This message, one of the most stirring ever written, is displayed in the Hall
of History, the museum of the North Carolina Historical Commission, in
Raleigh. It was penned with the life blood of Colonel Isaac Erwin Avery, of
the Sixth Regiment, North Carolina State Troops, who was mortally wounded in
the late afternoon of the second battle of Gettysburg. His superior officer
having already been wounded, Colonel Avery was commanding Hoke's Brigade in
the charge up Cemetery Heights when he fell.
Shot from his horse and aware that he was dying far from his comrades,
Colonel Avery's first thought was of his aged father, Isaac Erwin Avery, Sr.,
who lived near Morganton, N.C. The soldier's right hand was paralyzed from
his wound, but, by using his left hand, he drew a scrap of coarse paper from
his pocket. Plucking a twig from a nearby bush, he dipped it into his
swiftly flowing blood, and scrawled the message, which was addressed to his
friend, Major Samuel McDowell Tate. The note reached the elder Avery a week
after his gallant son had been buried on the battlefield.
Thousands have gazed upon Colonel Avery's "message from the grave," and
other thousands have received a surge of inspiration upon hearing it
recounted in sermons and stories.. . . . .
"Tell my father I died with my face to the enemy."
A week after the battle in which Colonel Avery was killed, an old southern
gentleman sat alone on the porch of his country home in the Carolina hills,
near Morganton He was thinking of his five boys, out on various
battlefields, praying that all was well with them, when his thoughts were
broken by a sudden excitement among the negroes. Lige, the body-servant of
their young Marse Isaac, was approaching! But the cries of joy suddenly were
hushed, for Lige was coming home alone.
The old man saw the servant at about the same time the negroes did, and he
too, was straining for the sight of his great, tall son and namesake. But
the negro was alone. The father shhok himself to throw off an anxious
though. He hoped his son had justed stopped somewhere on his way home, and
was sending his man on ahead with a message. He could not know how true it
was that the negro was bringing a message from his boy. As Lige slowly
nearer, the house, there was no mistaking his mission. His hesitating gait,
his abject appearance, all too eloquently told the tragic story he was
bringing. When he at last reached the porch, he made a deep bow to his aged
master. Very quietly and simply he told how his young Marse Isaac had been
killed at Gettysburg. The old man accepted the little note which had been
found in the colonel's still hand; it was mute evidence of the struggle his
son had made to bring comfort to his lonely heart. Then his boy's sword and
watch were gently laid upon his knee.
The servant stood back, not willing to intrude upon the first moments of his
master's sorrow. After what seemed an endless silence, Mr Avery looked up as
if he had forgotten that Lige was there. A slow nod of his head indicated
that he was now ready to hear the story.
"Old Marse," the man choked, "I did all I could for young Master. He called
me to him the night before he was killed, and told me if anything happened to
him in the charge the next day, I was to bring his sword and watch to you.
He did look so grand the next day, when he rode away. But I am sure he felt
he would never come back, for he was so particular about telling me good-bye.
And then he turned back and called to me, saying, 'Remember my orders,
Lige.'
"It was late in the afternoon when the message came back to headquarters that
Marse Isaac had been killed. The battle was still raging, but I started
right out to find him, hoping he had only been wounded. I hunted for hours,
looking in every direction, until night came upon me. I was stumbling
around, almost ready to give up, when I looked around and there he lay right
by me, the moon shining on his peaceful face and in his hand this little note
that I knew was meant for you.
"Marse Isaac had fallen nearer the enemy than any other man, Old Marse. He
died leading his soldiers right into the face of the guns. Major Tate and me
buried him there on the very top of Cemetery Heights, where he had fallen."
The last command of his young master obeyed, the negro Lige felt that his
life's work was ended, and he never wanted to leave the old plantation.
Through the long years that followed, his thoughts never wandered far from
his "Marse Isaac," who had stood 6 foot 2 in his stocking feet, unmatched by
any man in the section for physical strength.
"People from all parts of the world, " remarked the curator of the Hall of
History, "have come to read this message. Besides Roosevelt, Presidents Taft
& Wilson visited the hall to see it. Many and many a sermon has been
preached on it."
"I died with my face to the enemy."
What more could any son say or any father wish to hear?
