Daily Archive

Tribute to the Famous Confederate Soldier.
A LIFE FILLED WITH NOBLE DEEDS AND FAITHFUL SERVICE.

Sketch of General Hood’s Military Career-Heroic Traits in His Character.
IN MEMORIAM.

[From the New Orleans, La., Picayune, September 4, 1904.]
NOTE.–Tuesday, August 30, 1904, was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the death of General J. B. Hood.

Sadly and wearily,
Eyes dimmed by grief,
Thou, who has fought for us
With thy blood bought for us,
Freedom so brief–
Slumbereth now peacefully,
Resteth now fair,
Could I but have thee now,
Soothe from thy furrowed brow
All lines of care!
Bleeding and aching wounds
Counted for naught,
They did not pierce thy heart,
Injustice’s cruel dart
Such sorrow wrought.
Only the victor is
Honored and cheered,
But Defeat’s martyr must
To kind oblivion trust,
Misery reared.
Yet, where is he so strong,
Standing alone,
Fighting with Dignity
All the Malignity,
As thou hast done?
Though thou art dead and gone,
Better than fame
Thou hast to us bequeathed,
With holy memories wreathed–
A noble name.
Slumber now peacefully,
Thou didst thy share,
Thou hast not lived in vain;
Leaving the stormy main,
Rest thee now fair.

Busts of brass and alabaster, pillars of granite and basalt, columns of porphyry and marble yield to the tooth of time. In the palaces of nature even, the vast domes and cupolas, the towering peaks and rugged crags, fashioned by subterranean fires or cleft by rushing torrents and polished by the sweep of winds, fall victims to decay.

Men’s spirit only lives. Its product, be it the thoughtful measure or the kindly deed, the word of wisdom or the noble sacrifice of self and substance on the altar to the common good, is never lost. Cast upon the broad bosom of the ever-surging sea of humanity, deep-running currents, whose secret courses the subtlety of human reason cannot fathom, carry it far and wide, into the habitations of the lowly and to the mansions of the great.

Sometimes a man is spared to see it return after its first circuit, enriched by the homage of the grateful and the tribute of the just; oftener, Time, measured by the stately march of stars, has conquered him. Fate in its irony and wisdom has denied him that gratification and silenced his senses.

Then, when he is resting in his grave, perhaps after a long journey over the thorn-studded path of disappointments, and the tombstone has solemnly mounted its lonely guard to warn off with silent, majestic and awe-inspiring gesture the noisy clamor of petty jealousies and strife, then the fields and gardens are ransacked for their blossoms and a wealth of fragrance is lavishly shed about the grave; then men will rise and outvie each other to do honor to the memory of one to whom they had perhaps denied the barest recognition while he was in their midst.

Perhaps ’tis better so. The lasting monument of Influence, based on the firm pedestal of the human heart, needs time to anchor and take root. But once unveiled, it draws with might and main. Men flock to its foot to find there the inspiration for noble effort or the worthy deed, a sculptured image or the graven word can never give. The poet’s unawakened fire is there lashed to flame; philosophers arrest their steps to ponder; the worn and footsore find repose, and others, weaker than the rest, some comfort and some rest.

At certain seasons the magnetic force of such a monument is doubled, trebled. ‘Tis then the mind calls afresh in long review the life of virtue and of strength, which gave it birth. And so, on this occasion, the recurring day of death of one whose memory will never fade, stirs me profoundly by the sweetness and the sadness of many recollections.

John Bell Hood was born at Owingsville, Bath county, Ky., June 1, 1831. Of an old family, originally coming from Devonshire, England, he inherited from his paternal side the military spirit, which decided his career, and that absolute, unflinching integrity of purpose that knows no bending. No man is greater than his mother–in which rule he was no exception. But through her he was endowed with those greater traits of character–a sympathetic heart, a soul responsive to the noble, great and good–by which nature understands to balance the grosser with the more spiritual, to make one harmonious whole.

Overcoming the opposition of his father–a widely-honored physician, who intended his son for the medical profession–Hood was nominated to the Military Academy at West Point, where he graduated in 1853. For two years he saw service in California, was honorably mentioned in a dispatch in connection with an encounter with Indians, was promoted, and then made cavalry instructor at West Point, a most highly coveted appointment.

Then came a day when his conscience bade him resign his commission. I doubt not, it was a day of struggle and pain for him–for the time of terror and upheaval, when the whole continent was to tremble under the shock of the cannon’s roar, and the insatiable thirst of the earth for human blood was to be stirred, was at hand.

Matters of morals, ethics and emotions do not yield to the rigid application of mathematical formulae. The judge enthroned in each individual conscience is the sole and independent arbiter. A consensus of opinion of such judges, the highest tribunal on earth, is seldom had. One part decided, and if the other, relying on the soundness of its contention, refuses to submit, and the matter be weighty enough, and all means of arriving at an amicable settlement are exhausted, hell is let loose; slaughter becomes a motto. So the civil war broke out, and entering the army of the Confederacy, John Bell Hood became Colonel, and soon after Brigadier-General of the Texas Brigade.

If his military attainments and genius I will let others speak, better fitted for a keen analysis and criticism on matters of strategy than I am.

But he was one of the bravest, who never spared himself, sharing with his men all the burdens, the joys and sorrows. He was more than merely their general officer commanding, he was their friend; doubly so, as they reciprocated his feelings. In the battle of Gaines’ Mills he received his first wound in the civil war.

Promoted for his valor to a Brevet Major-General, he served in both campaigns in Maryland, was engaged in the second battle of Bull Run, fought gallantly at Boonesborough, Fredericksburg, Antietam and Gettysburg, where he was again so severely wounded that he lost the use of his arm. In the following September he rejoined his command and was ordered to re-enforce General Bragg in Tennessee.

On the second day of the battle in Chickamauga he fought most splendidly, rallying the wavering troops, imbuing them with his spirit and charging the enemy at the head of the gallant Texans –to fall, badly wounded by a minnie ball. His leg had to be amputated, and when on the road to recovery he was offered a civil position, away from danger and personal risk, he refused without hesitation. His mind–his blood–aye, his life, he had consecrated to the active service at the front. He thought not of his own safety. He thought of his country and its cause.

