2. The Battle of Wilson’s Creek and the First Spy Mission

August to September 1861

Early in August, I was sent with a wagon and a small escort to Springfield to obtain a supply of ammunition for our regiment. The journey thither required two days and was attended with a good deal of danger, the rebel army commanded by Gen[.] Price being then only a few miles from Springfield. We arrived in safety, however, but found great excitement and anxiety prevailing among the Federal troops and the loyal people of that place. General Lyon was in command. He was a brave and efficient officer, but he had only about 3500 men with which to face about 23000 under Gen. Price.1 Many have argued that, under the circumstances, Gen. Lyon should have evacuated Springfield and retreated without venturing a battle. Such a retreat, however, would have been regarded as a virtual abandonment of the cause of the Union in Southern Missouri. Tens of thousands of brave, but then wavering men, who finally became good Union soldiers, would have gone to the other side. It was better that Lyon fought as he did; better that he almost drove from the field a force seven times as numerous as his own;—better that he died like the hero he was; better almost any thing that would call forth admiration and sympathy for the defenders of the Union and for their cause, than a bloodless retreat which would have had an opposite effect.2

Figure 2. Southwest Missouri during the Civil War. Drawn by Rebecca Wrenn. Map source: “Southwest Missouri in 1864,” parts 1 and 2, in Bruce Nichols, Guerrilla Warfare in Civil War Missouri, vol. 4, September 1864–June 1865 (Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2014), 12–13.

When I met Gen. Lyon, he seemed to be very nervous from over-work and anxiety. He was giving all his orders verbally. Among other orders given in my presence was one to issue as much ammunition as possible to the troops and to throw all the balance into Wilson Creek. Another was to take all the money out of the banks, pay out of it as much of it to the troops as was due them, and load the balance into wagons, and thus have it ready to be carried away at a moment’s notice. From these orders I understood that he regarded his position as a desperate one.³ He let me have more ammunition than I called for and would have no receipt for it, as it would otherwise have to be destroyed any way. He said, however, that it would not be safe for me to attempt to reach Buffalo with my ammunition wagon, that I would be almost certain to be captured; that I must remain where I was; and that he would send for my regiment. He asked me if I thought a written order to Col. Edwards would be necessary. I replied that I thought not;—that I thought a letter from me would be sufficient. He then directed me to send such a letter as soon as possible, and I did so. Col. Edwards, however, justly regarding this as an inexcusably loose way of doing business, refused to move on such information. He wrote to Gen. Lyon asking orders and desiring that I be sent on at once with the ammunition of which he was sadly in need. The orders were sent, and I was hurried on with the ammunition.4 The delay, however, prevented our being present on the day of battle to aid the heroic but ill-fated Lyon.

As we approached Springfield three days later, we met crowds of fugitives fleeing before the victorious rebel army. The desperate battle of Wilson Creek had been fought; Lyon had fallen while leading one of the most gallant charges ever recorded in history; and the remnant of his little Spartan band were in full retreat toward Rolla. Some time after the battle, Mrs. J. S. Phelps found the body of Gen. Lyon entirely buried under the bodies of brave men that died fighting over him after he fell.⁵ Learning from the fugitives that to advance any further would be to seek certain capture or destruction, we turned about and returned to Buffalo. Here we remained one day preparing for a retreat further northward. That was a day of trial. A few prepared to take their families with them on the retreat. Most of us, however, were compelled to leave our families to the mercy of the enemy and of the guerrilla bands that were already swarming over the country. On the next day, we began our sad retreat in a north-easterly direction. At night, we encamped on the Big Niangua near Bennet’s Mill. Here, contrary to my judgment, it was decided to remain one day. I feared that inaction would demoralize our excited and undisciplined men. The result fully justified my worst fears. For some reason, I do not remember what, Col. Edwards left us and went on to Jefferson City. Lieut. Col. Hovey went on with his family to Illinois and did not return till he could do so in safety. The Captains quarreled, four of them determining to go to Rolla, the other four to Jefferson City. Having already determined to enter the regular volunteer service of the United States at the first chance, I very easily became disgusted and unwisely resigned. The Captains being now at full liberty, and being unable to agree, each took his own course.

