Fallen Leaders: Favorite Stories and Fresh Perspectives from the Historians at Emerging Civil War

By Chris Mackowski and Zachery A. Fry

Fallen Leaders: Favorite Stories and Fresh Perspectives from the Historians at Emerging Civil War recounts the fall of some of the most famous, infamous, and underappreciated commanders from both the North and South.

The Civil War took as many as 720,000 lives and maimed hundreds of thousands more. The fallen included outstanding leaders on both sides, from a U.S. president all the way down the ranks to beloved regimental commanders. Abraham Lincoln, Stonewall Jackson, and John Reynolds remain well-known and even legendary. Others, like Confederate cavalry commander Earl Van Dorn, remain locked in infamy. The deaths of army commanders Albert Sidney Johnston and James McPherson and regimental leader Col. Elmer Ellsworth (the first Union officer killed) left more questions than answers about unfulfilled potential and lost opportunities. Thousands more have faded into historical obscurity. Others “fell” not from death or wounds but because of their own missteps or misdeeds, their reputations ruined forever. Theirs are falls from grace.

This collection of essays by a host of writers brings together the best scholarship from Emerging Civil War’s blog, symposia, and podcast, all of which have been revised, updated, and footnoted. The collection also contains several original pieces written exclusively for Emerging Civil War’s 10th Anniversary Series. Expect new angles on familiar stories about high-profile figures. Meet leaders whose stories you might not know but whose losses were felt as deeply personal tragedies by those around them.

This collection sheds new light and insight on some of the most significant casualties of the conflict: the fallen leaders whose deaths, injuries, and disgraces changed the Civil War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Savas Beatie
• Release date: Jul 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781611216325

Book preview

Remember Ellsworth!

by Meg Groeling

Adapted from a blog post originally published at Emerging Civil War on May 24, 2014

At this point in the sesquicentennial celebration of the American Civil War–mid-1864– historians and buffs are thinking about casualty numbers in the hundreds of thousands, often tens of thousands per battle. Was Union General Ulysses S. Grant a butcher to let so many of his men die? Can his numbers be put into context, or compared statistically with those of Confederate General Robert E. Lee? Words like meat grinder and holocaust get thrown around, and it is almost a contest to decide which commander spilled the most blood.

But today, May 24, I think about 1861. The number of casualties was still very small—some lost in Baltimore, a few to illness in camp. For the Federal Army around Washington, D. C., the numbers were no more or less than expected, considering the total number of men gathered there. The war was supposed to be a single battle, winner take all, although if one thought about that in any context, it would seem ridiculous.

On April 17, 1861, the Commonwealth of Virginia voted in its state legislature for secession. The bill was then put to her citizens for ratification. An overwhelming yes! came down on the 23rd of May, and much of Virginia erupted with celebration.

President Lincoln was very much aware of the situation, and had planned an extensive operation to have Federal troops move across the Potomac River the night of the 23rd-24th, into the small-but-geographically-close city of Alexandria, Virginia. He planned to put the city under martial law, creating a much safer environment for the U. S. capitol.

One of the young, eager colonels who led his men to a transport to cross the river that night was Elmer Ellsworth. He was colonel of the famous (some might say infamous) 11th New York Volunteer Infantry, the Fire Zouaves. Ellsworth himself had gone to New York City to recruit these men immediately after Lincoln called for troops.

Elmer Ellsworth worked for Abraham Lincoln, in Springfield, prior to the presidential election of 1860. Before that, he drilled a group of young Chicago men in the complicated French Zouave drill. He travelled with the newly named U. S. Zouave Cadets all over the Northeast, hoping to alert towns and cities to the desperate need for a functional militia system. When he returned, he joined Lincoln, John Hay, and George Nicolay at Lincoln’s law office.

Elmer Ellsworth: Union martyr or Yankee trespasser? Library of Congress

All three young men worked to get their boss nominated for, then elected as, President of the United States. All three accompanied Lincoln on the Inaugural Express train journey to Washington in February 1862. All three helped to ensure that Abraham Lincoln made it to the capital city ahead of any would-be assassins. And finally, all three prepared to become part of the Lincoln White House–Nicolay and Hay as secretaries, and Ellsworth as a militia expert.

A regular visitor to President Lincoln in his office, Elmer Ellsworth joined in peering curiously across the river at a large rebel banner that mocked them for a month from the skyline of Alexandria. This flag especially irritated Lincoln. It was a constant reminder of the seemingly slow pace the administration was taking in dealing with the Confederacy. Ellsworth was particularly sensitive to this symbol and the effect it had on his friend Lincoln.

