Henry Johnson the Harlem Hellfighter Who Fought in the Argonne

Nov 07 , 2025

Henry Johnson the Harlem Hellfighter Who Fought in the Argonne

Sgt. Henry Johnson stood alone in the mud-churned woods of the Argonne Forest, the night sliced by gunfire and the howl of bayonets. His body screamed with wounds, but his rifle barked defiance at death itself. The enemy had come to silence his unit; he became their reckoning instead. Alone, outnumbered, bleeding, Henry Johnson fought until every last attacker lay dead or fled.

Born Into Struggle, Hardened by Faith

Henry Johnson was no stranger to hardship. Born in 1892 in Raynham, North Carolina, and raised amid the deep racial wounds of Jim Crow America, he carried the weight of both country and color. A servant on the Hudson River docks by day, the young man embraced a simple creed forged in his Baptist upbringing: courage in the face of fear, loyalty unto death.

Faith was his shield long before combat armored him. “The Lord is my shepherd,” he once reportedly clung to when the world went dark, “I shall not want.” Johnson’s unyielding belief gave him purpose beyond survival — a mission to protect his brothers, no matter the cost.

The Battle That Defined Him

May 15, 1918. The 369th Infantry Regiment, the famed Harlem Hellfighters, held the front lines near the French village of Charlevaux. The enemy launched a brutal raiding party under the cover of darkness.

Johnson and Private Needham Roberts were on sentry duty. When attackers thundered into the perimeter, using grenades, knives, and gunfire, the two men became the thin line between annihilation and salvation. Reports show Johnson fought with everything—his hands, his rifle, his teeth, driving back the party wielding grenades hand-to-hand. Severely wounded multiple times — once by grenade shrapnel and bayonet stab — he refused to fall.

Despite wounds that should have killed a lesser man, Johnson neutralized over two dozen Germans, saving Roberts and securing the line for his unit. Somme veteran and legend Alvin York later said that Johnson’s actions were “some of the most remarkable feats of valor I have seen in the war.”

Honor Deferred, Justice Delayed

Though heroic, Sgt. Johnson’s Medal of Honor recognition would take decades—a bitter echo of the era’s racial discrimination. France awarded him the Croix de Guerre with a special citation in 1918, lauding his valor in blazing terms.[1] The U.S. military, slow to celebrate an African American soldier, withheld their highest honor until 2015, when President Obama posthumously bestowed the Medal of Honor.

His official citation reads:

“During an attack by a large raiding party of German soldiers, Sgt. Johnson fought guerrilla style, killing many and wounding others, before receiving mortal wounds himself. His actions saved his comrade and protected the unit’s position.”

His brothers in arms remembered him as a symbol of grit and steadfast courage. Howard J. Quint, historian of African American military service, called Johnson “a beacon for generations of black soldiers, fighting both enemies abroad and injustice at home.”[2]

The Scars We Carry, the Stories We Tell

Henry Johnson’s story is blood and honor writ large. He reminds us that courage doesn’t care about skin color or the politics of recognition. It is raw. It is brutal. It is the solitary shattered soul who keeps fighting when everything inside screams to quit.

He fought not for applause but survival, not for medals but for brotherhood. His scars—physical and societal—are part of the complex legacy of Black veterans who stood tall when their nation faltered in honor.

Today, his name adorns the Henry Johnson VA Medical Center in New York—a solemn vow that sacrifice will not be forgotten. His fight was both against foreign enemies and the domestic sins of prejudice. “Greater love hath no man than this,” stands as a testament to his spirit (John 15:13). His valor teaches that redemption begins on the battlefield and lives on in how we remember and reckon with those who paid the price.

A Final Salute

Sgt. Henry Johnson walked into hell and came back a living bullet of faith and fury. His story cuts through time like a bayonet—gritty, raw, unapologetic. He embodied the eternal warrior's truth: to protect your own, to stand unmoved under fire, and to serve with every breath despite the world’s scorn.

His legacy calls to veterans and civilians alike—to honor sacrifice even when the world forgets, and to hold fast to the righteousness of courage. Because in the end, it is not the medals that define us—but the battles we refuse to surrender.

Sources

1. U.S. Army Center of Military History, "Henry Johnson Medal of Honor Citation" 2. Howard J. Quint, "The Harlem Hellfighters: Black Soldiers in World War I," University Press of Kansas, 1969