By DAVID EPPS
Pastor

As a young Marine, I participated in a number of military funerals as a member of an honor guard assigned to such duties. Some of the funerals were for retired Marines, some for those killed in Vietnam, and others for those who had been killed in automobile wrecks or had died of diseases. All were impressive but terribly sad.

Depending on the particular service, there might be a rifle salute, using either M-14 or M-16 rifles, with the explosion of the rounds shattering the calm day and causing loved ones to visibly flinch. Always, a flag was solemnly folded and presented to the next of kin as a Marine representative offered a slow and final salute.

But the saddest part of all, to me at least, was to conclude the service with the bugler playing the mournful sound of “taps.” Doubly sad, was to have two buglers, one hidden behind a hill, one playing taps, one echoing that lonely sound. The melody spoke of sadness, of finality, of tears, and of death. Often I wondered where the tradition originated and who wrote such a mournful tune.

It all began in 1862 during the Civil War, when Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe was with his men near Harrison's Landing in Virginia. The Confederate Army, a mighty force in 1862, was poised on the other side of the narrow strip of land and, all too soon, the terrible battle was engaged.

All day the fierce fighting raged, with the blast of cannon, the crack of musket fire, mingled with the screaming, the rebel yells, and the swearing and praying of desperate men locked in a life and death struggle. Night finally fell and Captain Ellicombe heard the moan of a soldier who lay mortally wounded on the field.

It would be foolhardy to venture out into the darkness, since both Union and Confederate soldiers continued to fire into the night. Not knowing if it was a Union or Confederate soldier, but unable to bear the terrible moaning any longer, the captain decided to risk his life and bring the stricken man back for medical attention.

Crawling on his stomach through the gunfire that cut through the the night, the captain reached the stricken man and began pulling him toward the Union encampment. When the captain finally reached his own lines, he discovered it was a Confederate soldier. The young man in gray was dead.

The captain lit a lantern. Suddenly, he caught his breath and his body went numb with shock. In the dim light, the captain recognized the face of the rebel soldier. It was his own son.

The young man had been studying music in the South when the war erupted. Without telling his father, young Ellicombe enlisted in the Confederate Army. Now the still form of the music student turned soldier lay at the feet of his anguished father.

The following morning, heartbroken, the captain requested permission from his superiors to give his son a full military burial despite his enemy status. His request was partially granted.

The captain had asked if he could have a group of Army band members play a funeral dirge for the son at the funeral. That request was denied because the boy was a Confederate, an enemy soldier. However, out of respect for the grief-stricken father, permission was given to use one musician.

The captain chose a bugler. He asked the bugler to play a series of musical notes that he had found on a piece of paper in the pocket of his dead son's uniform. The sound echoed throughout the countryside as hardened men silently wept, overcome by the reality of the personal cost of war.

The music, written by young Ellicombe, was the haunting melody we now know as “Taps.”

These are the words to “Taps”: “Day is done, Gone the sun, From the lakes, From the hills, From the sky. All is well. Safely rest. God is nigh.”

[David Epps is rector at Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church. He may be contacted online at FatherDavidEpps@aol.com or at P. O. Box 2192, Peachtree City, GA 30269.]

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