John Bell Hood: The Rise, Fall, and Resurrection of a Confederate General

by Hood, Stephen

  60 OR 45, pt. 1, 1,171; Schofield, Forty-Six Years in the Army, 184.

  61 Winston Groom, Patriotic Fire: Andrew Jackson, Jean Laffite and the Battle of New Orleans (New York: Knopf, 2006), 247.

  62 Wide Awake Films.

  63 Sam Flora in The Lost Cause (Winter 2005), a journal of the Kentucky Division SCV. (Flora edited the diary of Captain Dan Turney of the Second Kentucky Infantry, who wrote about the battle of Stone’s River.)

  64 Hood, Advance and Retreat, 300; Typescript of letter dated August 20, 1907, in Carter House files, provided to the author by David Fraley.

  65 Miller, John Bell Hood and the Fight for Civil War Memory, 157.

  66 Connelly, Autumn of Glory, 506; Connelly and McDonough, Five Tragic Hours, 155-156; Sword, The Confederacy’s Last Hurrah, 256; Henry Field, Bright Skies and Dark Shadows (Freeport, NY: Books for Libraries Press, 1970), 241.

  67 Jacobson, For Cause and For Country, 422.

  68 Conversation with Eric Jacobson, Chief Historian of the battle of Franklin Trust, January 2013. Jacobson has conducted exhaustive research of Federal records and for soldiers listed as missing at Franklin, and has concluded that the number of Schofield’s troops killed or mortally wounded was between 400 and 450.

  69 Cunningham, Reminiscences, 97.

  Chapter 10

  “History fades into fable;

  Fact becomes clouded with doubt

  and controversy;

  The inscription molders from the tablet:

  The statue falls from the pedestal.”

  — Washington Irving

  The Death of Cleburne: Resentment or Remorse?

  Another persistent allegation against John Bell Hood involves Gen. Patrick Cleburne. According to this legend, Hood blamed Cleburne for the failure at Spring Hill, and Cleburne learned of the accusation. Insulted by Hood’s belief and the stain on his honor, Cleburne launched a reckless charge with his division against the enemy works at Franklin and was killed. Other than a single hearsay source recorded in the early 1880s, no contemporary evidence has been located suggesting that Hood blamed Cleburne for the failure at Spring Hill. However, among Hood’s recently found papers is a letter from Gen. Stephen D. Lee that reveals what might have been weighing on Cleburne’s mind on November 30, 1864. And it had nothing to do with John Bell Hood.

  The lack of any real evidence that Hood blamed Cleburne for the failure at Spring Hill did not prevent earlier historians and others from promoting this baseless allegation into the mainstream of Civil War consciousness. Unfounded interpretations and conjecture against Hood have been the norm almost since the guns of the Civil War fell silent.

  Hood wrote in his memoirs about his final meeting with Cleburne who, “expressing himself with an enthusiasm which he had never before betrayed in our intercourse, said, ‘General, I am ready, and have more hope in the final success of our cause than I have had at any time since the first gun was fired.”’ Hood went on to write a glowing tribute to the fallen general, recalling that after their final meeting, he sensed in Cleburne a “sudden revolution of feeling and his hopefulness.” Hood attributed this to Cleburne’s recognition on the morning of November 30 that Hood’s offensive-minded military tactics were “dealing blows and making moves which had at least the promise of happy results,” and that success should have been achieved at Atlanta and Spring Hill. It is important to note that Hood never claimed that Cleburne spoke those actual words; rather, this was Hood’s impression of Cleburne’s resolute demeanor.1

  Hood’s recollection of his final meeting with Cleburne, as well as his heartfelt tribute, has been consistently rejected by historians as disingenuous. Thomas Hay wrote unequivocally that Hood’s remarks were “more a pathetic after-attempt at justification than a statement of actual fact,” and suggested to his readers to reject Hood’s recollections in favor of one of Cleburne’s brigade commanders, Gen. Daniel C. Govan, who wrote that Cleburne “never seemed to be so despondent,” and to whom Cleburne uttered his famous words, “Well Govan, if we are to die, let us die like men.” Regarding Hood’s recollection of his last meeting with Cleburne, Hay wrote: “That such a clear-headed, practical, and intelligent soldier as Cleburne could have made such a statement at such a time and under such circumstances is preposterous.”2

