West had commented favorably on the large number of Unionists they encountered. Perhaps because of this they had rarely destroyed private property wantonly. But they were now tired, ragged, and hungry. The brief skirmish apparently did little to satisfy their desire to punish those whom they blamed for their discomfort. Distinctions between “loyal” and “disloyal” Missourians ceased to matter as they looted Forsyth.

Vincent Osbourne, a private in the Second Kansas, described one incident: “The regulars were passing around Port wine in buckets. I found out where they got it. Went around there, found some men there, some rolling off barrels of liquor. Others were drinking very freely out of the barrel of Port wine, which had the head knocked in, and it was about two-thirds full.” Although an officer eventually put a halt to the bacchanalia, other officers participated in the plundering without apology. To his hometown newspaper in Kansas, Lieutenant C. S. Hills of the Emporia Guards wrote gleefully: “That night we occupied the finest houses in town—cooked our food on their stoves, washed our faces in their wash-bowls, lounged on their sofas, invited friends into their parlors, and, in fact, had a big time generally.” Eugene Ware, who drew guard duty that night and did not visit the town’s ravaged stores until the next morning, lamented that everything “worth taking” was gone. But he did not go empty-handed. He appropriated a box of patent medicine, and the First Iowa’s regimental chaplain, who had stolen a large quantity of silk handkerchiefs, shared a few of them.²³

Equally ominous was the response of Forsyth’s civilians who returned the next morning. Sweeny made no attempt to compensate those claiming to be loyal to the Union for their losses. They responded by striking at the only available targets, identifying over one hundred fellow citizens as “disloyal.” Sweeny promptly arrested them. How many of these political prisoners were true Secessionists and how many were merely loyal to the legally elected government of the state of Missouri, which Sweeny was helping to destroy, is unknown. The pattern of civilians appealing to the military authorities, North and South, to take punitive action against other civilians soon became widespread in Missouri.²⁴

Sweeny took the civilian prisoners with him when he left Forsyth at noon on July 23. A short distance outside the town the Federal column came under fire, but Sokalski’s guns soon drove away the attackers, who were presumably members of the Missouri State Guard. The return to Springfield was otherwise uneventful, and with good weather it was not nearly as arduous as the trip south had been. But the food captured at Forsyth was quickly consumed and the expedition, now burdened with a herd of political prisoners, was reduced to one-quarter rations. By the time Sweeny’s men reached Springfield on the afternoon of July 25, they were desperately hungry. Although the Forsyth expedition had captured supplies that the Missouri State Guard needed badly, the toll it took on Sweeny’s men made the effort counterproductive.²⁵

Discipline in the First Iowa broke down completely when the troops reached the outskirts of the town. One soldier related, “The boys wandered off into orchards, cornfields, potato patches and thickets, as various dishes of potatoes, corn, apples, and blackberries were soon cooked and devoured.” Many of the Iowans blamed these shortages on their own company commanders and the regiment’s commissary officer, but the problem went beyond any one unit. Lyon’s logistical system, which had been haphazard from the beginning, was falling apart. With more than six thousand men and over one thousand horses and mules concentrated in one area, the Federals required 15.5 tons of food and grain and 6.5 tons of supplementary fodder every day. Although Lyon had given a highly competent officer the task of shuttling supplies to Springfield from Rolla, conditions were chaotic and there were maddening delays. Army agents purchased grain throughout the surrounding region, but Lyon did not confiscate the food on the shelves in Springfield stores. Merchants sold this stock to Lyon’s hungry men at inflated prices. The soldiers apparently resented this exploitation, for Lyon soon had to publish orders reprimanding his men for stealing not only food but private property as well.²⁶

