Military History

Medal of Honor Monday: Willie Johnston, the 11-Year-Old Who Would Not Drop His Drum

At eleven, Willie Johnston carried his drum through the Seven Days retreat when others tossed their gear to survive.

War has a way of stripping people down to their bare essentials.

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When the shooting is overwhelming, and it’s time to turn back, that retreat can turn ugly. This is when grown men start doing the math in their heads: ounces equal pounds, pounds become pain, and enduring pain becomes survival.

Our setting is the American Civil War: picture an 11-year-old kid in a Union uniform, moving with an army that is falling back hard, while the adults around him start shedding rifles, blankets, knapsacks, anything that might slow them down. And that kid decides, in the middle of all that chaos, that he is keeping his drum.

That determined kid was William “Willie” Johnston, the youngest Medal of Honor recipient in American history.

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Willie’s Roots

The official Medal of Honor-era paperwork and later references do not always agree on a single clean hometown story for Willie, which is common with Civil War records. The Medal of Honor Society lists him as being born in Morristown, St. Lawrence County, New York.

At the same time, he is “accredited to” St. Johnsbury, Caledonia County, Vermont, which is how the Army and the Medal of Honor community tie recipients to a place of record for service or connection.

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What we can say with confidence, based on War Department historical writing and the Medal of Honor Society’s entry, is this: Willie went into service with a Vermont regiment, the 3rd Vermont Volunteer Infantry, after his father enlisted and the family was living in Vermont.

Willie was a Union soldier. He wore blue.

How an 11-Year-Old Ends Up in the Army

The world was a much different place in those days. During the Civil War, folks held certain assumptions and a different tolerance for risk. According to a War Department “Medal of Honor Monday” feature, Willie begged to go with his father after his father enlisted in 1861, and dad’s commanding officer agreed, placing Willie with the musicians in Company D of the 3rd Vermont.

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That one decision put a mere child in the churn of the Peninsula Campaign.

Can you imagine your 11-year-old tagging along through the streets of Baghdad during the insurgency? I think not.

The Peninsula Campaign, the Seven Days, and the Moment That Made History The story that follows is not complicated, which is part of why it sticks. During the Seven Days’ Battles in late June and early July 1862, Union forces were driven back toward the James River. In the retreat, most soldiers and musicians discarded equipment to move faster. As noted above, young Willie did not. He kept his drum and brought it through the retreat to safety at Harrison’s Landing. When the division regrouped, he was the only drummer in his division who still had his instrument, and he was asked to play for the division. The Congressional Medal of Honor Society summarizes his recognition as “Gallantry in Seven Day Battle and Peninsula campaign,” listing the action place as the Seven Days and the Peninsula Campaign in Virginia. That is the heart of it. An 11-year-old kept hold of the one thing that was his job, his identity, and his unit’s literal heartbeat, while the world around him was busy turning into panic and exhaustion. How He Received the Medal of Honor The War Department account says President Abraham Lincoln heard about Willie’s conduct and recommended him for the Medal of Honor. Willie received the Medal of Honor on September 16, 1863, presented by Secretary of War Edwin Stanton. He was 13 at the time of the presentation, and he remains the youngest person to have earned the medal. Civil War Standards vs. Modern Standards If you try to measure a Civil War Medal of Honor story with a modern yardstick, you will miss the point. The National Park Service notes that the standards for the Medal of Honor have changed over time, and it lays out the modern expectation for combat service and proof requirements that reflect how rigorously the award is documented today. The medal itself was also new in Willie’s era. A Civil War-era overview in the Essential Civil War Curriculum explains that the idea was approved first for the Navy in 1861 and for the Army in 1862, and that it initially existed as a wartime decoration before becoming permanent in 1863. So yes, the Civil War Medal of Honor ecosystem was not what it is today. But dismissing Willie’s award as “just different standards” misses what the Army was recognizing in that moment: discipline under stress, determination under retreat, and a refusal to quit when quitting was the easy move. The Rest of His Life and How He Is Remembered Willie Johnston’s story survives because it is compact, human, and a little unreal. A child in the middle of a collapsing movement, holding onto a drum like it is a life raft. That’s a special kind of delicate heroism. He is remembered publicly as the youngest Medal of Honor recipient, with his award tied to the Seven Days and the Peninsula Campaign in Virginia, and officially presented on September 16, 1863. And that is the legacy that matters. Not the myth-making of later war films about the era. Not the soft-focus nostalgia. Just a real kid in a hard war who did not drop his gear, did not drop his duty, and did not drop the beat that told his unit they were still intact. Why We Remember Him Today Because it forces us to confront an uncomfortable truth. The Civil War put children in uniform. It did this casually enough that an 11-year-old drummer could end up with the nation’s highest award for valor. Side Note: In the course of my research, I discovered that approximately 10,000 drummers were attributed to both sides during the Civil War. Not all were young boys like Willie; some were older teenagers. And the drums certainly weren’t for entertainment. The beat of the drum was sort of a command and control device. A drumbeat cut through musket fire, shouting wind, and confusion far better than a human voice.  Willie Johnston is a reminder that courage is not always a bayonet charge or a last stand with a rifle. Sometimes it is the stubborn, almost defiant act of carrying out your one responsibility through the kind of retreat that breaks others. He kept the beat, and the Army remembered. Today, we honor him as well.
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