The Love Story of Belle Cliffe and James Brownlow

“Beneath the Bayonet Moon: The Love Story of Belle and James Brownlow”

In the shadow of cannon smoke and the scorched hills of Franklin, Tennessee, a love bloomed that defied the brutal divide of a nation at war. Belle Cliffe, the spirited daughter of a town physician with quiet Union loyalties, found her heart bound to a towering Union general—James Patton Brownlow, a man as bold in battle as he was tender in her presence. Their story began not with courtship but with crisis, when James was gravely wounded just before the Battle of Franklin and fate carried him to Belle’s doorstep. In the flickering light of a makeshift lantern and the hush of a household caught between sides, love found them—sudden, fierce, and impossible to ignore.

Their bond survived the war’s fiery crucible, his long convalescence, and the whispers of scandal that trailed the events unfolding all around them. They married against all odds, built a life from the ashes, and welcomed children into a fragile peace. Yet destiny, never done with its cruel turns, shortened their days together. What war could not take, time and tragedy stole instead. This is the story of Belle and James—a love that blazed against history’s darkest backdrop, endured when it should have withered, and was gone far too soon.

Franklin, Tennessee, wore its war wounds like a faded quilt—stitched with cannon smoke, torn fences, and the silent grief of families divided. Fort Granger loomed over the town like a weary sentinel, and the streets below echoed with the tramp of soldiers’ boots, Union blue and Confederate gray. Amid this fractured world, where every home chose a side and every heart bore a scar, Belle Cliffe and James Brownlow found each other. Their love did not bloom in peace—it sparked like fire between battle drums, in secret letters, in whispered farewells exchanged beneath a doctor’s porch light. They loved as only two souls could in wartime: urgently, desperately, with the aching knowledge that joy, like life, might be short-lived.

Belle Cliffe was born into a town split down its red clay center. She was the fourth child and only daughter of Dr. Daniel Bonaparte Cliffe, Sr. and Virginia “Jennie Whitfield Cliffe. She was undoubtedly spoiled as the only daughter among five rowdy brothers. Her father, Dr. Daniel B. Cliffe, was a highly regarded physician in Franklin and a man whose allegiances shifted as the war revealed its brutal truth. Early in the conflict, he joined the Confederate Army as a surgeon, tending to the wounded with skilled, steady hands. But what he saw there—men shattered for a cause that no longer felt righteous—turned his heart. Quietly, defiantly, he returned home and began to support the Union cause, risking his reputation and safety in a community where secessionist sentiments ran deep. The Cliffe family were well-regarded in their community, so once the shift from allegiance from the Confederate army to the Union became apparent to neighbors and friends, many followed Cliffe. Still others, loyal to the South no matter the price, quietly held suspicion and bitterness in their hearts for Cliffe’s change in loyalty. One can only imagine what was being said behind the doors and windows of Franklinites. 

Belle Cliffe’s five brothers, in order of birth, are show above. Margret Isabella “Belle” Cliffe Brownlow (1849-1878) was the fourth child in the family, in between John and Joseph Cliffe. 

The Cliffe home stood close to the center of town, just a short walk from the Public Square. Franklin’s streets were lined with elegant homes and tangled loyalties, and the Cliffe household, now loyal to the Union, lived under the constant threat of suspicion and violence. Belle, one of several children, was raised in this tension—watching her father navigate the careful line between healing and betrayal, between what was expected and what was right.

It was in this climate that James P. Brownlow entered Belle’s life, but not until very late in the Civil War. The son of Tennessee’s fiery pro-Union governor William Gannaway ‘Parson’ Brownlow, James was a soldier by blood and belief. He served as Colonel of the 1st Tennessee Cavalry (Union), gaining a fierce reputation for daring raids and unwavering loyalty to the Union.

His cavalry moved through Middle Tennessee often, scouting, defending, and occasionally resting. While Belle was changing from a girl into a woman, finishing up her schooling under the most stressful of environments, her future love James was a soldier, leading his men thru the treachery of many battlefields. 

“The Education of Belle Cliffe”

Franklin, Tennessee – 1859. At fifteen, Belle Cliffe moved through the halls of her family’s home in Franklin with the quiet confidence of a girl raised in grace and privilege. Her father, Dr. Daniel B. Cliffe, was not only the town’s most trusted physician but also a man of influence, known for treating the sick with equal skill and discretion, whether they wore homespun or silk. Her mother, equally formidable, ruled the household with a soft voice and an iron sense of decorum, ensuring that Belle grew up with the manners and polish befitting a young lady of standing. Mornings in the Cliffe household began early: Belle was roused to the scent of her grandmother’s tea roses and the rustle of skirts in the parlor, then seated at her desk under the stern instruction of a tutor from Nashville. There she learned French and geography, copied verses from the Bible and Byron, and practiced the piano until her hands ached. In the afternoons, she embroidered by the window, the lace curtains filtering Tennessee sunlight across her work, while the sounds of her five brothers laughing or arguing echoed from elsewhere in the house.

Dr. Daniel Bonaparte Cliffe and wife Virginia “Jennie” Whitfield Cliffe were Belle’s parents

Belle’s social education was no less rigorous. She accompanied her mother to calls and garden teas, where she was taught how to enter a room, speak without speaking too much, and charm without appearing to try. The Franklin Female Academy had shaped many girls like Belle, though her own time there was brief—interrupted when tensions in Tennessee reached a boil and whispers of war began to steal the focus from poetry and pianofortes.

Dr. Cliffe, sensing the threat to both her safety and future, sent Belle north to the Vermillion Academy in Hayesville, Ohio—a school aligned with his quiet Unionist sympathies. There, in the gentler hills of the North, Belle experienced a different world: one of abolitionist sermons and snow-covered lanes, far from the magnolia-sweetened airs of Franklin. But the war followed her even there. As the fighting grew fiercer, Vermillion closed its doors, and Belle was called home.

