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“General
Cleburne, this is my best friend and maid of honor. May I present Miss
Susan Tarleton?” Mary Foreman Lewis, fiance of Confederate General
William Hardee, introduced her young friend to Major General Patrick
Ronayne Cleburne with words that rolled off the tongue in the rich
flavor of the Deep South. The General’s dark Irish eyes betrayed his
instant fascination. Susan smiled at him demurely, somewhat embarrassed
by his gaze. It was January 1864, and the War Between the States was
taking a toll on the South, but tonight one of the grandest plantation
homes of Alabama was in a festive mood.
Pat
Cleburne, an Irishman by birth and a Confederate soldier by choice, had
made his mark in his adopted land. As a young boy in Ireland he worked
in a pharmacy and later as a young man had served as a member of the
British Army. After his father’s death and as a result of the potato
famine in Ireland, Pat, his siblings and his stepmother immigrated to
the United States.
Cleburne
settled in Helena, Arkansas, on the Mississippi River. The job in the
drug store proved beneficial in his new hometown when two doctors
discovered his expertise and hired him to run their jointly owned
apothecary. Over the years Cleburne studied law and became a lawyer.
That led him into local politics and an interest in civic activities.
His Irish brogue set him off from others and probably assisted in
gaining him a certain amount of fame with locals.
By 1861 Patrick Cleburne was in his early thirties and a responsible member of his community. Though he still endured the jokes of a society that teased him about his Irish background, he was accepted in his new land and respected for what he had accomplished.
He never owned slaves, but when the War Between the States threatened, Cleburne chose to join his friends believing he should support his new town and state. Somewhat bashful, he was nevertheless elected captain of a volunteer company and quickly rose through the ranks of the Confederate Army.
His commands performed brilliantly at Shiloh, Chickamauga, Murfreesboro, Lookout Mountain and other battles of the western theater where they were in the forefront of the most desperate fighting. Often times his soldiers were called on to fight rear guard actions to save the army from total destruction while other units were trying to form new lines of defense. The troops under General Cleburne were so well thought of by superiors they were allowed to fight under their own blue battle flag that became recognizable by friend and foe alike. Because of Cleburne’s determination and leadership, he was referred to as the “Stonewall Jackson of the West”. Though rejected by the Confederate administration, it should be noted that it was Cleburne’s idea to allow slaves to fight for the Confederacy and thereby gain their freedom, in effect offering a way to eliminate slavery in the South. By January of 1864, when he met Miss Susan Tarleton at the wedding of his best friend and commander General
Hardee, Cleburne was a celebrity in the South and a well-known and respected adversary in the North.
The wedding was to take place at the Bleak House Plantation east of Demopolis, Alabama. Hardee and Miss Lewis had met while he had been on assignment in the area. Though he was much older, in his late forties actually, and she was only twenty-six, the wedding was regarded with much anticipation.
Mary’s brother, Ivy Foreman Lewis, owned Bleak House, probably named for the famous book by Charles Dickens of that era. After a trip to Europe in the late 1850s, the big house had been decorated with expensive copies of the finest European paintings. For weeks the new gothic style mansion had been prepared for the occasion and with a stormy winter’s night prevailing, slave servants placed lamps in appropriate locations for lighting and warmth.
The wedding went off as planned and was a very formal affair. Afterward the entourage enjoyed champagne and danced until the wee hours of the night. The next morning they boarded a river steamboat and traveled down the Black Warrior River to its intersection with the Tombigbee River at Demopolis and then on to Mobile, where the party continued for a week. At the Battle House Hotel in Mobile, Confederate General Patrick Ronayne Cleburne proposed marriage to twenty-four year old Miss Susan Tarleton though he had known her for only a week. Swept off her feet by this dashing and famous soldier, Susan at first refused his request. But she did say he could write her when he returned to camp.
Back in camp near Atlanta, Cleburne often visited the newlyweds at General Hardee’s headquarters and remarked to other officers that married life would be perfect for him too. He was pleased with the obvious happiness of his commander.
He wrote Susan, professing his love for her, and longed for her letters. Until Hardee’s wedding, Cleburne had never taken leave during his army career, but now planned another furlough so he could see Susan again. In March, she accepted his proposal and looked forward with great anticipation to becoming the wife of General Patrick Cleburne.