After six months he returned to the field and was assigned to a command in General Johnston’s army, distinguishing himself repeatedly during the retreat of the army from Dalton to Atlanta. When in July, 1864, General Johnston was removed from the command, General Hood was placed at its head. In the desperate conflict of Atlanta, both sides lost heavily. The following November, though, he compelled the evacuation of Decatur and then made a movement into Tennessee, where he fought one of the fiercest battles in the whole war, at Franklin, September 30.

After the battle of Nashville, General Hood was forced to retreat. His opponents were numerically too strong. The campaign had proved disastrous, partly through the non-arrival of expected re-enforcements from the Transmississippi Department, and on January 13, 1865, General Hood requested to be relieved of his command. This request was finally granted, and on the 23d he bade farewell to the Army of Tennessee.

After a sojourn in Richmond for several weeks, General Hood then was ordered to Texas to form a new army, when the report of General Lee’s surrender reached him. It was not until in receipt of positive information of the surrender of General E. Kirby Smith that he rode into Hatche on the 31st of May, 1865, and there proffered his sword to Major-General Davidson, U. S. A., who bade him retain it and paroled the officers and men in General Hood’s company to proceed to New Orleans.

A battle is not comparable to a game of chess, in which two keen, agile and alert minds, the leaders of opposing armies, are pitted against each other in a struggle for victory. It’s more like a game of probabilities, in which the element of chance plays as important a part as cool calculation. For who can foretell the shower of rain that will retard the advance of the batteries to occupy their assigned places, to cover an attack or to divert the attention of the enemy at the preconceived psychological moment?

Who can, like Joshua, bid the sun stand still, lest the advantage gained during the combat of the day be lost or neutralized through the enforced suspension of activities in the night, when the enemy may have time to rally and secure re-enforcements. And who, lastly, can so control the spirits, so animate the mass of his troops that the supreme effort is propelled by “all” the available energy?

And yet he who has lost a battle has not only to bear the mortification of defeat, the soul-burning misery of failure, the awful, oh, how awful! feeling that all the sacrifices of life have been in vain, but also the almost crushing burden of reproach, which is then dealt out with so lavish hands.

General Hood learned not the just and unbiased criticism of his superiors. So great was he, indeed, so chivalrous, that, should he have erred deeply, he would not have hesitated, like Cotton Mather, to unbare his head at the corners of the street and ask forgiveness of everybody.

To mere slander he replied with the silence of contempt. And to the unjust strictures derogatory to his fair name and character, which were passed on him by his former comrade on the field, and echoed by many to whose honor it would have redounded more had they held their peace, General Hood replied towards the end of his life in a book, singularly temperate and liberal in tone, and free from all bitterness.

Retiring after the war to civil life, General Hood entered a business career and shortly afterwards married.
“How can any adversity come to him who hath a wife?” said Chaucer; and, truly, his wife was more–she was his comrade, counsellor, friend. A solace in his trials, a comfort in his hours of sadness, her gentle, winning and so tender devotion sweetened his life. Their home was a sanctuary–their union ideal.

So years of happiness rolled by until the scythe of Time was sharpened by the plague.

Preceded by his eldest child and his beloved wife, General Hood followed them to the grave within a week, breathing his last on the 30th of August, 1879.

Death, the master of princes and paupers, of saints and sinners, of the hale and broken, the happy and miserable–often so cruel–was merciful when he reunited them in the cold bosom of the earth.

He had lived fifty-eight years; not one fraction thereof had been allowed to pass without being devoted to the service of his fellow-men. Refined by sorrow, purified by aspirations, strengthened through self-reliance, and made gentle by an earnest faith in the things unseen, he was genial, generous and indulgent towards others and severe with himself. His aims were prompted by noble desires, and in politics his ideals for democratic action were high. He knew his powers and also his limitations.

And he had his limits as the sun has its spots.

Above all, the strong force of his character yielded an influence no oratory can command, and that influence is not ended–nay, it is only just beginning to sprout in our hearts.

IDA RICHARDSON HOOD.

Southern Historical Society Papers.
Vol. XXXII. Richmond, Va., January-December. 1904.
In Memory Of General J. B. Hood.

During the campaign around Atlanta our company was out on picket. Just before we were relieved in the morning our company killed a fat cow, and we managed to bring a quarter into camp. As we were expecting to move at any time, we cut up me beef in chunks, built a scaffold and spread the meat on it, then built a fire and were cooking it so we could take it with us. We were all busy working at it when one of the company looked up and saw old Pat coming down the line on a tour of inspection. We had no time to hide the beef, and knew we were in for it. One of the company stepped out and saluted the General, and said: “General, we have some nice, fat beef cooking, and it is about done; come and eat dinner with us.” “Well,” he replied, “it does smell good. I believe I will.” He sat down on a log, one of the boys took a nice piece of beef from the fire, another hunted a pone of corn bread and handed it to him. The General ate quite heartily, thanked us for the dinner, took out his cob pipe, filled it and began to smoke, chatting pleasantly with us, asking what we thought of our position, and if we thought we could whip the fight, if we had one, and then passed on down the line, while we cheered him. How could we help admiring him? Had he lived and the war continued, he was bound to have risen to great distinction as an officer. He and General Granbury were killed near the breastworks at the battle of Franklin, Tennessee, and the Confederacy lost two of her best officers.

T. O. MOORE,
Company F, Seventh Texas Volunteer Infantry,
Granbury’s Brigade, Cleburne’s Division, Army of Tennessee.

Southern Historical Society Papers.
Vol. XXI. Richmond, Va., January-December. 1893.
Anecdotes Of General Cleburne.

Southern Historical Society Papers.
Vol. XVIII. Richmond, Va., January-December. 1890.
General P. R. Cleburne.

May 10th, 1891, which was observed as decoration day at Helena, Arkansas, and also witnessed the dedication of the monument erected to the memory of the gallant General Patrick Ronayne Cleburne, by the devoted exertions of the patriotic ladies of the Phillips County Memorial Association. The reverential occasion convened numerous gallant veterans from a distance, including many from Memphis, Tennessee.

ADDRESS BY GENERAL GORDON.