On the next day, our regiment divided, never again to be reunited. I accompanied the division that retreated in the direction of Jefferson City. I do not now remember the number of days we were upon the route. Nothing of special interest occurred during that time. When we arrived at the City, we were quartered, together with great numbers of other Home Guards in the buildings at the Fair Grounds. Here every thing was in confusion.6 The men were all grumbling, the officers nearly all intriguing. The time for which the Home Guards had enlisted was about out, or rather, it was very indefinite. It was very uncertain, too, whether we should ever receive any pay for our services, while in that organization. Under these circumstances, the men generally wished to quit this non-descript service and enter the regular volunteer service of the United States. Most of those who held offices in the Home Guard organization, wished to retain these same offices after entering the volunteer service. These, therefore, very naturally wished the volunteering to be done by companies, the present organization of each company to remain unchanged. Another set of office seekers, who would be cut off by this plan, contended for a reorganization of the companies, upon entering the volunteer service, letting the present officers stand their chance for election the same as any other candidates. The wrangling was very warm and the intriguing very active, many of these ambitious patriots declaring that the Union might go to h—l before they would enter the service without a certainty of an office.

I was offered a Majorate in one of the new regiments about to be formed. Declining this offer—very unwisely, no doubt—I declared that I would show to the world that my patriotism was entirely above selfish personal motives;—that I would volunteer as a private. I immediately made my words good, having myself sworn in by an officer recruiting for Mulligan’s Irish Brigade.7 My old friend, John McConnell, and a few others followed my example.⁸ In the evening, there was a pretty general call by the men for me to make them a speech. I complied, describing the circumstances we were in, condemning the conduct of the officers and office seekers, and advising them all to volunteer independently as I had. My speech was loudly applauded, and great enthusiasm prevailed. Just as my Demosthenian eloquence was having its finest effect, however, Major Hall, the Officer of the Day, came up and declared that I was inciting the men to mutiny.⁹ My stream of eloquence was instantly interrupted, and I quickly found myself marching out of the Fair Grounds in front of several bayonets. The guards, however, who thus escorted me out, apologized for what they were doing, declaring that they held me in much higher esteem than they held Major Hall whose orders they were compelled very reluctantly to obey. I told them that I did not blame them,—that they were simply doing their duty. Many of the men declared that they would follow me. The gate closed, however, behind me, and the guards were ordered not to let any others out. Several did climb over the wall in another place, however, and go with me to Mulligan’s camps which were on the heights south of the city.

At first, we were scattered among various messes of Mulligan’s men. To us, this arrangement was very unsatisfactory. In a few days, we were supplied with tents and placed in a camp to ourselves, I being put in command. Here we had a good enough time, having nothing to do but drill and guard our own camp. I soon became popular with the men, and, when we became sufficiently numerous to be entitled to a Lieutenant, I was unanimously elected to that office. I never received my commission, however. Why I did not, I never knew. Immediately after my election, Mulligan was sent with his brigade to Lexington where he was soon after captured,¹⁰ and I with my recruits was sent to Saint Louis under the command of a villainous looking Captain who refused to recognize me as an officer or to answer any questions in regard to the disposition that was to be made of us. Not liking this phase of our affairs, McConnell and I obtained permission to join the 24th Mo. Infantry, which was largely made up of our friends.11 I now very much doubt if the man who took us to St. Louis had any authority to do so. I think he simply stole that many recruits for his own benefit. What became of most of the balance of them, I do not know. Soon after I left Jefferson City, Major Hall, who had put me out of the Fair Grounds,¹² was tried for some grave offense, and was degraded by having his straps taken off in presence of the men. So my revenge came, but not, as I had intended it should, by my own hand.

