The Sacrifice

            Stood in the light of the setting sun, awaiting the call to battle was the black soldiers of the 54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry.  The very ground they stood upon trembled beneath their feet, as a cloud of smoke substituted the murky moonlight sky.  These determined men were brought to the embattled sands of Morris Island, South Carolina for many reasons: empowered by patriotism, a sense of duty, idealism, peer pressure, a longing for adventure, or a desire for the hefty bounties. Exhausted and starving, anxiety slithered into the marrows of their bones.  A great deal of the 54th found themselves huddled together reiterating a final prayer, a desire to return to their families safely or to be guided into paradise into the sheltered arms of the Lord.

            As their invocations came to a conclusion, a handsome and smartly dressed general rode up before the ranks upon a gray steed.  Served as an ordnance officer, with the rank of lieutenant, on the staff of General McDowell at the First Battle of Bull Run, Brigadier General George C.  Strong pointed down the stretch of sand to the Confederate earthwork that loomed amidst the roiling smoke and spitting fire of the guns.

            Loudly, the general asked, while the soldiers assembled into their positions, “Is there a man here who thinks himself unable to sleep in that fort tonight?”

            The 54th Massachusetts shouted, “No!”

            With a white-gloved hand, General Strong called forth the bearer of the national colors.  He reached out and grasped the flag. “If this man should fall, who will lift the flag and carry it on?”

            Twenty-five years old and had already taken part in several battles, Colonel Robert Gould Shaw was hesitant to leave his old regiment, the 2nd Massachusetts, for service in a regiment that he doubted would ever see action.  However, the dedication of the black men deeply impresses, and he grew to respect them as fine soldiers.  So, here he was stepping forward, removing a cigar from between his teeth while answering, “I will.”  Colonel Shaw situated himself within the first line beside the Stars and Stripes.  Before fully situating himself within the ranks, he directed his attention to the black soldiers.

        “I want you to prove yourselves, “ The colonel called out to them.  “The eyes of thousands will look on what you do tonight. “  With those last motivational words, he raised his sword, the signal for the soldiers to begin their steady decent onto the narrow beach.

         The moon, their main sustenance of light, was now fully shrouded by the curtain of smoke.  The entire terrain was in complete darkness.  The black soldiers of the 54th Massachusetts grew weary, for they had no idea of the gruesome turmoil that lay ahead of them.  Many of the men had the sudden urge to scatter, to escape death, while they still had the chance.  Except, what would that show, besides being survivors.  Fathers and sons returning to their families would be labeled under the watchful eyes of their loved ones as cowards.  What about the former slaves, those being acknowledged for escaping to the North?  Those hoping to obtain freedom, but never really grasping the tendrils?  What home would they be returning to, if the South succeeded in forming their own government?  Becoming, in a sense, a separate nation?  No, they were there for a purpose.  Whether if it was by God’s intent or foreseen by the Fates, the black soldiers of the 54th Massachusetts were willingly ready to put their lives on the line so as to welcome a better future for their people. 

            Muskets rested heavily upon the men’s shoulders, the bayonets were gleaming from the sudden flashes of ignited gunpowder, as the defensive wall of Fort Wagner loomed closer.  Adrenaline pumped through the colonel’s veins at the sight of the fortification.  There was no doubt in his mind; this battle would be one of many that would leave a mark in history.

        As the infantry swept ever closer, the Confederates took their battle stations.  Artillerists crammed charges into half a dozen guns, while others prepared their muskets.  Colonel Shaw lowered his blade, his voice, powerful and strong, projected the order to charge.  The front rank of the 54th Massachusetts lowered their bayonets into a wall of steel. 

        Infuriated at the sight of blacks storming up the beach, wanting nothing more than to allow their bullets to submerge into the flesh of their enemies, the Confederates still had to waited patiently until the Union assault was within range.  There was a fair amount of ammunition, but they didn’t want to lose half of the supply within the sands of Morris Island.  The cadet grays leveled their muskets anticipating the order from their commanding officer.  As the 54th Massachusetts surged over the sharpened wooden stakes and into the water-filled ditch, hot lead penetrated their uniforms.  Terror depleted the courage that was building up inside of them, just as the cries of agony from their fallen comrades and friends pierced their conscious.  Some wanted to help the wounded, others saw this as their chance to flee.  Even, the bearer of the Stars and Stripes found himself diving headlong into beach, never to reciprocate oxygen in the world of the living.

        However, there was a knot of determined soldiers who clambered up the sandy slopes with Colonel Shaw leading them.   

            “Forward, 54th!” He shouted, waving his sword.

            The colonel took a noble stance, while he brandished his sword in the right hand and the American flag in the other.  With a sense of pride, he encouraged the soldiers to move forward, to not give up.  Unfortunately, this coaxing and source of satisfaction didn’t last long.  As Colonel Shaw rotated in the direction of the fort, the heat of the bullet seared into his chest.  The shock of the unexpected shot forced the colonel to his knees.  Using the pole, he attempted to straighten himself to carry on the assault.  Sadly, two more lead balls met their target within the colonel’s clavicle and stemum.  Drawing in a final breath, Colonel Shaw’s body pitched forward into the blood-soaked sand of Morris Island.

            Sprinting through the chaos a few yards away, Sergeant William Carney witnessed the fall of the Union colonel.  Recalling the words of their general, Carney threw his musket to the side, retrieved the forgotten Star and Stripes, and scrambled up the bullet-swept slope of Fort Wagner.  A shower of hand grenades leveled the ranks around him, but that didn’t stop the sergeant from heralding in the remaining 54th Massachusetts.  As he clambered up the incline with the rest of the infantry, Carney was shot twice.  His body surrendered to the shooting pain in his abdomen.  Toppling to his knees, the sergeant continued to urge to infantry onward.  When the order to retreat came, he extracted the American flag and limped back to his comrades, proclaiming, “Boys, I did but my duty; the dear old flag never touched the ground.”

            Daylight revealed the full extent of the battle.  The scene, in encircling Fort Wagner, was indescribable.  The most important corps to be organized during the whole war, the black soldiers of the 54th Massachusetts, had sustained the heaviest loss.  Of the 600 soldiers from the regiment who participated in the assault, more than 280 were killed, wounded, captured, or missing and presumed dead.  Although defeated in combat, the 54th Massachusetts forever distinguished itself.

            “Wagner was the battle-ground, not of regiments, but of centuries and civilizations, and the black man there won his place among the freemen of the age and wiped out the stain of servitude.”