Warning: This article contains graphic and brutal depictions of war as recollected by the men who fought at Franklin, TN. Reader discretion is advised.
Opening: The Twilight Before Hell
Franklin lay hushed under a gray November sky on the 30th of 1864. Fewer than 900 residents lived in a town cradled by the Harpeth River, oblivious to the storm gathering beyond its southern fields. At 4:00 PM, the earth shuddered. Thirty-three thousand Confederates under Lt. Gen. John Bell Hood emerged from the Winstead and Breezy Hills, two miles distant, their muskets glinting in the fading light.
Across from them, Maj. Gen. John Schofield commanded some 27,000 Union troops. Approximately 20,000 of them crouched behind earthworks stretching from riverbank to riverbank, a crescent of dirt and abatis south of town. “The air trembled with the roar of artillery,” wrote Pvt. Sam Watkins of the 1st Tennessee Infantry, “and we knew we marched into the jaws of death” (Watkins, 1882). Eric Jacobson frames it as “a desperate gamble born of fury.” It was a five-hour crucible that would sear Tennessee’s soul (Jacobson, 2006).
Lead-Up: The Road to Ruin
In late November 1864, Lt. Gen. John Bell Hood’s Army of Tennessee marched north from Alabama, crossing into Tennessee with spirits high. It was a force of 33,000 men buoyed by the prospect of reclaiming their homeland. “We entered Tennessee with music and laughter,” recalled Pvt. John H. Dunaway of the 15th Mississippi Infantry, “bands playing ‘Dixie’ and ‘The Bonnie Blue Flag’—we felt victory in our grasp” (Logsdon, 2000). Jacobson notes this morale. Hood’s campaign aimed to disrupt Union supply lines and reclaim Nashville, a bold thrust after Atlanta’s fall (2006). But Spring Hill, on November 29, dealt a bitter blow. Schofield’s army slipped through Hood’s grasp overnight, a blunder that left the Confederate commander seething. “The opportunity lost was a humiliation,” Jacobson writes, “and Hood’s fury turned to vengeance” (2006). Sgt. William Kiffin of the 19th Alabama Infantry echoed the sting. “We’d failed to trap them, and the general swore we’d not miss again” (Logsdon, 2000).
By dawn on the 30th, Hood’s troops, worn from a 20-mile march through cold mud, neared Franklin, their resolve hardened. Schofield’s position offered a tantalizing prospect. His back was to the Harpeth River, bridges choked, retreat slowed. Jacobson describes Hood’s vision. “He saw a hammer and anvil: his army the hammer, the river the anvil, poised to crush the Yankees” (2006). Pvt. James W. Gibson of the 1st Tennessee Infantry recalled the moment. “We came upon them with their backs to the water. General Hood said it was our chance to destroy them utterly” (Logsdon, 2000). Spirits rallied. Bands struck up familiar tunes as they advanced. “We marched forward to ‘Lorena’ and ‘The Girl I Left Behind Me,’” wrote Cpl. Henry Smith of the 20th Tennessee Infantry, “our steps light despite the hunger—war’s music carried us to battle” (Logsdon, 2000). Schofield fortified. Two miles of earthworks stretched from river to river. Carter House and Cotton Gin bristled with cannon and stakes. Lt. Arthur MacArthur Jr., 24th Wisconsin Infantry, stood ready. “The line was a wall of blue, and we waited,” his gaze fixed on the approaching tide (Jacobson, 2011).
The Fight: Five Hours of Slaughter in Darkness
At 4:30 PM, as dusk draped the Harpeth Valley, Hood’s assault struck. Four divisions totaling 20,000 Confederates in a half-mile-wide wave surged across the open plain from his 33,000-strong army. Jacobson recounts the initial volley. “A storm of fire erupted from the Union line.” Rifles and artillery tore into the gray ranks, yet they pressed forward, bayonets fixed (2006). The first Union line, Brig. Gen. George Wagner’s division, 5,000 men holding an advanced position 300 yards south of the main entrenchments, crumpled under the onslaught. “The Rebels came like a flood,” wrote Pvt. James W. Scearce of the 73rd Illinois Infantry, “our boys—many in their first fight—broke and ran” (Logsdon, 2000). Jacobson confirms Wagner’s men. Half were rookies from the 175th and 183rd Ohio. They collapsed within minutes, overwhelmed by the Confederate tide (2011). Survivors fled toward the main line, a desperate sprint through smoke and mud as Hood’s juggernaut rolled on. “We ran for our lives,” recalled Pvt. Henry C. Taylor of the 183rd Ohio Infantry, “their bayonets at our backs—men fell screaming beside me” (Logsdon, 2000). Schofield’s main entrenchments, Carter House to Cotton Gin, stood firm, but the gunners waited, barrels leveled, as the gray wave loomed. “We stared down our sights,” wrote Sgt. Thomas J. Churchill of the 72nd Illinois Infantry, “hearts pounding—our own boys mixed with Rebels, running toward us” (Logsdon, 2000). Jacobson notes the tension. “Commanders delayed firing, desperate to shield their retreating men” (2006). But the Confederate mass closed. Two hundred yards, then 100, until the order came: “Fire!”
A wall of flame and lead erupted. Rifles, canister shot, and artillery tore into the onrushing tide. “The line blazed like a volcano,” Jacobson writes, “a sheet of death that shredded flesh and bone” (2006). Tragically, scores of retreating Union men, stragglers from Wagner’s broken line, fell under their comrades’ volleys, pierced by friendly fire as they sought safety. “I saw our boys cut down by our own guns,” mourned Cpl. William H. Records of the 72nd Illinois Infantry, “their cries drowned in the roar—it was slaughter upon slaughter” (Logsdon, 2000). Jacobson tallies the early cost. Within an hour, the Union’s first line was obliterated, and the Confederate advance faltered, bodies piling before the main works (2006).
