William H. Carney - First Black MOH Recipient

Of all the men who wore blue uniforms in the Civil War, none felt more keenly the purpose of his mission than the African American soldier. Every marching step, every swing of a pick and every round fired at Confederate enemies gave him a chance to strike a blow against slavery and prove himself equal to his white comrades.

U.S. Colored Troops were consistently good fighters, performing well in every engagement in which they fought. Even their enemies had to grudgingly admit that fact. One USCT member, William H. Carney, transcended good to become great, and was the first black U.S. soldier to earn the Medal of Honor.

On February 17, 1863, at age 23, Carney heeded the call for African Americans to join a local militia unit, the Morgan Guards, with 45 other volunteers from his hometown of New Bedford, Mass. That unit would later become Company C of the 54th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment. There was something unique about the new regiment, commanded by Colonel Robert Gould Shaw; it was an all-black unit with the exception of senior officers and a few senior non-commissioned sergeants. The 54th Massachusetts was created to prove that black men could be good soldiers.

Carney was born a slave on February 29, 1840, at Norfolk, Va. His father, also named William, escaped slavery, reaching freedom through the underground railroad. William Sr. then worked hard to buy the freedom of the rest of his family. The free and reunited family settled in New Bedford in the second half of the 1850s. Young William learned to read and write, and by age 15 he was interested in becoming a minister. He gave up his pursuit of the ministry, however, to join the Army. In an 1863 edition of the Abolitionist newspaper The Liberator, Carney stated: “Previous to the formation of colored troops, I had a strong inclination to prepare myself for the ministry; but when the country called for all persons, I could best serve my God serving my country and my oppressed brothers. The sequel in short — I enlisted for the war.”

That career change had momentous impact on Carney’s life, as the 54th Massachusetts had a chance to prove its mettle in the July 18, 1863, Battle of Fort Wagner outside of Charleston, S.C. During the fight, the 54th made heroic attacks on the garrison, and Carney’s bravery earned him a promotion to sergeant and the U.S. military’s most prestigious award.

Fort Wagner on Morris Island guarded the entrance to the harbor of Charleston. Shaw and the 600 men of the 54th Massachusetts would spearhead the federal assault from a slim strip of sand on the east side of the fort, which faced the Atlantic Ocean. The 54th burrowed into a sand dune about 1,000 yards from Fort Wagner. Behind it was the 6th Connecticut. Federal land and sea artillery bombarded the fort all day long. By nightfall, orders were passed down and the 54th stood up, dressed ranks and attacked in two wings of five companies each.

As the men advanced they were immediately hit by a barrage of canister, musketry and shelling from the fort. A bullet struck the 54th’s color sergeant, and as the wounded man faltered, Carney threw down his gun, seized the flag and moved to the front of the 54th’s assaulting ranks. He soon found himself alone, on the fort’s wall, with bodies of dead and wounded comrades all around him. He knelt down to gather himself for action, still firmly holding the flag while bullets and shell fragments peppered the sand around him.

Carney surveyed the battlefield and noticed that other Union regiments had attacked to his right, drawing away the focal point of the Rebel resistance. To his left he saw a large force of soldiers advancing down the ramparts of the fort. At first he thought they might be were Union forces. Flashes of musketry soon doomed his hopes. The oncoming troops were Confederates. He wound the colors around the flagpole, made his way to a low protective wall and moved along it to a ditch. When Carney had passed over the ditch on his way to the fort, it was dry. But now it was waist deep with water.

He seemed to be alone, surrounded by the wreckage of his regiment. Carney wanted to help the wounded, but enemy fire pinned him down. Crouching in the water, he figured his best chance was to plot a course back to Federal lines and make a break for it. Carney rose to get a better look. It was a fateful move. As he later wrote: “The bullet I now carry in my body came whizzing like a mosquito, and I was shot. Not being prostrated by the shot, I continued my course, yet had not gone far before I was struck by a second shot.”

Despite carrying two slugs in his body, Carney kept moving. Shortly after being hit the second time he saw another Union soldier coming in his direction. When they were within earshot, Carney hailed him, asking who he was. The Yank replied he was with the 100th New York, and asked if Carney was wounded. Carney said he had indeed been shot, and then flinched as a third shot grazed his arm.

The 100th soldier came to his aid and helped him move farther to the rear. “Now then,” said the New York soldier, “let me take the colors and carry them for you.” Carney, though, would not consent to that, no matter how battered he was. He explained that he would not be willing to give the colors to anyone who was not a member of the 54th Massachusetts. The pair struggled on. They did not get far before yet another bullet hit Carney, grazing him in the head. The two men finally managed to stumble to their own lines. Carney was taken to the rear and turned over to medical personnel. Throughout his ordeal, he held on to the colors. Cheers greeted him when Carney finally staggered into the ranks of the 54th. Before collapsing, he said, “Boys, the old flag never touched the ground!”

