The Angel of Marye’s Heights

Imagine stepping into a hail of bullets, not with a weapon, but with water, driven by the cries

of those suffering around you. In December 1862, at Fredericksburg, Virginia,

a serene stretch of field became the stage for one man's extraordinary choice amid the

carnage of the Civil War. Throughout the day, Union soldiers had been mowed down

by Confederate fire as they charged across the open ground towards Marye’s Heights.

As dusk fell, the silence of the guns was replaced by haunting cries of wounded men left

on the field. The voices called out into the cold night: voices pleading not for uniforms

but for the simplest comforts—a sip of water, a word of comfort. Amid this suffering,