Darkness deepened by 5:00 PM. The battlefield became a shadowed abyss lit by muzzle flashes and the faint crescent moon. “It was a storm of lead,” wrote Cpl. Henry Meyer of the 175th Ohio Infantry, “their yells froze my blood as they came” (Logsdon, 2000). The fighting turned feral near the Carter House. Bayonets plunged into faces, muskets swung as clubs. “Men laughed and smiled as they killed,” recorded Pvt. William Stanton of the 104th Ohio Infantry, “their eyes wild—bayonets ripped through jaws, and blood sprayed like rain” (Logsdon, 2000). Jacobson details the Cotton Gin. “A slaughter pen,” he calls it, 200 yards where bodies stacked three deep (2006). There, Col. William S. Nelson of the 12th Louisiana Infantry fell. His Adjutant General, C.E. Merrill, on Brig. Gen. James W. Scott’s staff, witnessed it. “He stood defiant, rallying his men amidst the hail of lead, until a volley struck. His chest burst open, and he crumpled forward, blood pouring like a fountain onto the earth” (Logsdon, 2000, p. 74). Nelson’s death, early in the assault, marked the ferocity of the Confederate surge, his blood a testament to the unyielding tide that battered the Union line.
Across the pike, Col. Emerson Opdycke’s brigade counterattacked. “We drove them back with rifle butts and steel,” he reported, wading through gore (Opdycke, 1864). Lt. MacArthur suffered two wounds, chest and leg, yet stood resolute, bayoneting foes until comrades dragged him from the field (Jacobson, 2011). “I saw a man’s head split open by an axe,” wrote Pvt. James D. Newsom of the 24th Texas Cavalry (Dismounted), “and still he staggered on, grinning—madness ruled us” (Logsdon, 2000). By 7:00 PM, the battle raged in near-total darkness. Soldiers fired at phantoms, mistaking friend for foe. “It was as if the devil had full possession of the earth,” wrote Capt. James A. Sexton of the 72nd Illinois Infantry, a line Jacobson often underscores, “a scene of infernal chaos” (Logsdon, 2000; Jacobson, 2006). “The ground ran red,” Watkins lamented, “a black page of war” (1882). The Union line buckled near the Carter House. Wagner’s remnants were overwhelmed, but Opdycke’s reserves sealed the breach. “We fought hand-to-hand,” said Pvt. John Copley of the 44th Missouri Infantry, “bayonets through throats—men screamed like beasts” (Logsdon, 2000). Jacobson tallies the toll. Six thousand Confederates fell, 1,750 dead, six generals lost. Union losses neared 2,500, including approximately 232 killed (2006). Past 9:00 PM, the firing dwindled. Exhaustion claimed what bullets could not.
Aftermath: A Broken Army
Silence descended after 9:00 PM. Franklin’s fields transformed into a charnel house beneath a sliver of moonlight. Schofield’s army, battered but intact, seized the lull. By midnight, they withdrew across the Harpeth River, bridges hastily cleared, retreating north to Nashville under cover of darkness. Jacobson notes this escape. “The Union held the field until exhaustion forced their departure,” leaving Hood’s forces in possession, a Pyrrhic victory at best (2006). “We buried them in heaps,” Copley wrote, “the stench a shroud over the town” (Logsdon, 2000). Hood lost six generals, Cleburne, Gist, Adams, Strahl, Granbury, and Carter, along with 55 regimental commanders, his Army of Tennessee irreparably broken. Jacobson deems it “the death knell.” Hood’s pursuit was a hollow echo of a shattered force (2006). “The night was a graveyard,” Sexton recalled, “and we walked among the damned” (Logsdon, 2000). Captain Joseph H. Shellenberger of the 64th Ohio Infantry, standing amid the wreckage, gazed upon the moonlit carnage. “Before me lay a sight too awful to describe: heaps of dead and dying men, some with faces frozen in grotesque laughter, others locked in their final agony—bayonets protruded from skulls, and the ground was a mire of blood and flesh” (Logsdon, 2000, p. 65). His words capture the horror. Soldiers twisted in death, illuminated by the pale light, formed a tableau of slaughter that defied comprehension. Jacobson echoes this. “The moonlight revealed a field of devastation that no dawn could erase” (2006).
Legacy: Franklin’s Echo
The Carter House and its surrounding outbuildings were riddled with thousands of bullet holes. Franklin’s scars endure. Hood’s gambit, MacArthur wrote in 1895, “saved the Union,” second only to Gettysburg (Letter to Clark). Jacobson terms it “Pickett’s Charge of the West,” a slaughter etched in memory, a testament to valor and horror (2006). “The devil’s night lingers,” Watkins mused, “a wound unhealed” (1882).
Why has the Courage, Valor, and Horror of what happened at Franklin been almost Forgotten today? Sound off below- Join me—history’s echoes, faith’s sparks, mysteries uncharted. What’s your fight?
Sources and Further Reading:
For Cause & For Country: A Study of the Affair at Spring Hill & the Battle of Franklin- By Eric Jacobson- https://amzn.to/3Xopta3
Baptism of Fire: The 44th Missouri, 175th Ohio, and 183rd Ohio at the Battle of Franklin-By Eric Jacobson- https://store.boft.org/books-and-dvds/p/baptism-of-fire
Eyewitnesses to the Battle of Franklin- By David R. Logsdon- https://amzn.to/4h4x0lo
“Co. Aytch”: Maury Grays, First Tennessee Regiment, or A Side Show of the Big Show- Sam R. Watkins- https://amzn.to/43jvGaL
Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 45, Part 1- By The U.S. War Department