Elmer Ellsworth often slept at the White House, taking Robert Lincoln’s bed when Robert was away at school. He joined the family for dinner, picnics, and impromptu romps with the young Lincoln boys. When Tad and Willy got the measles, so did Ellsworth. He quickly removed himself to Willard’s and suffered rather dramatically, or so Hay and Nicolay reported.

But as soon as Lincoln made the call for 75,000 troops, just after the firing on Fort Sumter in mid-April 1861, Ellsworth was ready. He resigned his hard-won army commission, recruited his Fire Zouaves, and returned to Washington. Almost immediately, the New York firemen became one of the most famous of the early volunteer units, taking their pledge for three years of service.

On the night of May 23-24, Ellsworth led his men across the Potomac. The Federal Army entered Alexandria quietly, and almost uncontested. Early on the morning of the 24th, Ellsworth detached a small group of men to accompany him to secure the telegraph office. As they approached the intersection of King and South Pitt Streets, the slightly careworn Marshall House Hotel came into view. Atop this establishment flew the huge flag that had bothered Lincoln so much as he had looked at it through his glass in D.C.

Ellsworth looked up, then down. He walked a few more steps, thinking it over. Then he did exactly what any 24-year-old man would do—he turned around and went up the steps of the Marshall House. Let’s get that flag, boys!

Ellsworth and seven other men entered the hotel and proceeded to climb several short flights of stairs to the flat roof of the Marshall House. Ellsworth cut down the flag, and headed back, bundling the large trophy as he went. On the second story landing, proprietor James Jackson was waiting for him. Jackson was an ardent secessionist, and the flag was personally his. He shot Ellsworth. The strong shotgun blast killed the young colonel instantly but, almost as quickly, one of Ellsworth’s men, Private Francis Brownell, shot Jackson.

Within seconds, both Ellsworth and Jackson were dead. Everyone else was stunned into silence.

The Marshall House Hotel, with its offending flagpole standing erect like a big middle finger pointed across the Potomac at the White House. Library of Congress

Later, after Ellsworth’s body had been ferried back across the Potomac, the Lincolns came to him. Both were grief stricken, and Mrs. Lincoln made arrangements for an embalming, and for Ellsworth to lie in state in the East Room of the White House. The entire northern part of the nation mourned the loss. His funeral train was everywhere met with those who wanted to show their compassionate patriotism. New York City elite welcomed Ellsworth’s parents to their hearts as thousands came to pay their respects to the handsome and joyful symbol of Union manhood, now the first officer to fall for the Union cause.

Elmer Ellsworth was laid to rest in Hudson View Cemetery, in Mechanicville, New York. His death became a national rallying point. Remember Ellsworth, became the cry of the Fire Zouaves, left leaderless, and the 44th New York Volunteer Infantry were known as Ellsworth’s Avengers.

Ellsworth’s was the first national death. As such, he symbolized all the deaths to come. No one kidded himself or herself about mortality then, but to die a good death in the service of duty, and with honor . . . that made it all worthwhile. We now mourn and honor perhaps as many as 750,000 Civil War deaths. But Ellsworth’s blood was the first drop, which quickly became a trickle, and then a torrent. The mourning his death engendered was just about the last time an individual soldier had the attention of the nation. For all of this, and for all that his sacrifice represents, we must remember Ellsworth.

Sources consulted:

1861: The Civil War Awakening by Adam Goodheart

First Fallen: The Life of Colonel Elmer Ellsworth, the North’s First Civil War Hero by Meg Groeling

Colonel Elmer Ellsworth by Ruth Painter Randall

The death of Ellsworth, followed closely thereafter by the death of hotel owner James Jackson, became iconic events in north and south, respectively. Here, the scene is portrayed on a patriotic cover or envelope. Library of Congress

Barnard Bee:

His First and . . . Last Blow . . . Struck on the Bloody Plains of Manassas

by Sarah Kay Bierle

Originally published as a blog post at Emerging Civil War on August 11, 2021

Barnard Elliot Bee, Jr. appeared only briefly in the saga of Civil War history. He died at the First Battle of Manassas on July 21, 1861, but not before immortal words had (supposedly) crossed his lips. Best remembered as the officer who gave General Thomas J. Jackson the sobriquet Stonewall, the actual intention of Bee’s words (or if he even said them) has been a matter of debate for decades.

