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"We
drank from the same
canteen."
As
symbolized by our logo, the
spirit of the National Civil War
Life Museum is one of
reunification.
Our exhibits will
focus on the similarities of the
North and South, not their
differences. After all they had
more commonalities than
differences. This was a family
war. They were all Americans
before the war and they are all
Americans today. Perhaps no other
event captured this sentiment of
"brothers on the battlefield"
better than the story of the
"Angel of Marye's Heights," which
took place on our very own
Fredericksburg Battlefield near
the infamous sunken road at the
stonewall.
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The
Southern Samaritan: Richard
Kirkland
Excerpt taken
from 'The Southern Cross' by
Michael Aubrecht
Every Civil War
writer has quoted either Union
General William T. Sherman's
statement of "War is all Hell,"
or the Confederacy's supreme
commander, Robert E. Lee, when he
said "It is well that war is so
terrible-lest we should grow too
fond of it." 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 military 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 Civil
War, 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
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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
entitled "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.
Kirkland's final fight
would come during the bloody battle at
Chickamauga. Here he would fall, yet be
remembered in the same heroic fashion as
he was after Fredericksburg. According to
one account:
"In September of 1863,
[Sergeant Richard Rowland] Kirkland would
find himself fighting in the western
theater as a detachment from Lieutenant
General [James] Longstreet's Corps moved
west to support Confederate General
Braxton Bragg's efforts to stop Union
Major General William Starke Rosecrans and
the Army of the Cumberland. They would do
just that during the Battle of
Chickamauga, which would produce both a
Southern victory and 34,600 casualties.
Sadly, the valiant sergeant ranked among
those killed during this colossal battle.
Mortally wounded in a failed charge,
Kirkland exhorted his comrades to, 'Save
yourselves' adding 'Tell Pa, I died
right.'"
In 1965, a monument was
sculpted by the artist Felix DeWeldon and
unveiled in front of the stone wall on the
Fredericksburg battlefield where Kirkland
performed his humanitarian act. The
inscription on the statue reads: "At the
risk of his life, this American soldier of
sublime compassion brought water to his
wounded foes at Fredericksburg. The
fighting men on both sides of the line
called him the Angel of Marye's
Heights."
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