The impact of these conditions on the morale of the Army of the West is difficult to determine. Some wartime letters and postwar reminiscences state that the situation was not acute and that the men’s spirits remained high, even after learning of the Union defeat at Manassas Junction in Virginia on July 21. ‘‘General Lyon is universally popular,” an Iowa soldier informed his hometown paper in Burlington. Others sources disagreed. Although there were some optimists, a large percentage of the Iowans were thoroughly dispirited. “Most of us are sick, tired, and disgusted of the 1st Regiment,” a soldier reported to his friends in Davenport. He reasoned that “many and many a one who would have enlisted for three years now will not do so, and subject themselves to such mean and contemptible treatment.” Another, writing to the citizens of Dubuque, recounted the soldiers’ sufferings in detail, concluding, “do you wonder that we will hail with joy the day which restores us to our homes and families, and dissolves our connection with the United States Volunteer Service?” In pledging their honor and that of their community to faithful service, the volunteers had thought largely of sacrifices on the battlefield. They had not anticipated the abject physical misery that campaigning involved, and evidence that it was exacerbated by the incompetence of their own government was infuriating.²⁷

No one was more upset with conditions than Lyon himself. He reported to his superiors that his men were suffering chronic diarrhea due to weeks of substandard rations and that discipline was badly compromised. When typhoid broke out, Lyon converted Springfield’s unfinished courthouse into a hospital. It was soon overcrowded. Adding to morale problems was the fact that the soldiers had received no pay from the Federal government. During the last days of July about two thousand volunteers, many of them German Americans from St. Louis, marched out of Springfield in disgust. Their ninety-day terms of service had expired, and they refused to reenlist. This sparked ethnic tensions. “Damn the Dutch element in Missouri,” wrote one Regular officer. “They are useful but cowardly.” Such accusations were unfair. Lyon’s Missouri volunteers had served honorably. The majority of them, ragged and often barefooted, remained in Springfield.²⁸

Lyon faced many strategic challenges as well. Alarming reports reached him daily concerning the strength, movement, and intentions of various units of the Missouri State Guard. Most were either erroneous or wildly exaggerated, but Lyon could not ignore them. He responded by dispatching scouts and occasionally conducting a reconnaissance in force. Though none of these was on the scale of Sweeny’s expedition, they contributed to the general fatigue of the Federal troops. Lyon was also distracted by wild reports of Confederate troops moving into Missouri from Arkansas, Tennessee, and Kentucky. It is hardly surprising that his headquarters, located on College Street in a two-story building belonging to Congressman John Phelps, was the scene of feverish activity, or that the burden of command extracted considerable personal cost. By habit a light sleeper and an early riser, Lyon worked to the point of exhaustion and began losing weight, which added to his generally undignified appearance. Favoring a worn captain’s coat over the fancy uniform of a general, he wore his pant legs rolled halfway up his boots like a farmer and tugged his beard nervously whenever frustrated.²⁹

Lyon’s military accomplishments between early May and late July had been remarkable, but without substantial reinforcements and increased supplies he would have no option except retreat. His dilemma was exacerbated by the absence of strategic direction from above. Frémont, the new commander for the Western Department, did not reach St. Louis until July 25. It took Frémont some time to put things in order, and the Federal troops in Springfield were only a small part of his new responsibilities. Lyon bombarded Frémont’s headquarters with letters and telegrams explaining his desperate plight. On four occasions he dispatched personal emissaries to speak directly with Frémont. But as the month of July drew to a close, he had received neither information nor instruction from St. Louis.³⁰

On July 28 circumstances forced Lyon’s hand. When scouts brought news that a portion of the Missouri State Guard was moving through Carthage toward Greenfield, a town northwest of Springfield, Lyon feared that his right flank might be turned. Although the troops he sent to the scene discovered nothing, he continued to anticipate an enemy movement from that direction. Even more alarming was word that Price and McCulloch were marching toward Cassville with thirty thousand men. Located fifty miles to the southwest, Cassville lay on the Wire Road, the route the enemy would likely take to attack Springfield. Finally, Lyon learned that Confederate troops under Gideon Pillow had landed at New Madrid in southeastern Missouri. He assumed, correctly, that the silent Frémont was more likely to dispatch troops in response to this threat along the Mississippi than reinforce the Ozarks. In short, he was left completely on his own to face the greatest threat to Missouri since the war began. Characteristically, he decided to attack rather than retreat, to move down the Wire Road and confront the enemy.³¹

