Continental Monthly, Vol. I., No. IV., April, 1862 by Various

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The closest and shrewdest investigation failed to attach a well-grounded
suspicion to any one. Poor Bill was dead--and nothing more was ever
known. Singular enough, the conduct of his widow was such as to entirely
avert even from her enemies hints of complicity in the crime,--if crime
there was,--though none doubted that there had been a murder, and that
murder in a few attendant circumstances seemed to indicate female aid.
Shortly after this catastrophe, Madame Rose made 'a vendue' of her
deceased husband's gun and apparel, packed up her own worldly goods, and
vanished, to be heard of no more.

And so our shore lost its best 'soundser'--a man of mark in his way,
great of frame and heart, and one long to be recalled in our humble
annals of wrecking and of sport. He was one of those vigorous
out-croppings of sturdy Northern physique recalling in minute detail the
stories told of those giant children, the Vikings and Goths of the
fighting ages, and which the blood, though as healthy as ever,--witness
the glorious exploits of our soldiers even as I write,--produces less
frequently in these days of culture. Such as I have described was the
character of Bill the Soundser, and such was literally and truly his
mysterious death.

* * * * *

COLUMBIA TO BRITANNIA.

VIA SHAKSPEARE.

Thou cold-blooded slave,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?
Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes,
And wear a lion's hide? Doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.

KING JOHN, III. 1.

* * * * *

GENERAL LYON.

To-day all the Northland shouts for joy, flashes its announcements of
victory along myriad leagues of wire, hurls them from grim cannon mouths
out over broad bays till the seas tremble with sympathy, huzzas in the
streets, flames in bonfires, would even clash the clouds together and
streak the heavens with lightning--and for what? The flag waves again in
Georgia, Tennessee, Alabama, Arkansas, and the cause is safe! _The
cause_--have we all learned what that means, brother Americans?
Something broader than mere Union, the pass-word of so many thousands to
suffering and death, something more than the freedom of the press and
the ballot-box. It means Progress; and until we acknowledge this, all
freedom is a vast injustice, luring men on to Beulahs which Fate--the
fate they worship--will never have them reach. It would be little enough
to regain our foothold upon Southern territory, or repossess Southern
forts, even if forts and territory have been wrested from us by treason
and perjury, if with every mile of advance we did not gain a stronghold
of principle. We are not straining every nerve, struggling under immense
financial burdens, wrenching away tender household ties, sacrificing
cheerfully and eagerly private interests, brilliant prospects, and high
hopes, only to prove that twenty millions of men are physically stronger
than twelve. God forbid! This is no latter-day Olympic game, whoso
victors are to be rewarded with the applause of a party or a generation.
All the dead heroes and martyrs of the past will crowd forward to offer
their unheard thanks; all the years to come will embalm with blessings
the memory of the patriots who open the door to wide advancement,
prosperous growth, and high activity of a universal intelligence.

And among these brave men, whom the world shall delight to honor, let
our deepest grief and our justest pride be for LYON. We have given his
honest life too little notice;--this man whose sincerity was equalled
only by his zeal; who, in a rarely surpassed spirit of self-abnegation,
was content to lie down and die in the first heat of the great conflict,
and to leave behind for more favored comrades the triumphal arches and
rose-strewn paths of victory. The world has known no truer martyr than
he who fell at Wilson's Creek, August 10th, 1861.

'The history of every man paints his character,' says Goethe; and scanty
and imperfect as are the recorded details of General Lyon's life, enough
is known to prove him to have been high-minded and brave as a soldier,
with a perseverance and a penetration that analyzed at once the
platforms of contending factions, and read in their elements the
principles which are to govern the future of our nation.