While we were lying at Jefferson City, I often took long rambles alone among the beautiful hills and forests which surround that pleasant city.¹³ Pawpaws were ripe, and were very abundant. Of these, I usually carried a good supply for my men. On one of these rambles, I came upon an orchard of over a hundred acres of very large fruit trees all bending under their loads of fine fruit. I knew that the proprietor was a wealthy secessionist who was selling several wagon loads of fruit every day, at enormous prices, to our soldiers. My long walk had made me hungry, and I wanted to taste a few specimens of this fine fruit. I passed up through the orchard, therefore, to the house and asked the proprietor for a few peaches, pears, &c. to eat. He treated me in a surly manner, told me that he had no fruit ripe enough to eat, and pointed me to a little peach-tree in his yard which, he said, contained as ripe peaches as he had, and from which I might help myself. I stepped to the tree and examined the peaches. They were of a late variety and were as hard as green peaches could well be. I felt that I was insulted and I told the man so. I told him that I had come up through his orchard and knew that he had hundreds of bushels of fine ripe fruit; that, in coming so far through the orchard to ask for the fruit, I had acted the part of a gentleman; and that I did not now propose to be treated otherwise than as a gentleman. I went back, therefore, right before his eyes into the orchard, took off my shirt, made a bag of it, and filled it with fine ripe pears. Fixing my blouse in the same manner, I filled it with fine ripe peaches. Then telling the man—who was watching me through the fence—that this was the way that a gentleman should be treated, I wished him a good day and departed. My bags were heavy and inconvenient, but I reached camp with them at last. My men were hugely delighted with the fruit, and with my account of the manner in which I had obtained it. I felt, however, that I had not yet received full satisfaction for the affront I had received from that miserly old fruit man. I went back, therefore, next morning, taking with me six strong men each carrying a large sack. I found my old friend, the miser, in his orchard with his negroes filling his wagons for market. Setting my men at work to fill their sacks, I had a very friendly conversation with my old friend; or rather, I had a very friendly talk to him, he not speaking a single word during the whole time. I expatiated upon the excellence and the abundance of our fruit, the fine weather we were having in which to gather it, the good price we were likely to get for it, &c. &c. growing more pleasant all the time as I saw the corners of his mouth draw down. Whenever they could do so without letting their master see them, the negroes would tell me by their looks that they were immensely delighted with what I was doing.

When McConnell and I reached the 24th Mo. Infantry, which was then in training at Benton Barracks, we at first entered the company of one of my late Captains of the Dallas County Home Guards. Afterwards, we were transferred to Co. F commanded by Captain Barris.14 In this company, I served till March of the next year, McConnell till the close of the war.

It was now September which is usually a sickly month near the Mississippi River. The water at Benton Barracks was bad, and malarial fevers, diarrhea, and cholera-morbus prevailed among the men.¹⁵ There was a great deal of grumbling, all being eager to get away,—eager to win laurels upon the glorious battlefield. I did much to cheer the drooping spirits of the home-sick men, and soon grew more popular with them than ever. The officers treated me with the respect due to an officer, and not as a private soldier. I was rarely put on duty, and had an unlimited pass to go whenever I pleased and wherever I pleased. Col. S. H. Boyd, the commander of our regiment, volunteered the promise that I should be made a captain just as soon as we had recruits enough to form a new company.16 I was still called Major Kelso, and soon came to be regarded with great partiality by our Commander-in-Chief, Maj. Gen. S. R. Curtis.¹⁷ Indeed, it became a common remark among the men that I had more influence at Head Quarters than all the officers of our regiment put together. While lying here, I usually brought in a shirt-full of fine apples to my comrades every day. Most of the apples I obtained from the orchard of a wealthy old rebel, in the neighborhood, who was wont to set two large fierce dogs upon all those who undertook, without pay and permission, to test the quality of his really fine fruits. As soon as I heard of him, I determined to give him a call. When I arrived at his orchard, he was just in the act of hissing his dogs after two young soldier boys. The boys being unarmed, had a hard time trying to escape by climbing a high fence. Seeing these boys sufficiently terrified, the old man called off his dogs and returned to the house. I then entered the orchard and went down near the house so that he should be sure to see me. When he did see me, he returned and hissed his dogs upon me. I sat quietly down with my back against a large apple-tree, cocked a formidable Colt’s dragoon that I carried, and then began to eat an apple.18 When the dogs drew near, I drew a bead upon the leader, then spoke to them kindly. They wagged their tails and made friends with me. The man then approached, seeming to be in quite a rage about something, and carrying a formidable club which he was using as a walking stick. “Good morning,” said I kindly and cheerfully as he drew near, “won’t you sit down by me and eat some of my fine apples with me? They are really delicious.” “No,” said he, with a look of disgust upon his face, “I don’t care for any.” Then, without so much as thanking me for my kind invitation, the ill-bred fellow turned and left me.

About the close of this month, Gen. Curtis called upon me to go secretly to South West Missouri and ascertain the numbers, the intentions, &c. of the rebel forces then lying at Springfield.¹⁹ I went by rail to Rolla, which was then the terminus of the rail road.²⁰ From this place, Springfield is distant about 120 miles, over a rough, hilly and sparsely settled country. After leaving Rolla, I did not dare long to keep the road. I took to the forest, keeping near enough to the road to see it occasionally and thus avoid getting lost. During the first day, a cold rain fell nearly all the time. By this, and by the water from the bushes among which I made my way, I was soon wet to the skin. When night came, I sat down in the intense darkness, under a tree that afforded me some shelter, drew my single blanket over my head, ate a little “hard-tack,” which was all the food I had, then placed my face between my knees and listened long to the dreary patterings of the rain-drops and the sad moaning of the winds of night.²¹ I dared not kindle a fire, and I was much too chilled to sleep very much. That dreary night seemed like one of the longest I ever knew.

