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Leaving the tavern, I strolled over to the south side of Beacon Street, taking it back to my hotel, along the north boundary of the Boston Common. As I approached the northeast corner of the park, another object visually ambushed me out of the dark again! The sight of which froze me in my tracks!
It was an extraordinary bronze relief sculpture, standing at eleven feet in height and fourteen feet in width – depicting rows of Union soldiers marching shoulder to shoulder – escorted by a mounted officer on a magnificent horse. The individual detail and realism of each life-sized figure was stunning!
Without even being aware of it, I removed my ball cap respectfully, and quietly approached this magnificent monument in total awe.
These men had spilt their blood in battle, dear reader.
Much later, after conducting some research, I would learn the following:
This was the Memorial to Robert Gould Shaw and the Massachusetts Fifty-Fourth Regiment. It was created by Augustus Saint-Gaudens, and depicts the 54th Regiment marching down Beacon Street on 28th May 1863 - being unveiled 31st May 1897.
And what was so special regarding this Civil War regiment, dear reader? That it would warrant such a magnificent memorial?
The fact that it was a successful experiment – the 54th being one of the first all-Black regiments – led by White officers and Black NCOs.
Unfortunately the regiment bravely met their “Armageddon,” at the Second Battle of Fort Wagner near Charleston, South Carolina. Whereby, on the 18th of July, 1863, the 54th launched a spearheaded attack on this impregnable Confederate Fort.
Of the regiment’s 600 men who charged the fort, 272 were killed, wounded, went MIA, or captured. Colonel Shaw, their 25-year-old White commander who valiantly led this charge, was struck down by three rifle shots to the chest – killing him outright.
The assault failed: Fort Wagner was one tough Confederate nut that the Union Army would never crack.
After the attack, the Confederates dug a long trench on the beach, and, after robbing and stripping their bodies, dumped the officers and men of the 54th in this mass grave without ceremony. As time passed the bodies of the White officers were retrieved. Except in the case of Colonel Shaw, as a gesture of insult, Confederate General Hagood refused to return the young officer’s body, stating: “...I shall bury him in the common trench with the niggers that fell with him.”
Col. Shaw.
Shaw’s family didn’t see it as an insult, to the contrary they felt from Robert’s letters - indicating the high regard he had for his men – that perhaps he would want to remain with them. Prompting Shaw’s father to write: “We would not have his body removed from where it lies surrounded by his brave and devoted soldiers....We can imagine no holier place than that in which he lies, among his brave and devoted followers, nor wish for him better company. What a body-guard he has!”
Ironically, befitting the scheme of the “Author of us all,” Robert Gould Shaw’s remains, along with those of his brave soldiers, have since been swept out to sea by Atlantic hurricanes.
Col. Shaw’s sword was all that was retrieved.
In the spring of 1990, I was on a layover at Marina del Rey, in Los Angeles. Strolling out of the hotel one afternoon, I discovered a multiplex cinema, and decided to catch a “flick.” The movie poster for a film entitled Glory caught my eye – not having a clue as to what it was about.
Imagine my tattered socks being blown off, dear reader, when I realized the film chronicled the Massachusetts 54th!
At the end of the film the Memorial to Robert Gould Shaw and the Massachusetts Fifty-Fourth Regiment was displayed in all its glory!
The very bronze relief sculpture, which I stood before on that restless October night at Boston, in 1986, dear reader.
On that night of 1986, I had studied the young, handsome colonel astride his stalwart mount – sitting ramrod straight in the saddle - his sword drawn – held in his right hand down at his side. In his left he held two sets of reigns, one set to a curb bit, the other to a snaffle bit – indicating the young colonel was an accomplished equestrian.
And before I was fully aware of it, dear reader, my strange, twisted mind kicked in.
As I followed the downward line of the sword’s blade, my eyes came to rest on the long marble bench that ran along the memorial’s base. And it occurred to me that someone could step up on that bench – pick another person up – then skewer them on the sword’s blade.
After all, dear reader, this is Boston!
Note the marble bench.
Before I could reason with myself – admitting what a ludicrous train of thought this was – I stepped up onto the bench. Sure enough, not only could I easily reach the sword’s blade, but the possibility of using it as a weapon was feasible. So naturally, I had to reach out and gingerly test the pointed tip of the sword’s sharpness with my thumb.
I can’t begin to describe my disappointment, dear reader. The sword’s blade was made of rubber!
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