Memorial Day, 2009 – Battle of Franklin, TN
One of the beauties of living in the great state of Tennessee is our proximity to the Battle of Franklin. Last week the remains of a Union soldier was found just below the slope of Winstead Hill, but far in front of the forward Union line from the battle of November 30, 1864. The likelihood that this unknown soldier died in the combat of the 30th is slim; more likely he was killed in the skirmishing following the rout of the Army of Tennessee after the Battle of Nashville, December 16, 1864.
The Confederates under Hood fled the debacle at Nashville over the same ground that they had fought on the 30th of November. Skirmishing was reported in this area and this is the likely origin of this unfortunate Union soldier. Another unknown from America’s Civil War has been found. History speaks to us in many ways. As Robert E. Lee said just prior to his death, “History gives us hope”. I hope that this poor Union soldier lost in our Civil War will somehow be identified, at least his home state, so that the proper honors can be bestowed upon him. One of the many tragedies of war, is the loss of loved ones and never knowing what fate has befallen them.
Today we spent the afternoon of Memorial Day walking the battle ground of the Battle of Franklin, November 30, 1864 one of the hardest fought and bloodies battles of that war. Our hearts are always full when we go to the Carter House or stand on Winstead Hill wondering at the bravery of the men of both blue and gray, Americans all.
I took photos of our day in Franklin… come along.

Confederates broke the Union lines centered at Carter House and poured into the yard and all around the house. Brutal combat raged here for an hour. When it was over there were at least 58 dead in the yard. Moscow Carter said later that he cleaned up brains with a shovel from the yard. Few battles in the War surpassed the savagery of the combat here.

5 Confederate generals were killed at Franklin, another died 10 days later. General Otho F. Strahl was at the front with his men and made it to the works at the Carter House. Pinned down on the opposite side of the works Strahl was wounded again and again as he passed loaded weapons to his men in the ditch at the Union works. Shot again as he was carried to the rear, Strahl was killed. The ditch before the Union works at Carter House was a kind of hell that Confederates spoke about and wrote about for years after the war. Blood in the ditch was past the ankles with dead and wounding soldiers falling one on top of the other. In sections of the ditch on the Confederate side of the works bodies of men were found 5 and 6 deep. Franklin was a hellish battle. The red post marks a point very close to where General Strahl was killed in the evening of November 30, 1864.

The cap that General Patrick Cleburne was wearing when he was killed at the Battle of Franklin, November 30, 1864. Killed just in front of the Union lines at the Carter Cotton Gin, Cleburne was considered one of the greatest Generals in the entire Confederate army. His actions at Ringgold Gap after the fall of Missionary Ridge and evacuation from Chattanooga earned Cleburne the official thanks of the Confederate Congress. His leadership of the rear-guard at Ringgold Gap saved the Army of Tennessee. See, Patrick Cleburne's Proposal to Free the Slaves. (photo courtesy of Battle of Franklin Blog)

This is the view that the Confederates saw from Winstead Hill as they formed up in the last grand charge of the Civil War. Larger than Pickett's Charge at Gettysburg, the site of 20,000 soldiers in gray marching in battle order down Winstead across the two miles of open ground to the Union main line centered at Carter House struck awe into every Union soldier who saw it. This was the only charge of the Army of Tennessee in which the regimental and divisional bands played as they stepped off and began the long march to Carter House and a combat so astoundingly brutal that no one involved would ever forget it.

Northern slope of Winstead Hill. Behind the trees General Hood had made the decision to attack. Patrick Cleburne who would soon be dead said to his friend, Daniel Govan, "If we are to die, let us die as men." This is the area where Confederate soldiers formed in ranks to prepare for their 2 mile charge into the Union entrenchments at Franklin.

Another view of where the Confederates lined up. The gray line was almost 2 miles long, with 100 regiments in the line. Forrest and Cleburne had argued against the frontal attack, but Hood had ordered it anyway. Believing that the Union army was escaping across the swollen Harpeth River, Hood believed that a rapid advance and attack could carry the day. But what happened next would be seared into history as one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War. When the battle was over, and the Union army had evacuated the town heading to Nashville 18 miles north and Hood saw the devastating loss of life, he sat on his horse and wept.

Sunshine breaking the clouds over Hoods observation post at the top of Winstead Hill. After some short discussion with his top officers Hood announced, "Gentleman, we will make the charge". In his memoirs, Hood talked of the frustrations of the debacle of the previous day in Spring Hill when the Union Army had escaped a trap set by Hood. Spring Hill could have been one of the greatest victories of the war, but the mistakes made there allowed the Union army to escape northward and entrench at Franklin. Hot on their heals, the Confederates were itching for a fight to teach Schofield the lesson that should have been taught the previous day at Spring Hill. Hood admitted in his memoirs that doing nothing was not an option. They had to do something, if Schofield was allowed to leave Franklin he would get to Nashville and escape Hood. This was unacceptable. The decision to make the frontal assault at Franklin is one of the most controversial of the war. The truth is that the Confederates came extraordinarily close to victory at Franklin.