  Wiley Sword acknowledged that Hood blamed Frank Cheatham for the Federal escape at Spring Hill, but claimed that Cheatham, in turn, blamed Cleburne and John C. Brown. “While reliable reports of the gathering are lacking,” wrote Sword about the meeting of Confederate commanders at the Rippavilla plantation on the morning after the Federal escape, “from circumstantial evidence it appears Cheatham excused his inaction by placing much of the blame for not attacking on Generals Brown and Cleburne, neither of whom were present at the breakfast.” Later, however, Sword contradicted himself when he stated that it was Hood, not Cheatham, who had blamed Cleburne: “Pat Cleburne evidently received word of Hood’s displeasure with his conduct at Spring Hill from Cheatham, following the morning’s breakfast.” Ironically, Sword informed his readers that no contemporary evidence existed proving that Hood blamed Cleburne, and he even stated that circumstantial evidence pointed to Cheatham. Yet, Sword wrote that it was Hood who blamed Cleburne.3

  If Cleburne was indeed upset with Hood that day, it is reasonable to conclude or at least suspect that someone falsely told him that Hood blamed him for the Spring Hill fiasco. Thomas Hay cited a postwar letter from Brown to Cheatham that Cleburne was insulted and angry with the army commander for holding him responsible for the Federal escape. Hay did not mention the possibility that Cleburne had received false information from Cheatham. Instead, the author blamed Hood: “On this fateful day, stung by the unjust censures of the commanding general, all were determined to conquer or die” as Cleburne led his troops headlong into the attack, “seemingly with a madness of despair.”

  After the war on October 24, 1881, Brown wrote this to Cheatham:

  On the march to Franklin General Cleburne, with whom I had long enjoyed very close personal relations, sent a message to the head of my column requesting an interview. Allowing my column to pass on, I awaited his arrival. When he came up we rode apart from the column through the fields, and he told me with much feeling that he had heard that the Commanding General was endeavoring to place upon him the responsibility of allowing the enemy to pass our position on the night previous. I replied to him that I had heard nothing on that subject; and that I hoped he was mistaken. He said: “No, I think not; my information comes from a very reliable channel,” and said that he could not afford to rest under such an imputation, and that he should certainly have the matter investigated to the fullest extent, so soon as we were away from the immediate presence of the enemy. General Cleburne was quite angry, and evidently was deeply hurt, under the conviction that the Commander-in-Chief had censured him. I asked General Cleburne who was responsible for the escape of the enemy during the afternoon and night previous. In reply to that inquiry he indulged in some criticisms of a command occupying a position on the left, and concluded by saying that “of course the responsibility rests with the Commander-in-Chief, as he was upon the field during the afternoon and was fully advised during the night of the movement of the enemy.” The conversation at this point was abruptly terminated by the arrival of orders for both of us from yourself or the Commanding General. As he left he said: “We will resume this conversation at the earliest convenient moment,” but in less than three hours after that time this gallant soldier was a corpse upon the bloody field of Franklin.4

  Brown’s detailed recitation rings plausible. If his recollection is in fact true, it proves only that someone told Cleburne that Hood blamed him for the failure at Spring Hill. Nowhere in the extant historical records is there any eyewitness who claimed to have heard Hood blame Cleburne for Spring Hill.

  Another respected and influential historian who blamed Hood for Cleburne’s despair did so in a rather confusing manner. In Stonewall of the West, Craig Sym
onds wrote this about Cleburne’s final meeting with Hood: “But with Hood’s yet unspoken accusations still sharp in his memory, he [Cleburne] could not bring himself to protest Hood’s desperate orders.” Symonds seemed to acknowledge that Hood had not accused Cleburne of anything (“unspoken accusations”), and yet made the bewildering claim that unspoken accusations by Hood were sharp in Cleburne’s memory. The urge for some historians to blame Hood for insulting Cleburne is so irresistible that Hood is now criticized for “unspoken” words.5