She returned to Franklin a year older, her polished boots stepping back into a town transformed. The academy she once attended had shuttered, its halls emptied of girls and filled instead with the murmurs of soldiers and surgeons. Homes she once visited for tea now flew flags of allegiance—some blue, some gray. Her brothers were scattered, their laughter replaced by letters posted from distant camps. Belle, now nearly grown, stood at the threshold of a new chapter—no longer the girl of silk and recitation, but a young woman coming of age in a world on fire. The war had arrived, and it would demand more of her than music or manners ever had. It would demand heart, resolve, and choices that no finishing school could prepare her for.

Belle’s Childhood Home 

The Cliffe home stood proudly on Second Avenue in downtown Franklin, Tennessee, just one block from the bustling town square. A graceful Southern home, it was a place of both charm and resilience, its walls bearing witness to some of the most turbulent years in Franklin’s history.

On the corner of the property, facing Main Street, Dr. Daniel Cliffe kept a small brick building that served as his medical office — a modest but vital outpost where he cared for the townspeople long before the war, and where, during the conflict, soldiers and civilians alike would come seeking aid.

The home’s location placed the Cliffe family at the heart of the town’s activity. From their front porch, Belle could easily see the Masonic Hall, a hub of political and military conversation during the war years. As Franklin became a key crossroads in the shifting tides of the Civil War, the Cliffe home evolved from a family residence into something much larger: it became a waystation for soldiers on both sides of the conflict, a quiet place of rest, recovery, and sometimes secret military planning. The house was known to shelter Union officers, and in the tense days before the Battle of Franklin, it served as a critical headquarters for Union General John Schofield.

For Belle, life within those walls was marked by profound change and constant exposure to the realities of war. She undoubtedly watched her father’s small medical office fill with wounded men, saw their home transformed into a makeshift field hospital, and heard the urgent whispers of Union officers planning under her roof. Yet the war’s tensions also played out within the Cliffe family’s social world.  Neighbors and former friends, once close, turned cold toward the Cliffe family, shunning them in town. But as the Union occupation of Franklin deepened, and as local merchants aligned themselves with the Union cause to survive economically, those social lines began to soften. Franklin’s citizens, many out of practical necessity, eased their discrimination, allowing old relationships to cautiously mend.

Amid this backdrop of shifting loyalties and constant upheaval, Belle came of age — watching from the windows and hallways of her home as history swept through Franklin, and ultimately, as love eventually found her in the most unexpected of ways.

The McPhail-Cliffe home (above) was moved in 1973 down the street to 2nd Avenue South to make way for a parking lot. It was saved by preservationists Peter and Rudy, and has served as the family home of the Jordan family since that time. Read our fascinating feature on Rudy Jordan.

Arrest of Octavia

Octavia “Octie” Courtney was a young woman not much older than Belle. What happened to her when she stood up for what she believed in most likely had a huge impact on Belle and the entire Cliffe family, as her home was only a few blocks away from the Cliffe home.

Before Franklin was occupied by the Union army, the town strongly remained devout to the Confederacy. Many of the husbands, fathers and sons, after all had already joined the Southern cause and were off at war. The arrest of Octavia Courtney, a young and courageous Union supporter in Confederate-held Franklin, Tennessee, undoubtedly left a powerful impression on the Cliffe family and others who shared their quiet allegiance.

During the early days of the war, as Union troops briefly marched through Franklin en route to the Battle of Shiloh, Octavia boldly stood outside her home, waving red, white, and blue ribbons in open support of the passing soldiers. Octavia was only 21, and was described by soldiers as a beautiful blue eyed blonde. Her defiance did not go unnoticed—one Union general was so moved by her patriotic display that he dismounted his horse, removed a sparkling diamond tie pin, and clipped it to her jacket in a gesture of admiration. The moment, witnessed by neighbors, ignited a storm of gossip and condemnation in the tightly knit, Confederate-leaning town.

The townspeople of Franklin were initially mostly Confederate, but as control of the town switched back and forth between the Union and the Confederacy, the level of transparency as to which side families supported waned. It was dangerous to show your cards as to who you supported, but once people knew, there was no going back. In the days that followed, Octavia could no longer walk the streets without facing ridicule and scorn. Her once-familiar community turned hostile, branding her a traitor. Eventually, Confederate authorities arrested her at home, charging her with acts of disloyalty and treason.. Octavia was marched to the courthouse by Confederate soldiers under the point of a bayonet. She was brought before a tribunal composed of friends and neighbors—people who had once been part of her daily life. When asked to respond to the accusations, Octavia answered simply and proudly: guilty, because she loved her country.

Octavia was imprisoned at the Williamson County Courthouse, just a few blocks from the Cliffe home. Undoubtedly, her arrest and subsequent break from prison by a trusted family servant was the talk of the town. To the Cliffe family, who could see these events unfold with increasing unease from their own home, Octavia’s arrest was more than a local scandal—it was a sobering warning. Their own Unionist beliefs, quietly held, now felt dangerously exposed. The sight of a brave young woman punished for her patriotism would have left a lasting mark, no matter which side she supported, strengthening their convictions while heightening their fear of reprisal in a town where loyalty to the Union could become a public crime. Looking at a modern day map, one can see that the Cliffe home was close enough to the Courtney home to see Octavia’s arrest and march to the courthouse. Read my complete story on Octie here.

Fort Granger

The construction of Union Fort Granger in 1863 brought sweeping changes to the town of Franklin, Tennessee, both physically and socially. Perched on a bluff overlooking the Harpeth River, the fort was built to solidify Union control over Middle Tennessee, but its presence disrupted nearly every aspect of civilian life. Union soldiers dismantled fences, tore down barns, confiscated livestock, and repurposed homes and fields for military needs.