General Gordon, after acknowledging the complimentary introduction, said:

“One of the noblest duties of the living is to perpetuate the virtues and memories of the dead. And in obedience to the impulse of this sacred sentiment, we have here assembled to dedicate that beautiful monument (pointing to the shaft), with its expressive and appropriate symbols, to the glory and memory of a great soldier, a true patriot and a grand man–General Patrick Ronayne Cleburne, who fell at the battle of Franklin, Tenn., November 30, 1864. Although more than a quarter of century has elapsed since he perished in the cause of his country, that shaft but now gives visible expression to those cherished sentiments of remembrance and veneration which have ever since, and ever should, animate the minds and hearts of a grateful people.

“General Cleburne was born in the county of Cork, Ireland, March 17, 1828, and was consequently in the thirty-seventh year of his age at the time of his death, and just in the full prime and pride of his glorious manhood. He was a descendant of William Cleyborne, the colonial secretary of Virginia in 1626.(*) His mother was of the lineage of that Maurice Ronayne, who obtained from King Henry the IV ‘a grant of the rights of Englishmen.’ He early indicated a predilection for the profession of arms by leaving Trinity College, England, where he was being educated for the medical profession, and enlisted as a soldier in the English army. After several years of service in that capacity, he came to the United States and located in this city (Helena, Ark.), where he began the study and practice of law, in which he was succeeding at the outbreak of our civil war. He enlisted in the Confederate army as a private; contrived the capture of the United States arsenal in Arkansas in March, 1861, thus early displaying that promptness, sagacity and enterprise which characterized him throughout his military career. He was made captain of a company, and very soon afterward promoted to the rank of colonel, and as early as March, 1862, was made a brigadier-general. At the battle of Shiloh he commanded a brigade, and was highly commended for his courage and ability. Was wounded at the battle of Perryville, Ky., in October, 1862, and in December following was advanced to the important rank of major-general. His martial qualities were recognized and rewarded in his rapid promotion to higher commands. At the battle of Stone river, or Murfreesboro, he commanded a division of the right wing of the Confederate army and again signalized himself for valor and efficiency.

At the battle of Chickamauga, one of the most interesting and thrilling conflicts of the war, the persistent spirit and shining courage of General Cleburne and his gallant command were again conspicuous. This great battle was fought on the 18th, 19th, and 20th of September, 1863, the contending armies being pretty equally matched as to numbers. On Friday, the 18th, there was heavy outpost fighting, on Saturday heavy fighting, and on Sunday desperate fighting. On the morning of the last and third day, the contest was renewed with augmented fury. All day the earth trembled with the thunder of three hundred guns and the clamor of one hundred thousand rifles. The very waters quivered within the banks of the Chickamauga river from the concussion of artillery. Troops were rushed from point to point. Column after column was hurried into combat. The thrilling shouts of contending hosts could be heard amid the battle’s roar. Couriers bearing orders dashed on panting steeds through the jungles and into the lines. Battle flags and flying banners mingled in the dreadful strife. The lurid smoke of battle rose and spread in purple waves as volley after volley thundered its deadly contents amid surging columns and resounding arms. All day the battle raged, and the issue seemed doubtful. But late in the afternoon both wings of the Federal line began to recede, and later were driven to confusion. But the left center of the enemy still stood firm and fighting. Upon that fortified point the flower of the Confederate army, embracing Cleburne and his division, had been hurled and rehurled without success. Charge after charge had been made and repulsed, and it seemed that the position was not to be taken. But just as the sun, encrimsoned with the smoke of battle and like a great, bloody disk in the sky, was sinking beneath Lookout mountain, that towered upon our left, news was swiftly brought to our center that both wings of the enemy’s line were in full retreat, and orders were given to charge again the Federal center. Quickly our shattered columns were rallied for the last grand struggle. The “charge” was sounded, and, with a shout that rent the heavens and an impetuosity that swept away all opposition, they dashed into the enemy’s works and poured a volley into their flying forces. The battle was over, the victory won, the rout complete. Pursuit was brief. Night closed the scene. For a few moments a strange silence reigned. It was indeed strange, in its mysterious contrast to the uproar and confusion of the last three days. But just then, miles away to our left, through the deep and darkening forest, could be faintly heard the shouting of troops. And what did that mean? Listen! listen! it is the shout of victory! Nearer and nearer it came, louder and louder it grew, grander and grander it rose, as it was taken up by each successive command in the line, till it passed and repassed the entire line of the Confederate army. From wing to wing it went and returned, from flank to flank it rolled. Shout after shout rent the skies, echo after echo died upon the heavens. I imagine it was like the shouting of the hosts of Joshua at the taking of the city of Jericho. In the exultation of that moment, every man felt that he was compensated for all the effort, all the anguish, and all the danger that the three days’ fight had cost him. For let me here say, that the sublimest emotion that ever filled the human heart, is that inspired by the shout of victory after a long and doubtful contest. The exultation ceased. Then was a time for memory and tears. The army sank down upon the earth to rest, “the weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.” Silence and moonlight wrapped the bloody scene. General Cleburne and his valiant division were in the charge that I have just described–the charge that completed the Confederate victory on the famous field of Chickamauga. The Confederate loss in this battle, as I now remember it, was about seventeen thousand in killed, wounded and captured–the Federal loss being about the same.

The next battle in which General Cleburne participated was that of Missionary Ridge, November 30th, 1863, where he achieved additional distinction by the handsome manner in which he repulsed the repeated assaults made upon his position in the right wing of the Confederate line. And although this battle resulted in a victory to the Federal arms, General Cleburne’s position was never shaken, much less taken, by any of the furious and repeated assaults that were made upon it during the action, but was abandoned in good order after the left wing of the Confederate army had been outflanked, beaten and routed by largely superior numbers–storming in column of three lines of battle, and making one of the most superb and gallant charges that we witnessed during the war. General Cleburne again distinguished himself in covering the retreat of the Confederate army from this field, and for his heroic defence of Ringgold Gap was specially commended by the Confederate Congress.

He was among the first to suggest and advocate the use of the colored troops in the armies of the Confederacy. This was in the winter of 1863 and 1864 when the “Army of Tennessee” was en-camped at Dalton, Georgia. His advice in this regard was met with a prompt and almost unanimous rejection by that army. But viewed in the light of the vital fact that at that time our available resources in men were practically exhausted; that our armies in the field were daily diminishing by death from disease and casualties in battle, and no means by which to increase them; and also viewed in the light of subsequent results, the wisdom and propriety of such a policy cannot be successfully questioned. There were then no other available resources by which the ranks of our armies could be recruited and maintained. And so it now appears that General Cleburne and his few supporters in this idea were wiser and more prescient than the many who differed with them. Expediency suggested the policy he advised.

