General Lyon having returned to Springfield after his expedition to Curran, found himself greatly embarrassed by his position, and was forced by circumstances to determine the question whether he should, with his inferior force, give battle to the enemy now pressing upon him, or attempt a retreat to Rolla, encumbered with an immense train, and exposed to the probability of being compelled to defend himself at any point on the route where they might see fit to attack him. Their cavalry force was large, and with this they could by their celerity of movement cut off his communication and flank him whenever disposed. His appeals for reinforcements had not been granted, yet he was daily indulging the hope that he would soon be furnished a sufficient force to enable him to meet the enemy with a reasonable prospect of success. The days were passing on, the enemy was drawing nearer, and General Lyon was compelled to make his decision. The alternative was before him, either to retreat and leave the finest section of the State open to the ravages of the enemy, or make the attempt to expel the foe, even though he might sacrifice his own army in the effort. On the afternoon of the ninth of August, he held a consultation with his officers, when after a full discussion of the question, it was deemed advisable to attack the enemy in his camp at Wilson’s Creek, nine miles south of Springfield. The attack was to be made simultaneously by two columns, at daylight on the following morning, Saturday the 10th; the first under command of General Lyon and the second under General Sigel. The rebel leaders were Generals Sterling Price, Ben McCulloch and Brigadier-General John B. Clark. Somewhat singularly, both parties had planned an attack at the same hour, but the darkness of the night induced the rebels to postpone their movement. Their tents were pitched on either side of Wilson’s Creek, extending a mile east and south of the road, crossing to two miles west and north of the same, the creek running nearly in the shape of a horizontal ᔕ. At the crossing of the Fayette road the hills on each side of the stream are from two to three hundred feet high, sloping gently on the north, and abrupt to the south side. The valley is about half a mile wide. While on the verge of this, his last engagement, General Lyon was impressed with a sad presentiment—not regarding his own fate—but a fear for his brave command. A terrible responsibility rested upon him. With no adequate strength with which to cope with the enemy, hemmed in and growing weaker every day, his position was both perilous and painful. Unsupported, with his cry for help passed over, he saw nothing before him but the barren satisfaction of dying, bravely performing his duty, and protecting to the last the little army that he felt to be doomed. With these feelings—sadly bitter they must have been—this glorious man entered upon his last battle field.