This proved to be a major error. The Federal army was in wretched physical condition, food was scarce, and morale was fragile in many units. Most of the men simply wanted to go home. A forward movement made every problem worse. It is to Lyon’s credit that he did not want to abandon the Unionists in Springfield, but a good commander must realize when to cut his losses and fight another day. Although Lyon complained to his superiors that a retrograde movement would undo everything he had accomplished, this was simply not the case. His most obvious and sensible option was a withdrawal to the railhead at Rolla. There his forces could rest and resupply. Meanwhile, he might take the train to St. Louis, trying in person to convince Frémont that southwestern Missouri should not be abandoned simply because of threats elsewhere. Given Lyon’s forceful personality, he might have succeeded. His rejection of this strategy is best explained by his peculiar sense of destiny, his belief that he was God’s instrument for the punishment of treason. When Lyon marched his force of 5,868 men down the Wire Road on the blisteringly hot morning of August l, searching for an enemy rumored to have more than five times his own strength, he was not merely undertaking a military mission. He was launching the final phase of his “punitive crusade.”³²

While Lyon overestimated the size of the force moving against him, he had not exaggerated the danger. For although Ben McCulloch had qualms about Sterling Price’s ability, he was anxious for a joint move against the Federals in Springfield. Both he and Price hoped that this might be coordinated with an advance on the part of the Arkansas State Troops and Confederate forces in eastern Arkansas and perhaps even Confederate troops in western Tennessee. They wrote letters recommending this strategy to commanders in those areas and to the War Department in Richmond. The replies, which took some time to reach them, were negative, and it was fortunate that they did not count heavily on such support when making their plans.³³

On July 25, in preparation for the advance, Price began shifting the Missouri State Guard east to Cassville. Several hundred men of McBride’s Division already guarded the strategic location. By July 28 more than 7,000 men were in place. The following day McCulloch arrived. His Confederate brigade and Bart Pearce’s Arkansas State Troops, which reached camp the next day, brought the total of the Southern forces to approximately 13,500. A few of the Arkansas State Troops had balked at crossing into Missouri. One company commander, Captain John J. Walker, wrote to a friend that two of his men had deserted as a consequence. He continued: “There is several others in the company who stated publicly that they would go no farther than the state line, and endeavored to induce others to join them. When we got to the line they halted for a moment, but the number that stopped with them being small they fell into ranks again. I am in hopes there will be no more desertions from my Co., but there is no telling anything about white men in a campaign like this.”³⁴ It is unclear whether many others shared the views of Walker’s company.

McCulloch referred to the combined forces as the Western Army. Pearce used the label Consolidated Army, but he also called it the Army of Arkansas, the same term he had used previously for his Arkansas State Troops. In memoirs, some veterans termed it the Army of the West. Actually, no name was ever officially adopted for this unique body of soldiers. As McCulloch led them, his designation Western Army is preferred. Even the term “Southerners” cannot do justice to the diversity of backgrounds, political viewpoints, allegiances, and loyalties of the men gathered in and around Cassville. It is used in default of a better collective word.³⁵

As McCulloch and Price considered themselves to be commanding forces that belonged to separate nations, the Confederate States and the United States, respectively, the question arose of who should command their combined units in the campaign against the “usurping Lincolnites.” Surprisingly, Pearce raised the issue first. On the afternoon that the forces joined, he approached Price, stating that he was willing to serve under either the Missourian or McCulloch, so long as the army had a definite head. At Price’s suggestion, they immediately visited McCulloch and offered him command of the joint armies. Although Price’s motivation was doubtless sincere, Pearce’s action in prompting the meeting was disingenuous. The state of Arkansas, under which he held his commission, had already assigned his troops to McCulloch. By negotiating in company with Price, Pearce was assuming a status of equality with the other two men that simply did not exist, for he was McCulloch’s subordinate. As McCulloch had already intermixed Confederate and Arkansas State Troops to establish provisional brigades, Pearce apparently feared that he soon might be left without a command. This concern was particularly ironic, as he alone among the top Southern commanders had been educated at West Point. McCulloch accepted the offer to command and so informed the War Department.³⁶

