The Killer Angels

This is a love letter written by a Union officer to his wife shortly before the first battle of the Civil War: Bull Run (Manassas). It has a very saddening effect.

My very dear Sarah:


The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more . . .
I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt . . .

Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness . . .

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights . . . always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again . . .

He was killed a week later in the Battle of Bull Run


*Author's Note*
This is writing about Killer Angel's and the scene of the infamous Pickett's Charge. It's style is similar to that of Michael Shaara's writing style: short little sentences.

1863, we are soldiers of the Confederate. Upon this land we shall fight. Across that field lie 5,000 men just like us but wearing blue clothing. My brother is among them. Today, if I meet him, it shall either be over that wall or at the pearly gates. A day this is to be.

The General,  sitting upon his magnificent stallion, slicing the saber through the air, telling us to charge there. The man is a genius, but even genius' make mistakes. The field, a mile long, holds boundless glory, or punishing defeat. I need not wonder what awaits me, for I look left and right at my brothers and see their faces as mirrors of mine. "Fear not, friends, for you are Virginians! This is your home! You fight for your country!", boasts the officer. I think to myself, "What country?"

Cannons thunder, a storm approaches. Dirt flies like rain in a puddle. High reaching splashes caused by roaring explosions. Truly a sight to behold. This storm, a raging hurricane, spreads across the field for hours, or days... or minutes. We watch as our artillery pounds the enemy into submission. tearing up ground, spreading it around, creating a burning plain. Across that field we must march.

A whistle blows, sending us into the abyss. We march, thousands of us. No match be the Feds. Lines of men, all for the cause. Rows upon rows upon rows we march towards an inevitable fate. I am a grunt, yet this charge shall fail, and we all know it. The storm approaches, and face it we must. . .


This fields is endless! When can it cease? All around me, brothers fall, some 10 or 15 at a time. We are only half way there and already their cannons rain down upon us like a torrential downpour. Whole regiments have been wiped off the map in these past minutes. It seems longer, but I know that time is slower in the face of death. When we get to that wall, if we get to the wall, the Yankees will see my wrath as a Banshee and will flee from our hordes. Our Rebel Yell does little now, but inspires us more than frightens them. Hopefully, that is all we shall need.


I look left to see a cannon shell burst upon a company of men, scattering the edges and decimating the center. At this rate, we shall make it to our graves just before the wall. I fought at Fredericksburg and have wondered all my life since what it felt like to be a Yankee charging across that field. Now, I know, and know no more do I wish. . .

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*Author's Note*
This is an essay about how Michael Shaara (author of Killer Angles) romanticizes war and turns it into some chivalrous idea, when in reality, it is not.

Romanticism of war is one of the greatest misconceptions man shall ever apprehend. From the Roman Empire to World War 1, man has portrayed bloody conflict and death as a glorious, honorable thing. Men Have fought for country, for God, or for more realistic items such as money, land or loot. During the Civil War, going off to fight 'Johnny Reb' or 'Billy Yank" was one of the greatest things you could do. It was pictured as what real men do. But once you got to the front lines, you wouldn't see glorious charges and men dying with honour, you would see men lining up and mowing each other down. You would watch as hundreds of men ran towards the enemy hoping to kill as many of them as possible, when cannons would wipe out entire regiments at a time. Since when has massacre become romantic?

Writers such as Lord Alfred Tennyson, Michael Shaara, and Stephan Crane, who wrote The Red Badge of Courage, all make an image of war in which you can attain glorious victory, or die with honor. In reality, you can either achieve victory by overwhelming numbers and cheating, or die like animals at the slaughter. With Lord Alfred Tennyson, he wrote after the Civil War in Britain when there was no war. He portrayed war as glorious because few who returned told stories, but weren't publicized. Come the World Wars, men returning from overseas told horrifying stories of death and destruction. Again, they were not publicized because the government didn't want people to be afraid of fighting for your country. The same with Korea. But, when the Vietnam war erupted, television could bring the very horror that was war right into the homes of every American, watching their fellow countrymen perish in numbers to great to bear. For Michael Shaara, there is no excuse. His right to romanticize war died when television was born.

The romanticism of war dates back to old fairy-tales in which a hero gallantly charges into battle to defeat the purely evil force. In World War 2, soldiers did not often question what they were fighting for because, like stories of old, the force they were fighting had committed evil and they were fighting to right the wrongs of their opponents. However, in wars such as the Civil War, World War 1, Korea, and Vietnam, the reason for why so many men were fighting and dying was hard to find, should there be one. It is widely accepted that the Civil War was the bloody debate of slavery, but it is just as much about that as it is a political conflict. Similar with Korea and World War 1; simple political conflicts that caused the deaths of millions just because a few people high up on the throne didn't like each other. No force in those wars were purely evil villains bent on destruction of morality and humanity, but rather men who fought because a man wearing a uniform gave them a gun and told them to fight. But now, a sense of reality has touched humanity and this reality exposed that war is just the inevitable strife that has plagued our kind since our creation.

Albert Einstein once said, "As long as there are men, there shall be war". This is true. Many people fantasize about  how one day man will no longer fight, and we will live in peace and harmony. It's okay to dream about that, but it shall never happen. In nature, it is man's job to hunt and kill to survive. It's a natural instinct that has been with us since the beginning; with every animal. We must fight to survive. Like love, fear, hate, and the entire emotional spectrum, we experience these things daily, but in other forms. Forms acceptable to society. In society, violence is not condoned, so therefore it is suppressed. When you put down a fundamental humans were built upon, it does not subside and disappear, but rather it builds pressure and breaks out. Breaking out is known as murder and crime. The world does enjoy looking upon these acts which is why literature shaped these acts into stories in which an incorruptible and perfect human being defeats the evil and saves society. Society romanticizes war because it wants people to rise up and be that hero. But in the real world, society is the government. The government wants you to rise up and be a hero, inspire others to fight, and create an army of men willing to fight to the end. Armies are power, so how else do you inspire people to join an army trying to be a hero?