He came of the stout Knowlton stock of Connecticut, a family of whom
more than one served England in the old French war, and afterward
distinguished themselves against her in the Revolution. We hear of the
gallant Captain Knowlton at Bunker Hill, throwing up, in default of
cotton, the breastwork of hay, which proved such an efficient protection
to the provincials during the battle. Once more he appears as colonel,
at Harlem Plains, rushing with his Rangers ('Congress' Own') upon the
enemy on the Plains, and, cut off shortly from retreat by
reinforcements, fighting bravely between the foes before and their
reserves behind, and, falling at last, borne away by sorrowing comrades,
and buried at sunset within the embankments. 'A brave man,' wrote
Washington, 'who would have been an honor to any country.' With the
memory of such a hero engrafted upon his earliest childhood, we can not
wonder at the bent of the boy Lyon's inclinations. 'Daring and
resolute, and wonderfully attached to his mother,' it is easy to
imagine what lessons of endurance and decision he learned from her,
whose just inheritance was the stout-hearted patriotism that had
flowered into valorous deeds in her kindred, and was destined to live
again in her son. It was, an ordinary childhood, and a busy, uneventful
youth, passed for the most part in the old red farm-house nestled
between two rocky hills near Eastport, where he was born. In 1837 he
entered the Military Academy at West Point, and was a graduate, with
distinction, four years later. Of the years immediately following, we
have little information; but we can fancy the young soldier laying, in
his obscurity, the foundation for that practical military knowledge
which so eminently distinguished his late brilliant career. During his
years of service in the Everglades of Florida, and on our Western
frontier, he had ample opportunity to gain a thorough insight into his
profession.

He first appears in the history of the country in the Mexican war, is
present at the bombardment of Vera Cruz, dashes after the enemy at Cerro
Gordo, capturing on the crest of the hill a battery which he turns upon
the discomfited foe. At Contreras his command proves as impenetrable as
a phalanx of Alexander; and when at last the victorious Americans fight
their way into Mexico, the city of fabulous treasures and associations
well-nigh classical, for the first time he receives a wound. He was
breveted captain for his gallantry at Cherubusco, and at the end of the
war received the rank of full captain, and was ordered with his regiment
to California. No appointment could have been more felicitous. In the
guerilla mode of warfare demanded by the peculiar nature of the country
and its inhabitants, his habits of quick decision, and the experience of
a war with an enemy equally unscrupulous though less undisciplined, were
absolutely invaluable. Here was no scope for the conception and
excitation of deep-laid schemes; the movements of the enemy were too
rapid. Plans that would elsewhere have been matured only in the process
of a long campaign, were here often originated and completed in a single
night. Simple strategy was of more avail than the most intricate display
of military science, and the impulse of a moment more to be relied upon
than the prudent forethought of a month. He had to combat, in the
newly-acquired territory, the cunning of tribes whose natural ferocity
was sharpened into vindictiveness by the encroachments upon their soil
of a new and strange people; and every association with the intruders,
who were for the most part men of little reputation and less principle,
had developed in the Indians only the fiercest and most decided
animosity. To encounter their vigilance with watchfulness as alert, to
confound their swift counsels with sudden alarm, to penetrate their
ambuscades and anticipate their cunning with incessant activity, to be,
in short, ubiquitous, was the duty of Captain Lyon.

After years spent in the uncertain tactics of this half barbaric
warfare, he was removed, in the height of political strife in Kansas, to
its very centre. Here, while comparatively free from the wearisome
requirements of active service such as had been demanded in California,
and at a time when events the most portentous proved clearly to the
great minds of the country the advance of a political crisis whose
consequences must be most important, involving--should deep-laid
conspiracy be successful--the bankruptcy of principle and that
high-handed outrage, the triumph, of a minority,--Captain Lyon had full
liberty and abundant opportunity to settle for himself the great
questions mooted in the Missouri Compromises, the Lecompton
Constitutions and the Dred Scott decisions of the day. To a mind
unprejudiced, except as the honest impulses of every honest man's heart
are always prejudiced in favor of the right, there was but a single
decision. Disgusted with the heartless policy which democracy had for so
many years pursued, and which now threatened to culminate either in its
utter degradation at the North, or in the establishment in the South of
an oligarchy which would annihilate all free action and suppress all
free opinion, he severed his connection with that party,--a step to
which he was also impelled by the injustice that was then seeking to
force upon the people of Kansas an institution which they condemned as
unproductive and expensive, to say nothing of their moral repugnance to
the very A B C of its principles. It was at this time that Captain Lyon
contributed to the _Manhattan Express_, a weekly journal of the
neighborhood, a series of papers in which he took an earnest, manly and
decided stand in favor of the principles which his thoughtful mind
recognized as alone 'reliable,' and harmonious with the grand design and
end of the great Republic of the West. To these articles we shall
hereafter refer, at present hastening through the career, so striking
and so sad, which a few brief months cut short, leaving only the memory
of General Lyon as a legacy to the country his single aim and wise
counsels would have saved.