For Confederate sympathizers, this occupation felt like an invasion—an affront to their identity and autonomy. Even for Union supporters like Dr. Daniel B. Cliffe, who had initially served as a Confederate surgeon but became quietly loyal to the Union cause, the changes were deeply felt. The Cliffe family, living in a home near downtown Franklin, watched their community fracture under the weight of military occupation, caught between personal convictions and growing hostility from neighbors who viewed them with suspicion.

The presence of soldiers in the streets was shocking to residents, but more upsetting was the ordered requisition by their very own government that the Cliffe’s and other neighbors faced in the way of anything needed to build or sustain life at the fort. With over 10,000 soldiers garrisoned in the area at the fort, there was much need. Smokehouses were looted, livestock raided, fences and outbuildings dismantled to build the fort. With the disappearance of each of these comforts and necessities of daily life, so went the security of the citizens of Franklin. 

For Belle Cliffe, a young girl during this time, the war was not a distant echo but a force reshaping the world around her. Soldiers passed their home daily, and the sounds of drills, gunfire, and hammers filled the air. Fort Granger loomed nearby, offering both a strange sense of protection and a constant reminder of danger. The Union presence brought deep social consequences—friends turned cold, neighbors whispered, and the Cliffe family lived under the strain of being labeled outsiders in their own town. While they may have found silent comfort in the Union cause, they paid dearly for it in isolation, fear, and the quiet courage it took to endure. The fort became more than a military installation—it was the backdrop to their daily survival, and for Belle, the haunting stage where love and loss would unfold.

Spies faced hanging

In the shadow of Fort Granger, Franklin, Tennessee became a town suspended between two worlds—occupied, yet not fully surrendered; war-torn, yet still pulsing with moments of surreal humanity. In one such moment, two Confederate soldiers dressed in Union uniforms slipped across enemy lines and approached the Union stronghold not with weapons, but with weary smiles, cigars, and a jug of whiskey. They were greeted not with gunfire, but with camaraderie. For one strange, quiet night, these enemies sat side by side under the Tennessee stars—Union and Confederate soldiers, trading war stories, laughing hoarsely between swigs of liquor, and losing themselves in hands of poker. It was a fragile, fleeting reprieve from the brutality that marked their days, as though even war could afford a pause for men who understood each other’s losses too well. Unbeknownst to the soldiers at Fort Granger was the fact that they had been dealing with men they later deemed spies, charading in stolen Union uniforms. 

By morning, suspicions stirred. Someone among the Union ranks raised the alarm, and the Confederate visitors were seized as spies. They almost got away, and the Union soldiers at Fort Granger almost wished they had, as they really enjoyed these fellows’ company. The penalty was swift and unforgiving: death by hanging. Gallows were attached to a sturdy cherry tree that stood within view of the Cliffe family home, just beyond the town square. Belle Cliffe, only fifteen at the time, may have stood silently behind the shutters, watching as the young men—boys, really—were led beneath the branches in silence. Dr. Daniel Cliffe, who had once served as a Confederate surgeon but had since turned his support quietly toward the Union, likely understood the terrible irony unfolding before him. The men were hung with dignity, Confederate gray draped on lifeless shoulders, their bravery undiminished even in death. Franklin, already a town steeped in blood and sorrow, bore witness to yet another grim chapter.

Belle’s oldest brother, Daniel, only nineteen at the time, witnessed the hanging. Years later, he recalled the incident, with it being printed  June 29, 1895, and featured in the Nashville American newspaper, Daniel McPhail Cliffe recalls, “They were hung from a wild cherry tree, which stood on a knoll near the railroad. Their bodies were cut down and buried in the new cemetery with the ropes around their necks, but Watkins having learned of such a disgraceful and brutal act by the Provost Marshal, made him exhume the bodies and remove the pieces of rope.”

For Belle, the memory of that day would remain like an ache behind the ribs—a chilling symbol of how blurred the lines between enemy and friend could become. The cherry tree became a ghost in her mind, as fixed in memory as the sound of boots on stone or the sight of Union patrols outside her window. Her world, once shaped by girlhood dreams, was now carved by war and quiet heartbreak. The Fort, with all its protection, had not kept death away—it had simply changed its form. And in that atmosphere of sadness and strained loyalties, Belle’s own story would unfold: a story of love, loss, and the heavy toll of a war that refused to spare even the innocent.

The Rebels Came to Town

About a year after the construction of Fort Granger, the spring air in Franklin carried more than the scent of blossoms—it was heavy with suspicion, silence, and the low hum of war not quite finished. Belle Cliffe, fifteen and full of quiet longing, had grown up far too fast under the watchful eyes of soldiers and the shadow of war. And then came April 10, 1863—the day after General Gordan Granger temporarily withdrew his troops leaving Fort Granger and the town unoccupied.

Before dawn, Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest swept into town with 7,000 cavalrymen and artillery. The Union’s thin picket line—the 7th Kentucky Cavalry—was no match and fled as Forrest’s men stormed through. At three o’clock, the town fell, not with a roar, but with the rustle of skirts and the clatter of hooves.

Some of the same Southern belles who had once batted lashes at Union officers now picked through the broken windows of ransacked stores, arms filled with plunder. Belle saw them—girls she had once whispered with at church socials—now laughing beside Confederate soldiers as they looted what was once her brother’s store. The goods, intended for townspeople and perhaps Union troops, were “completely and thoroughly skinned,” their shelves stripped bare. The Cliffe home, nestled close to the square, surely trembled with the sound of it all.

Belle’s oldest brother Daniel was the oldest of the Cliffe children and would’ve been twenty at the time of the “skinning” of his store in 1863, as referenced above. We have no definitive proof he was the shopkeeper, only the reference to Dr. Cliffe’s son and the logic of his age and birth order within the family. 

That day left its mark on Belle in ways even her heart couldn’t name. Perhaps it was not just the shock of destruction, or the betrayal by neighbors once trusted. Perhaps it was the sight of honor dissolving into hunger and desperation. It was most likely difficult to see her brother placed in the position where he was overtaken and robbed in his store by individuals he once called friend, who were alongside gruff soldiers who were acting as the enemy. Or perhaps it was the memory of the cherry tree—the same one visible from her window—now burdened with gallows hastily affixed, as the bodies of Confederate spies swung gently in the breeze.