During the battle, Company C of the 54th Massachusetts was able to, for a short time, capture a small section of Fort Wagner. The 54th suffered 272 killed, wounded or missing out of the 600 in the battle. Colonel Shaw was among the dead. Total Union casualties were 1,515 out of about 5,000 in the assault force, while the Confederates had 174 casualties out of about 1,800 defenders. Although the Union forces were repulsed and had to lay siege to Fort Wagner, which the Confederates abandoned two months later, the 54th was widely hailed for its bravery. Like a pebble dropped into a puddle, the regiment’s heroism had a ripple effect, spurring thousands of other black men to join the Union Army. Even Abraham Lincoln noted that the 54th’s bravery at Wagner was a key development that helped secure final victory for the North.

William Carney recovered from the four wounds he received at Fort Wagner, and word soon spread of his unselfish actions. When Carney’s commanders heard about his conduct, he was promoted to sergeant. Later in the war, the 54th fought a rear-guard action covering a retreat at the Battle of Olustee, but Sergeant Carney could not participate in that engagement due to the lingering effects of his wounds. Because of his injuries he was discharged from the Army a little more than a year after the battle, on June 30, 1864.

Carney subsequently married Susannah Williams, also of New Bedford, on October 11, 1865. They had one child who later became an accomplished music teacher of the New Bedford area. In 1866 William Carney was appointed superintendent of streetlights for the city of New Bedford. He then went to California to seek his fortune but returned to New Bedford in 1869 and took a job as a letter carrier for the Postal Service. He worked at that job for 32 years before retiring. After retirement he was employed as a messenger at the Massachusetts State House, where in 1908 he would be fatally injured in an accident that trapped his leg in an elevator.

William H. Carney’s valor at Fort Wagner was honored on May 23, 1900, when he was awarded the Medal of Honor. That was almost 40 years after he so proudly served with the 54th Massachusetts Regiment. He was the first black soldier to receive the award. When asked about his heroic actions, he simply said, “I only did my duty.”

Article from the Military Times

Frederick Douglass’ friend named Abraham Lincoln

February is Black History month and it is fitting to post an article on President Lincoln and Frederick Douglass. One who signed the Emancipation Proclamation and the other a tireless leader in the black community and advocate for Black-American Union soldiers.

Today it seems unthinkable but in August 1863 — the summer of Gettysburg and Vicksburg and the bloody New York draft riots — anybody could walk into the White House and ask to meet the president. Abraham Lincoln’s advisers warned him not to welcome strangers during wartime but he persisted. He called these meetings “taking a public opinion bath.”

On the sweltering morning of August 10, one of Lincoln’s uninvited visitors was Frederick Douglass, a tall, burly black man dressed in a dark suit and a high-collared white shirt. He had no appointment. He simply walked in off the street, handed his business card to a secretary and joined the people waiting to see the president.

“They were white,” he recalled later, “and as I was the only dark spot among them, I expected to have to wait at least half a day. I had heard of men waiting a week.” Born a slave in Maryland in 1818, Douglass secretly taught himself to read and write, and in 1838, he escaped and fled north to become the most famous black man of his times, an eloquent abolitionist orator, writer and newspaper publisher. He was also a radical who repeatedly criticized Lincoln for moving too slowly to free the slaves. But when the president issued the Emancipation Proclamation in late 1862, Douglass rejoiced and began recruiting black men to fight in the Union Army: “Men of Color, To Arms!”

On this day, though, he’d come to Washington to protest the Army’s discrimination against black soldiers. Douglass made his case to Secretary of War Edwin Stanton that morning then walked to the White House to see the president. He settled in for a long wait but within a few minutes, he heard an aide holler his name.

“Mr. Douglass!” As Douglass elbowed his way up the crowded staircase to the president’s office, he heard somebody grumbling, “Damn it, I knew they would let the nigger through.” Douglass ignored the slur and entered the office. Lincoln stood up and held out his hand. Douglass shook it and began to introduce himself. The president cut him off. “Mr. Douglass, I know you. I have read about you,” he said. “Sit down. I am glad to see you.”

The two men sat and Lincoln said he’d read a speech Douglass had delivered in early 1862, lambasting the president for his “tardy, hesitating and vacillating policy” regarding emancipation. Lincoln recalled the attack without anger and admitted that he could justifiably be criticized as slow to move against slavery. But on the charge of vacillating, the president pled not guilty. “I do not think that charge can be sustained,” Lincoln said. “I think it cannot be shown that once I have taken a position, I have ever retreated from it.”

Douglass was amazed at the president’s candor and delighted that Lincoln was speaking to him as an equal — a courtesy that white people, even abolitionists, did not always grant him. “Mr. President, I am recruiting colored troops,” Douglass said, quickly adding that his efforts were hampered by the Army’s discriminatory practices. Black soldiers were paid only about half of what white troops earned, he said, and were not promoted no matter how bravely they fought.

Lincoln listened, then sat silently for a long moment. Finally, he responded by giving his radical visitor a gentle lesson in practical politics. The reason he acted so slowly, he explained, is that a leader cannot get too far ahead of his people.

