ONFEDERATE BIOGRAPHY: H. B. GRANBURY

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Submitted by Doris Peirce - ginlu@home.com 
21 October 2001 
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TEXANS WHO WORE THE GRAY by Sid S. Johnson 

H. B. GRANBURY.

Hyrum Bronson Granbury entered the Confederate army as captain of a 
company in Gregg's regiment, 7th Texas Infantry, and went immediately 
with his command to Kentucky.  In the reorganization in November, 1861, 
he was elected major, and in that capacity went with his regiment and 
brigade when they were ordered to Fort Donelson early in the spring of 
1862.  In February following, during the siege of that post, his 
regiment, in a charge on the Federal lines, opened the way for the 
retreat of the Confederate army.  "That the opportunity for escape was 
not improved was not the fault of Granbury nor his regiment."  After 
this affair, acting Brig. Sen. Simonton said of Granbury that he "now 
had the full confidence of his men and was entitled to the commendation 
of his countrymen."  Col. Gregg, of his regiment, also spoke well of 
the "efficient assistance of Granbury."  After the exchange of this 
command and return from their imprisonment on Johnson's Island, 
Granbury was promoted to Colonel August 29, 1862, and was in command 
of his regiment in North Mississippi until after the fall of Vicksburg.  
He distinguished himself at Raymond, Miss., where Gen. Gregg opposed 
his command so gallantly to the overwhelming numbers of the Federal 
army.  He led his regiment in the battle of Chickamauga and at 
Missionary Ridge until Brig. Gen. James A. Smith was borne from the 
field severely wounded, when Col. Granbury took command of the brigade.  
On this day, so disastrous to other parts of the line, Cleburne's 
division, to which Granbury's command belonged, more than held its own.  
Just here there stalks unbidden into this story the gaunt, but 
compelling, figure of that great Irish patriot and soldier, Patrick 
Ronayne Cleburne.  Henceforth, during the brief remainder of their 
lives, which ended one year later on the same fateful field, the 
story is so blended as to be well nigh indivisable.  Who was this  
strange man who loomed larger and larger on the lurid horizon as the 
drama of our Confederate war in the West proceeded toward its tragic 
close?  He was born in County Cork,  Ireland, March 17, 1828, second 
son of Dr. Joseph Cleburne.  His mother was well born, being the 
daughter of Patrick Ronayne of Annebrook, County Cork, and "descended 
from that Maurice Ronayne, who obtained  from King Henry, IV, a grant 
of the rights of Englishmen."  He was intended for the profession of 
medicine; but becoming discouraged, while a student of Trinity 
College, he ran away and enlisted in the 41st Regiment, British 
Infantry, serving in India.  It is said that he occupied, while in 
this service, the position of Cornet or Color Bearer.  After three 
years of service, he came to the United States and settled at Helena, 
Ark. a town on the West bank of the Mississippi river south of Memphis.  
He here studied law and was in successful practice at the beginning of 
the Civil War.  He joined the Confederate service as a private, planned 
the capture of the United States Arsenal in Arkansas in March 1861, 
was made captain and soon afterwards promoted to colonel.  In March, 
1862, was made brigadier general and at Shiloh commanded the 2nd brigade 
of the 3rd corps and was commended for "valor and ability."  He was 
wounded at the battle of Perryville, Ky.; was made major general in 
December, 1862 and commanded a division of the right wing in the batle 
of Murfreesboro, December 14, 1862.  Although the writer of this double
sketch was a private in an artillery company, attached at different 
times to the commands of both of these great soldiers, the figure and 
personality of Gen. Cleburne is impressed more profoundly upon his 
memory and imagination, first, because he had known him much longer, 
and, secondly, because Cleburne belonged to that type of leaders who, 
although silent and uncommunicative, command the almost idolatrous 
allegiance of their followers.  Although by birth and the long residence 
of his ancestors, he is credited to Ireland, he was not at all a typical 
Irishman.  Instead of the usual stocky form, florid complexion and 
volatile disposition of the Irishman, he was lean and gaunt of build,
sallow complexion, immobile features, reticent of speech, and of grave, 
but not unkindly countenance.  His face wore the look ordinarily, of 
intent concern and anxiety.  He had been shot in battle through the 
mouth and cheek, the scar of which intensified the austerity of his 
visage.  He was a bold and independent thinker, and to disarm the 
adverse judgment of the world, earnestly advocated the freeing of our 
slaves and of enlisting in our service the able bodied men of that race.  
While he was almost habitually silent, he had the gift of language, and, 
in more delicate tone, the rich brogue that distinguish the "Sons of 
Erin" all round the globe.  One night at Gadsden, Ala.., on the last 
march into Tennessee, the writer was a unit in a great concourse of 
soldiers who, with loud hurrahs and bands of music, serenaded the 
generals at their several headquarters.  After listening to Hood and 
Clayton, Cheatham and Beauregard, the soldiers at last caught a glimpse 
of Cleburne, standing in the midst of the officers, who thronged about 
Beauregard on the second balcony of a large two story residence.  The 
crowd set up a howl for a speech from him,. and he reluctantly came 
forward and began to talk.  Everything vanished from the experience 
of that crowd, acres deep, but Pat Cleburne and the wonderful words 
that leaped and pulsed in the night air, through scarred lips, out of 
the devoted soul of the dauntless soldier, who had given himself to 
the cause of free government in a foreign land.  But, back to the 
service in the field, of himself and his no less brave lieutenant.  I 
have already spoken of their service at Missionary Ridge.  That night, 
on the retreat, a few miles out from Chattanooga,  this writer heard 
John C. Breckenridge say to a farmer at a well by the roadside, that 
the "work of Cleburne's Division that day was the only redeeming 
feature of the disgraceful rout."  Of course, with his division, 
unterrified in the midst of panic, he was put in command of the rear 
guard, to cover the retreat of Bragg's fleeing army.  After the army 
had defiled through Ringold Gap on the second day, and the enemy was 
in hot pursuit, Cleburne obtained permission from the General in Chief 
to make a stand.  He deployed his men in battle line on either side, 
and at right angles to the road, and along the southern crest of the 
Ridge.  Being properly placed, he instructed his men to lie on their 
arms and hold their fire until the signal was given.  In due time the 
collision came off and such a wholesale slaughter of an over confident, 
pursuing foe, scarcely finds recital in the annals of war.  In this 
affair, Granbury commanded the Texas brigade and received the 
commendation of his chief.

