Both of these men were
among the greatest generals ever to set
foot on a battlefield, yet their obvious
distaste for the very acts that made them
legendary resonates from these lines. As a
historian, one must always be careful not
to "over-romanticize" war and to be
constantly aware of the cold, sometimes
harsh realities of the people and times
that they portray. This is a dilemma that
has plagued critics for centuries,
resulting in both revisionist and
apologist histories being written again
and again.
However, for every
heartbreak in wartime there has also been
heroism, and for every tragedy, there has
also been triumph. This is what makes the
history of warfare worthy of our attention
and justifies the energy we spend to
preserve its memory for future
generations. It is the good stories, the
ones that reflect life (not death), the
ones founded on courage and mercy that
demand our interest. This is the side of
war that truly needs to be
glorified.
One such incident is the
story of Sergeant Richard Rowland
Kirkland, otherwise known as 'The Angel of
Marye's Heights.' Perhaps the most
compassionate and heroic character of the
entire era, this lone Confederate
soldier's conduct has become one of the
most touching and inspirational subjects
ever to come out of the War Between the
States.
By the winter of 1862,
Gen. Robert E. Lee's forces had claimed
more decisive battlefield victories than
their Northern counterparts due, in part,
to the majority of engagements that took
place on Southern soil. Throughout the
first year of the war, the Confederates
had managed to capitalize on a clear 'home
field' advantage by dictating both the
time and place of most major engagements.
As a result, the Confederate States of
America appeared to be well on their way
toward achieving independence.
One of the biggest and
most one-sided victories took place during
the Battle of Fredericksburg. Early in the
morning on December 13, 1862, Union forces
began a desperate and doomed assault on a
fortified position, known today as the
'stone wall at the sunken road.'
After crossing the
Rappahannock River and taking possession
of Fredericksburg, the Federal Army of the
Potomac set its sights on taking the
surrounding area where the Army of
Northern Virginia had withdrawn. Perhaps a
little too confident after experiencing
only minor skirmishes in the town, the
Union commanders failed to realize the
brilliant tactical deployments established
by Lee's lieutenants.
By intentionally leaving
the town to the enemy, Confederate forces
were able to fortify their positions in
anticipation of the arrival of the
Federals. The most impenetrable of these
positions was a long stone wall at the
base of a sloping hill known as 'Marye's
Heights.'
Overlooking the field
stood another 'virtual' wall of
Confederate artillery, cavalry and support
troops that extended for miles in both
directions. An attack would be a suicide
mission. In order to reach the enemy,
Union soldiers had to ford a canal ditch
and then cross a vast open field with
little or no cover. As soon as they left
the tree line, a massive artillery
barrage, joined by almost uncountable
rifle fire, rained down upon the advancing
men. Those that were able to escape the
cannon were slowed by a slope that led to
a fortified stone wall lining a sunken
road. Behind the wall, soldiers knelt two
and three ranks deep, with the front line
firing and the rest reloading musket after
musket. The result was a continuous hail
of fire that cut rows and rows of men down
before they could even get into
position.
Wave after wave of Union
soldiers left the safety of the canal
ditch and were slaughtered. The death toll
was staggering. In just one hour the
Federals suffered more than 3,000 dead.
After fifteen unsuccessful charges, the
fighting ceased for the night, leaving the
field littered with thousands of bloody
bodies. Around midnight, Federal troops
ventured forth under cover of darkness to
gather what wounded they could find, but
many were too close to the Confederate
line to retrieve. Throughout the night,
screams and cries of the wounded
penetrated the peaceful silence of the
cease-fire.
A Confederate soldier
stationed at the wall later stated that it
was 'weird, unearthly, terrible to hear
and bear the cries of the dying soldiers
filling the air -lying crippled on a
hillside so many miles from home-breaking
the hearts of soldiers on both sides of
the battlefield.'
One soldier, Richard
Rowland Kirkland, an infantry sergeant
with the 2nd South Carolina Volunteers,
struggled to rest amidst the horrid sounds
of suffering that echoed across the field.
A combat veteran, he was accustomed to the
dead and dying, having seen action at
Manassas, Savage Station, Maryland Heights
and Antietam. By the morning of the 14th,
he could take it no longer and requested
permission to aid the enemy.
Initially, his commanding
officer was reluctant, as Kirkland would
likely be shot dead by Union sharpshooters
when he cleared the wall. He later granted
the persistent soldier his request, but
forbid him to carry a flag of truce.
Determined to do the right thing and with
total disregard for his own safety,
Kirkland grabbed several canteens and
leaped over the fortification.
Instantly several shots
rang out as the Union soldiers thought
their wounded were under attack. Realizing
the sincerity of Kirkland's effort, the
Federal marksmen lowered the barrels of
their rifles. Thus, the fatal shot never
came and both sides looked on in amazement
as the sergeant moved from one wounded man
in blue to another. Going back and forth
over the wall for an hour and a half,
Kirkland only returned to the safety of
his own lines after he had done all he
could do.
