Nashville battle story: A soldiers' graveyard, war-torn mansion

Undated Bradford mansion image by an unknown photographer (Nashville Public Library Digital Collection)

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In the seven years we’ve lived in Nashville, the landmarks along busy two-lane Granny White Pike have become as familiar as an old sneaker. There’s the dry-stack wall where Union soldiers captured mud-spattered Confederate Gen. Henry Jackson. Across the pike in the near distance looms Shy’s Hill, where its namesake, Rebel Col. Bill Shy, was mortally wounded. Nearby stands a "witness" tree that locals say lost its crown to Union artillery fire. What’s missing from the picture is just as intriguing. 

7th Minnesota Pvt. Fred Fessenden
was killed at the Battle of Nashville.
(Minnesota Historical Society)

According to the diary of 7th Minnesota chaplain Elijah Evan Edwards, seven Union soldiers were buried on the battlefield in “a single wide grave,” perhaps on the grounds of the Bradford mansion that once stood between the opposing lines just off Granny White Pike. Used as a Union Army military hospital, the mansion is long gone, replaced by modern development. Among the dead buried by the chaplain was the 7th Minnesota’s Fred H. Fessenden, a 27-year-old private shot through the temple during fighting near Shy’s Hill.

“He could always be depended upon,” a 7th Minnesota comrade and friend named Edward wrote about Fessenden in this poignant letter. “He was recently offered a promotion, but declined to accept it, preferring to serve as a private the rest of his time. But now he is promoted to higher and more noble employment than earth can give, and although I shall miss him very much, I feel that what is my loss is his infinite gain.”

In his diary, Edwards described the return of the mansion’s owner, "Mrs. Bradford," who surveyed the damage to her home and accepted her losses with restraint, donating remaining provisions for the wounded. While she expressed frustration over earlier looting, Edwards noted that much of the plundering had occurred earlier and was carried out by irresponsible soldiers. Items stolen included family portraits, religious objects and household goods, some of which were later recovered. 

After the hospital closed, Edwards wrote, "Mrs. Bradford asked the surgeon in charge to have the floors cleaned of bloodstains, all rubbish removed, and the building put in good order, fumigated and swept."

But back to those burials. 

Edwards sketched Nashville battle scenes and other sites in his diary, including perhaps the very graveyard for the 7th Minnesota dead. Shortly after the war, Fessenden's remains were removed to the Nashville National Cemetery. His 7th Minnesota comrades buried on the property — Napoleon Chamberlain, George Washington Simmons, Milton Burons, Sebastian Baulig and Archibald Savidge — also have marked graves in the national cemetery. Someday soon, I hope to pay my respects to them there. 

Today, the Bradford mansion is gone, its grounds swallowed by manicured lawns and upscale homes. Nothing on the surface hints at the graves once dug there. But through his diary (transcription below), Chaplain Edwards keeps Fred Fessenden and the memory of his 7th Minnesota comrades alive.

Below are excerpts from Chaplain Edwards’ diary (hat tip: Huntsville Historical Review), written on and near the Bradford property south of Nashville in December 1864. His words offer a firsthand glimpse of the soldiers’ original resting place, a makeshift battlefield hospital and the human cost in the aftermath of the Battle of Nashville (Dec. 15-16, 1864).

Chaplain Elijah Edwards' sketch of the Bradford mansion property. Graves, perhaps for those
 of the 7th Minnesota, appear in the middle background. 

This afternoon I buried the dead of the 7th [Minnesota] Regiment, side by side in a single wide grave in the field where they fell. There were seven Minnesotians and an unknown soldier found dead on the same field.* 

The lady owner of the Bradford mansion came, accompanied by two rather beautiful young ladies, presumably her daughters. She looked with surprise at the holes made in her fine mansion by shot and shell, and congratulated herself that she was not at home during the battle. She looked ruefully at the ruin wrought, but in the main took her losses philosophically.

