By Most Reverend Thomas J. Rodi, Archbishop of Mobile
One Hundred and fifty years ago these months of summer witnessed the beginning of the carnage of the War Between the States, a four year conflict in which between 625,000 and 700,000 soldiers died and approximately 350,000 soldiers were wounded or maimed. As we observe the sesquicentennial of this war, I remember two soldiers who served. Both fought at the Battle of Port Hudson. Both died there. Both were named John. Both were my ancestors. One wore grey, the other wore blue.
I visited the Port Hudson Battlefield one summer day where battles and a siege raged from May 22 until July 9, 1863. I walked those once blood-soaked fields on that sweltering Louisiana summer day and thought back on those sweltering summer days of fighting almost 150 years before. I did not think so much about the two armies that faced each other across those fields; I did not think so much about the 45,000 soldiers who fought there or even the 11,000 who died; I only thought of the two young men named John. They were the only ones I envisioned as I trod that battleground and recalled the family stories about them which have been passed on to me.
John who wore blue was 19 years old. He was a recently arrived immigrant from Ireland, the only son of a widowed mother. As a young immigrant, it was difficult for him to find work. He was desperate to support himself, his mother, and his little sister. Enlisting in the Northern Army would provide him a salary. Service in the army would provide him the money to support his mother and sister. He enlisted and wore blue as an army private.
John who wore grey was a young husband and father in his early 20’s. He was born and raised in Louisiana. He did not have great wealth, just an ordinary man with a wife and baby. He was a volunteer in the Southern Army motivated by the fact that an enemy army had invaded his homeland. He fought for family, he fought for country. He enlisted and wore grey as an army captain.
These two young men named John faced each other that fateful summer across the battleground high above the banks of the Mississippi River. As they gave the ultimate sacrifice, one left behind a widowed mother and little sister, the other left behind a young wife and a one year old daughter.
Although on different sides, they had this in common: they responded to what they felt was their duty despite the danger and sacrifice. The memory of their example should not be lost in the mists of time. Their stories echo the stories of many other young men and women, in every generation, who respond in so many ways to honor their call of duty despite danger or sacrifice.
Their stories echo the stories of many young people who serve in the military. Young people enlist with any number of reasons: to support themselves and their families, to defend their homeland and loved ones, to do their duty, or even to seek adventure.
It is for the old people to argue about the large issues which underlie the causes of any war. Old people have the luxury to intellectually debate the grand currents of history. Some, out of the hardness of their hearts, may even attempt to dishonor the Honorable. Young people, however, are willing to risk life and limb because of simpler and more visceral motivations. The memory of their sacrifice, and even their youthful and lofty idealism, should not be forgotten.
It is sometimes difficult to remember the conflict which divided an entire land. Even today, The War can evoke strong emotions. Some seek to avoid the discussion altogether as if national amnesia serves any purpose.
But on that hot summer day at Port Hudson, I sat beneath a tree and allowed its shade to envelope me. I thought of those two young men named John, and then the thousands who died at that site and the thousands more who were permanently maimed due to loss of arms and legs. I thought of the hellish nature of war and the suffering it causes. I thought of the now silent example of those who sacrificed so much in the hail of rifle and canon fire; their example has much to teach our generation which can be so self indulgent. In the silence of the moment I paused, I prayed, and I remembered.
One Hundred and fifty years ago these months of summer witnessed the beginning of the carnage of the War Between the States, a four year conflict in which between 625,000 and 700,000 soldiers died and approximately 350,000 soldiers were wounded or maimed. As we observe the sesquicentennial of this war, I remember two soldiers who served. Both fought at the Battle of Port Hudson. Both died there. Both were named John. Both were my ancestors. One wore grey, the other wore blue.
I visited the Port Hudson Battlefield one summer day where battles and a siege raged from May 22 until July 9, 1863. I walked those once blood-soaked fields on that sweltering Louisiana summer day and thought back on those sweltering summer days of fighting almost 150 years before. I did not think so much about the two armies that faced each other across those fields; I did not think so much about the 45,000 soldiers who fought there or even the 11,000 who died; I only thought of the two young men named John. They were the only ones I envisioned as I trod that battleground and recalled the family stories about them which have been passed on to me.
John who wore blue was 19 years old. He was a recently arrived immigrant from Ireland, the only son of a widowed mother. As a young immigrant, it was difficult for him to find work. He was desperate to support himself, his mother, and his little sister. Enlisting in the Northern Army would provide him a salary. Service in the army would provide him the money to support his mother and sister. He enlisted and wore blue as an army private.
John who wore grey was a young husband and father in his early 20’s. He was born and raised in Louisiana. He did not have great wealth, just an ordinary man with a wife and baby. He was a volunteer in the Southern Army motivated by the fact that an enemy army had invaded his homeland. He fought for family, he fought for country. He enlisted and wore grey as an army captain.
These two young men named John faced each other that fateful summer across the battleground high above the banks of the Mississippi River. As they gave the ultimate sacrifice, one left behind a widowed mother and little sister, the other left behind a young wife and a one year old daughter.
Although on different sides, they had this in common: they responded to what they felt was their duty despite the danger and sacrifice. The memory of their example should not be lost in the mists of time. Their stories echo the stories of many other young men and women, in every generation, who respond in so many ways to honor their call of duty despite danger or sacrifice.
Their stories echo the stories of many young people who serve in the military. Young people enlist with any number of reasons: to support themselves and their families, to defend their homeland and loved ones, to do their duty, or even to seek adventure.
It is for the old people to argue about the large issues which underlie the causes of any war. Old people have the luxury to intellectually debate the grand currents of history. Some, out of the hardness of their hearts, may even attempt to dishonor the Honorable. Young people, however, are willing to risk life and limb because of simpler and more visceral motivations. The memory of their sacrifice, and even their youthful and lofty idealism, should not be forgotten.
It is sometimes difficult to remember the conflict which divided an entire land. Even today, The War can evoke strong emotions. Some seek to avoid the discussion altogether as if national amnesia serves any purpose.
But on that hot summer day at Port Hudson, I sat beneath a tree and allowed its shade to envelope me. I thought of those two young men named John, and then the thousands who died at that site and the thousands more who were permanently maimed due to loss of arms and legs. I thought of the hellish nature of war and the suffering it causes. I thought of the now silent example of those who sacrificed so much in the hail of rifle and canon fire; their example has much to teach our generation which can be so self indulgent. In the silence of the moment I paused, I prayed, and I remembered.
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