The second day was nearly a repetition of the first, though so much rain did not fall. I spent this night, as I spent the night before, sitting with my blanket over my head and my face between my knees. I had no tree for shelter, and the rain fell in torrents. A small band of prairie wolves insisted upon keeping me company, their howlings greatly heightening the dreariness of this long weary night. Whether they were howling because of their pity for my lonely condition, or for some great sorrow of their own, they did not see fit to inform me. I did not sleep much. When morning came, they left me, intimating that they loved me well enough to eat me up. The rain ceased, the clouds dispersed, the sun shown out brightly, and I moved on. The bushes were still wet, the rain drops upon the leaves sparkling like gems in the bright morning sunshine. I soon began to grow so sleepy that I could hardly travel. I therefore sought a sunny spot in a hazel thicket and lay down therein to sleep and to dry my clothes and my blanket. I slept till late in the afternoon. Then, feeling greatly refreshed, I moved on. When night set in, I did not stop. I came out into the road, near which I had been traveling, and kept that till morning, leaving it only once to lie down while a small body of rebel horse-men passed by me. I was now in a well-settled portion of the country, in which I would be likely to be recognized by any one who might see me. I therefore again hid myself in the forest and slept. During the succeeding night, I again cautiously advanced.

Morning found me in the vicinity of Springfield. Here I made myself known to the family of one of my comrades. I was securely concealed, furnished with a good warm bed, and bountifully fed, for a couple of days. Then, having learned the strength of the rebel forces, and their probable intentions, I turned northward toward Buffalo, distant 35 miles. Traveling, as I did, without a road, through a rough country, I was nearly 24 hours making that distance. I walked all night. In the morning, I reached the house of a friend a few miles from Buffalo. Here, safely concealed, I spent the day eating and sleeping. When darkness came on, I moved on cautiously toward my own home. When I arrived, it was nearly midnight, and my family were all asleep. When aroused, my wife seemed surprised and displeased at my coming. She said that, by this imprudent act, I was greatly endangering the safety of the family. Time proved that, in this belief, she was correct. Without coming to kiss me, or calling me to her for that purpose, she told me where to find some blankets to make me comfortable, and urged me to get out into the forest as soon as I could, telling me that the house was liable to be surrounded at any moment by bands of rebel guerillas. I followed her instructions, feeling more chilled by her manner than I had felt from the cold rains of the previous nights. I lay alone in the dark forest so near the ones I loved, and thought bitterly that she could so quietly resume her slumbers with me thus so near her. Why did she not at least go with me for half an hour to my lonely bed in the forest, and hear me tell of my dangers, and of my sufferings? My love had received a great wound. It survived many such wounds in the days that were coming, but it died at last. I did not sleep at all that night.

In the morning, my wife came to meet me, and we had a long conversation, which would have been a pleasant one had it not been for the bitterness in my heart caused by the unloving reception of me the night before. When she returned to the house, she sent the children to me, and their real love did much to dissipate the gloom from my mind. During that day, I slept much, receiving, however, several visits from my wife and children. The next night, I spent alone in the forest, receiving the benefit of a hard rain. On the next day, the rain still fell in torrents. Believing that, on such a day, very few people would be out, I determined to make a detour around Buffalo and visit an important friend a few miles on the other side. With the exception of half a mile, I would have the shelter of the forest. In crossing the open space, I would run some risk, as it was near Buffalo, was occupied by several houses, and was intersected by two well-traveled public highways. I hoped that the rain would be pouring down when I reached this open space. As if the fates were all against me, however, the rain ceased just before I reached that space. At first, I could see no one on the open ground. When I reached the road, however, about the middle of this space, I saw two bodies of horsemen, one on each side of me, approaching the spot where I was. They were both still several hundreds yards distant, and did not seem to notice me. I kept right on, therefore, at a brisk walk, across the road, toward the forest on the other side. Presently, however, a third party of horsemen came from that very point on a road that lay only a few rods to my left. Why should so many parties happen along just then and there. Seeing that I could not entirely evade this party, who evidently already saw me, I stepped a few yards further from the road to a clump of small persimmon trees that were loaded with fruit. By busying myself picking fruit and eating it, I meant to appear like some innocent person that did not care who saw him. Had I continued this ruse, it probably would have been the wisest thing I could have done. The horsemen, however, had to pass down out of sight, for a few moments, in a deep gulley. While they were thus out of sight, I concluded to conceal myself under some long drooping grass and reeds that grew close by on the bank of a small stream. I soon heard the horsemen approaching, and, from their words, I learned that my sudden disappearance had greatly excited their curiosity. They left the road and came out to the persimmon trees. They trampled around over the ground, swearing that they had certainly seen a man there, and that he must have sunk at once into hell, they seeing nothing under which he could conceal himself. When they had gone, I came out of my hiding place, and, in safety, reached the shelter of the friendly forest.