Who was Bee—beyond the fallen officer who praised (or cursed) Jackson and the First Virginia Brigade? Looking closer at his life reveals a career military officer who had crossed paths with man called Stonewall long before the battlefield near Bull Run.

Born on February 8, 1824, in Charleston, South Carolina, Bee grew up in a prominent Charleston family, enjoying the advantages of lineage and wealth. When his parents moved to Texas in 1836 to explore the promise of that new republic, he stayed behind with extended family to further his education. Five years later, he entered West Point and spent the next four years studying and racking up demerits but managing to graduate thirty-third of forty-one in the Class of 1845. Bee’s West Point years overlapped with Cadet Thomas J. Jackson from Virginia, but Jackson graduated in the Class of 1846.

Bee joined the 3rd U. S. Infantry Regiment and went to Texas. In the Mexican-American War, he was brevetted to first lieutenant for his actions and wounding at the battle of Cerro Gordo and brevetted captain after the battle of Chapultepec.

Following the war, Bee joined the garrison at Pascagoula, Mississippi, serving as adjutant. Six years of frontier service (1849-1855) took him to New Mexico Territory. In 1855, he transferred to the 10th U.S. Infantry at Fort Snelling, Minnesota. While at Fort Snelling, Bee married Sophia Elizabeth Hill, and records suggest they had two children who did not live to adulthood.¹ During 1857 and the Utah War, he took command of the Utah Volunteer Battalion and was brevetted to lieutenant-colonel. He served at Fort Laramie in Wyoming Territory and commanded the garrison there for a short period in 1860.

On December 20, 1860, South Carolina—Bee’s home state—declared secession from the Union. Bee took his time making his decision, submitting his resignation from the U. S. Army on March 3, 1861, and then journeying to Charleston. He was quickly chosen as the lieutenant colonel of the 1st South Carolina Regulars.

Troops gathered in northern Virginia expectantly waiting to see where the Yankees would start the invasion of that state, which had gained importance in the Confederacy both by previous history and the relocation of the Confederate capitol to Richmond. On June 17, 1861, Bee received a transfer and appointment to brigadier general, giving him command of the third brigade in Joseph Johnston’s Army of the Shenandoah. Bee’s brigade included the 4th Alabama, Companies A and K of the 11th Mississippi, the 6th North Carolina, and the Staunton Artillery.

In early July, Bee had been notified to prepare to support Jackson’s brigade in the fight around Falling Waters, but the affair concluded before he arrived. On July 18, 1861, a telegram arrived in the lower Shenandoah Valley, summoning Johnston and his force to join Beauregard near Manassas Junction. Although he didn’t know it, Bee had just days left to live.

The first major battle of the Civil War exploded on July 21, 1861, and Bee and his brigade took an early beating on the battlefield. Sent to reinforce Col. Nathan G. Evans in a defense north of the Warrenton Turnpike, Bee positioned on Matthew’s Hill, not far from the Stone House. However, the Federals outnumbered Bee’s brigade and, along with General Bartow’s brigade to his right, he was forced to abandon the position around 11:30 a.m. Retreating through the low ground between Matthew and Henry House Hills, Bee struggled to keep his regiments in order as they scurried for cover near Young’s Branch on the right of the First Virginia Brigade, which had held position on Henry House Hill without coming to the aid of the retreating Confederate units.

Insult or immortality? Brig. Gen. Barnard Bee gave fellow brigadier Thomas Jackson one of the most famous nicknames in American history—but did he mean it as a compliment when he said Jackson was standing like a stone wall? Library of Congress

Bee rode up to the stationary brigade, loudly inquiring who commanded the troops. He was directed to Jackson. The generals recognized each other—their acquaintance ran back to the West Point barracks. Bee quickly reported that his lines had collapsed, exclaiming, General, they are driving us! Jackson, who had been holding his own position on the reverse slope of Henry House Hill, replied, Sir, we will give them the bayonet.²

Bee galloped back to the semi-sheltered ravine where his men were trying to reorganize and form. He gestured with his sword toward Jackson and the Virginia brigade, shouting, Look, men, there is Jackson standing like a stone wall! Let us determine to die here, and we will conquer! Follow me!³

That is the complimentary version of what happened, painting Jackson as the inspiring hero Bee used to bolster his soldiers’ courage again. Other accounts suggest that Bee may have been frustrated by Jackson’s lack of support, and exclaimed something along the lines of There stands Jackson like a damned stone wall! cussing his former fellow cadet for refusing to move to support the retreating brigades.