  Wiley Sword went further, claiming that Cleburne considered the assault at Franklin an “outrageous tactical blunder,” and that he “well realized that the commanding general’s orders were likely to be his own death warrant.” Sword added, “Perhaps the South’s most brilliant major general, the ‘Stonewall Jackson of the West,’ his ideas scorned by his president and his competence punished by his commanding general, had been required to lead a suicidal frontal charge like some captain of infantry. Was it God’s decreed fate, or simply man’s stupidity?” Such commentary is wholly without merit. There is absolutely no evidence that Hood “punished” Cleburne’s competence. Cleburne was well known for daringly leading his men into battle and it was not unusual for any soldier—commander or private—to have feelings of impending doom before a battle. Yet, Sword characterized Cleburne’s mood as an anomaly and the result of Hood’s “blunder.” Cleburne did not survive and therefore did not leave a record of this appraisal. Neither did anyone else. Statements like Hay’s and Sword’s are not history, but speculation. Although Cleburne was rational and direct by nature, he was also a loyal subordinate, and was never known to be disrespectful or belligerent to his superiors. Regardless of Cleburne’s opinion of his commander’s decision, he would not only obey it, but also do so respectfully and confidently. There is no evidence that Hood ordered Cleburne to personally lead a suicidal attack “like some captain of infantry.” Going into the thick of the fighting at Franklin was Cleburne’s decision, and he—like so many Civil War generals—always led by example. Fearless generals such as Cleburne—including Albert Sidney Johnston at Shiloh, A. P. Hill at Petersburg, Jeb Stuart at Yellow Tavern, Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson at Chancellorsville, and James McPherson at Bald Hill—exposed themselves to death with their men and were often killed or wounded for this bravery and leadership style. Cleburne’s death at Franklin was no more Hood’s fault than Jackson’s death was Lee’s fault, or McPherson’s death was the fault of Sherman.6

  Hay and Sword supported their contention of Hood’s dishonesty by quoting Daniel Govan’s observation of Cleburne’s apparent melancholy soon after his final meeting with Hood. According to an eyewitness, however, the last conversation between Cleburne and Hood regarded the formation of Cleburne’s division to minimize its exposure to enemy fire, and instructions from Hood to overrun the advanced Federal positions and follow them into their works. As previously mentioned, according to an eyewitness Hood concluded the discussion with Cleburne with a patriotic exhortation, “Franklin is the key to Nashville, and Nashville is the key to independence,” to which Cleburne replied, “I will take the enemy’s works or fall in the attempt.” There is nothing out of the ordinary in these final words between the two commanders. Cleburne may indeed have heard the false assertion that Hood had censured him for the failure at Spring Hill or he may have disagreed with the decision to attack, but he would respond to his superior with obedience and respect. It is possible that both Hood and Govan accurately recorded their recollections, and the quantum leaps in speculation taken by critics like Hay and Sword are simply wrong.7

  As previously stated, a letter penned in 1875 by Stephen D. Lee was recently found in a large cache of Hood’s personal papers. This document offers important evidence suggesting that Cleburne’s anomalous demeanor at Franklin (if in fact it was so) was attributable to Cleburne’s personal remorse, not anger at his commanding general. In his letter, Lee wrote of a meeting he had with fellow corps commander A. P. Stewart several weeks earlier in Columbus, Mississippi. During this 1875 meeting, Stewart told Lee that Cheatham and Cleburne had decided against launching a night attack at Spring Hill. According to Stewart, Cleburne “regretted it immediately afterwards” (doubtless alluding to the next morning, after learning of the enemy’s escape), felt personally responsible, and “in that feeling lost his life at Franklin soon afterward.” Lee noted that Stewart did not personally hear Cleburne’s contrition, but he added that Stewart “believed such was the case and had heard so.”8

  When considering whether Cleburne might have counseled against a night attack, or concurred with Cheatham in not launching the night assault at Spring Hill, it is instructive to consider Cleburne’s only experience with night assaults. A little more than one year earlier at the battle of Chickamauga in September of 1863, Cleburne’s division commenced an assault after dark that was, according to Cleburne’s official report, so confusing as to make distinguishing friend from foe impossible. Cleburne also wrote of “the difficulty of moving my artillery through the woods in the dark” that rendered a further advance “inexpedient.” Of the infantry, Cleburne wrote, “Accurate shooting was impossible. Each party was aiming at the flashes of the other guns, and few of the shots from either side took effect.” The assertion that the enemy fire was ineffective is curious, since Cleburne reported 445 killed and wounded in the night attack— which translates into very high casualties for such brief combat.9

  General Govan’s exact words in describing Cleburne before the attack were: “General Cleburne seemed to be more despondent than I ever saw him.” Assuming that Govan’s recollection was accurate, it is now logical to ask whether Cleburne’s mood was attributable to resentment at being told that his commanding general blamed him for the failure at Spring Hill, or because of feelings of personal responsibility for the Federal escape at Spring Hill—and by extension, the ensuing assault that—victorious or otherwise—was sure to be bloody. According to A. P. Stewart, it was the latter.10