Artwork by Will Smith

General Cleburne was a division commander under General Joseph E. Johnston during his celebrated campaign in North Georgia, and distinguished himself in a number of its various battles, and more especially at New Hope church, where he repulsed the enemy with signal firmness and efficiency and with heavy losses to their charging columns. He commanded an army corps at the battle of Jonesboro’, Georgia, and covered the retreat of General Hood’s defeated army from that field. He also commanded a corps at the battle of Franklin, Tennessee, where he was killed in storming the second line of the Federal works. Touching his action in this, his last charge, his last battle, I speak as a messenger from the field where he fell. This battle-ground lies in a beautiful valley and immediately south of the town of Franklin. About noon of November 30, 1864, the Confederate army under command of General Hood, appeared on the heights of an elevated range of hills [editor's note: Winstead Hill] that overlooked the valley and the village, and distant about one and a half miles from the main line of the Federal works, which were immediately south of the town and inclosing the same. Some hours after our arrival on these heights, and after examining the enemy’s fortified positions, General Hood determined to assault the place. Troops were promptly moved from the central and main road, upon which they had arrived, to the right and left under the cover of these hills, until they were opposite the positions they were directed to take in the line of battle, and were then moved over the hills to the front, and to their proper posts, preparatory to the assault. When these dispositions were made the advance was ordered–not in battle array, however, for we were too far off to begin the charge–but in a regimental movement we called “double columns at half distance,” in order that we might move with more system and facility, and also more easily pass obstacles, such as fences and small groves of trees which here and there interspersed the otherwise open plain upon which the great struggle was soon to take place. In the battle disposition General Cleburne’s corps was immediately on the right of the main highway or pike leading into Franklin from the south, and Cheatham’s corps was immediately on the left of it. This road was Cleburne’s left guide, and Cheatham’s right guide in moving to the attack. And as General Granberry’s brigade constituted the extreme left flank of General Cleburne’s command, and my brigade the extreme right flank of Cheatham’s, we were therefore contiguous in the order of battle, and both in the front line. As the array of columns which I have mentioned, with a front of two miles or more in length, moved steadily down the heights and into the valley below with flying banners, beating drums and bristling guns, it presented a scene of the most imposing grandeur and magnificence. When we had arrived within about four hundred paces of the enemy’s advanced line of entrenchments our columns were halted and deployed into two lines of battle preparatory to the charge.

This advanced position of the enemy was not a continuous but a detached line, manned by two brigades, and situated about six hundred paces in front of his main line of formidable works. This detached line was immediately in front of Cleburne’s left and Cheatham’s right. When all was ready the “charge” was ordered. With a wild shout we dashed forward upon this line. The enemy delivered one volley at our rushing ranks and precipitately fled for refuge to his main and rear line. At this juncture the shout was raised, “Go into the works with them.” This cry was taken up and vociferated from a thousand throats as we rushed on after the flying forces we had routed–killing some in our running fire and capturing others who were slow of foot–sustaining but small losses ourselves, until we arrived within about one hundred paces of their main line and stronghold, when it seemed to me that hell itself had exploded in our faces. The enemy had thus long reserved their fire for the safety of their routed comrades who were flying to them for protection, and who were just in front of and mingled with the pursuing Confederates. When it became no longer safe for themselves to reserve their fire, they opened upon us (.regardless of their own men who were mingled with us) such a hailstorm of shot and shell, musketry and canister that the very atmosphere was hideous with the shrieks of the messengers of death. The booming of cannon, the bursting of bombs, the rattle of musketry, the shrieking of shells, the whizzing of bullets, the shouting of hosts and the falling of men in their struggle for victory, all made a scene of surpassing terror and awful grandeur.

“Such a din was there,
As if men fought on earth below,
And fiends in upper air.”

It seemed to me if I had thrown out my hand I could have caught it full of the missiles of death, and it is a mystery how any of us ever reached the works. Amid this scene General Cleburne came charging down our lines to the left, and diagonally toward the enemy’s works, his horse running at full speed, and if I had not personally checked my pace as I ran on foot, he would have plunged over and trampled me to the earth. On he dashed, but for an instant longer, when rider and horse both fell, pierced with many bullets, within a few paces of the enemy’s works. On we rushed–his men of Granberry’s brigade and mine having mingled as we closed on the line, until we reached the enemy’s works; but being now so exhausted and so few in numbers, we halted in the ditch on the outside of the breastworks, among dead and dying men–both Federals and Confederates. A few charged over, but were clubbed down with muskets or pierced with bayonets. For some time we fought them across the breastworks, both sides lying low and putting their guns under the head-logs upon the works, firing rapidly and at random, and not exposing any part of the body except the hand that fired the gun. While this melee was going on across the works we were exposed to a dangerous fire from some of our own men of General Stewart’s corps to our right rear, there being an angle in the enemy’s line in that direction. At the same time we were subjected to an enfilading fire from the enemy to our left. Finally, the fatality to us from these three fires–front, rear and left–became so great that we shouted to the enemy across the works to “cease firing” and we would surrender. At length they heard us, understood us, and ceased their fire; we crossed the works and surrendered.

It was fatal to leave the ditch and endeavor to escape to the rear. Every man who attempted it (and a number did) was at once exposed and was shot down without exception. Pardon me if I further digress sufficiently to say that the left of my brigade, under command of Colonel Horace Rice (I was on the right), successfully broke the line and some of my brave and noble men were killed fifty paces or more within the works. But just at this critical juncture a reinforcement of a Federal brigade confronted them with a heavy fire, and being few in numbers they were driven back to the opposite side of the works, behind which they took position and bravely held the line they had previously taken. Night soon intervening, the Federal army withdrew from the field and retired to Nashville.