The guns of Fort Sumter had flashed along our coast an appeal whose
force no words can ever compute. The days had been busy with the
assembling of armies, the nights restless with their solemn marches, and
forge and factory rang with the strokes of the hammer and the whirr of
flying shafts, whose echoes seemed measured to the air of some new
Marseillaise. From our homes rushed forth sons, husbands, brothers,
fathers, followed by the prayers and blessings of dear women, who
yielded them early but willingly to their country. And while regiments
clustered along the Potomac, and Washington lay entrenched behind white
lines of tents, we find our soldier, fresh from Kansas strifes, in
command of the United States Arsenal at St. Louis; and to his prompt
action and decided measures at this important juncture the early success
of the Union cause in Missouri is to be attributed. For a time St. Louis
was the theatre of action. The police commissioners, backed by Governor
and Legislature, in the demanded the removal of the Union troops from
the grounds of the arsenal, claiming it as the exclusive property of the
State, and asserting that the authority usurped by the general
government as but a partial sovereignty, and limited to the occupation,
for purposes exclusively military, of the certain tracts of land now
pending in this novel court of chancery. This highly enigmatical
exposition of State rights, pompous and inflated though it was, failed
to convince or convert Captain Lyon, who, being unable to detect, in his
occupancy of the arsenal, any exaggeration of the rights vested by the
Constitution in the general government, declined to abandon his post,
and proceeded to call out the Home Guard, then awaiting the arrival of
General Harney, and temporarily under his command. His little army of
ten thousand men was then drawn up upon the heights commanding Camp
Jackson, then occupied by the Missouri militia under Col. Frost, whoso
command had been increased by the addition of numerous individuals of
avowed secession principles. Uninfluenced by the reception of a note
from this officer asserting his integrity and his purpose to defend the
property of the United States, and disavowing all intention hostile to
the force at the arsenal, Captain Lyon replied by a peremptory summons
for an unconditional surrender. He found it incredible that a body
assembled at the instigation of a traitorous governor, and acting under
his instructions and according to the 'unparalleled legislation' of a
traitorous legislature, receiving under the flag of the Confederate
States munitions of war but lately the acknowledged property of the
general government, could have any other than the as most unfriendly
designs upon its enemies. The force of Camp Jackson (which
notwithstanding its professed character, boasted its streets Beauregard
and Davis) being numerically inferior, and perhaps not entirely prepared
to do battle for a cause whose legitimacy must still have been a
question with many of them, decided, after a council of war, to comply
with the demands of Capt. Lyon, and became his prisoners. A few days
afterward General Harney arrived, and Captain Lyon was elected Brigadier
General by the 1st Brigade Missouri Volunteers.

Convinced of the imminence of the crisis and the peril of delay, Gen.
Lyon immediately commenced active operations against the secessionists
at Potosi, and ordered the seizure of the steamer which had supplied the
offensive army with material of war from the United States property at
Baton Rouge. In the meantime, Gen. Harney, with a culpable blindness,
had made an extraordinary arrangement with Gen. Price, by which he
pledged himself to desist from military movements so long as the command
of Gen. Price was able to preserve order in the State. Upon his removal
by the authorities at Washington, nine days later, Gen. Lyon was left in
command of the department. At this time the rebel general took occasion,
in a proclamation to the people of Missouri, to feel assured that 'the
successor of Gen. Harney would certainly consider himself and his
government in honor bound to carry out this agreement (the Harney-Price)
in good faith.' But his assurance was without foundation. The temper of
the new commander had been tried in the Camp Jackson affair, and an
interview between Price, Jackson and other prominent secessionists and
Gen. Lyon, resulted, after a few hours' consultation, in the declaration
of the Union general that the authority of his government would be
upheld at any cost and its property protected at all hazards. Three days
later, Jackson fled to Booneville, fearing an attack upon Jefferson
City, which was immediately occupied by Gen. Lyon, who was received with
acclamation by the citizens. Unwilling to grant by delay what he had
refused to an underhand diplomacy,--opportunity to the enemy to possess
the government property, or entrench themselves strongly in their new
quarters,--the general, with characteristic promptness, ordered an
advance upon Booneville. The rebel force was stationed above Rockport,
but retreated, after a skirmish which did not assume the proportions of
a battle; and the Union army, two thousand strong, entered the town,
where the national colors and the welcomes of the inhabitants testified
their joy at the change.