“Mr. Douglass, you know that it was with great difficulty that I could get the colored soldier — or get the colored men — into the Army at all,” Lincoln said. “You know the prejudices existing against them. You know the doubt that was felt in regard to their ability as soldiers. It was necessary at first that we should make some discrimination against them: They were on trial.”

Moreover, Lincoln said, black men had a greater incentive to enlist than whites did — they were fighting for their freedom. But as black troops continued to prove their courage to the nation, he added, they would eventually receive equal pay. “I assure you, Mr. Douglass, that in the end they shall have the same pay as white soldiers.”

As for the promotion of blacks, Lincoln promised that he would sign any promotion recommended by the secretary of war. Douglass didn’t agree with everything the president said — he saw no reason for the continued pay gap — but he was impressed with Lincoln’s honesty. He brought up reports that Confederate troops had been executing the black soldiers they’d captured, and he thanked Lincoln for his recent proclamation promising to retaliate against the executions. “In case any colored soldiers are murdered in cold blood,” Douglass said, “you should retaliate in kind.”

Again, Lincoln heard Douglass out. Again, he felt compelled to disagree. “Once begun, I don’t know where such a measure would stop,” he said. Lincoln had, Douglass later recalled, a “tearful look in his eye and a quiver in his voice” when he spoke of his aversion to retaliatory executions. “If I could get hold of the men that murdered your troops — murdered our prisoners of war — I would execute them,” Lincoln said, “but I cannot take men that may not have had anything to do with this murdering of our soldiers and execute them.”

Before leaving the office, Douglass showed Lincoln the document he’d received when visiting Stanton that morning — a pass proclaiming him to be “a loyal free man” and “entitled to travel unmolested.” Lincoln laid the paper on a table, wrote, “I concur” and signed it. “Douglass,” Lincoln said as his guest departed, “never come to Washington without calling on me.”

Douglass left with a new fondness for Lincoln: “I was impressed with his entire freedom from popular prejudice against the colored race.” Four months later, Douglass addressed an abolitionist group in Philadelphia. “Perhaps you may want to know how the President of the United States received a black man at the White House,” Douglass said. “I will tell you how he received me — just as you have seen one gentleman receive another, with a hand and a voice well-balanced between a kind cordiality and a respectful reserve. I tell you, I felt big there!”

The two men met twice more. Their final encounter occurred at a White House reception after Lincoln’s second inauguration. Policemen stopped Douglass at the door and told him that blacks were not allowed to enter. Douglass protested, then sent word to the president that he was outside. Within minutes, he was admitted.

“When Mr. Lincoln saw me, his countenance lighted up,” Douglass recalled, “and he said in a voice which was heard all around: ‘Here comes my friend Douglass.’” The president shook his friend’s hand. “I saw you in the crowd today listening to my inaugural address,” he said. Then he asked Douglass, one of America’s finest orators, what he thought of the speech. “There is no man’s opinion that I value more than yours.”

Black History Month - 1st Sergeant Augustus Walley, Medal of Honor

Chapter IX Celebrates Black History Month with this article on Augustus Walley, an African- American soldier, born into slavery but served his country for 29 years in the U.S. Army. Augustus Walley born 10 March 1856 in Maryland as a slave. Emancipated in 1865, he enlisted in the U.S. Army on 26 November 1878 and was assigned to the 9th Cavalry Regiment, known worldwide as the famed Buffalo Soldiers.

Walley served with the 9th Cavalry, fighting hostile Indians, until discharged in 1883. He re-enlisted November 26, 1883 and served continuously until his retirement in 1907, with 29 years of service.

Lieutenant George R. Burnett, one of the white officers in the 9th Cavalry submitted Walley for a Medal of Honor for his bravery in August 1881 for action against hostile Apaches at Cuchillo Negro Mountains, New Mexico. The circumstances of the nomination are as follows:

During the fighting against the hostile Apaches, one of the soldiers horse's bolted heading directly towards the Apaches. The soldier has the presence of mind to bail from his horse. The Buffalo Soldiers thought this soldier, a Private Burton, was dead. Upon the call to fall back to better defensive positions, Private Burton called out for help. With disregard for his own safety, Walley went under heavy fire from the Apaches and bringing Burton back to safety.

Lieutenant Burnett also cited several other incidents of bravery and courage that Walley displayed while serving under Burnett. Private Walley was awarded the Medal of Honor on 1 October 1890.

In 1898, then 1st Sergeant Walley, now a member of the 10th Cavalry - Buffalo Soldiers served in the Spanish American War with action in Cuba. More specifically, the 10th Cavalry was instrumental in taking San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt's Rough Rider (1st U.S. Volunteer Cavalry).

After Cuba, 1st Sgt. Augustus Walley was deployed to the Philippines serving two years fighting in the Philippine Insurrection and earning another recommendation for the Medal of Honor which was denied primarily for the reason he already had one Medal of Honor.

Walley retired in 1907 to Butte, Montana but was re-called to active duty in 1918 during World War I and assigned to Fort Polk, Louisiana until a second retirement in 1919. Walley moved to Baltimore where he lived the rest of his life until his death on 9 April 1938.