This was a gallant and glorious fight on the part of the Confederates, but a sad disaster to their cause and their country. The intrepid Cleburne had fallen. Generals Granberry and Adams of his command, Generals Carter, Strahl and Gist of Cheatham’s command and of the division of which my brigades composed a part, had also fallen, while hundreds of others, less notable but no less brave and self-sacrificing, had made their last charge and had fought their last battle. For reckless, desperate courage this conflict will rank with Gettysburg or Balaklava.

Referring again to General Cleburne’s action upon this memorable field, it appears upon first view as if inspired by desperation. For he was so close to the enemy, so conspicuous upon his stately steed, as he charged along the closing lines, that it seems impossible that he could have expected any other result to himself than that which occurred. But, be it remembered that he was without fear, that he loved victory and defied defeat. I am informed by those who knew him better than I, and who were usually closer to him in battle, that he often exposed himself unnecessarily to the most imminent danger. Besides, it is not improbable that he had predetermined to win a victory upon this field or die in the attempt. This hypothesis is supported by Hon. T. W. Brown, of Memphis, who relates that during the march of the army on General Hood’s ill-fated campaign from Georgia to Tennessee, some occasion at night had called together a large number of officers and soldiers. Public speaking became the order of the evening, and General Cleburne was called on for a speech. He at first declined, for he was not a talking man. But being repeatedly called for, he at last appeared, and after instructing the soldiers as to how they should fight, and especially advising them that when once under fire to press bravely forward and never turn back, he said in effect: “I will accomplish what I next undertake or else I will perish in making the attempt.” Franklin was his next battle; it was also his last. Thus perished the “Stonewall of the West,” as he was often called. A truer patriot or knightlier soldier never fought and never died. Valor never lost a braver son or freedom a nobler champion. As he charged amid the tempest of conflict he seemed the impersonation of the genius of battle–a veritable Mars on the field of war. He was a patriot by instinct and a soldier by nature. He loved his country, its soldiers, its banners, its battle-flags, its sovereignty, its independence. For these he fought, for these he fell. He could not have done more for his own loved fatherland than he did for the land of his chosen allegiance, in whose just defence he relinquished his life. He fell in the uniform of his adopted country, amid her soldiers and advancing flags. He died unconquered, and in doing so, threw Eastern lustre upon Southern valor. Two countries share in the glory of his name. Ireland gave him to the world; the Confederacy to immortality. Their joint emblems–a happy conception–fitly mark the monument that here speaks to posterity–Erin’s harp in bed of shamrock; the Confederate seal, showing Washington on warhorse, wreathed in Southland’s blooms and products; the sunburst of Ireland over the inscription “Franklin,” symbolizing that his life passed thence in an effulgence of glory. All the honors we can do him cannot equal his deserts. This beautiful monument, which love erects to memory and gratitude gives to glory, is but a modest expression of his country’s esteem. I think we do no injustice to any one, living or dead, when we say that he was the most distinguished and efficient soldier of his rank that fought in our Western armies–the most illustrious exponent of Irish valor and prowess that has yet appeared upon American fields. He knew how to lead a charge or rally a wavering column; possessed those martial qualities that achieve success and inspire in soldiers devotion to their leader. Though a stern disciplinarian, he was loved by his soldiers, who were ready to go wherever he commanded. He was not only a commander, but a comrade, fighting with his men. And if every Confederate soldier had been a Cleburne, we question not that the issue of the war would have been reversed and the political destiny of a people changed. He was a fearless soldier, a sagacious leader, a true patriot and a reproachless man. In his devotion to the cause he espoused he shrank from no sacrifice. Inspired by a sense of right “and sustained by a sublime courage he challenged danger and died gallantly in the cause of his country.”
His deeds we honor, his death we mourn; and in token of our recognition of his sacrifices, our admiration of his deeds and our veneration for his memory this modest monument has been erected. And on behalf of the ex-Confederate soldiers, and indeed of the people of the South, I would offer our thanks to those who have especially had charge of and accomplished this noble work. Beautify it with flowers, wreath it with laurel and crown it with immortelles. At the call of Arkansas he went to the field and it is fitting that his remains should repose in her soil; and more especially upon this beautiful spot, said to have been a favorite resort in his walks before the war. Tennessee, whose bosom received his blood, unites in honoring his memory to-day. Her soldiers, her patriots, her citizens are here, while her histories contain high tributes to his name. A work, entitled the “Military Annals of Tennessee,” contains a chapter (written by Colonel C. W. Frazer, of that State, and who served in General Cleburne’s command), in which this paragraph appears:

“The hero worship (amounting almost to idolatry) on the one hand, and the sympathy and admiration on the other, that existed between this regiment (the Fifth Confederate, composed of Tennesseeans), and General Cleburne was remarkable, and can only be partially accounted for by their common birthplace, their devotion to the Southern cross, and the ties that bind men who have often met a common foe in the death grapple. The snows of twenty winters have covered his modest grave at Helena, Ark., but now the mention of the name of Pat. Cleburne, brightens the eye and quickens the pulse of every man who fought under him. A born soldier, he was in battle the embodiment of war, and as a general, in his position, I think he had no superior; and withal he was as modest and true-hearted a man as ever wore the gray. It ought to be the pride as it is the duty of the historian to give this dead hero a white stone.” This book (The Military Annals of Tennessee) contains an excellent steel engraving of General Cleburne, and also a beautiful poem in honor of his memory by a Tennessee poetess, Mrs. Virginia Frazer Boyle.

In conclusion, while we would especially memorialize General Cleburne to-day, we cannot forget the thousands of our humbler comrades who also died valiantly for the country they loved. They, too, deserve our grateful remembrance, our paeans of praise, our tributes of love. All grateful people have remembered and venerated their patriot dead. Erin, that little land that has given more than her share of genius and valor to the world, still honors the name of her martyred Emmet. Enslaved and unhappy Poland still breathes a sigh for her Poniatouski; Sparta, though dead, echoes from her tomb the name Leonidas. Buried Carthage consecrated her sepulcher with the dust of her patriots. And the South, God smile upon her, still remembers her martyred dead, and speaks of their deeds with veneration and pride. Peace to their shades, honor to their ashes!

Numerous were the outbursts from his audience while touched upon the character of Cleburne, and the instances of the war which were deeply inscribed in the hearts of many of his listeners, who, too, had engaged in the battle at which General Cleburne fell and saw him meet his death.