A fellow soldier in
Kirkland's company later recalled the
incident in part of a short narrative for
The Confederate
Veteran that was
published in 1903. He wrote, 'The enemy
saw him and supposing his purpose was to
rob the dead and wounded, rained shot and
shell upon the brave Samaritan. God took
care of him. Soon he lifted the head of
one of the wounded enemy, placed the
canteen to his lips and cooled his burning
thirst. His motivation was then seen and
the fire silenced. Shout after shout went
up from friend and foe alike in honor of
this brave deed.'
In the end, this soldier's
action resulted in much more than a moment
of mercy. It was a moment that stopped the
entire Civil War and reminded those around
him that, regardless of their
circumstances, one should always strive to
show compassion for his fellow
man."
Mercy is the only way (in
my opinion) that man can retain a sense of
decency amidst the primitive circumstances
of war. Perhaps that is why Kirkland's
selfless action is celebrated even to this
day?
Years later General
Kershaw himself would write to the editor
of The News and
Courier in January
of 1880 presenting what he called "an
accurate record of the events surrounding
Richard Kirkland at Fredericksburg." He
stated:
"With profound anxiety, he
was watched as he stepped over the wall on
his errand of mercy, Christ-like mercy.
Unharmed he reached the nearest sufferer.
He knelt beside him, tenderly raised the
drooping head, rested it gently upon his
own noble breast, and poured precious life
giving fluid down the fever scorched
throat. This done he laid him gently down,
placed his knap-sack under his head,
straightened out his broken limb, spread
his over-coat over him, replaced his empty
canteen with a full one, and turned to
another sufferer.
By this time his purpose
was well understood on both sides and all
danger was over. From all parts of the
field arose fresh cries of 'Water, for
God's sake, water!' More piteous still,
the mute appeal of some one who could only
feebly lift a hand to say, here too is
life and suffering. For and hour and a
half did this ministering angle pursue his
labor of mercy, nor ceased to go and
return until he had relieved all of the
wounded on that part of the field."
His commanding officer
wasn't the only one touched by the Sgt's
compassion. The Confederate veterans of
Kershaw County so admired Richard Kirkland
that they bypassed six Confederate
generals born in Kershaw County and later
named their organization "The Camp Richard
Kirkland."
I had noticed while
flipping through the bound volumes at the
NPS archives that tributes abounded to
this event, especially in publications
that were issued during the Civil War
Centennial period. I wonder if this is
also an example of people looking to shine
alight on a positive story from a war that
had so few things to celebrate. One piece
in particular that was published in 1962
by the Carolina Museum personifies this
concept of elevating a mythical hero, by
taking the truth and presenting
assumptions that may or may not have been
completely accurate. Clearly there is an
agenda with articles like this. And I
quote:
"The public must remember
that this unassuming South Carolina farm
boy held no bitterness or malice towards
his enemies. He simply believed in a
cause, and, for that cause, he died during
the Battle of Chickamauga. At the instant
of his death Richard Kirkland ceased to
belong exclusively to the Confederacy and
became a hero of national
magnitude."
That is certainly a
wonderful tribute, but in retrospect, it
seems a tad inflated. At best this piece
is compromised by some personal
speculation. However, perhaps this is
exactly what the descendants of the war's
participant's wanted, or even needed at
the time. In other words, maybe the public
begged for Kirkland's story to justify the
right to commemorate the war in the first
place. It may therefore be case of simply
embellishing something that transpired on
the battlefield even though it was already
worth remembering.
Why? Perhaps the tragic
memory of brother versus brother was
simply too painful to pursue.
The biggest proof (in my
opinion) of this intentional focus on
'presenting the positive' came in the form
of a declaration that is printed in the
Congressional Record Appendix from January
23, 1961. The record includes a formal
statement that says:
"The Civil War Centennial
Committee has decided not to attempt to
reenact any part of the battle in its
program commemorating the 100th
Anniversary of the Battle of
Fredericksburg to be held on December 13,
1962. But rather would the committee and
the people of the North and South expand
their energies in giving to their fellow
countrymen and the world the story of
Richard Kirkland who fought here and
hallowed the ground upon which this bloody
battle was fought."
Isn't that amazing? Here
you have members of the U.S. government,
South Carolinians, telling Virginia not to
focus on the battle, but rather on the
human interest story of a single soldier.
It appears that the Battle of
Fredericksburg became palatable only
through this story of a Confederate's
compassion.
Still, Fredericksburg was
not the end of Kirkland's story. His life
continued on and he accompanied his
comrades in the victorious, yet
bittersweet Battle of Chancellorsville,
then up north to face the Federals on the
fields at Gettysburg.
Following the battle here,
Kirkland was able to return home for a
short time. There he was able to spend
weeks with his sister Caroline and also
his sweetheart, who was Susan Evelina
Kirkland, the daughter of Major Daniel
Kirkland and his second cousin. Little did
they know it would be the last time they
would meet.
Richard returned to the
ranks of the Army of Northern Virginia
just in time for the fight at
Chancellorsville. Once again, the gods of
war smiled upon the sergeant and he was
able to emerge from the horrific
engagement without a scratch.
CONTINUE
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