Henry Johnson and the Harlem Hellfighters at Argonne, 1918

Nov 12 , 2025

Henry Johnson and the Harlem Hellfighters at Argonne, 1918

Blood on the wire. Bullets cracking in the dark. Sgt. Henry Johnson stands alone, wielding a machine gun against shadows. His hands torn, his body bleeding—yet unbowed. This was not myth. It was September 15, 1918. The front lines had fractured. His comrades caught unawares. And one man clung to the ragged edge of survival—fighting not just for himself, but for every brother behind him.

The Roots of a Warrior

Henry Johnson was born in 1892, Albany, New York—a son of grit long before combat shaped him. A husband and a laborer, but above all, a man disciplined by a deep-seated code of honor and faith. Raised in a Presbyterian household, Johnson carried the weight of righteous defiance. Not just against enemy fire, but against the world's indifference to Black soldiers like him.

He joined the 369th Infantry Regiment, later known as the Harlem Hellfighters—the all-Black unit that bore the brunt of discrimination and the fiercest fights. They were often passed to French command because America’s military brass doubted their valor. Yet when bullets shredded the silence, those men proved their worth in bloody, relentless trenches.

“The truth is often buried in silence,” Johnson’s life spoke louder—and it was soaked in sacrifice.

The Battle That Defined Him

September 15, 1918. The Argonne Forest, France. Darkness thick like tar. A German raiding party attacked the 369th’s outpost. Johnson and Pvt. Needham Roberts were on guard. The attack came swift, brutal. Overpowered in number and weaponry.

Then Johnson made a choice.

Though badly wounded—stabbed, shot, and bleeding—he hacked back with his bolo knife and the “Chauchat” machine gun. Five hours later, he ended the attack. His actions saved many lives. The attack stopped, the outpost held.

His wounds piled high: bullets embedded deep, a massive gash in his thigh, the hand he used to fire rendered nearly useless. But he never ceased. He never surrendered.

The 369th called him the “Black Death” —a man who became folklore on that battlefield.

Honor Deferred and Delivered

For decades, recognition eluded Henry Johnson. Despite immediate French honors—the Croix de Guerre awarded with a Golden Palm—the U.S. military ignored him. A bitter fact: the American Medal of Honor did not come until 2015, nearly a century after his death.

Yet, those who served with him never doubted his heroic legacy. Maj. Gen. John H. Sherburne declared Johnson’s fight “the most extraordinary acts of heroism in the history of the American Expeditionary Forces”[1].

President Barack Obama awarded Johnson the Medal of Honor posthumously, lifelong discrimination fading under the weight of undeniable valor.

“No one could have stood alone and fought as Sgt. Henry Johnson did.” – Sgt. William Alexander, 369th Infantry

The Purple Heart, the French Médaille militaire, the Croix de Guerre—each medal a stitch in the tapestry of an unyielding soul battered, scarred, but undefeated.

Legacy Etched in Steel and Flesh

Henry Johnson’s fight was more than a man versus a raid—it was a battle against history’s erasure. His courage challenged racism and redefined what valor meant. Today, his story reminds us that true heroism often lives in the margins, bleeding quietly until history demands its due.

His name graces military installations and memorials—not just for a Black soldier, but for every warrior who stood in the gap, unseen and unsung. We remember his scars, not as weakness, but as the roadmap of sacrifice.

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” —John 15:13

Henry Johnson did more than survive hell; he became a beacon of hope and redemption for those fighting in shadows long after the guns fell silent.

Sources

[1] U.S. Army Center of Military History + “Sergeant Henry Johnson: Forgotten Hero” (Army.mil) [2] PBS + "Henry Johnson's War" documentary transcript [3] National Archives + 369th Infantry Regiment records