The army of General Lyon, amounting at one time to ten thousand, had
decreased by the first of August--the term of enlistment of many of the
soldiers having expired--to six thousand; and it was with this number
that, having swept the south-west, and believing the enemy intended to
attack him at Springfield, he advanced to meet them at Dug Springs. The
army of the enemy was larger and their position a strong one, but they
were unable to hold it, and, after a sharp skirmish, fled in disorder,
while Gen. Lyon continued his march toward Springfield. His situation
had now become a critical one. The reinforcements for which he had
telegraphed in vain, and in vain sent messengers to entreat from the
chief of the department, Gen. Fremont, then in St. Louis, did not
arrive. His army was subsisting on half rations, and wearied with
exhausting marches over the uneven country in the extreme heat of
midsummer. And now, for the first time, hope seemed to desert the
general. Under his direction the cause had hitherto triumphed in
Missouri. Now, with zeal unabated and courage unflinching, he must fall
before the enemy he had so successfully opposed, or retreat where
retreat was disaster, disgrace, and defeat. No wonder that, as from day
to day he looked for the expected aid as men in drought for the clouds
that are to bless them, he grew restless and perplexed and despairing;
no wonder that the face that had never before worn the lines of
indecision, should now lose its accustomed cheerfulness and glance of
calm purpose, and challenge sympathy and pity for the heart that had
never before asked more than admiration and respect. He felt that the
hour had its demands, and that they must be met. Action, even in the
face of disaster, was less a defeat than an inglorious retirement. The
public, surely unaware of the fearful odds against him, clamored for an
engagement; the State expected it of its hero; the government awaited
it, and with a brave heart, but no hope, Gen. Lyon prepared for the
attack. The result all the world knows. Was it a victory where the
conquerors were obliged to retire from the field, and carry out their
wounded under a flag of truce? Was it a defeat where the enemy had been
thrice repulsed, once driven from the ground, had burned their baggage
train, and made no pursuit of the retreating army?

But most mournful are those last moments of the faithful soldier's life;
most solemn those last tones of his voice as his orders rang out on that
misty morning amid the smoke and shouts of the battle-field. He stands
here bare-headed, the blood streaming from two wounds which he does not
heed, the cloud of perplexity settling over his face like a pall, his
troubled eyes fixed upon the enemy. He turns to head a regiment which
has lost its colonel--"Forward! men; I will lead you!" A moment, and he
lies there: no more striving for victory here; no more anxious hours of
weary watching for the succor that never came; no more goadings from an
exacting public, nor any more appeals to an unheeding chief. Even the
triumphant hush of life could not smooth out those lines cut by unwonted
care upon his face, or answer the mute questioning of that painful
indecision there. So from the West they brought him, by solemn marches,
to the East, and colors hung at half-mast, and bells were tolled as the
flag-draped hero was borne slowly by. And to the music of tender dirges,
he, whose whole life had been, inspired by the whistling of fifes and
rolling of drums, was laid to rest. A handful of clods falling upon his
breast, their hollow sound never thrilling the mother heart that lay
again so near her son's, a volley fired over the grave, and all was
over. Of all the brave men gone, no fate has seemed to us so sad.
Winthrop, young and ardent, with the tide of great thoughts rashing in
upon his princely heart, died in the flush of hope with the fresh
enthusiasm of poetry and undimmed patriotism shining in his eyes, and we
laid our soldier to sleep under the violets. Ellsworth fell forward with
the captured flag of treason in his hand, and the whole nation cheering
him on in his early sally upon the 'sacred' Virginia soil. Brave and
honorable, with fine powers cultured by study and earnest thought, death
took from him no portion of the fame life would have awarded him. Baker
rode into the jaws of death in that fatal autumn blunder; but the
ignominy of defeat rested upon other shoulders. His only to obey, even
while 'all the world wondered.' But he did not fall before the honor of
a country's admiration and the meed of her grateful thanks were his.
Soldier, orator and statesman, he had gained in a brilliant career a
glory earned by few, and could well afford to die, assured of a memory
justified from all reproach. But to Lyon, whom there were so few to
mourn, death in the midst of anticipated defeat was bitter indeed. No
time to retrieve the losses and disasters the cruel remissness of others
had entailed upon him; the fruit of the anxious toil of months wrested
from him even as it began to ripen; all his glad hopes chilled by
suspicion, but his faith, we may well believe, still strong in the
ultimate success of the cause he loved. A whole life he had given to his
country, and she had not thought it worth while to redeem it from
disgrace with the few thousands that he asked. He had outlived the
elasticity of youth, when wrongs are quickly remedied, and new impulses
spring, like phoenixes, from the ashes of the old. Uncertain whether he
were the victim of a conspiracy, the tool of a faction, or the martyr to
some unknown theory, he died, and as the country had been to him wife
and children, he left her his all.