Tears glistened in the eyes of many as the eloquent speaker’s words portrayed to them the vivid pictures which even the flight of years is unable to dim.

Immediately following the orator a choir composed of male and female voices sang the hymn, “When the Spirit Leaves Its Clay.”

Then followed the benediction by Rev. Father O’ Reilly, of Helena, after which the graves of the Confederate deceased were completely covered by loving hands with beautiful flowers. A larger crowd of visitors never before gathered in Helena for a purpose of this kind. For several days visitors have been coming from all parts of Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi, and Kentucky.

The ladies of the Memorial Association, of Memphis, contributed a beautiful floral offering, which was placed upon the monument. It was a Confederate flag composed of geraniums, helitropes, and stars <shv18_272>of Bethlehem. In attendance upon the ceremonies were several relatives of the lamented Cleburne, in whose memory the shaft has been erected. It is a shaft of white marble, twenty-five feet in height, with the following inscription on the western side:

PATRICK RONAYNE CLEBURNE,
Major-General of C. S. A.,
Born in County of Cork, Ireland, March 17, 1828.
Killed at the Battle of Franklin, Tenn., November, 1864.

On the north side the word “Chickamauga” and the Confederate seal, and the following words from the poem of Mrs. Virginia Frazer Boyle:

A rift of light
Revealed the horse and rider, then the scene was dim;
But on the inner works the death hail
Rang in dying Cleburne’s ears a battle hymn.

On the east side was the sunburst and the legend, “Franklin.” On the side facing the south was the harp of Erin entwined with the shamrock, below which was the stanza:
“Memory ne’er will cease to cherish deeds of glory thou hast won.”

After appropriately decorating the graves, Confederate and others, the spectators departed for the outgoing trains and boats, which bore away the various crowds who joined in commemorating and honoring the noble Confederates of rank and file.

Measured in physical devastation and human lives, the American Civil War was the costliest war in the experience of the American people. When the war ended, 620,000 men (in a nation of 35 million people) had been killed and at least that many more had been wounded. The North lost a total of 364,000 (nearly one of every five Union soldiers) and the South 258,000 (nearly one of every four Confederate soldiers). More men died of disease and sickness than on the battlefield; the ratio was about four to one.

The physical devastation was largely limited to the South, where almost all the fighting took place. Large sections of Richmond, Charleston, Atlanta, Mobile, and Vicksburg lay in ruins. The countryside through which the contending armies had passed was littered with gutted plantation houses and barns, burned bridges, and uprooted railroad lines. Many crops were destroyed or confiscated, and much livestock was slain. More than $4 billion worth of property had been wiped out through emancipation, the repudiation of Confederate bonds and currency, the confiscation of cotton, and war damage.

The war settled the question of the permanence of the Union; the doctrine of secession was discredited, and after 1865 states would find other ways to manifest their grievances. The war expanded the authority of the federal government, with the executive branch in particular exercising broader jurisdiction and powers than at any previous time in the nation’s history. The U.S. Congress, meanwhile, enacted much of the legislation to which the South had objected so strenuously before the war, including a homestead act, liberal appropriations for internal improvements, and the highest tariff duties in American history to that date. Economically, the war encouraged the mechanization of production and the accumulation of capital in the North. The needs of the armies in the field resulted in the mass production of processed foods, ready-made clothing, and shoes, and after the war, industry converted such production to civilian use. By 1865 the U.S. was on its way to becoming an industrial power.

Finally, the American Civil War brought freedom to nearly 4 million blacks. But the attitudes that had sustained slavery in the South for more than 300 years did not end with the war, thereby creating tensions and problems that would persist into the 20th century.

Excerpted from the History Channel

Neither the North nor the South was prepared in 1861 to wage a war. With a population of 22 million, the North had a greater military potential. The South had a population of 9 million, but of that number, nearly 4 million were enslaved blacks whose loyalty to the Confederate cause was always in doubt. Although they initially relied on volunteers, necessity eventually forced both sides to resort to a military draft to raise an army. Before the war ended, the South had enlisted about 900,000 white males, and the Union had enrolled about 2 million men (including 186,000 blacks), nearly half of them toward the end of the war.

In addition, the North possessed clear material advantages—in money and credit, factories, food production, mineral resources, and transport—that proved decisive. The South’s ability to fight was hampered by chronic shortages of food, clothing, medicine, and heavy artillery, as well as by war weariness and the unpredictability of its black labor force.

Even with its superior manpower and resources, however, the North did not achieve the quick victory it had expected. To raise, train, and equip a massive fighting force from inexperienced volunteers and to find efficient military leadership proved a formidable and time-consuming task. The South, with its stronger military tradition, had more men experienced in the use of arms and produced an able corps of officers, including Robert E. Lee. Only through trial and error did Lincoln find comparable military leaders, such as Ulysses S. Grant and William T. Sherman.

Excerpted from the History Channel

“Believing as we did that the war was a war of subjugation, and that it meant, if successful, the destruction of our liberties, the issue in our minds was clearly drawn as I have stated it,–The Union without Liberty, or Liberty without the Union. And if we are reminded that the success of the Federal armies did not involve, in fact, the destruction of liberty, I answer by traversing that statement, and pointing out that during all the long and bitter period of “Reconstruction,” the liberties of the Southern States were completely suppressed. Representative government existed only in name. In the end, by the blessing of God, the spirit of the martyred Lincoln prevailed over the spirit of despotism as incarnated in Thaddeus Stevens and Charles Sumner, and after long eclipse the sun of liberty and self-government again shone south of Mason and Dixon’s line.”

