Becoming a Man of Action

Here's a narrative essay that I wrote for ENC 1101 and then used to win a college essay contest. It is titled "Becoming a Man of Action"


Like most other mornings I woke to the sound of the bugle that day. As I looked out of my tent and into the first light of dawn I thought to myself that this would be just another dull day in the life of Henry Madison. The sunrise was spectacular, with shades of pink mixed with a light orange, but I did not really care for its beauty that morning. I had grown sick of my assignment, for it seemed a waste of time to me. I would much rather be at home with my beautiful wife and children than out in the middle of no-man’s land reporting on a cause that I could care less about. Little did I know that the events to follow would change my views on not only the war, but on life in general. In the past I had always tried to maintain a more neutral position in our civil war, but as a reporter that could be difficult at times. I worked for a large newspaper in Savannah, and I was held in high regard by my editor. I typically reported on politics and local events, and I was far from thrilled when my editor demanded that I replace his old field reporter in traveling with an infantry company out of Georgia. Apparently, that reporter had been hit by a stray minié ball, and then died two days later. That being said, I had been traveling with Georgia 28th Company K for about a month. We hadn’t seen any action and supplies were running low. I never ceased to be amazed by the men’s solemn dedication to a cause that seemed foolhardy and futile at most. What drove those men to fight for such a lost cause? Why couldn’t they just surrender and try to come to some compromise? Their stubbornness seemed to be without warrant. I had begun to think that this nation strove on bloodshed and war. That day would mark a new period in my life; one of enlightenment and action in place of passivity and apathy.
The chilling bite of a February frost nipped at my ears that morning, and I wondered how the men could withstand such weather when so ill-dressed. Most of the Confederate soldiers did not have money for more than one uniform, and the clothing they had was tattered and torn from the many hardships they had endured for the past three years. Most did not even have a pair of shoes to protect their feet. It was not uncommon for a Confederate soldier to take a jacket or some shoes off of a dead federal soldier. Some of the men had wives or sweethearts back home who would send them wool socks they had knitted, but most of the time the mail didn’t arrive at all; and if it did, it was never on time.
That morning as I sat eating my meager breakfast of burnt coffee, hardtack and salted pork, I took in the sights around me. Despite our situation the men seemed to be in a decent mood. Three or four sat around a makeshift log table talking and playing poker while the first sergeant sat smoking his pipe and listening to a private play the guitar. This company was one of the larger ones at the time with a total of 256 men, but this number was dwarfed by the total number of men stationed there. While the legal draft age was 18, I could tell that many of the “men” were merely boys; some no older than 15. I had just finished my breakfast when a man on a horse came through camp asking for the captain. As he rode passed me I realized that he was a general, and wondered what might be going on. A few minutes later the captain came out of his tent and ordered the men to fall in. Then he addressed them with these words:
“Men, today we engage the enemy! This is a day many of you have been waiting for; a day to prove your honor and fight for freedom from our oppressors! Many of you will die today, so may God be with you. Remember, you will have made the ultimate sacrifice for your people, so die with honor! General Jackson will be leading us into battle today. Let’s show him what some boys from Georgia can do!”
A sense of worried excitement ran through my veins as I sat and watched groups of anxious men rushing about hurriedly gathering what little supplies they had at their disposal. My stomach churned at the thought of those men going into battle with so few supplies. The Federal armies were supplied quite well in comparison to the Confederates, and I knew that without more supplies the Confederate army didn’t have a chance. The only bit of hope I had to hang on to was the Captain’s promise that a fresh supply train would come sometime today. As I watched the men prepare in eager anticipation for the upcoming battle I began to question their motives and morals, and I decided to say so. I stated to a small group of men surrounding me:
“You are like blood thirsty animals! Why can’t you just embrace the future without any argument? This war you are fighting is because of nothing more than your selfishness! Why do you insist on rebelling against the government?”
After I spoke the oldest of the men turned around and said to me with anguish in his eyes and sorrow in his voice:
“One day when all you hold dear and everything you live for has been taken away from you unjustly, let us see you stand by in the same silent passivity you expect from us.”
The man’s words struck deep within me. Perhaps it was I whose morals were skewed. Maybe I took my lifestyle for granted; always assumed that it would be there. My ponderings were stopped short by the noble call of the bugle ordering the men to their places. It was an amazing thing to see thousands upon thousands of soldiers marching out to meet the enemy; moving as one man and one heart.
When the men reached the battlefield the enemy was already there waiting for them. Within seconds of our arrival the battle started, and the deafening roar of cannon fire flooded my ears as both sides’ artillery barraged the other side of the battlefield. Almost instantly the choking smell of burnt black powder encompassed the area, and the sky thickened in smoke. Although against terrible odds our men marched forward with steel-eyed determination. As men from both sides fired volley after volley of deadly minié balls at the enemy the anguished cries of wounded soldiers rose up to join the sickening symphony that had formed. I watched as whole lines of men fell under the relentless fire. Strangely enough the officers’ commands could still be heard over the gunfire. We were greatly outnumbered, and at times it looked as if we would not prevail, but because of their determination to see another day of freedom our men strove on, making great progress. Alas, when the battle was nearly won ammunition began to run dry, and before long the men had to back down. But even in the face of such a catastrophe the men remained strong. It was seeing their determination that caused me to realize that in order to see the full meaning in life I would have to set aside my apathy and take hold of something I could die for.
I made my way to the rear where the generals were discussing who to send in search of the supply train. Our only hope was that it was within a mile of our position, and the generals were at a loss as to whom they should send to look for it. The cavalry was engaged in a small fight at the time, and none of the field officers could be spared. I, realizing that my assistance could influence the outcome of the battle greatly, volunteered to search out the supply train in spite of the grave danger I could be in. The undying commitment of those men had convinced me that the life of the Confederacy was indeed a cause worth fighting for. It was there that I concluded that full freedom was a great necessity, no matter what the cost.
They agreed to let me go, so I saddled up my horse and set out. My heart was in my throat as I rode off down the road towards were the supply train should have been. I rode like never before, but the trip seemed to take ages. One mile down the road I found the supply train. It was a train of three wagons linked together with a four horse team pulling it. As I came closer I saw that the driver had been shot. I calmed the horses and quickly tied my horse to the side of the wagon, climbed into the driver’s seat, and made my way back to the battle lines. As I approached the field and the men realized that help had finally come, an excitement rushed through the ranks. It was as if a new life had been passed into their veins. As the ammunition was passed through the ranks the men let out a mighty rebel yell and retook the battlefield. Through great determination those men of action pulled through and won a great victory for the Confederacy. It is with great honor that I say that the men of the Confederacy taught me a valuable lesson. We must always stand for what we believe is right, no matter what the odds are, and in spite of what others might think.