She donated what delicacies might remain in the house to the use of the wounded. Her daughters were less discreet and forbearing in their manner and made some rather insulting remarks. 

Chaplain Elijah Evan Edwards,
7th Minnesota (Battle of 
Nashville Trust)

Our burly English first musician resented this in language more forceful than elegant. There was indeed some cause for the young ladies’ complaints. But for the wholesale plundering and looting that occurred on the first day of the battle, the present occupants were not to blame. I witnessed the looting and knew it to have been done by unprincipled and irresponsible parties. Some of the things stolen were the mother’s picture, an alabaster statue of Christ and the Virgin Mother, and an album of family pictures. A piously inclined pilferer stole the old family Bible. 

One of the robbers crammed a curiously enameled clock case into his satchel. The mansion is badly damaged by the cannonading but is still livable. Mrs. Bradford expressed to the surgeons very decided views as to damages, but it will be difficult to decide as to which army is responsible, the building occupying a position between the lines and being in fact damaged most by [John Bell] Hood’s artillery practice.

The Bradfords are very decided rebels in sentiment, and the husband is, I understand, a fugitive in Texas and had risen to the rank of General in the Southern service.

A curious diary was found in the house, purporting to be that of a Mr. Cantrell. Its last date was December 6, 1864, the time probably when the mansion had to be vacated. It is presumed that this diary, with other goods belonging to the Bradfords, was brought to the mansion for safekeeping. The diary was forwarded to headquarters for examination but contained no information worthy of note. The first date of the diary is 1835, and the writer was then a young man, affianced to an unnamed cousin of his, whom he spoke of as May. That part of the diary ends abruptly, but the presumption is that May and the Mrs. Cantrell mentioned in the entry of July 6 are one and the same. The entry reads: “Mrs. C. was delivered of a child this morning. Removed her for safekeeping to Mrs. Bradford’s.” 

The most audacious utterances in the modern part of the diary were the following melanges of the patriotic and commonplace: “The spirit of the South is unconquerable. Worked all day in the onion beds.” “The future looks dark and portentous. Had to whip Willie and Buddie.” “The Yanks have stolen all my sweet potatoes.” The last entry is significant: “In order to save my property, I have taken the oath of allegiance.” 

I hunted up the 23rd Corps this morning and found my brother Wes in robust health but dirty as two days’ fighting and wallowing in the mud could make him. I returned over our battle line and noted the traces of carnage in the rebel trenches. The trees on the summit of the high hill on our right were almost stripped of bark and branches by our missiles. The trenches were filled with dead that seemed already a portion of the earth in which they were partially imbedded. 

Halfway down, or a third of the way down, I came upon a heap of our dead laid out for burial. There were twenty of them, the fallen dead of the 10th Minnesota of McMillan’s Brigade (1st), which took part in the famous charge up this hill on the salient part of Hood’s lines. In one of the group I recognized the face of an old St. Paul acquaintance, Geo. L. Lumsden, a man with a singular and not unromantic history. 

Bradford Mansion, December 18

John Houston of 
the 5th Minnesota.

Captain John Houston of the 5th Minnesota, whom I found badly wounded on the field at the close of the first day’s battle, sent for me to call and see him at the shortest notice. I started immediately and soon reached him in the City Hospital. His wound had been a serious one involving, as the hospital surgeons thought, the necessity of amputation of his right arm close to the shoulder, the ball of the humerus being shattered by a Minnie bullet. 

Captain Houston refused to submit to an amputation, believing that with skillful treatment his arm could be saved. He wished me to go at once and interview his friend Dr. Vincent P. Kennedy, former surgeon of the 5th and now Brigade surgeon, and ask him to call at once. His object was to secure a transfer to the department in the care of Dr. Kennedy, believing that his old friend was able by his skill to save both his arm and his life. The surgeons have been severely criticized for their too-great readiness to perform amputations when with proper care the limb might be saved. Their only answer is that they have neither the time nor appliances for such care, and that the surest way to save life is to amputate. Surgeon Kennedy immediately responded to the call of his friend, but as to the success of the operation, if performed, I have not heard. 

