Henry Johnson, the Harlem Hellfighter Who Saved His Unit

Dec 16 , 2025

Henry Johnson, the Harlem Hellfighter Who Saved His Unit

Sgt. Henry Johnson stood alone under the moonlight, his body riddled with bullets and bayonet wounds. Enemy grenades exploded inches from his face. Still, he held the line. He was the shield that saved his entire unit from a German raiding party. In the chaos and carnage of World War I’s Western Front, Johnson fought not just with muscle and guts, but with a fierce will to protect his brothers—and refused to break.

Background & Faith

Born in 1892, Henry Johnson grew up in Albany, New York. A man forged by hard times and hardened resolve. African American, son of the Harlem Renaissance generation before it bloomed, he carried the weight of a double fight: abroad against tyranny, at home against discrimination.

He found faith early—quiet, steady, unshakable. Faith that made sense of suffering, gave him strength to face the hell of war without losing his soul.

"I am a soldier of the Lord," Johnson reportedly said. “My fight is not only with men but with darkness itself.”

Psalm 18:39—the Lord arms him with strength and keeps his way secure. Johnson’s creed was clear: Duty before self, honor before fear.

The Battle That Defined Him

May 15, 1918, the forests near the Meuse-Argonne in France. Johnson, a member of the 369th Infantry Regiment—better known as the Harlem Hellfighters—was on sentry duty. Suddenly, a dozen German soldiers stormed their trench.

Outnumbered. Outgunned. Henry grabbed what he had: a rifle, a bolo knife. He fought like a demon possessed. Despite suffering multiple bayonet slashes and grenade blasts, he slashed, shot, and dragged enemies one by one from the shadows. Worst of all, Johnson was alone—his comrades either wounded or forced to retreat.

The night air tasted of blood and smoke, yet Johnson held fast, buying crucial time that saved nearly two dozen men from certain death.

The man’s scars tell the story: 21 wounds, 4 broken fingers, a fractured skull. Minutes later, he was found barely conscious, still clutching his weapon.[1]

Recognition

Yet, the government’s recognition was slow and woefully inadequate. Johnson’s heroism earned him the French Croix de Guerre with palm—the first Black American soldier so honored. The French general in command called him “one of the most remarkable soldiers of the American Expeditionary Forces.”

But in the U.S., racial prejudice blocked immediate praise. It wouldn’t be until 2015—nearly a century later—that Sgt. Henry Johnson was awarded the Medal of Honor by President Obama.[2]

“The standards of valor demand respect and equality,” the citation said. “Johnson’s courage transcends time.”

His own commander, Major Charles W. Whittlesey, said, “In the face of death, Johnson stood taller than most men in the battle.”

Legacy & Lessons

Henry Johnson’s story is one of raw heroism and painful truth: the bravery of Black soldiers fought against two enemies—German bullets abroad, and American racism at home.

His fight was never just about winning a battle. It was about dignity, humanity, and being recognized for true sacrifice.

Johnson’s legacy is eternal. Every combat veteran carries part of his spirit—the fierce resolve to fight when all odds say collapse; to protect your brothers, even when your own body fails; to stand as a testament that courage has no color.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” — Joshua 1:9

In the end, Sergeant Henry Johnson reminds us this: Valor is not given. It is earned. Bloodied hands carry the torch. History may forget—it is our duty to remember. His scars whisper to us from the trenches: fight the good fight. Honor sacrifice. Keep the faith.

We owe it to men like Henry Johnson not just to tell their story—but to live by it.