Henry Johnson's Night of Valor with the Harlem Hellfighters

Nov 05 , 2025

Henry Johnson's Night of Valor with the Harlem Hellfighters

Steel met flesh beneath a starless sky. The enemy surged through the cold French night, but Sgt. Henry Johnson stood alone—wounded, outnumbered, relentless. Bullets tore flesh and bone, yet his rifle spat fury, each shot a prayer against the creeping darkness. Not one man would fall on his watch.

Background & Faith

Born in 1892, Albany, New York forged Henry Johnson before the army did. He carried the weight of his ancestors’ struggles—Black man in a divided America, soldier in an unforgiving world. Joining the 15th New York National Guard, later federalized as the 369th Infantry Regiment, the "Harlem Hellfighters," Johnson embodied a fierce code—duty without fear. His faith whispered strength into his soul: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” (Joshua 1:9)

Race and segregation shadowed his steps, but Johnson’s spirit burned hotter than their prejudice. Fighting for a country that barely saw him, he answered a higher call.

The Battle That Defined Him

Night of May 14, 1918 — near the Oise-Aisne American Cemetery in France.

Johnson and Private Needham Roberts were on sentry duty. The enemy struck like shadows, a dozen German troops breaking through wire and silence. Chaos erupted.

Johnson grabbed his rifle and a bolo knife. He fought right there in the mud and gore. Under brutal fire, Johnson stabbed, shot, and beat back the raiders. Minutes stretched like hours.

His right arm shattered. A bullet tore through his thigh. Blood coursed down, mixing with the earth beneath his boots. Yet he never faltered.

Roberts lay wounded; Johnson shielded him with every ounce of grit. Alone, he drove the enemy away—stopping them from killing the rest of their unit.

When the dust settled, Johnson’s body was a map of pain—21 wounds, each a testament to his ferocity.

Recognition

The country barely noticed his valor at first. Segregation and indifference cloaked his heroism in shadow.

The Croix de Guerre, awarded by France in 1918, bore witness to his courage: "Black soldier so feared by the enemy they call him the 'Black Death.'”

But America waited decades. In 2015, President Barack Obama posthumously awarded Sgt. Henry Johnson the Medal of Honor — almost a century late but carved in stone forever[1].

Brigadier General Peter G. Youngblood said, “Henry Johnson’s fearless defense saved dozens of lives. His courage is a blueprint for warriors.”

Legacy & Lessons

Henry Johnson’s fight was never just against enemy troops. It was against bigotry, silence, and erased histories.

He teaches us this: courage is not born from comfort but from the fierce refusal to let darkness win.

The battlefield never stopped shaping Johnson—the scars etched on his body, the nation’s slow embrace, his steadfast faith. They tell us sacrifice isn’t about glory; it’s about holding the line when everything screams retreat.

“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (John 15:13)

Henry Johnson bled so the world might see the price of freedom and dignity. Today, his story cuts through the noise — a raw reminder that heroism often arrives in broken bodies wrapped in quiet faith.

To honor him is to reckon with our own battles, to stand firm when the night comes, and to carry the fire forward.