It was known to but few that the soldier, whose career had been rather
useful than brilliant, had, when the scheming of politicians and their
doubly-refined arguments threatened to deceive and ruin the country,
put by his sword and taken up the pen. In a series of articles, short,
concise, and to the point, he effectually canvassed the State. They are
addressed to thinking men everywhere. Free from all trickery, strictly
impartial, relying entirely upon the soundness of his premises for
success,--for elegance of diction he had not, and he was too honest even
to become a sophist,--these papers manifest at once the true patriot and
the intelligent man. Thousands of adherents the Republican cause had in
1860, but not one more indefatigable or more heartily in earnest than
Lyon. Outside the limits of party interests, and uninfluenced personally
by the predominance of either faction, he had worked out in his own way
the problem of national life, and now spread its solution before his
readers. 'Our cause,' said he, 'is to honor labor and elevate the
laborer.' Here we have the kernel of the whole matter; the spirit, if
not the letter, of the whole republican system of government. The secret
that philosophers have elaborated from the unconquerable facts of
physics, ethics, and psychology, that men of genius have evolved with
infinite difficulty from the mass of crude aesthetic associations that
cluster around every object of nature or of art, Lyon, working and
thinking alone as a citizen, has discovered, with the sole aid of common
sense and the habit of practical observation. Carey and Godwin have
proved by statistics for unbelievers the reasonableness of the doctrine
enunciated by Lyon. Now, thanks to the untiring efforts of a few
stout-hearted patriots, it is no new one to the North; but in the late
presidential contest it was a strange weapon glittering in strong hands.
Our society, diluted and weakened by the Southern element, revolted at
first from the creed that is to prove its salvation. Not alone in our
border States had the dragon crept, searing our fair institutions with
his hot breath, but even upon the sturdy old Puritan stock were
engrafted many of the petty notions that pass for 'principles' in Dixie.
True, we were educated, all of us, into a sort of decent regard for the
good old element of labor,--we call it industry,--more antique, since
antiquity is a virtue, than aristocracy, for it began in Paradise. But
this was a feature of our Northern character that was to be hurried out
of sight, ignominiously buried without candle or bell, when the giant of
Southern chivalry stalked across our borders. The bravado and
gentlemanly ruffianism of youthful F.F.V-ism at college, and the
supercilious condescension of incipient Southern belledom in the
seminary, impressed young North America with a respect that was indeed
unacknowledged, but that grew with its growth and strengthened with its
strength. But this mock romance of ancestry, this arrogant assumption by
the South of all the social virtues and courtesies of which the nation,
or indeed the universe, could boast, was like the flash of an expiring
candle to Lyon. He had little to do with first families North or South;
his mission was to the _people_. His practical mind gathered in, sheaf
after sheaf, a whole harvest of political facts. He saw that the
government of the United States, originally intended to be administered
by the people, had been for years in the power of the minority. Against
this perversion of the purpose of the founders of the republic, this
outrage to the memory of men who labored for its defense and welfare, he
entered his earnest protest. The shallow effort of the Democratic party
to establish upon constitutional grounds the monstrous phantom of
justice they called government, was met by his hearty indignation. He
says, 'With the artfulness of a deity and the presumption of a fiend,
our own Constitution is perversely claimed by the Democracy as the aegis
for the establishment of a slave autocracy over our country.'

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