  In any case, many authors ignored the eyewitness account penned by William Stanton (Granbury’s brigade) about Hood learning of Cleburne’s death. According to Stanton, Hood approached him on the morning after the battle and asked for the location of Cleburne’s division. Stanton replied that the division was gathered around Cleburne’s body, at which time Hood, according to Stanton, lowered his head and wept for half an hour. It seems unlikely that Hood would have cried at all, much less uncontrollably, upon learning of the death of any subordinate he believed was personally responsible for the surrounding carnage.11

  Many historians cynically questioned the accuracy and sincerity of Hood’s memoirs, unless his words can be interpreted in such a way as to soil his own image. The result is that Hood’s words of respect and affection for Patrick Cleburne are all but absent from the major books on the Army of Tennessee and the Tennessee Campaign. For example, Hood wrote, “Major General Cleburne had been distinguished for his admirable conduct upon many fields, and his loss, at this moment, was irreparable.” Calling Cleburne “a man of equally quick perception and strong character,” Hood noted his “boldness and wisdom” in proposing the enlistment of slaves into the Confederate army, which in Hood’s opinion, would have resulted in Southern independence.

  Regardless of whether Cleburne’s behavior at Franklin stemmed from the “madness of despair” of unjust accusations, or feelings of personal culpability for the escape of Schofield’s army and the bloodbath that was about to ensue, his legacy is best described by Hood, who wrote, “The heroic career and death of this distinguished soldier must ever endear the memory of his last words to his commander, and should entitle his name to be inscribed in immortal characters in the annals of our history.”12

  1 Hood, Advance and Retreat, 294, 297.

  2 Hay, Hood’s Tennessee Campaign, 121.

  3 Sword, The Confederacy’s Last Hurrah, 156, 157.

  4 Hay, Hood’s Tennessee Campaign, 123; Southern Historical Society Papers, 52 vols. (Richmo
nd, VA), vol. 9, 538, 539.

  5 Symonds, Stonewall of the West, 256.

  6 Sword, The Confederacy’s Last Hurrah, 180, 224.

  7 Buck, Cleburne and His Command, 290; Jacobson, For Cause and For Country, 257; French, Two Wars, 292.

  8 S. D. Lee letter to John Bell Hood, August 25, 1875, John Bell Hood Personal Papers.

  9 OR 30, pt. 2, 154, 158.

  10 Buck, Cleburne and His Command, 290; S. D. Lee letter to John Bell Hood, August 25, 1875, John Bell Hood Personal Papers.

  11 William Stanton letter to Mary Moody, Barker Center Archives, University of Texas, Austin.

  12 Hood, Advance and Retreat, 296.

  Chapter 11

  “The historian reports to us, not events themselves, but the impressions they have made on him.”

  — Heinrich von Sybel

  John Bell Hood and the Battle of Nashville

  Another common criticism of John Bell Hood involves his move to Nashville after what Gen. P. G. T. Beauregard described as the “barren Confederate victory” at Franklin. This is a fair criticism, especially when considering the heavy casualties sustained there, and the decimation of its officer corps. After sustaining 6,300 casualties from all sources, Hood’s army consisted of about 26,000 veteran infantry, artillerists, and cavalry. Two of Stephen D. Lee’s infantry divisions had not fired a shot at Franklin, and none of the army’s 100 or so cannon or other assets had been lost. Given the state of the war and his orders from Richmond, Hood refused to abandon the campaign. It should be noted that neither Beauregard nor the Confederate high command instructed him to withdraw from Tennessee.1

  Middle Tennessee was a hotbed of Confederate sympathy, and Hood’s spies kept him informed of Gen. George Thomas’s desperate consolidation of forces around Nashville. On December 1, when Hood made his decision to continue north to Tennessee’s capital city, Thomas’s army was much smaller and less organized than the 60,000 men he would eventually field. Federal Col. Henry Stone described Thomas’s command at this time as “an ill-assorted and heterogeneous mass, not yet welded into an army.” Thomas Van Horne wrote in his History of the Army of the Cumberland that in early December, Thomas led “an improvised army … of raw infantry regiments” with cavalry “still largely dismounted,” and black troops who would have their first opportunity to fight in organized units. Simply put, immediately after the battle of Franklin, Thomas’s army at Nashville was not as formidable as it would become by December 15. Much of Hood’s reasoning for continuing his forward movement was based upon this information.2