A shaft of white granite, dedicated on July 21, 1939, commemorates Bee’s death at Manassas. Chris Mackowski

(There’s also an idea—however far-fetched—that perhaps both the cursing and the compliment could be true. Bee could have been angry and raining imprecations on Jackson as his brigade broke and ran, and then, realizing Jackson’s plan after their conversation, gained an admiration for him.)

Whatever the exact circumstances, phrasing, and meaning of Bee’s words on the Manassas battlefield, the part that mattered for building the legend was the word stonewall.

Bee was never able to clarify his own interpretation or tell his side of the story of that July day. Shortly after rallying his men, Bee was mortally wounded in the abdomen. Carried away from the fighting to a log hut, his final thoughts and any last words would likely have been for his family or his cause. He died on July 22, 1861.⁴

As one of the first generals to die in the Civil War, Bee’s fall was quickly noted by both sides and memorialized by the Confederacy. His words (or the interpretation of them) helped launch the famed name for Jackson and the First Virginia Brigade: Stonewall. Today, that is Bee’s most-remembered contribution to Civil War history.

However, in December 1861, the South Carolina House of Representatives passed resolutions in honor of General Bee, and their explanations shed light on how his death was viewed just months after it happened:

The battle of Manassas, which vindicated and sustained the character of our Southern people for valor, and of their leaders for military capacity, however glorious, in a national point of view, have been its results, has left some recollections upon which we of South Carolina cannot dwell without the most painful emotions.

Not the least mournful of these memories is that connected with the death of General BARNARD ELLIOTT BEE.

But the gloom of grief is even here relieved by the halo of glory which marked the close of his mortal career. The cypress wreath which Carolina weaves for her fallen son, is thickly interwoven with the laurel leaves of victory. He fell in the very hour of triumph after having long held at bay five times as many of the enemy as he numbered in his own gallant command. His mortal wound brought with it, to his noble mind, no despondent thoughts, and having spent the day of life gallantly as a soldier, he met his night of death, if not with welcome—for he had every motive to live—at least with noble resignation, and exclaimed, almost with his last breath, that he died happily, inasamuch as he died in the arms of victory. It was a noble sentiment—the sentiment of a patriot and hero, who merged self in his country—of a soldier to whom honor was dearer and more cherished than life. . . .

His first and his last blow was struck on the bloody plains of Manassas—that Marathon of the South—where brave hearts and strong hands were enabled to stay the onward progress of a hostile army, and where the successful resistance of Southern troops to a horde of Northern vandals and mercenaries brought with it not only a glorious victory for the present, but a prestige of victory for all time to come.

When, in the very thickest of the fight, he exclaimed to his devoted troops, There, men, stands General Jackson, like a stone wall (whence the brigade of that heroic Virginian has since received the appellation of the "Stone Wall Brigade) he expressed, in reference to one portion of our army, what might well be said of the whole, for against the impetuosity of an enemy flushed with the false hope of a speedy triumph to be derived from superior numbers and all the advantages of well trained and perfectly equipped troops, the soldiers of the South stood between the incursions of their oppressors and their native soil like a wall of adamant, which could only be penetrated by its entire demolition.

Here it was, in the defense of this important position, that our gallant countryman fell—fell for Carolina, which he loved so well—fell at the very moment when, though his life might have been the most useful to his country, his death was most glorious to himself. . . .⁵

1I’ve spent some time trying to track down more about Bee’s marriages and family. According to FindAGrave, he might have married in 1850 and that first wife died in 1854; however, I have not found solid sourcing in Ancestry or other genealogical references to support this. Sophia Elizabeth Hill is more readily cited as his wife by 1855; according to FindAGrave, they had two children who did not live past toddlerhood. Again, I have not yet found additional citations for this in other sources after a quick genealogical search. Sophia remarried after Bee’s death, and her last name changed to Thurston. Perhaps with a little more time, I’ll be able to provide better sourcing for Bee’s family life, and it could be a follow-up blog post.

2James I. Robertson, Stonewall Jackson: The Man, The Soldier, The Legend. (New York: Macmillan Publishing, 1997) 264.

3Ibid.

4Texas State Historical Association, Barnard Elliott Bee, Jr. https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/bee-barnard-elliott-jr.

5Charleston Daily Courier, December 23, 1861. (Accessed at Newspapers.com.)