Much to recently, those same young men had shared whiskey and poker with the Union troops at Fort Granger, trading not bullets but stories and laughter. They had died like men, their dignity intact, but their fate had sealed something in Belle. She would never forget the sound of silence after the rope tightened, or the way her father looked away, jaw clenched, helpless again. It was in this crumbling, complicated world that love would soon enter her life—sudden, fierce, and fleeting—and it would change everything. Union forces would occupy Franklin and Fort Granger after this event, with the town being mainly under Federal control for the remainder of the Civil War.

James Patton Brownlow

The first time Belle Cliffe laid eyes on James Patton Brownlow, it was not in the golden haze of a Sunday dance or beneath the moonlight of a Tennessee harvest, but in the harrowing stillness of war. He was carried into the Cliffe home on a makeshift stretcher, unconscious and bloodied, his uniform soaked dark with the blood from twin gunshot wounds through both thighs.

Brownlow had barely escaped with his life after a confrontation with Confederate soldiers at nearby Winstead Hill, losing one of his men during the battle. Yet even being terribly wounded, his six-foot-six frame sprawled across the narrow bed, jaw clenched in unconscious defiance, there was something arresting about him. Belle, only fifteen but already seasoned by war, paused in the doorway as her father called for water and clean linens. Her heart, long guarded by hardship and loss, beat in a way it hadn’t before.

James Brownlow, the son of Tennessee’s fiercest Unionist, was already a legend by the time he arrived at the Cliffe home. Tales of his bold raids and reckless courage swirled among both Union ranks and Southern whispers. Belle had heard his name—James P. Brownlow, cavalry commander, Unionist to the bone, the man who rode into rebel country with his saber drawn and his convictions sharper still. Colonel Jim Brownlow of the 1st Tennessee Cavalry was a force of nature, and his men followed him with the kind of loyalty born only from trust—and the knowledge that if there was a hell to ride into, Brownlow would be the first through the smoke. The 1st Tennessee wasn’t just any regiment; they were Tennessee’s pride on the Union side, tough as iron and twice as stubborn.

Adjutant General James Patton Brownlow seated far left with his father, Tennessee Governor William G. ‘Parson’ Brownlow to his right. Photo taken in 1866 with their staff. 

There’s a story the veterans liked to tell—half in disbelief, half in reverence—about the time Brownlow led a detachment across the Chattahoochee River in Georgia. The enemy held the opposite bank, dug in and confident. Brownlow, ever the firebrand, stripped down with his men and waded across the river completely buck-naked, muskets slung high and hearts burning. They hit the rebels like a thunderclap, took the position, and dragged back a haul of stunned Confederate prisoners.

Later, in his official report, their brigadier general wrote—half amused, half in awe—that they might’ve captured even more rebels, if only “the enemy hadn’t had the advantage of running through the bushes with clothes on.”

But no story prepared Belle Cliffe for the raw humanity she saw in the wounded soldier before her. As she helped press cool cloths to his fevered forehead, she glimpsed the boy beneath the hero. His lips, cracked and trembling, murmured orders to men who were no longer beside him.

Through the long hours of that night and into the chaos of coming weeks and months, and as the Battle of Franklin roared around them, the Cliffe home filled with groans of the wounded and the dying, Belle stayed close to James. He should have been with his men, but fate had brought him here, into the eye of another storm. James would have to send orders to his men from his bed.

In those hours, something more than duty began to grow between them. It was not a courtship built on letters or dances, but forged in the blood and fire of a collapsing world. Two hearts, loyal and lonely, finding each other not in peace, but in the ruins of what peace had once been. And though they could not yet speak it aloud, both knew—even then—that what was beginning between them would never fade easily, no matter what the war might take.

The Battle of Franklin

The Battle of Franklin on November 30, 1864, left an indelible mark on the Cliffe family—both physically and emotionally. Dr. Daniel B. Cliffe, a physician who had once briefly served as a Confederate surgeon but later quietly aligned himself and his household with the Union, suddenly found his family at the heart of one of the bloodiest and most tragic battles of the Civil War.

Kurz and Allison – Battle of Franklin, November 30, 1864

The day of the Battle of Franklin, the Cliffe home was headquarters to Union General John Schofield, with him there up until 2 pm prior to the 4:00 pm battle. The battle was planned out within the walls of the Cliffe home, right in their living room. After leaving the home, General Schofield left important documents, his overcoat and saber behind. Mrs. Cliffe hid the documents and wore the saber and overcoat on her body, returning the items to Schofield at a safe time. An act of bravery she took upon herself, as Mrs. Cliffe realized the danger boiling all around her and her family. 

Their home, just steps from the heart of town, was transformed overnight into a field hospital. The booming of cannons and the rattle of musket fire echoed through the walls as wounded soldiers poured into Franklin from the front lines. The streets overflowed with the dead and dying—over 10,000 casualties would be recorded in the battle, most of them Confederate. For the Cliffe family, who had already suffered social alienation in their Confederate-leaning town because of their Unionist stance, the war was no longer at their doorstep. It had engulfed their home.

Among those brought into the Cliffe house, before the battle was Colonel James Patton Brownlow, a towering 6’6” cavalry officer and the son of fiery Unionist Governor “Parson” Brownlow. James had been shot through both thighs during a confrontation near Spring Hill. He could not walk, let alone fight. As he lay recovering in the Cliffe household, he met Belle Cliffe—Dr. Cliffe’s fifteen-year-old daughter.

What began as a meeting between patient and caretaker quickly deepened into something more profound. In the haze of war and pain, Belle and James found in each other a kind of sanctuary. Their connection was swift and sincere, born in a moment of chaos when neither expected to find anything resembling love. Belle had grown up amid whispers and wary glances—her family’s Union loyalties known, her world divided by neighbors who had become enemies. James, though only twenty-two, had been hardened by battle and burdened by a name that carried both pride and danger.