Every bush that I touched let fall upon me a shower of cold raindrops. Indeed, the rain itself had again begun to fall. I was soon wet to the skin and chilled to the bone. To avoid the cold wet bushes, I finally concluded to risk following a pathway upon which I was not likely to meet anyone on such a day. I did, however, very soon meet a rebel lad who at once recognized me. I knew he would report me, and that a party would be likely to follow me. I therefore left the path, made many meanderings over rocky places to spoil my trail, and then concealed myself on a high point from which I could see the pathway that I had left. In a short time, three armed men, did, sure enough, go dashing along at a gallop in the direction I had been going. In about an hour they returned. Not supposing that any other party would be likely to come out, I returned to the pathway, and proceeded to the house of my friend. With him I made arrangements to bring letters next day to my house from various families to their friends in the army at St. Louis. Favored by the darkness, I returned home that night, passing through the out-skirts of Buffalo. I again slept in my lone forest-bed. It was now necessary for me to get away just as soon as I could.

The next day was clear, and my wife hung my blanket to dry with several of her own on a fence near the house. My blanket was covered with green burrs from the forest. While it was hanging there, some little girls, the daughters of a rebel lady living near, called, and seeing the burrs on the blanket, were very curious to know how they came there. My family would not give them the desired information. Toward evening, their mother came almost bursting with curiosity. While she was still present, quizzing my family, my friend came with the letters. He was not acquainted with my family, and, supposing that all the parties present were members thereof, he inquired for me and stated his business. With a prudence that could hardly have been expected of one so young, my little daughter, Florella, then hurried to me and made known to me what had happened. I went to the house at once determined to detain the woman till night, even if I had to employ force to do so. I detained her simply by telling one story after another just as fast as I could.

When night came on, I put out in a direction nearly opposite to the one my enemies would naturally expect me to take. They would expect me to go due northward, and, as I learned afterwards, they did send out a party of mounted men to search for me in that direction. I went to the south-east, and was soon in a rough hilly country. When morning came, I hid myself and slept during the day. During the next night, I traveled northward on a line about half-way between Buffalo and Lebanon. As before, I hid myself and slept during the day. At night, I again moved on following a road that would have lead me to Linn Creek. Early in the night, I suddenly ran into the camp of a rebel train that was carrying away the goods of J. W. McClurg, a wealthy merchant of Linn Creek, and afterwards Governor of Missouri.22 Leaving the road, I fled precipitately into the forest. The night being cloudy, I became lost, and wandered about sometimes entangled in vines and briers, sometimes stumbling over fallen trees, and once tumbling from a perpendicular bank about eight feet high into water about four feet deep. When morning came, I had no idea toward what point I ought to travel. I had to risk making inquiries of some one. Coming upon a country house, I found the woman out milking. She proved to be the wife of a Union officer with whom I had some acquaintance. This was a fortunate meeting. She gave me a good breakfast and wisely instructed me in regard to the route I was to take. Sleeping, as usual, most of this day, I traveled the next night and reached the Osage opposite Warsaw. Not finding any boat on my side of the river, I had to risk waiting till morning and crossing on the ferry. Having reached the other side, I left the road, took to the hills and traveled all day. I was very hungry and my provisions were gone. Early in the evening, therefore, I supplied myself with a couple of ears of corn from a cornfield, a dozen potatoes from a potato field, and a dozen apples from an orchard. Taking these into a wild canyon, I kindled a fire and put them to roasting. This was the only occasion on all my secret service in which I ventured to kindle a fire. While my provisions were cooking, I fell asleep. When I waked, I ate the done portion of them, and then slept again while more was cooking. And thus I spent the night, a feeling of indescribable loneliness oppressing me.