He Had Won the Fight for Missouri:

Brig. Gen. Nathaniel Lyon

by Kristen M. Trout

Originally published as a two-part blog series at Emerging Civil War on August 10 & 13, 2021

Brigadier General Nathaniel Lyon—the first Federal general officer to be killed in action during the American Civil War—was a man who devoted his life to country, duty, and discipline. To some, he was a crazed Unionist, sadist, and radical. To others, he was the bravest man of the war and loved country over self. Lyon was killed not at a headquarters in the rear of his army, but as he led his boys forward at the epicenter of the battle of Wilson’s Creek. His actions at the start of the war spiraled Missouri down into armed conflict and set the tumultuous stage in the West. Today, after we marked both the 160th anniversary of the battle of Wilson’s Creek and the 200th anniversary of the State of Missouri, it is undoubtedly the most appropriate day to remember the complex legacy of Nathaniel Lyon.

In 1818, Lyon was born and bred among rocks, a reference to the rocky terrain of his birthplace in Ashford, Connecticut.¹ In a way, it could also describe his childhood: rocky. Though he had an affectionate and loving relationship with his mother, Lyon had a difficult one with his father, marked by discipline, seriousness, religious skepticism, and hot tempers. His strict upbringing no doubt shaped his character, personality, and leadership style. It juxtaposed a natural love of country, patriotism, and service above self. Lyon’s grandfather, whom Lyon deeply revered, had served in the Continental Army during the American Revolutionary War. Service, discipline, duty, and patriotism steered Lyon into a West Point education and a military career.

An 1841 graduate of the United States Military Academy, Lyon was commissioned a second lieutenant and assigned to the 2nd United States Infantry Regiment, then deployed to posts across the country, including Florida, New York, California, and Kansas. As a company commander, he was, as quoted by one of his soldiers, of a most peculiar temperament. While he preserved a fatherly attitude toward his company and saw to their comfort, he was very exacting. The least infringement of rules, which other officers would not notice, he would punish.² Lyon was highly political, anti-slavery, and a radical Unionist, particularly in the decade prior to the outbreak of the Civil War. A sense of duty, country, and service outweighed everything for Lyon, even popularity, likeability, and at times morality. This was seen in the way Lyon punished his soldiers who were out of line and in the infamous Bloody Island Massacre of 1850.³

On January 31, 1861, Capt. Nathaniel Lyon received orders to proceed to St. Louis, where he would command Regular Army troops in defense of the St. Louis Arsenal.⁴ He was clearly aware of the seriousness of the task before him and wrote that the place is in imminent danger of attack, and the Governor of Missouri will no doubt demand its surrender. . . . The prospect is gloomy and forebodes an unnecessary sacrifice of life in case of hostile demonstrations.⁵

Soon after he arrived at the arsenal, Lyon wrote to Missouri Congressman Francis P. Blair, Jr., who was the de facto leader of the unconditional Unionists of St. Louis, and requested that he be made commander of the entire defense of the facility. Blair agreed, and just days after President Abraham Lincoln’s inauguration, Lyon officially assumed command of the troops and defenses of the St. Louis Arsenal.⁶

In addition to his role of defending the largest arsenal west of the Mississippi River, Lyon was also heavily involved in pro-Union circles, who had the most perfect confidence and trust in Lyon.⁷ On May 2, 1861, Lyon received a letter from the War Department that authorized him to enroll in the military service of the United States the loyal citizens of Saint Louis and vicinity.⁸ His role in defending the St. Louis Arsenal was immensely fulfilling to Lyon’s personal mission to preserve the Union and punish slaveholders and secessionists.

On May 10, 1861, Lyon ordered his 6,000 volunteers from across the St. Louis area to rendezvous at the St. Louis Arsenal. Just days prior, Missouri’s pro-secessionist governor, Claiborne Jackson, ordered the Missouri Volunteer Militia to gather at Lindell’s Grove to the west of the city—known as Camp Jackson. As he gathered intelligence on the militia in the days before, specifically after he witnessed a delivery of weaponry and cannon to the camp, Lyon was certain Jackson intended to have the state militia capture the St. Louis Arsenal by force. By 3:15 p.m. that day, Lyon’s seven columns of troops had surrounded Camp Jackson and forced its surrender without firing a shot.