Months after the Wilson’s Creek campaign ended, at a time when he and Price were at odds with one another, McCulloch wrote that when Price offered to serve under his command, he had suspected “it was done to throw the responsibility of ordering a retreat upon me if one had to be ordered for the want of supplies.” The statement apparently reflects their postbattle squabbles, as there is nothing in McCulloch’s surviving correspondence for July and August to suggest that he doubted the sincerity of the Missourian’s offer. Supplies were indeed a critical problem, however. Even on reduced rations the men of the combined Southern host required almost 20 tons of food daily. To remain in maximum health and strength their horses, which numbered some 3,500, needed 45.5 tons of grain and hay per day. By the end of July the soldiers had stripped the regions around their camps nearly bare, making an advance on Springfield or a retreat to Fort Smith the only viable options. In addition to these worries, McCulloch had deep concerns about the arms and ammunition supply of the Missouri State Guard. Many possessed “shot-guns and common rifles” rather than military firearms. McCulloch loaned them what ammunition he could, but even with this redistribution the Western Army had barely enough munitions to contemplate battle. The day before the march began, McCulloch pleaded with the secretary of war to dispatch “a large amount of flint-lock musket cartridges, percussion musket cartridges for percussion and minie muskets, and caps, and such cannon ammunition for field pieces as can be spared.”³⁷

To avoid overcrowding the country roads and to collect forage along the way, the Southerners advanced piecemeal, in three “divisions,” a day’s march apart. Six companies of cavalry rode ahead to scout the way and prevent surprise. The structure McCulloch adopted for the advance is interesting. The First Division, for instance, contained two Confederate units, the Third Louisiana Infantry and McRae’s Battalion, Arkansas Volunteers; two units from the Arkansas State Troops, the Pulaski Light Battery and the Third Arkansas Infantry; and all the infantry from Rains’s Division of the Missouri State Guard. The other two divisions were equally mixed. The Texan’s reason for this organization is unknown. But as he claimed to have read military history extensively, he may have been following the example of Wellington at Waterloo. There the duke had strengthened his position by interspersing his British Regulars among the less reliable units of his Dutch allies.³⁸

Equally interesting is the fact that the Third Division, which marched last, contained most of the mounted troops.³⁹ This may have been because so many of them were poorly armed members of the Missouri State Guard. Perhaps McCulloch considered them too ill-disciplined to be of great use. But much of his previous military experience had been with mounted troops, and his dream in the 1850s had been to lead a cavalry regiment. One might have expected him to concentrate all his cavalry in the van, where they could outflank and cut off anyone they encountered. Although a minor point, it suggests that McCulloch’s eagerness to advance was balanced by a strong element of caution, even uncertainty. The onetime Ranger now commanded an army, and the fate of both Missouri and the Trans-Mississippi Confederacy rested in no small part on his shoulders. It was a heavy responsibility.

There were problems from the beginning. For contrary to an understanding he had reached with McCulloch, Price allowed some two thousand unarmed men and a significant number of women to follow along from Cowskin Prairie. As camp followers, these women had rendered invaluable support services to the State Guard, acting as cooks, laundresses, and nurses. Most were the wives, daughters, or sisters of the men in the ranks and had followed their loved ones to war, representing “their” companies and home communities in a fashion similar to the men. But because supplies were strained McCulloch wanted them left behind, as the camp followers of his Confederate units and Arkansas State Troops had been. Only a few officers’ wives, such as Mrs. Pearce, were allowed to remain. The unarmed soldiers were an even more useless burden. Although orders instructed them to remain a day’s march behind, the situation was unsatisfactory. Price’s failure to live up to the agreement boded ill for future cooperation.⁴⁰

Nevertheless, all seemed well as the leading elements of the Western Army went into camp on August 1 at Crane Creek, which provided excellent water. Pickets were thrown out, while scouts continued up the Wire Road. The scouts soon returned with the startling news that the Union army was only seven miles away. Lyon had not remained in Springfield. A collision was now imminent.