Sgt. Henry Johnson's WWI Heroism and Long-Delayed Honor

Nov 27 , 2025

Sgt. Henry Johnson's WWI Heroism and Long-Delayed Honor

Blood soaked the snow beneath the Daughters of the American Legion Post in the cold French moonlight. Amid the muffled roars of distant artillery and the screams slicing through No Man’s Land, one man stood alone against a raiding party hellbent on annihilation. His hands were wounds themselves—slash, stab, bullet—and still, Sgt. Henry Johnson fought like the ground’s last sentinel.

Roots of a Warrior

Born in 1892, Albany’s streets were unforgiving. Henry Johnson was forged in the fires of hardship—not just the poverty and prejudice that stalked Black Americans then but in faith and unyielding grit. The son of a janitor and laundress, he carried the quiet strength of Psalm 144:1 on his lips:

“Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle.”

He enlisted into the 15th New York National Guard, later federalized as the 369th Infantry Regiment—known later as the Harlem Hellfighters. They were Black soldiers fighting a white army overseas and a white America back home. But faith and honor were his shield beyond skin color.

The Battle That Carved Immortality

Night of May 15, 1918. Near the village of Bayonville-sur-Meuse, deep behind enemy lines. Johnson and Private Needham Roberts—both separated from their unit—were suddenly surrounded. A German raiding party, at least a dozen strong. They came for skin. For silence.

Johnson grabbed a discarded rifle, a bolo knife dangling from his belt. His body took every hit—multiple bayonet stabs, bullet wounds, shattered teeth. But he did not falter. With a mix of brutal close-quarters brawling and rifle fire, he decimated the raiders. One by one, they fell.

After hours that bled into eternity, Johnson emerged wounded beyond measure but victorious. He saved Roberts and held the line, single-handedly preventing the enemy from penetrating further.

The Medal of Honor Delayed

His heroism was undeniable—but recognition came decades later. During the war, he received the Croix de Guerre from France, the first Black American so honored. Yet, the U.S. Army took nearly 100 years to award him the Medal of Honor—conceding a truth long denied: that valor transcends color.

In 2015, President Barack Obama presented the Medal of Honor posthumously to Sgt. Henry Johnson, honoring the man who was denied the full measure of respect in life. His citation calls him:

“A soldier who bravely fought off a German raiding party, saved a fellow soldier, and suffered grievous wounds refusing to quit.”

His sergeant once said,

“Henry was a warrior. To watch him fight was to see war in its purest form—sacrificial, unrelenting, righteous.”

Lessons in Blood and Faith

Henry Johnson’s story is not just a chronicle of wounds and bullets—it is a testament to enduring spirit. In a world that too often tried to erase him, he wrote his legacy in flesh and fire.

He reminds us that courage is raw. Not something polished or politicized. It is rising when all you know is pain, defending the few with no thought of yourself. It is faith—faith that God hones your hands and that your scars have purpose beyond suffering.

“For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” — 2 Timothy 1:7

His fight did not end at Bayonville. It continues in every veteran who bears the weight of silent sacrifice. Every soul wounded by hatred but still standing.

Henry Johnson was the stalwart flame burning in the darkest trench—unshaken, unyielding, unforgettable. He carries the blood and honor of warriors who fought unseen battles at home and abroad.

We owe him more than medals. We owe him the truth, the sacred remembrance, and the promise that no soldier’s sacrifice will ever be lost in silence again.