Field Hospital, Bradford Mansion December 19, 1864 

The number in hospital is being very materially reduced each day by discharges and transfers to the city hospitals, and yet there is still quite an army of surgeons, chaplains, assistants, and hangers-on left. Our first camp in the suburbs beyond the Charlotte Pike has been entirely broken up. Nothing remains of the tent under the mistletoe but the debris of a chimney in the campsite style of architecture, shapeless in its ruins. We are beginning to grow weary of hospital life and to envy the part of the army now in its hurried chase after Hood. There are rumors that the Confederate force is utterly broken up and ruined, that they are not retreating in a body as beaten armies sometimes retreat, but have scattered and melted away until there is scarcely a corporal’s guard left anywhere. There is no longer a Hood’s army and never will be again.

    GOOGLE STREET VIEW: Bradford mansion stood near present-day Lipscomb Drive.

Field Hospital, December 20, 1864 

We are impatiently waiting for orders to transfer the patients to the city, close up the hospital, and proceed over the country following in the footsteps of the conquerors of the fugacious Hood until we overtake them. It does not appear reasonable that the 16th Corps should return to Nashville, where there is no longer need of a militant body bearing the peculiar stamp of the force known and respected as “Smith’s Guerrillas.” That we may be ordered back to Memphis is spoken of as a probability, though a remote one. It was the mission of A. J. Smith to threaten Tennessee and Mississippi, engage the attention of {Nathan Bedford} Forrest, and prevent his going eastward to join forces with Joseph Johnston. Forrest thought his mission was to intercept Smith and prevent his joining [William] Sherman. Now that these emergencies no longer exist, there is no motive for Smith to waylay Forrest or for Forrest to interfere with Smith. For the present, both are played out.

Field Hospital, December 21, 1864 — Last Day 

The last discharges and transfers have been made, and the Bradford mansion ceases this morning to be a hospital. It is again a private dwelling, though not yet in possession of its owners. Mrs. Bradford asked the surgeon in charge to have the floors cleaned of bloodstains, all rubbish removed, and the building put in good order, fumigated and swept. Some of her stolen household goods that had been found hidden about the premises were restored, though not all. Her mother’s picture and the family Bible had been returned. It seemed a hard and cruel thing that she should have been plundered of things precious to her and worthless to anyone else, but such are the caprices of warfare in an enemy’s land. Upon the whole she seemed a kindly woman and cheerfully surrendered all provisions and dainties in the house for the use of the wounded, and it was left unto her desolate.

December 22, 1864 

Yesterday the mud in Nashville was unfathomable, or at least of uncertain and dangerous depth. Today the mercury is below the freezing point, and a thin stratum of ice and frozen mud has formed on the surface of the slough. The appearance of Nashville is not inviting. The eye rests upon heaps of rubbish, with dead animals promiscuously scattered about. 

Nashville, December 23–24, 1864

Still detained by red tape and the necessity of procuring an outfit to provision us until we overtake our regiment. This is positively our last day in Nashville, as the red tape has at last been untied and we start tomorrow on our winding way in search of the 7th Minnesota Volunteer Infantry.

Franklin, Tennessee, December 25, 1864 

This day should be Christmas, but there is no sign of it here in this war-wasted land. No bells ring, no joyous gatherings of young and old. The country is desolate and looks as if it might never again have happiness.

* Names of the killed in battle, buried on the field near the Bradford mansion, Co. B: Corporal Napoleon C. Chamberlain Co. C: George W. Simons Co. E: Milton Burons Co. G: Sebastian Baulig Co. H: Fred H. Fessenden Co. K: Archibald Savidge, David Coolidge. Besides the above there are six mortally wounded and possibly 20 who are disqualified for further service.

---

SOURCE

Huntsville Historical Review, Vol. 3, No. 2, Article 3, April 1, 1973