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 [email protected] or at P. O. Box

2192, Peachtree City, GA 30269.]