As the battle raged outside, Belle helped her father tend to the wounded, while the cries of soldiers echoed through the halls and yards of their home. She would have heard the thunder of the Confederate assault, seen the bloodied men dragged inside, and felt the ground shake beneath the weight of war. All the while, the soldier she had just come to know lay injured under her roof—his men fighting on without him, the fate of the Union line hanging in the balance.

That day, the Cliffe family did not simply witness history; they became a part of it. Their home was a place of mercy in a town torn apart, and Belle’s heart was caught in a love born not in peace, but in the fire and grief of war.

Belle’s Brave Mother

Belle’s mother, Virginia Whitfield Cliffe of Franklin, Tennessee, was a woman whose courage and convictions quietly shaped history. The wife of Dr. Daniel B. Cliffe, she shared her husband’s shift in loyalty from the Confederacy to the Union, an unpopular stance that placed them at odds with many neighbors in their Southern town. Yet Virginia’s resolve in the face of conflict-especially her brave actions during the Battle of Franklin-revealed a spirit as unshakable as any soldier’s.

Her most extraordinary act came in the aftermath of the Battle of Franklin, one of the Civil War’s bloodiest clashes. When news spread that Confederate Colonel William Shy had been killed during the Battle of Nashville, his grieving family found themselves unable to retrieve his body. Union lines prevented Confederate sympathizers from crossing to claim their dead. But Virginia Cliffe, respected for her family’s connections and her husband’s medical service to both sides, was permitted passage.

Without hesitation, Virginia hitched a spring wagon, enlisted a trusted farmhand to drive, and set out for Nashville under the white flag of truce. What she found upon arriving was horrific: Colonel Shy’s lifeless body, impaled on a tree by a bayonet, stripped of all clothing, and left dishonored in the chaos of war. With tenderness and dignity, Virginia brought his body home to Franklin so his family could lay him to rest—a profoundly human act amid unimaginable cruelty.

Virginia’s actions-steeped in both compassion and cunning-were not the deeds of someone seeking fame, but of a woman committed to humanity and honor above all. Her fierce sense of duty, loyalty to principle over party, and protective instincts shaped the world of her daughter, Belle Cliffe, who would herself embody the same grace under pressure when she nursed the wounded Union officer James Brownlow—her future husband—within those very walls.

Though history often forgets the women behind the battlefield, Virginia Whitfield Cliffe’s courage was essential. She did not fight with a rifle, but with compassion, wisdom, and quiet defiance. Her legacy lives not only in the pages of war-time memory, but in the lives she touched and the truths she protected when so many were silenced by fear. 

Belle and James marry

James survived the war, promoted to Brigadier General for his gallantry. He and Belle married soon after, believing they had earned their peace at last. They were married in the living room of the Cliffe home, with James father, Governor Brownlow officiating.

One can only imagine how delighted Belle’s family was at her finding love, after all the family endured. Belle Cliffe and James Brownlow married almost a year to the date of their first meeting. 

Here is the marriage announcement for Belle and James in the Knoxville Whig on October 11, 1865. The newspaper’s nickname “Rebel Ventilator” was published in Knoxville, Tennessee, from 1863 to 1866, during the Civil War, by none other than Parson Brownlow, James’ father.  The Tennessee newspaper paper was known for its strong Unionist stance and Governor Brownlow’s outspoken and controversial views. 

Transcribed: MARRIED.-On Tuesday the 3rd of October, Brig. Gen. James P. Brownlow,  Adjutant General of the State of Tennessee, to Miss BELLE CLIFFE, daughter of Dr. D. B. Cliffe, of Franklin, Tennessee: Governor W. G. Brownlow being the officiating minister on the occasion.

A thousand hearts extend their earnest congratulations to the gallant General and his fair bride, in whose person a golden tie has been woven between Middle and East Tennessee.

May they linger in pleasures which never are gone. Like the waves of the Summer, as one dies away. May another as sweet and shining come on.

                                          – Nashville Press and Times

Belle’s grandmother was a very elegant Scottish lady. She and her brother, Dr. Daniel McPhail, were born in Inverness, Scotland and immigrated to Williamson County around 1828.

His tiny office was next to his home. In 1836, Dr. McPhail’s 13-year-old nephew, Daniel Bonaparte Cliffe moved to live with him in Franklin.

Upon the date of Belle and James marriage, Isabella handed down engraved silver items that had once belonged to her. Those items are pictured below and are now owned by local collectors.

Calling card case given to Belle by her grandmother upon the event of her marriage to James Brownlow. It is engraved with their wedding date, October 3, 1865. Notepad, Pencil and Pad, change purse and watch, all crafted from silver were handed down to Belle Cliffe by her grandmother, along with the above calling card case on Belle and James wedding date on October 3, 1865. 

Belle was very close to her grandmother, who was her namesake. Evidence of this lies in the fact that on the day Belle was married, her grandmother, Isabella McPhail Cliffe Smith, gave her these silver pieces. Pamela Byers, Franklin historian, describes her interpretation of these gifts: 

“The belief that elite plantation mistresses did not work is a myth.  Here is just one example:

The four items chained together would hang from a chatelaine belt. They were made from sterling silver and were quite valuable. In addition, innumerable heavy iron keys would also hang from the belt.  Everything on the plantation was locked up, from the spices, sugar, and medicine cabinets to the outbuildings and the mistress held the keys to them all. This kept her at the beck and call of everyone, including the enslaved, all day.  Only one of her many duties and daily tasks.

A coin purse, a notepad, pencil and watch are pictured here.  There were many other useful household items such as scissors, needle cases to knives that could be added to the belt.”