Randolph Harrison McKim, 1st Lieutenant, Army of Northern Virginia, CSA
A Soldier’s Recollections: Leaves From The Diary of a Young Confederate, with an Oration on the Motives and Aims of the Soldiers of the South.
Call number 973.78 M15s 1910 (Davis Library, UNC-CH)

…The duty of its citizens, then, appears to me too plain to admit of doubt. All should unite in honest efforts to obliterate the effects of the war and to restore the blessing of peace. They should remain, if possible, in the country; promote harmony and good feeling, qualify themselves to vote and elect to the State and general legislatures wise and patriotic men, who will devote their abilities to the interests of the country and the healing of all dissensions. I have invariably recommended this course since the cessation of hostilities, and have endeavoured to practise it myself….”Robert E. Lee, letter to Governor Letcher
“Recollections And Letters Of General Robert E. Lee”,
Captain Robert E. Lee, as published on-line by Project Gutenberg

Artwork used with permission of Andy Amato

“As I would be under short-range fire and in an open country, I took nobody with me, except, I believe, a bugler, who stayed some distance to the rear. I rode from our right around to our left. When I came to the camp of the picket guard of our side, I heard the call, “Turn out the guard for the commanding general” I replied, “Never mind the guard,” and they were dismissed and went back to their tents. Just back of these, and about equally distant from the creek, were the guards of the Confederate pickets. The sentinel on their post called out in like manner, “Turn out the guard for the commanding general,” and I believe, added, “General Grant.” Their line in a moment front-faced to the north, facing me, and gave a salute, which I returned.

The most friendly relations seemed to exist between the pickets of the two armies. At one place there was a tree which had fallen across the stream, and which was used by the soldiers of both armies in drawing water for their camps. General Longstreet’s corps was stationed there at the time, and wore blue of a little different shade from our uniform. Seeing a soldier in blue on this log, I rode up to him, commenced conversing with him, and asked whose corps he belonged to. He was very polite, and, touching his hat to me, said he belonged to General Longstreet’s corps. I asked him a few questions–but not with a view of gaining any particular information–all of which he answered, and I rode off.”

Ulysses S. Grant, Chapter 41: Chattanooga - On the Picket Line, Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant

Artwork used by permission of Andy Amato 

“When news of the surrender first reached our lines our men commenced firing a salute of a hundred guns in honor of the victory. I at once sent word, however, to have it stopped. The Confederates were now our prisoners, and we did not want to exult over their downfall.”

Ulysses S. Grant, April 9, 1865, Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant (New York, 1885), pages 555-560.

David Walsh: How do you explain the enduring fascination with Lincoln? The peculiar thing is that he is embraced by political factions that are diametrically opposed to one another. Do you see him as a man of the Right, or a man of the Left?

James McPherson: I would say that in the context of his own time, he was more on the Left of center, but not a radical. The major issues of his time were slavery and democracy. On the economy, the Whig Party, the party with which he was identified, was in many ways more progressive than the Democrats, in the sense that they believed in economic development as a way of bringing rising prosperity for all classes.

I think Lincoln really believed that if you created a kind of level playing field, and then you had a rapidly expanding economy, with expanding opportunity within that economy, then anybody, like himself, a poor boy, could get ahead, if he was ambitious, worked hard, and so on. But the way to do that was through certain kinds of government activism, to promote economic and social development. So the Whigs were the party at the state level and the local level of public schools, for example, which advocated using government to promote economic growth, through the building of railroads, or canals, or the chartering of banks, subsidies for certain kinds of economic enterprise.

The Democrats were afraid that these kinds of subsidies or special grants to economic development would, in the end, promote inequality. They wanted small government, and they tended to be against large-scale appropriations for schools and that sort of thing. They would say they were for the common man because most of these subsidies, which went toward the building of railroads, or the chartering of banks, were really going to help the rich more than the poor in the end. But Lincoln didn’t believe that. He said that the poor man with ambition—he was thinking of himself—could get ahead in a system like this. But these were very lively issues in the 1820s to the 1840s, the Jacksonian period. And you can get into an endless argument over which of the two parties was really Left or Right. I don’t think Left or Right had the same connotations as it does now.

By the 1850s, certainly for a generation after that, the major issue in American politics was slavery and race. And on that issue, Lincoln and the Republicans were certainly Left of center. They were the ones who thought slavery was wrong, that it eventually must be brought to an end, and then during the war and Reconstruction period, they were the ones who actually pushed through the legislation that, on paper at least, granted equal rights to blacks, including the former slaves. They were very much in favor of the use of powerful central government to promote this.

Lincoln certainly wasn’t on the far Left of the Republican spectrum, someone like Thaddeus Stevens or Charles Sumner would be. But Lincoln wound up going along with many of their measures, and actually promoting them as president. Looking toward the future he would have continued to move in a more liberal direction on these issues. What Lincoln’s position might have been in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries on issues that became associated with the Progressive period and the rise of giant industry, who knows?

To address his enduring fascination is not simple. Part of it has to do with his martyrdom at the moment of triumph. If he had lived he would still be a giant figure in the American pantheon, but there is a special quality that attaches to his reputation because he was assassinated at the very moment of triumph. Part of the fascination is the sort of rags-to-riches, log cabin to White House image that’s associated with him. Part of it is the enduring language of the greatest documents we associate with him, the Gettysburg Address, the Second Inaugural and several others. Part of it is his association with the war, which also has its own fascination, as you know. It’s hard to say why he stands out so far above everybody else in popular fascination. More books have been written about Lincoln than anybody else in American history by far, and more books have been written about him in English than almost anybody else.

Because Lincoln has this image of semi-divinity almost, I think people on all parts of the political spectrum ever since the 1860s and 1870s have wanted their positions to be identified with Lincoln. His writings are sort of the like the Bible; you can go to them and find support for almost anything you believe in, in the contemporary world. There’s a wonderful essay by David Donald, that he wrote back in the 1950s, called Getting Right with Lincoln, in which he traced this tendency of politicians always to find a Lincoln quote to support their position.

Source: An interview with historian James M. McPherson: The Civil War, impeachment then and now and Lincoln’s legacy - Part 2. By David Walsh, 20 May 1999

Artowrk used with permission from Andy Amato

One reason is the continuing salience of many of the issues over which the war was fought. Even though the War resolved the issues of Union and slavery, it didn’t en  tirely resolve the issues that underlay those two questions. The relationships between the national government and regions, race relations, the role of government in trying to bring about change in race relations–these issues are still important in American society today. . . . The continuing relevance of these issues, I think, is one reason for the continuing fascination with the Civil War…. Look at the large membership in the history book club, the interest in the History Channel on television, and the interest in documentaries by Ken Burns and by other historical filmmakers. There is a real hunger out there which is not always reached by academic historians. I think they ought to reach out more than they do, and that is what I try to do… I think it’s possible to break new ground or offer new interpretations or to write a narrative work of history in such a way as it can appeal to a general audience, but also have something for a more academic and specialized audience. It has something to do with being convinced that history is a story of change over time, with a beginning, a development, a climax of consequences, and writing that story in such a way as it will retain the interest of a broad audience, but also have something new and interesting in the way of insight or interpretation for the specialist as well. It is not easy to explain. I just try to do it, and sometimes I think I’ve succeeded. — James McPherson in an interview with William R. Ferris of “Humanities”

James M. McPherson is the George Henry Davis ‘86 Professor of History at Princeton University, the 2000 Jefferson Lecturer in Humanities, and was 2003 president of the American Historical Association.