Next day, I traveled without much effort at concealment, and, at night slept at the house of an absent rebel soldier. On the following day, I reached Jefferson City and took a train to Saint Louis. Although I had not conquered any body, I was welcomed back as a hero. Gen. Curtis was well pleased with my report, and said I should be well paid for my services. I never did receive any thing, however, for this trip or for any of my other secret service expeditions. Before I applied for this pay, Gen. Curtis died, and I could not sufficiently prove my claim. Then, from some neglect of my officers, I lost three months of my pay as a private in the 24th Reg. Mo. Infantry. This pay I am now trying to secure. That for my secret services, I have long since abandoned.23

Source: Kelso, “Auto-Biography,” chap. 10, 716–23.

1. Brig. Gen. Nathaniel Lyon’s strategy was to move in three columns against the enemy, two from St. Louis and one coming from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. One force would take the capital, Jefferson City, in the center of the state. Another would move to Rolla and then to Springfield and the southwest corner. The three would unite at Springfield. Two wings of Lyon’s forces (two thousand troops) left St. Louis on June 13; they arrived at Jefferson City the same day, but Gov. Claiborne Jackson and the State Guard had withdrawn. The opposing forces skirmished at Boonville on June 17, and the State Guard, commanded by former governor Sterling Price (1809–67), again withdrew. In early July, State Guard forces were gathering at Cowskin Prairie in the southwest corner of the state. They would be joined by Confederate troops from Arkansas led by Brig. Gen. Ben McCulloch (1811–62). Lyon’s command reached Springfield on July 13. By late July he was estimating that the enemy had 30,000 troops (they had about 13,500); Lyon had 5,800 (OR, ser. 1, vol. 3, 9–52; Phillips, Damned Yankee, 215–47; William Garrett Piston, “‘Springfield Is a Vast Hospital’: The Dead and Wounded at the Battle of Wilson’s Creek,” MHR 93 [July 1999]: 345–66; Piston and Hatcher, Wilson’s Creek, 45–145; Gerteis, Civil War in Missouri, 32–65).

2. The wise choice, critics at the time and since have said, would have been for Lyon to withdraw to Rolla and fight another day. But Lyon had concluded, he said, that “to abandon the Southwest without a struggle would be a sad blow to our cause, and would greatly encourage the Rebels. We will fight and hope for the best” (quoted in Phillips, Damned Yankee, 251; see also Piston and Hatcher, Wilson’s Creek, 133–34).

3. Temperatures had soared to well over one hundred degrees. Lyon’s troops were exhausted from marches and from being on alert. Supplies, especially of food, were very low, as was morale. He was losing troops as the ninety-day enlistments of many had expired. His new commander, John C. Frémont, had just arrived in St. Louis on July 25 and told Lyon no reinforcements would be coming, as troops were needed in New Madrid. Other observers noted that Lyon was getting little sleep and losing weight. See Phillips, Damned Yankee, 245, and Piston and Hatcher, Wilson’s Creek, 132, 145.

4. Gen. Nathaniel Lyon, Springfield, Mo., to Col. William B. Edwards, Dallas Co. Home Guards, Aug. 9, 1861, Missouri History Museum, Civil War Collection, http://collections.mohistory.org/archive/ARC:A0286_6908: “I am surprised that orders here to you given were not sufficient to cause your command to repair to this point. I therefore direct that you repair here as heretofore directed with all possible dispatch and bring all the available force at your command with all the provisions you can bring without causing unnecessary delay. Arms and due equipments in the hands of your men are of course indispensible. … P.S. cause your men to wear a strip of white cloth on their hats.”

5. The State Guard and Confederate forces defeated Lyon’s army at the Battle of Wilson’s Creek, twelve miles southwest of Springfield, on Aug. 10, 1861. The Union’s Army of the West had 258 killed, including Lyon; 873 wounded; and 186 missing, for a total of 1,317 casualties. The Confederate and State Guard had 277 killed, 945 wounded, and none reported missing, for a total of 1,222. It was the second major battle, and second Union defeat, of the Civil War, having followed the Battle of First Bull Run on July 21. Lyon, the first Union general to die in battle, was hailed as a martyr in the northern press. See OR, ser. 1, vol. 3, 53–130. For the fullest account of the battle, see Piston and Hatcher, Wilson’s Creek; on Mrs. Phelps and Lyon’s body, see Phillips, Damned Yankee, 258–61.

