Children Of Honor

For Adrian.


We were born under stars. We were children of honor. Our fathers were men of respect. The year was 1843. Unfortunately for both us, we were not born into a world of unity.

I came from a hardworking family. The type of people that had to carve their names into the ground for respect. The type of people that name their children after their family members. I shared the name James with my grandfather and I wore it with pride. My friend and his family were no different then us. Our fathers were military men so naturally we would become military men as well.

Joel was always one of my best friends. We never had arguments or major disagreements. It seemed like we saw eye to eye on everything. As we got older we went from children of honor to men of respect. It was in our blood. Not everyone was like us though. The blind really do lead the blind sometimes. Not us. We were not followers we were leaders. We were the change. When everyone was going right we were going left. And I knew we were leaders because as we started going left, less people were going right.

In 1861 the South voted to secede from the Union and the American Civil War began. Delaware was the first state to join the Union and was said to be the last state to leave it. I made a decision to fight for the South because I believed in a lie. Joel decided to fight for the North. It wasn’t uncommon for boys from Delaware to serve in companies from Maryland or Virginia mostly because of Delaware’s geographical position. It was considered a border state. There were slaves in Delaware. Some men bought them and some men didn’t.

Neither of our fathers owned slaves. My father was not wealthy enough to purchase slaves, but I could always tell he envied the men that did. Joel and I discussed this and we basically came to the agreement that if we ever met each other on the battlefield that it would be just business and nothing personal. We didn’t have an argument about which side was right or about who would win. It wasn’t about right or wrong, North or South, white or black, or anything like that. It was kill or be killed. Simple.

For the first time since I can remember we went opposite directions. That was the day we were no longer leaders.

We had a mutual understanding of the situation. I tried not to think about the fact that I’d be fighting against my friend. I didn’t care about the stress I’d be putting my parents through. I was afraid that when the day came, if I didn’t kill Joel then he would probably kill me. At this point we were soldiers, not friends. Followers, not leaders.

I didn’t think it was acceptable to enslave a human being. That wasn’t what I was fighting for. I don’t know what I was fighting for. I didn’t believe Jefferson Davis was an adequate leader, but I didn’t believe I was either. My confidence was gone. It had been two years since Joel and I had parted ways. It was now 1863 and we hadn‘t spoken. I was stationed in Northern South Carolina. I’ll never remember exactly where I was. It was so foreign to me, so stupid. I thought about my friend every time I shot at a Union soldier. After every battle I survived I prayed to God that I wouldn’t find my friend on the ground. I searched every battle field. For two anxious and miserable years I felt this way.

On July 1st, 1863, under the orders of General Robert E. Lee my regiment went into battle against General George Mead’s Union Army at the Battle of Gettysburg two months after we defeated the North in Chancellorsville. I was unaware at the time that Joel was fighting under General Meade. Later on I read that this was considered the turning point of the war. I’m not really too sure about that, but it was undoubtedly my turning point of the war.

On the third and final day of the battle, the South was defeated by General Meade and his men. I could give you the exact details of every minute of the battle, but that is not what this is about. I won’t tell you about our attacks on the Unions left and right flanks. I won’t tell you about the 150 Confederate guns that attacked the Union at 1P.M on third day and last day of fighting. What I am going to tell you is that in the middle of this mess, I came face to face with Joel. He had just been knocked down by another Confederate boy. I picked him up off the ground and instead of shooting him like I was supposed to I just stood there in shock. My iron ribs gripped my lungs so tight I found it hard to breath. After a couple of seconds I realized that he wasn’t making any movements to shoot me.

Right in the middle of the chaos, the gunfire, the screaming, and the hatred we dropped our guns and just walked home. Nobody followed us, but that wasn’t the point anymore. It’s been 20 years since that day. I read that Gettysburg was the bloodiest battle of the war, and I’m not sure how true that is because I saw a lot of blood and I can’t distinguish the battles anymore. What I do know is a Confederate soldier and a Union soldier kept their shirts clean that day.

Braveheart.

I'm still genuine.