The Great Seal of the Confederacy etched into the rock at Hood's observation post on the top of Winstead Hill. Winstead Hill is something of a shrine, like the Carter House; a shrine to losses, to bravery, to what could have been; to what brave men will do when they fight for ideals greater than themselves. Every American should appreciate the sacrifices made by both sides in this brutal battle, and learn from them.

One of several monuments to Confederate Generals killed at Franklin. Otho F. Strahl was killed just outside the Carter House line. Well-loved by his men, his loss was deeply felt across the Army of Tennessee. The example of these men is nothing short of inspirational and should be held up for all Americans to appreciate.

Sam Watkins quote on monument at Winstead. Author of Company Aytch one of the finest memoirs of the entire war, Watkins was a survivor of Franklin. He wrote, ""(Franklin) is the blackest page in the history of the War of the Lost Cause. It was the bloodiest battle of modern times in any war. It was the finishing stroke to the Independence of the Southern Confederacy. I was there. I saw it."
Sam Watkins on The Battle of Franklin
Kind reader, right here my pen, and courage, and ability fail me. I shrink from butchery. Would to God I could tear the page from these memoirs and from my own memory. It is the blackest page in the history of the war of the Lost Cause. It was the bloodiest battle of modern times in any war. It was the finishing stroke to the independence of the Southern Confederacy. I was there. I saw it. My flesh trembles, and creeps, and crawls when I think of it today. My heart almost ceases to beat at the horrid recollection. Would to God that I had never witnessed such a scene! I cannot describe it. It beggars description. I will not attempt to describe it. I could not. The death-angel was there to gather its last harvest. It was the grand coronation of death. Would that I could turn the page. But I feel, though I did so, that page would still be there, teeming with its scenes of horror and blood. I can only tell of what I saw…
It was four o’clock on that dark and dismal December day when the line of battle was formed, and those devoted heroes were ordered forward, toStrike for their altars and their fires,
For the green graves of their sires,
For God and their native land.As they marched on down through an open field toward the rampart of blood and death, the Federal batteries began to open and mow down and gather into the garner of death, as brave, and good, and pure spirits as the world ever saw. The twilight of evening had begun to gather as a percursor of the coming blackness of midnight darkness that was to envelop a scene so sickening and horrible that it is impossible for me to describe it. “Forward, men,” is repeated all along the line. A sheet of fire was poured into our very faces, and for a moment we halted as if in despair, as the terrible avalanche of shot and shell laid low those brave and gallant heroes, whose bleeding wounds attested that the struggle would be desperate. Forward, men! And the blood spurts in a perfect jet from the dead and wounded. The earth is red with blood. It runs in streams, making little rivulets as it flows. Occasionally there was a little lull in the storm of battle, as the men were loading their guns, and for a few moments it seemed as if night tried to cover the scene with her mantle. The death-angel shrieks and laughs and old Father Time is busy with his sickle, as he gathers in the last harvest of death, crying, More, more, more! while his rapacious maw is glutted with the slain.
But the skirmish line being deployed out, extending a little wider than the battle did — passing through a thicket of small locusts, where Brown, orderly sergeant of Company B, was killed–we advanced on toward the breastworks, on and on. I had made up my mind to die–felt glorious. We pressed forward until I heard the terrific roar of battle open on our right. Cleburne’s division was charging their works. I passed on until I got to their works, and got over on their (the Yankees’) side. But in fifty yards of where I was the scene was lit up by fires that seemed like hell itself. It appeared to be but one line of streaming fire. Our troops were upon one side of the breastworks, and the Federals on the other. I ran up on the line of works, where our men were engaged. Dead soldiers filled the entrenchments. The firing was kept up until after midnight, and gradually died out. We passed the night where we were. But when the morrow’s sun began to light up the eastern sky with its rosy hues, and we looked over the battlefield, O, my God! what did we see! It was a grand holocaust of death. Death had held high carnival there that night. The dead were piled the one on the other all over the ground. I never was so horrified and appalled in my life. Horses, like men, had died game on the gory breastworks. General Adams’ horse had his fore feet on one side of the works and his hind feet on the other, dead. The general seems to have been caught so that he was held to the horse’s back, sitting almost as if living, riddled, and mangled, and torn with balls. General Cleburne’s mare had her fore feet on top of the works, dead in that position. General Cleburne’s body was pierced with forty-nine bullets, through and through. General Strahl’s horse lay by the roadside and the general by his side, both dead, and all his staff. General Gist, a noble and brave cavalier from South Carolina, was lying with his sword reaching across the breastworks still grasped in his hand. He was lying there dead. All dead! They sleep in the graveyard yonder at Ashwood, almost in sight of my home, where I am writing today. They sleep the sleep of the brave. We love and cherish their memory. They sleep beneath the ivy-mantled walls of St. John’s church, where they expressed a wish to be buried. The private soldier sleeps where he fell, piled in one mighty heap. Four thousand five hundred privates! all lying side by side in death! Thirteen generals were killed and wounded. Four thousand five hundred men slain, all piled and heaped together at one place. I cannot tell the number of others killed and wounded. God alone knows that. We’ll all find out on the morning of the final resurrection. (quoted from, “Company Aytch” by Sam Watkins)

