6. Brig. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant to Capt. Speed Butler, Jefferson City, Mo., Aug. 22, 1861, John Y. Simon, ed., The Papers of Ulysses S. Grant, vol. 2, April–September 1861 (Carbondale, Ill.: Southern Illinois University Press, 1969), 128: “During yesterday I visited the camps of the different commands about this city and selected locations for troops yet to arrive. I find great deficiency in everything for the comfort and efficiency of the army. Most of the troops are without clothing, camp and garrison equipage. Ammunition is down to about ten rounds of cartridges and for the artillery none is left. … The Post Quartermaster and Commissary have not been here since my arrival … [and] are apparently in a bad condition. There are no rations for issue; the mules, sent some time since, are being guarded in a lot, no effort being made to get them into teams; and a general looseness prevailing.”

7. Col. James A. Mulligan commanded the 23rd Illinois, then at Jefferson City, “a regiment raised in Chicago and locally known as the Irish Brigade” (Gerteis, Civil War in Missouri, 79).

8. Pvt. John N. McConnell, Cos. F and H, 24th Regt., Infantry Volunteers. He was probably also the John W. McConnell listed as 1st sergeant in Co. C, Dallas County Home Guards, with service preceding his enlistment in the 24th (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH; NPS Soldiers’ Database).

9. Maj. John K. Hall, Osage County Regt., Missouri Home Guard (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH). Demosthenes (384–322 BCE) was a prominent Greek orator and statesman.

10. Mulligan was forced to surrender to a much larger Confederate force after the siege of Lexington, Mo. (Sept. 13–20, 1861). See OR, ser. 1, vol. 3, 171–93. For a concise account, see Gerteis, Civil War in Missouri, 108–9.

11. Kelso enlisted on Aug. 18, 1861, in Dallas County, Mo., and was mustered with the official organization of the regiment (also called the “Lyon Legion”) on Oct. 14, 1861, at Benton Barracks, St. Louis (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH).

12. Benton Barracks was located in what became Fairground Park, a couple miles north of downtown.

13. On Jefferson City, Mo., see Gary R. Kremer, “‘We Are Living in Very Stirring Times’: The Civil War in Jefferson City, Missouri,” MHR 106 (Jan. 2012): 61–74. See also Eldon Hattervig, “Jefferson Landing: A Commercial Center of the Steamboat Era,” MHR 74 (April 1980): 277–99.

14. Capt. Samson P. Barris, Co. F, 24th Regt., Infantry Volunteers (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH).

15. Benton Barracks was a military camp four to five miles outside of St. Louis. Chaplain Frederich F. Kiner, serving in the 14th Regt., Iowa Infantry, was impressed in the late fall/winter of 1861: “Benton Barracks is situated upon a very flat piece of land. … The buildings, so far as comfortable quarters for the soldiers was taken into consideration, I think were well designed. Good cook houses, with suitable furnaces for cooking were conveniently arranged in the rear of the Barracks.—As to water, nothing could have been better looked to than the water conveniences. … [Water was] carried into the camp by the means of pipes leading from a large reservoir situated upon an elevated part of the city. … The camp was well drained, consequently it never remained muddy any length of time after heavy rains and spells of wet weather. Upon the whole, I never saw any better in all my travels as a soldier” (Kiner, One Year’s Soldiering [Lancaster, Penn.: E. H. Thomas, 1863], 11–12). The Western Sanitary Commission, however, described conditions that decimated the nearly twenty thousand troops that filled the camp by December: “The most prevalent diseases were measles, pneumonia, typhoid fever, and diarrhea. … The barracks being rough buildings, with many open cracks, and floors without any space beneath, were far from comfortable. … The consequence was that many of the measles patients were afterwards attacked with pneumonia, and died” ([Jacob Gilbert Forman], The Western Sanitary Commission: A Sketch of Its Origin, History, and Labors for the Sick and Wounded of the Western Armies [St. Louis: R. P. Studely, 1864], 13). Kiner’s regiment shared in the suffering: “Some time in December the measles broke out among the troops, and its ravages were very fatal among us” (Kiner, One Year’s Soldiering, 13).

16. Col. Sempronius H. “Pony” Boyd, 24th Regt., Infantry Volunteers (“Soldiers’ Records,” MDH). Boyd (1828–94) was a lawyer, slaveholder, and staunch Unionist who served as mayor of Springfield, Mo., in 1856. He resigned his command on April 18, 1863, to serve in the 38th Congress (March 4, 1863–March 3, 1865). Kelso would challenge and defeat him for the seat in the next cycle; Boyd challenged the election, but the result was upheld. Boyd would serve another term in Congress (1869–71) and finish his political career as President Benjamin Harrison’s minister resident and consul general to Siam. See Biographical Directory of the United States Congress, http://bioguide.congress.gov; Holcombe, History of Greene County, 743; and Pictorial and Genealogical Record of Greene County, Missouri (Chicago: Goodspeed, 1893), 215–19.