In a note to Camp Jackson’s commander, Daniel Marsh Frost, Lyon wrote, Your command is regarded as evidently hostile to the Government of the United States. . . . It is my duty to demand, and I do hereby demand of you, an immediate surrender of your command.⁹ In his typical fashion, Lyon ordered Frost to surrender within ten minutes or he would have his troops open fire.¹⁰ A few minutes later, Lyon received Frost’s capitulation. Sweeny, he said to a nearby captain, they surrender.

After the militia’s government weapons were confiscated, Lyon ordered the approximately 670 prisoners back to the St. Louis Arsenal. Instead of marching the prisoners to the arsenal with minimal confrontation with angry civilians, though, Lyon wanted to make a show of it by parading them through the streets of St. Louis. It all spiraled out of control. While on the march along Olive Street, a growing crowd of onlookers shouted insults at the ethnically German Union volunteers. The scene quickly escalated from ethnic slurs to the pelting of rocks and bricks at Lyon’s troops. Finally, someone in the crowd fired a shot. In response, some of Lyon’s volunteers opened fire upon the crowd of civilians. Chaos erupted all along Olive Street. By the end, 28 were killed along with 75 wounded.

Nathaniel Lyon did not shy away from confrontation, which made him an especially combustive figure in a frontier border state. National Park Service

Unable to see the political and military consequences of this violent episode, Lyon still believed it was his duty as commander of the St. Louis Arsenal to protect it no matter what—even if it meant casualties.

The Camp Jackson Affair, as it was notoriously called, forever changed the landscape of the Civil War in Missouri. Within days of the affair, the Missouri General Assembly passed legislation to create a defense force named the Missouri State Guard and gave unprecedented military authority to Governor Jackson. On June 11, Brig. Gen. Lyon, Blair, and Maj. Horace Conant met with Jackson, Maj. Gen. Sterling Price, and military aide Thomas Snead at the Planters’ House Hotel in St. Louis over the military situation in the state. It was here that Lyon’s hot temper against secessionists was shown in its full glory, as he officially declared war against Missouri’s secessionists. Years of built-up anger and frustration against his enemies finally burst through, as he shouted, I would see you, and you, and you, and you, and every man, woman, and child in the State dead and buried. This means war.¹¹

Negotiations to maintain peace between the two sides failed and sent the state into armed conflict. In the immediate wake of the meeting, Governor Jackson returned to the state capital at Jefferson City and made a call for 50,000 volunteers. Meanwhile, the newly promoted Brig. Gen. Nathaniel Lyon took action to oust the Missouri State Guard and secessionists from the state. Governor Claiborne Jackson had made war upon the United States, he wrote, which made it necessary for me to move up the river.¹²

His plan was to order a movement of a portion of the troops under my command to Jefferson City and in the direction of Springfield, Mo., for the purpose of breaking up the hostile organizations which I had reason to believe had been formed in those parts of the State to resist authority of the Government.¹³ With 1,700 Federal volunteers and Regulars, Lyon embarked via the Missouri River towards Jefferson City while the remaining soldiers of his newly created Army of the West moved toward the railhead at Rolla and on toward Springfield.

Lyon’s strategy was simple: outmaneuver the pro-secessionist government and Missouri State Guard by securing the vital Wire Road, Southwestern Branch of the Pacific Railroad, and Missouri River. These movements would create a pincer to force the secessionists toward the southwestern corner and eventually out of Missouri. Through this plan, Lyon hoped to destroy and punish his enemy.

By June 17, 1861, Lyon’s Army of the West had captured Jefferson City without a fight and, that morning, landed just six miles below the river town of Boonville. There, the governor had fled and taken his forces . . . where, so far as I could then learn, a large force was gathering. After they marched about three miles toward Boonville, the enemy [roughly 500 strong] was discovered in force, but quickly fell back after Lyon’s troops held high and open ground and poured heavy fire on their positions.¹⁴ By 11:00 a.m., Federal forces had successfully captured Boonville and routed the Missouri State Guard in the first, though small, land battle of the war west of the Mississippi River.

While pro-secessionist forces fled south, Lyon was concerned about the Missouri State Guard being reinforced by Confederate volunteers under Brig. Gen. Benjamin McCulloch. A consolidation of these forces, he thought, could reach 15,000 of well armed, and prepared Confederate troops, compared to his much smaller 5,400.¹⁵ In addition, throughout the summer of 1861, his own forces had continued to dwindle due to expiring enlistment terms.

By mid-July, Lyon established his headquarters at Springfield, Missouri, located in the southwestern region of the state, and intended to hold as long as possible. Sitting along the vital Wire Road