After their marriage, James Brownlow would continue for a while with his military career and in coming years would be promoted to Brigadier General. He would soon settle into farming as his war injuries proved to be too great. Belle and James were beloved in their community, settling close to what is now Cool Springs Galleria. They lived first with Belle’s beloved grandmother and then in their own residence. Despite their Union affiliation, they enjoyed a blissful existence, trying to build a quiet life from the ruins.

The Unlikely Love of James and Cornelia Cliffe

Belle’s older brother has a story all his own, which cannot go without mention. James Rudder Cliffe was a quiet man from the hills of Williamson County, Tennessee—a Union soldier born in a Confederate state, raised beside the Harpeth River, and tempered by war. When the country fractured, James left his Southern roots behind and rode north to join the Union cause, enlisting with the Ohio cavalry before earning a commission with the 1st Tennessee Cavalry (U.S.). He spent much of the war not on the battlefield, but in the bureaucratic engine room of the military—filing orders, signing papers, stitching structure into chaos.

But if James embodied quiet conviction, Cornelia “Ninnie” Stith Nichols burned with passion. A proud daughter of Franklin, Tennessee, Cornelia was a Confederate through and through. In the fall of 1862, when word came that a Confederate officer needed the Harpeth River bridge burned before the Yankees crossed, Cornelia didn’t hesitate. The brave seventeen-year-old filled two coal scuttles with live embers and—with the help of a house servant—marched them to the wooden span and set it ablaze. She kept the secret her whole life, but those who knew her knew she had fire in her soul, quite literally.

So it must have been maddening when a young Union officer—James himself—took to waving a Federal flag over her head, a half-courtship, half-provocation she met with absolute silence. For nine years, she refused to speak to him.

And then, somehow, she married him.

She claimed it was out of necessity—“All the Confederate boys were dead”—but there was more to it. Perhaps it was his patience. Or his quiet humor. Or the fact that, beneath her defiance and his discipline, they were both people of deep principle and fierce loyalty.

Their marriage in 1872 was brief but full of contrast—blue and gray under one roof, a truce built on affection. When James drowned in the Harpeth River in 1875, caught by the current at a crossing he’d made a hundred times, it was Cornelia who remained with his Union family. She raised their child in the home of the very people she might have once considered enemies. James’s parents, in turn, welcomed the woman who had tried to burn the bridge their son once marched across.

That they lived together in peace is as unlikely—and as moving—as their marriage itself. It is one of war’s stranger gifts: a love born of difference, tested by fire and flood, and held together by something stronger than flags.

It must have been devastating for Belle and the rest of the Cliffe family to lose James to drowning, after they had already endured so much. Below is James Rudder Cliffes obituary: 

“The funeral of Capt. James R. Cliffe took place today in the presence of a very large concourse of citizens, who deeply sympathized with the stricken family. the verdict of the jury was accidental drowning, and no one supposes for a moment he committed suicide. It seems he was in the habit of crossing the river at the same point on his return home, and not having seen the river lately, he was not aware of the slight rise, and thus lost his life. After he was washed down he made an effort to return, but being impeded by his overcoat he was unable to recover the bank. [Source: The Tennessean, Nashville, TN, Feb. 7, 1875, p. 4, c. 3.)

James’ wife Cornelia lived within his parents home, raising their son alongside the Cliffe’s, for almost 40 years following his death. James and Cornelia’s son, also named Daniel Bonaparte Cliffe, grew up to become a doctor like his grandfather and namesake. Like his grandfather, the younger Dr. Cliffe would marry and raise his family in downtown Franklin, only a few houses down from the original Cliffe home. Both Dr. Cliffe’s would be remembered by the citizens of Franklin as beloved physicians and friend to the people. 

Cornelia Cliffe remained living within the Cliffe home until the age of 75, when she would move in with her son, the younger Dr. Cliffe and family. She never remarried after James’ death. She kept the secret of burning the Harpeth Bridge close to her heart until the final years of her life, as she feared retribution.

The news of Cornelia’s death was reported far and wide with articles and obituaries too numerous to count. 

Belle and James Family Tragedy

 Belle bore children—each one a joy, a balm to old wounds. But illness was a cruel thief. James and Belle’s first child, died at four months old, their second at ten months. The first was a girl named Jennie, the second a boy named Cliffe.

The Funeral Notice above for James and Belle’s son Cliffe Brownlow, who passed at only ten months of age in 1874. The couple also lost a daughter named Jennie at only four months of age in 1867.

Franklin’s Resthaven Cemetery is filled not only with pioneers and soldiers, but with one exquisite shared headstone marking the burial spot of Belle and James’ lost little ones. The grief was unspeakable.

The shared headstone memorializing the lives of both of Belle and James’ children is above.  Jennie, who passed a little over four months old and Cliffe, who passed at ten months old, is the largest within the Cliffe plat at Resthaven Cemetery, which is only a few blocks away from the Cliffe home. 

Belle, once radiant with hope, faded. She died in 1878, her health broken by sorrow and the weight of years spent surviving. Belle would live only two years past the death of she and James’ second child. Some claim consumption took her, but its easy to see that she may have died of a broken heart. She was only 28. Below is only one of several obituary notices posted in papers all over the state of Tennessee. 

The Nashville Daily American (May 28, 1878) related the sad news:

“When death removes those who have fulfilled their time we are grieved but not surprised, but when it strikes the young and idolized, as it has here last week, we bow with submission though with broken hearts. Such a shock as we received in the death of Mrs. Belle Brownlow has not often fallen on Franklin, in perfect health at 5 o’clock Tuesday. She was stricken with the shaft at 6 o’clock, and in forty-eight hours went to join her children.

She was the idol of her parents and the pride of her husband. Like a fragrant flower, she shed affection all around her. This is the second child Dr. Cliffe has lost in one week.”

Although it’s too much to imagine, the Cliffe’s did lose another child only ten days prior to Belle’s passing. Joseph Eugene Cliffe would pass at the age of only 35. Some wondered if the Cliffe family were, one at a time, succumbing to the cruel ravages of consumption or tuberculosis.