Time and space would fail me to tell of the inseparale work of these 
two men and their gallant comrades, at Resaca, New Hope church and 
Kennesaw, and the constantly recurring conflicts of the Georgia 
campaign, around Atlanta, Jonesboro, and back with Hood to the 
Tennessee river, on his splendidly conceived but fateful march 
into Tennessee in the fall of 1864.

Having crossed the river, after a disastrous delay,  Hood rapidly 
moved his army in double columns, wherever practicable, in pursuit
of the retreating but constantly augmenting federal army under 
Schofield, until he overhauled it, drawn up in battle order, about 
the town of Columbia, on Duck river, on the afternoon of November 27th.  
Here, some irregular fighting took place between the two armies, 
pending which, the enemy was permitted to cross the river.  Meantime 
Hood, by  a rapid flank movement and crossing the river to the right, 
undertook to get on the line of the enemy's retreat and crush or 
capture his army, a daring but promising movement, which failed only 
because of a singular disregard of instructions on the part of 
General Cheatham, who had been placed in charge of the expedition.
Early on the morning of November 30th, in order, if possible, to 
retrieve this unfortunate failure, the army was put in motion to 
overtake and rout the enemy before he could cross the Harpeth river 
at Franklin.  The battery of artillery to which I belonged, crossed 
Duck river at Columbia and marched thirty miles, overtaking the main 
army between 3 and 4 o'clock in the afternoon, drawn up on either 
side of the turnpike and along the crest of a long ridge a mile, 
perhaps, south of Franklin.  The scope of observation possible to a 
private soldier in a great battle is necessarily very limited, and 
the lapse of 43 years is not favorable to accurate recollection; but 
some incidents of this "red letter" day were burned into my 
consciousness to stay.  This is about the occasion and the scene as 
my memory reproduces it: Cheatham's corps lay to the left of the pike, 
facing the enemy; Stewart's corps to the right; the right of 
Cleburne's Division rested on the immediate left; Douglas' Texas 
Battery, in the order of march, standing on the pike.  The general 
field officers were speaking in heroic terms to their men; Granbury 
was addressing his brigade on our left, and the burden of his speech 
was that this battle must be decisive, and the purpose to crush or 
capture the army in front.  Cleburne, seated on his war horse, had 
his position some fifty paces in front.  An open, sloping valley lay 
between us and the town Franklin, girdling the near suburbs of which, 
stretched the new made federal earthworks;  the enemy in somewhat 
confused skirmish and battle lines, falling back to the cover of  
their works.  The whole movement and scene was visible to our troops.  
All preliminaries concluded, orders to advance were given and the 
battle lines were soon lost in the smoke and tumult of battle.  The 
last we saw of the heroic Irishman, through the lurid battle smoke, 
he was sitting on his plunging charger, half turned in his saddle, 
with his sword drawn, some 75 or 100 paces in advance of his lines.  
All obstructions cleared and the bullet riddled ground covered, the 
hostile lines face to face and bayonet to bayonet closed in the 
death grapple across the federal entrenchments.  Meantime night 
had fallen, and the lines of mortal combat, raing for hours, could be 
traced, far as the eye could reach, by the cross lights, flashing from 
hostile guns.  What took place here, under the November stars, of 
mortal combat and resistance, staggers even the imagination to conceive, 
an gave new meaning to American heroism.  It serves the purpose of this 
sketch to chronicle, that when the pallid morning of December 1, 1864, 
broke upon the field of Franklin, Hyrum B. Granbury and Patrick R. 
Cleburne lay stark and cold, on or near the enemy's works:

"Where the battle's wreck lay thickest,
And death's brief pang had been quickest."
Ed. W. Smith, Sr.