17. Maj. Gen. Samuel R. Curtis (1805–66) graduated from West Point in 1831 and served as adjutant general of Ohio and colonel of the 3rd Regt., Ohio Infantry, during the war with Mexico. He practiced law and served in Congress (1857–61). He began the war as colonel of the 2nd Regt., Iowa Volunteer Infantry, and brigadier general of Volunteers in the spring of 1861. In Dec. 1861, he was put in command of the District of Southwest Missouri. After the March 1862 victory at Pea Ridge he was promoted to major general. In Sept. 1862, he became commander of the Department of Missouri. He was unable to work well with the conservative governor H. R. Gamble, and President Abraham Lincoln, who could not remove Gamble, instead removed Curtis in May 1863. Reassigned to the Department of Kansas in early 1864, he again defeated the Confederate Army of Sterling Price in October. See Biographical Directory of the United States Congress; William L. Shea, “Curtis, Samuel Ryan,” ANB; and Beckenbaugh, “The War of Politics.”

18. Colt’s dragoon: a .44 caliber revolver designed by Samuel Colt and produced for the U.S. military, 1848–60. See Stephen Van Rensselaer, American Firearms (Watkins Glen, N.Y.: Century House, 1947), 11–13.

19. Springfield in late Sept. 1861 was occupied by about five hundred State Guard troops under the command of Col. Theodore T. Taylor (Wood, Civil War Springfield, 52, 57–58).

20. On Rolla, see John F. Bradbury, Jr., Phelps County in the Civil War (Rolla, Mo.: N.p., 1997).

21. Hardtack: “A bland and very hard cracker made of flour and water, it was roughly three inches square and perhaps half an inch thick. Hardtack, when properly dried, had a very long shelf life, so that soldiers swore that the ‘B. C.’ stenciled on hardtack boxes was not the contractors’ initials but rather proof that the crackers had been prepared before the Christian era” (Scott Nelson and Carol Sheriff, A People at War: Civilians and Soldiers in America’s Civil War [New York: Oxford University Press, 2007], 215).

22. Joseph W. McClurg (1818–1900) was a merchant in Lynn Creek, Camden County, Missouri. His business with his father-in-law and brother-in-law—McClurg, Murphy, Jones, and Company—“became a major merchant-distributor of all kinds of trading goods throughout the upper Ozarks region” and by “1860 the company was carrying $100,000 in stock and $300,000 in accounts receivable.” The census taker in 1860 estimated McClurg’s personal property at $95,000 and recorded him as the owner of six slaves and the co-owner of two others. In 1861, he organized seventeen companies as the Osage Regt. of Missouri Volunteers in which he served as a colonel, and spent eight thousand dollars to supply the regiment. Supporting emancipation, he freed his slaves in the fall of 1863. “Twice during the war, his business fell victim to raids from pro-Southern guerrillas, who attacked and burned his storehouses at Linn Creek.” McClurg served three terms in Congress, 1863–68, as a Radical Republican and was governor of Missouri, 1869–71. See William E. Parrish, “McClurg, Joseph Washington,” ANB (quotations); Floyd C. Shoemaker, ed., Missouri, Day by Bay (Columbia: State Historical Society of Missouri, 1942–43), 142–43; 1860 U.S. Census, Linn Creek Township, Camden County, Missouri, family no. 35; 1860 U.S. Census, Slave Schedules, Linn Creek/Osage Townships, Camden County, Missouri; “Soldiers’ Records,” MDH; and Lynn Morrow, “Joseph Washington McClurg: Entrepreneur, Politician, Citizen,” MHR 78 (Jan. 1984): 168–201.

23. General Curtis died on Dec. 25, 1866. Kelso’s service record for the 24th Regt., Infantry Volunteers, notes that his “Date of discharge not available,” although he mustered into the 14th Cavalry MSM on March 24, 1862. As an amendment to an appropriations bill, Congress approved “Arrears of pay and bounty” for Kelso on March 2, 1889 (List of Private Claims Brought before the Senate of the United States from the Commencement of the Forty-Seventh Congress to the Close of the Fifty-First Congress [Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1895], 2:354).