Joseph Eugene Cliffe died only ten days prior to Belle. He was only 26 years old. Belle was undoubtedly close with him, as they lived within the same residence or as close neighbors their entire lives. One can only imagine the pain the Cliffe family suffered losing two of their children in such a short period of time. Joseph is buried in Resthaven Cemetery within the Cliffe plat. 

Above, the funeral notice for Joseph Eugene Cliffe, Belle’s brother who passed only ten days before her. Belle and Joseph were the closest in age of all of the Cliffe siblings with her being four years older than him.

Another Tragedy

Sadly, General James Brownlow, Belle’s love, followed her and their children in death in 1879, just a year after the death of Belle. He had become a soldier with no more war to fight and no more future to build. He was only 36.  Maybe consumption took James also, or possibly he died of a broken heart. 

General Brownlow and beautiful Belle Cliffe were both still so young at the time of their deaths. 

The entrance to the Cliffe plat in Franklin’s Resthaven Cemetery. James, Belle and their children Cliffe and Jennie Brownlow are buried in the area top left in this photo. The Cliffe infants share the same headstone, the largest in the Cliffe plat. 

Their story does not end in triumph. It ends in quiet heartbreak, in Franklin’s red clay, where the ghosts of soldiers walk and the past still breathes.

And yet, there is something enduring about them.

James and Belle are buried side by side in Franklin’s Resthaven Cemetery with the shared headstone of their two babies watching over them.

Belle and James loved in the hardest of times. Their story was not made of ballrooms and serenades—it was born in whispered goodbyes, in holding hands while cannons roared, in choosing each other again and again despite the cost.

They remind us that even in a world torn apart, love can grow. That even when history forgets the details, the heart remembers.

And somewhere, where Franklin’s mist clings to the hills and the Harpeth flows on beneath Fort Granger, their love still echoes.

The Death of James Brownlow

James Patton Brownlow eventually rose to the rank of Brigadier General. He was beloved in Franklin following the war, despite his devotion to the Union 

Though he first came to Franklin, Tennessee, as a Union officer and foe to many of its sons, General James P. Brownlow would ultimately earn the admiration, respect, and even the affection of the very people he once fought against. Wounded at Winstead Hill during the Civil War, Brownlow was taken into the home of Dr. D.B. Cliffe, a Unionist physician in a deeply divided town. It was there that he met and later married Belle Cliffe, the doctor’s beloved daughter and the admired darling of Franklin society. Their union marked the beginning of Brownlow’s transformation in the eyes of the community—from enemy combatant to esteemed neighbor. Despite the tensions of war, even ex-Confederate soldiers came to honor his courage, his fairness, and the Tennessee spirit he shared with them.

After the war, Brownlow made Franklin his home, living among those who had once called him an enemy. Over time, his gallantry in battle, his kind treatment of civilians, and his unshakable character won over the hearts of its citizens, regardless of party or former allegiance. By the time of his death at only 37, he was mourned not as a former foe but as a beloved member of the community. His early passing was met with a public outpouring of grief, and ex-Confederates themselves carried his body from the home of his late wife’s family to the grave, a powerful symbol of reconciliation and mutual respect.

But behind the public tributes lay a deeply personal sorrow. The death of Belle, followed by the loss of their children, had darkened Brownlow’s spirit. He withdrew from public life, returning to his mother’s home in Knoxville, where illness and heartbreak overtook him. Those who knew him best believed he died not only of physical ailment, but of a heart broken beyond repair. He was laid to rest beside Belle and their children in Franklin, in the very soil of the county that had once been battlefield, then home—and finally, his sanctuary in death.

The Knoxville Chronicle (April 29, 1879)  an account of Brownlow’s war record and the respect cared by him from all parties:

Death of General Brownlow

General James Patton Brownlow, son of the late Senator Brownlow, died Saturday night at 9 o’clock, at the residence of his mother in this city. He has been in very feeble health for several months, and his death is an event, though a sad one to his many friends, not at all unlooked for. He was born on the 17th day of December, 1842. The writer knew him when but a small boy. Even then he possessed traits of character, which made him universally popular. These traits remained prominent throughout his life. When but nineteen years of age he entered the Union army as a Captain in the First East Tennessee Cavalry. Soon after he was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and had command of his regiment. He was afterwards promoted to a full Colonelcy, and about the close of the war, when only 23 years of age was brevetted a Brigadier General. He participated in more than 60 engagements and gained honorable distinction as a cavalry commander. He had four horses shot from under him during the war, and was severely wounded through both thighs, in an engagement with Gen. Joseph Wheeler at Franklin, Tennessee. His gallantry elicited complimentary mention from Generals George H. Thomas, W.T. Sherman, J.M. Schofield, J.B. Steadman and others of the Federal army, and was mentioned by correspondents of newspapers published inside of the Confederate lines. A gentleman of this city heard General Longstreet speak in the highest terms of Gen. Brownlow’s conduct in an engagement in upper East Tennessee, in which he displayed both good judgment and gallantry. He was born a soldier, and his military career was a brilliant one. After the war, he was appointed by President Johnson a Captain to the Regular Army, and resigned on account of declining health, after serving some time, when he was on the eve of promotion.

He was married to Miss Belle Cliffe, only daughter of Dr. D.B. Cliffe, of Franklin, Tenn., in 1865. They had two children, but both are dead. His wife, one of the best women we ever knew, died last year.

At his request, his remains were taken Monday morning to Franklin, to be interred beside those of his wife.

Since the CHRONICLE announced a week ago that his recovery was hopeless, a large number of the soldiers of his regiment have called to see him. Many of them left with tears of grief over the loss of a beloved friend and popular comrade. As before stated, he possessed traits which made him universally popular, and these were displayed to great advantage in the army, and the heart of many an ex-Federal soldier will grow sad and many an eye moisten at the intelligence of his death.