After Atlanta fell, the Southern army moved through northern Alabama into Tennessee in an effort to pull Union forces out of Georgia and carry the fight to a different area. The war in the west continued to go badly for the South in spite of excellent military leaders such as Cleburne. By November of 1864, General John Bell Hood, commander of the Confederate Army of Tennessee, pushed his army all the way to Franklin, Tennessee. Viewing the small settlement from Winstead Hill south of town, Hood decided this was where he would attack. His subordinates, including Cleburne, were dismayed knowing they would be attacking across open terrain with fewer numbers against a well-entrenched foe. The loss could be catastrophic.
At 4:00 o’clock on the afternoon on November 30, 1864, a Confederate Battle Flag dropped as a prearranged signal from Winstead Hill. A long line of gray clad young soldiers, who until three years before had been farm boys, clerks and school children, moved out. With the shouts of officers giving encouragement and instruction, the now seasoned fighting men began walking toward another hill nearly two miles to the north. Drummer boys beat a rhythmic cadence for the troops to march by.
Cleburne’s regimental band began playing “Bonnie Blue Flag.” Another band struck up the tune “Dixie.” Yankees hidden behind fortifications on the distant hill were in awe of the sight and sound of the coming thousands. A Yankee soldier said later, “it sounded like there were almost as many tooters as shooters.”
The hearts of the best of the South swelled with pride as they marched to do their duty. Many had penned their names to their uniforms so families back home could be told where they died. Patrick Cleburne, sitting astride a borrowed mare, thought of sweet Susan. He yearned to be with her, but today he would be in the line with his men as they attacked the Federal breastworks. As the wavering line moved along the pike, across farm fields, past small houses and barns, cannons on the hill behind roared in support. Yankee cannon fired back blasting gaping holes in the line as they came. But on they came. Twenty thousand moved forward, the sound of their marching feet matching the rumble of cannon.
In Alabama, Susan Tarleton stood on a veranda overlooking the garden. The evening had grown slowly darker except for the occasional light from an approaching storm. She thought of Patrick and how happy he made her. When this terrible war was finally over she would become Mrs. Patrick Cleburne. They would live in Arkansas, raise a houseful of children and be so happy.
A lightening bolt and the rumble of thunder startled her. Reassuringly, she remembered the stormy night when she met him at Bleak House. It was a night just like this. Hating the war that caused so much hardship, she once asked Patrick what battles were like. He had said that when you heard a battle in the distance the cannon blasts sounded like thunder. He said when two confronting armies came together, the rattle of musketry sounded like rain hitting a roof.
Again lightening flashed and crackled very close, followed by booming thunder that rolled on and on through the night. She shivered and felt the pull of melancholy. “Now why should my mood change so quickly with the storm,” she wondered. Pulling her shawl around her shoulders against the cool night air, Susan went inside and closed the door behind her to the sound of huge raindrops splattering against the roof.
The battle in Tennessee raged into the night. Combat between the two foes was as desperate as any during the entire war. General Hood’s Army performed as gallant a service as any has ever done for its country. The lives lost could have changed the world forever, but in what way the South will never know. Cleburne’s horse was shot from under him, then another and another. With sword drawn he joined his men on foot as they surged toward the Yankee lines. On they came with reckless abandon. In the den of battle, with smoke from exploding shell turning sweaty faces black and the deafening blast of cannon nearly lifting men off the ground, Cleburne could be heard shouting for the men to fight for their homes and families. Boys from Arkansas, Mississippi, Tennessee and Alabama followed him, assured that Pat Cleburne could lead them through anything. In the midst of battle, the heart that had finally found true love was struck by a single bullet and Cleburne died instantly.
After the battle, his body was retrieved and brought to a home near the battlefield. Word spread quickly throughout the army that Cleburne was dead. Soldiers began coming to the plantation house where they were allowed to view Cleburne’s prostrate body. In all, six Confederate Generals died at Franklin, the most that has ever died in a single battle.
It was five days before Susan learned of the battle at Franklin, Tennessee. Sadly while in the garden, she heard a newsboy shouting, “Big battle in Tennessee; General Cleburne dead!” as he hawked papers along a busy street in Mobile.
The news of General Cleburne’s death shook the South. To some it was another indication of the coming end of the cause. Susan’s grief consumed her. She went into mourning and wore black for a year. Three years after the war’s end she did marry, but died less than a year later. |