The surrender completed, the two generals saluted somberly and parted. “This will live in history,” said one of Grant’s aides. But the Union commander seemed distracted. Having given birth to a reunited nation, he experienced a post-partum melancholy. “I felt . . . sad and depressed,”

Grant drawing by Andy Amato

Grant wrote, “at the downfall of a foe who had fought so long and valiantly, and had suffered so much for a cause, thought that cause was, I believe, one of the worst for which a people ever fought.” As news of the surrender spread through Union camps, batteries began firing joyful salutes until Grant ordered them stopped. “The war is over,” he said; “the rebels are our countrymen again, and the best sight of rejoicing after the victory will be to abstain from all demonstrations.” To help bring those former rebels back in the Union, Grant sent three days’ rations for 25,000 men across the lines. This perhaps did something to ease the psychological as well as physical pain of Lee’s soldiers.

So did an important symbolic gesture at a formal ceremony three days later when Confederate troops marched up to stack arms and surrender their flags. As they came, many among them shared the sentiments of one officer: “Was this to be the end of all our marching and fighting for the past four years? I could not keep back the tears.” The Union officer in charge of the surrender ceremony was Joshua L. Chamberlain, the fighting professor from Bowdoin who won a medal of honor for Little Round Top, had been twice wounded since then, and was now a major general. Leading the southerners as they marched toward two of Chamberlain’s brigades standing at attention was John B. Gordon, one of Lee’s hardest fighters who now commanded Stonewall Jackson’s old corps. First in line of march behind him was the Stonewall Brigade, five regiments containing 210 ragged survivors of four years of war. As Gordon approached at the head of these men with “his chin drooped to his breast, downhearted and dejected in appearance,” Chamberlain gave a brief order, and a bugle call rang out. Instantly the Union soldiers shifted from order arms to carry arms, the salute of honor. Hearing the sound General Gordon looked up in surprise, and with sudden realization turned smartly to Chamberlain, dipped his sword in salute, and ordered his own men to carry arms. These enemies in many a bloody battle ended the war not with the shame on one side and exultation on the other but with a soldier’s “mutual salutation and farewell. — James McPherson in “Battle Cry for Freedom”

Christmas Night of 1862
by William Gordon McCabe
(1841-1920)

The wintry blast goes wailing by,
The snow is falling overhead;
I hear the lonely sentry’s tread,
And distant watch-fires light the sky.
Dim forms go flitting through the gloom;
The soldiers cluster round the blaze
To talk of other Christmas days,
And softly speak of home and home.

My sabre swinging overhead
Gleams in the watch-fire’s fitful glow,
While fiercely drives the blinding snow,
And memory leads me to the dead.

My thoughts go wandering to and fro,
Vibrating between the Now and Then;
I see the low-browed home again,
The old hall wreathed with mistletoe.

And sweetly from the far-off years
Comes borne the laughter faint and low,
The voices of the Long Ago!
My eyes are wet with tender tears.

I feel again the mother-kiss,
I see again the glad surprise
That lightened up the tranquil eyes
And brimmed them o’er with tears of bliss,

As, rushing from the old hall-door,
She fondly clasped her wayward boy
Her face all radiant with the joy
She felt to see him home once more.

My sabre swinging on the bough
Gleams in the watch-fire’s fitful glow,
While fiercely drives the blinding snow
Aslant upon my saddened brow.

Those cherished faces all are gone!
Asleep within the quiet graves
Where lies the snow in drifting waves,
And I am sitting here alone.

There’s not a comrade here to-night
But knows that loved ones far away
On bended knee this night will pray:
“God bring our darling from the fight.”

But there are none to wish me back,
For me no yearning prayers arise.
The lips are mute and closed the eyes–
My home is in the bivouac.

This description of a “soldier boy” was written by Chaplain John J. Hight, 58th Indiana.

Oh, the wild, glorious, roving life of a bold soldier boy! With all thy faults, I love thee still. How pleasant the sweet consciousness that God gives him that he fights in a good cause. His soul is unfettered by the trammels of civilized life. Does he desire to worship? Where he is is his church. Does he wish for sleep? He says with Tecumseh, “The earth is my mother; I will repose on her bosum.” No  pent up Utica contracts his powers; he travels far and near, seeing many lands. He sails on the ocean, steams on the river, rattles on the cars, trudges on the mud road, and climbs bold mountains. He bares his breast to the storm and says, “Thou art my borther.” The gentle rains fall upon his brow, and he welcomes them as a mother’s kiss. He would not exchange the cooling draught of water from the sparkling fountain for all of the drinks of the most fashionable saloon. His fare is rough, but then his appetite is good, and he is not sickened over dainties. He lives a life of toil, but his muscles are strong and his heart is brave. He exists amid dangers, but he heeds them not, for the smiles of the fair, the prayers of the good, and the hopes of the oppressed cheer him on. When he stands in battle, his soul sinks not in fear, for above him is the flag of the free, and beneath the soil he would lie, rather than yield to tyrants. The canon’s deadly roar, the crash of arms, the shout of the charge are his music. If victory comes, his soul is filled with indescribable joy. If he fails, full well he knows, “Whether on the scaffold high, — Or in the battle’s van, — The noblest places for man to die — Is where he dies for man.”

If he perish, true hearted comrades will dig his grave. “No useless coffin will enclose his form; he will lay like a warrior, taking his rest, with his martial cloak around him.” Why need he dread death? Is not the grave the common receptacle of the young, the beautiful, the beloved? Let not the brave then fear to die. His memory shall be cherished by those who love him. The mighty deeds in “which he bore an humble part shall live in the traditions of a thousand generations - but, hush, my wandering thoughts! Stillness reigns in camp, ’tis time for sleep. Good night.