The Cliffe-Brownlow Legacy

The McPhail-Cliffe home was moved from its location on Second Avenue (during Civil War era Cameron Street) when it was threatened by a modern bank construction upon the lot. Rudy Jordan, a wonderful preservationist stood up for the home and had it moved in 1973 less than a block over to a new spot. The home sits on that spot today in all of its restored beauty. Dr. Cliffe’s office remains beside the bank today facing Main Street in Downtown Franklin.

Dr. Daniel Bonaparte Cliffe moved into the Cliffe home at only thirteen years old, living there until his last day at the age of ninety. Mrs. Cliffe lived to be 87. Both of Belle’s parents would outlive all six Cliffe children except one. Dr. Cliffe’s signature can still be seen etched into upstairs  windows of his home.

Belle and James Brownlow story remains the greatest love story to emerge from the civil war era in Middle Tennessee. 

And so, in the quiet soil of Franklin, Tennessee—where once the cannons roared and hearts were torn—rest two souls whose love defied the bitter lines of war. Belle Cliffe Brownlow, the luminous Southern belle with Union fire in her heart, and James P. Brownlow, the towering cavalryman, fierce in battle and tender in love, now lie side by side beneath the shade of time. He, the 6’6” son of Tennessee’s wartime governor, once feared and admired in equal measure; she, the adored daughter of a Union doctor in a Confederate town, whose grace softened even the hardest days of war.

Their story is one of valor and quiet rebellion, of two hearts drawn together on the eve of the Battle of Franklin—he, wounded and weary; she, young and unafraid. In a house turned field hospital, amid bloodshed and heartbreak, love sparked where death had taken aim. They married in a fractured land, raising a small family in fragile peace before fate, cruel as war itself, stole it all away too soon.

Yet their legacy lingers like the scent of cherry blossoms in spring. Their names are whispered still in the streets of Franklin—names tied not only to conflict, but to courage, loyalty, and a love that even death could not silence. And now, with their children nestled beside them in eternal rest, Belle and James Brownlow live on—together in heart, forever a part of Franklin’s soul.

The Cliffe Legacy

Belle’s father, Dr. Daniel Bonaparte Cliffe, lived to be 91 years old. He saw many things during his years living in Franklin, socially, politically and economically. But, the greatest changes he felt were, without a doubt the love and loss he suffered within his own family. Dr. Cliffe and his beloved wife Jennie would part after 65 years of marriage. She would die at the age of 82 in 1907. All of the Cliffe children would pass before the turn of the century, except John Bolivar Cliffe, who remained a bachelor. Two of the Cliffe sons, James Rudder and Charles Quintard, would both die young, but each would leave one son. The widows of both of the Cliffe sons with sons of their own, would move into the Cliffe home alongside the very family they had opposed politically, raising their sons together as one nuclear family.

Mary Parrish and Cornelia Nichols (above) were the two daughter-in laws of  Dr. D.B. and Virginia Cliffe. After the death of each of their husbands, they moved in with the Cliffe household and lived with them until their deaths. 

It seems the Cliffe’s had lost so much with the deaths of Belle, her husband and children and their other sons, they happily embraced their daughter in-laws and grandsons to live within their home for almost the remainder of their lives. Both grandsons were close to their grandparents, as can be seen by the family photo above and existing documents. Dr. D.B. Cliffe’s grandson would not only become a beloved doctor, just like his grandfather, but one that the citizens of Franklin equally loved and admired.

Dr. Daniel “Dan” Bonaparte Cliffe, Jr., son of James Rudder Cliffe and the grandson of Dr. D.B. and Virginia Cliffe, was brought up by his Mother Cornelia Nichols Cliffe and grandparents, within the same home Belle was raised in. After attending both the University of Nashville and Vanderbilt, the younger Dr. Cliffe became a beloved Franklin doctor, just like his grandfather and namesake. The younger Dr. Cliffe purchased and lived in Clouston Hall, which sat only a few houses down from the Cliffe home.  Read our backstory of Clouston Hall, now Gallery 202 here.

The Cliffe’s other grandson, Joseph Eugene Cliffe, was the son of Charles Quintard and Mary Parrish Cliffe. Also raised by his Mother and the Cliffe’s, living within the Cliffe home, Joseph inherited the home after the death of his grandparents. Joseph became Director of the Nashville and Decatur Railroad, a position his grandfather, Dr. D.B. Cliffe had held years prior.

Whispers 

The halls of the Mc-Phail-Cliffe home—though now standing in a different spot along 2nd Avenue—still seem to whisper the names of those who once walked its rooms in anguish and hope, their voices echoing through time. The walls remember the quiet strength of Dr. Cliffe, the sorrow of Belle’s mother, the heavy silence after battles won and lost, and the slow return to a town forever changed. But above all, it is the names of Belle Cliffe and General James Brownlow that linger with the sweetest and most sorrowful clarity. Married in the very heart of that home, in its modest parlor beneath a flickering chandelier, their love burned fiercely against the dark backdrop of war. Though their story would end not in triumph but in tragedy—drawn out by illness, heartbreak, and the cruel loss of their children—their spirits seem woven into the grain of the floorboards, the curve of the staircase, and the hush of twilight that settles through the windows. It is as if the house itself mourns them still, but tenderly, as one remembers a love too great to fade.

Thanks to so many who helped me with historic facts for this piece! Thank you to historian Jon Harris for helping me to see where Belle and James lived, thanks to historian Pamela Byers for her info concerning the silver pieces inherited by Belle. Thank you always to historian Rick Warwick for his amazing photo collection and to find a grave contributor and historian Linda Mora for your wonderful information. The photos of Belle’s inherited silver pieces were perfect for this article and were obtained from the oldtownfranklin.com. Thank you for allowing use of those! Thank you to preservationist Rudy Jordan for showing us the home Belle grew up in, it was a true pleasure! 

We also appreciate Trenton Lee Photography and his beautiful photography of the Courtney and McPhail-Cliffe Houses.

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