Like vengeful thunder the rumble of musket volleys and cannon fire had rolled down the slope from Marye’s Heights across the short plain before the city of Fredericksburg. It was December 13, 1862 and wave after wave of Union soldiers had given their last full measure in a failed succession of assaults against the Confederate troops who rained fire upon them from behind the safety of a long stone wall.[1] The carnage was terrible, and both generals and privates in gray took no pleasure in the slaughter as more than 6,000 soldiers of the Army of the Potomac had died and hundreds more lay wrapped in the misery of their painful wounds, laying on the cold ground bound by exhaustion, loneliness, and fear.[2] Hour upon hour, their cries carried across the field on air hanging thick with acrid smoke. Their tortured prayers may have sought one of two ends, the final release that death might bring, or the hope of succor from a comrade.

Nineteen year old Sergeant Richard R. Kirkland of Company G, 2^nd South Carolina Volunteer Infantry, heard their pleas and understood their pain having earlier witnessed such suffering at the First Battle of Manassas and then Savage’s Station near Richmond.[3] His commanding officer, Confederate Brig. Gen. Joseph B. Kershaw at first refused his request to go to their aid, but persistent petitions eventually brought the permission he desired. Gathering as many canteens as he could manage, Kirkland clamored over the stone wall and descended onto the field of carnage. He must have considered the significance of his actions as he navigated the torn landscape moving from one injured man to the next offering water to soothe parched throats and words of comfort to those with broken bodies. He might have been struck down by a Union sniper’s bullet who suspected him of robbing the dead, or been taken prisoner, but he continued for hours, returning to his own lines to refresh the canteens when needed, then travelling back to his self-appointed rounds. Stories tell of how he cradled some men as they drank and made others as comfortable as possible. He continued on, even as eventide’s cloak of darkness began to envelop the scene.

Perhaps it was a strong religious conviction that moved Kirkland to action with memory of the words of Paul to the Ephesians, “Be kind to one another, compassionate,” (Ephesians 4:32), or Peter’s call to us to “be of one mind, sympathetic, loving toward one another, compassionate, humble” (1 Peter 3:8). Determined, he moved among the wounded as with the spirit of an angel. To those he comforted he offered water, which appears as such an important constant that flows throughout the scriptures as life giving, healing, and cleansing. John baptized with it to remove our sins, Jesus offered water that quenches all thirst to the woman at the well (John 4:13-14), and He had a man wash away his blindness in the waters of the pool of Siloam (John 9:1-7). Even on that cold, cruel day in history, amid the suffering and dying, we can bear witness to the Holy Spirit moving in Man encouraging compassion, hope and life through the manifestation of His word.

  Since that day there have been many historians, researchers, and investigators, who worked to separate the threads of Richard Kirkland’s story, wishing to weave a different narrative. Some say that Kirkland was not alone in his actions, that there were others also administering to the wounded. Some say he was not involved at all and that they cannot discover reputable records or witnesses to testify to his actions. Others blithely claim that he moved around the wall, not over it.

Often in our lives we are too ready to accept the telling of a story, or a version of that story, which seems plausible in a world that spins solely on the axis of a posteriori scientific reasoning without reaching for a deeper understanding of meaning and mystery that lie within the words and deeds. Whether Kirkland acted alone or with others, whether he made one trip among the wounded or many, does not matter. The thing that resonates in the tale is the reality that on that field of strife in December 1862, the Spirit of the Lord acted through a lone man, to show compassion to those who were broken in body and soul; a single light in the darkness.

           ( A memorial in the Fredericksburg and Spotsylvania National Park at the Sunken Road stands in commemoration of “The Angel of Marye’s Heights.”[4] It recognizes Richard Kirkland’s actions on that day and is dedicated to “National Unity and the Brotherhood of Man.” Other memorials that honor the event are at the National Civil war Museum, Harrisburg, PA, where is it is titled “Moment of Mercy,” and in the Quaker cemetery at Camden, SC where he is buried. The latter marker notes his resting place and sports a canteen that some recent visitor has hung over its shoulder.)

---

[1] These were the Union divisions of French, Hancock, Howard, and Sturgis attacking at 1:00 PM. Following them later in the afternoon at 3:30 PM were the divisions of Griffin and Humphreys. Directly opposing them was Longstreet’s Corps consisting of the divisions of McLaws, Ransom, and Pickett.

[2] BG Vincent J. Esposito, ed.  The West Point Atlas of American Wars, Volume I, 1689-1900 (New York: Praeger, 1972), Map 73.

[3] The fighting at Savage Station occurred as the fourth of the Seven Days’ battles fought just east of Richmond in June 1862. Each side in the conflict lost approximately 500 men. See Shelby Foote, The Civil War, A Narrative: Fort Sumter to Perryville (New York: Vintage, 1986), 498-99.

[4] Sculptor Felix de Weldon created the statue for the National Park Service in 1965.