Deponent and her husband spent certainly more than three years in the service.
Deborah Sampson Gannett
(1760–1827)
Continental Army
Deborah Sampson Gannett, the first American woman to tell the story of her military service to a public audience, disguised herself in men’s clothing in 1782 to enlist in the Continental Army under the name Robert Shurtlieff. She was wounded in combat later that year. In 1783 doctors discovered her sex when she caught a fever. She was discharged from the Army but successfully petitioned Congress for a military pension.
The vocabulary Gannett used in her diary suggests that she was literate and well-read. Aspiring to make her story appeal to wealthy, educated readers, she chose an ambitious but inexperienced male journalist, Herman Mann, to co-write her memoir in 1797. Mann included a number of factual inaccuracies, and he seems to have taken entire sections from a popular contemporary memoir of British soldier Hannah Snell. Gannett was said not to have been entirely pleased with it.
In 1802, again working with Mann, she revised her memoir into a lecture and became the first American woman to appear on the public lecture circuit. In uniform, she recited the speech from memory. Afterward, when someone was available to call the commands, she demonstrated her skill at rifle drill.
Gannett’s lecture, from which the excerpt below is taken, avoids most of the outright falsifications in the memoir. Laden with high diction, sophisticated vocabulary, and exaggerated sentiment, it would have appealed to wealthy, educated men of the time. In alluding to Greek and Roman classics when describing her experiences, Gannett claims that her military service was as noble and valuable as a man’s. She apologizes profusely for violating social conventions governing women’s behavior; she wanted to reintegrate into postwar society. But a close read of the lecture suggests that she did not regret having fought for her country. She even compares men’s control over women to the tyranny of the Crown over the Colonies.
The solicitations of a number of worthy characters and friends, too persuasive and congenial with my own disposition to be answered with indifference, or to be rejected, have induced me thus to advance and bow submissive to an audience, simply and concisely to rehearse a tale of truth . . . a tale—the truth of which I was ready to say, but which, perhaps, others have already said for me, ought to expel me from the enjoyment of society, from the acknowledgement of my own sex, and from the endearing friendship of the other. But this, I venture to pronounce, would be saying too much: For as I should thus not respect myself, should be entitled to none from others.
I indeed recollect it as a foible, an error and presumption, into which, perhaps, I have too inadvertently and precipitately run; but which I now retrospect with anguish and amazement. . . . And yet I must frankly confess, I recollect it with a kind of satisfaction, which no one can better conceive and enjoy than him, who, recollecting the good intentions of a bad deed, lives to see and to correct any indecorum of his life. . . .
But most of all, my mind became agitated with the enquiry—why a nation, separated from us by an ocean more than three thousand miles in extent, should endeavor to enforce on us plans of subjugation, the most unnatural in themselves, unjust, inhuman, in their operations, and unpractised even by the uncivilized savages of the wilderness? Perhaps nothing but the critical juncture of the times could have excused such a philosophical disquisition of politics in woman. . . .
Confirmed by this time in the justness of a defensive war on the one side, from the most aggravated one on the other—my mind ripened with my strength; and while our beds and our roses were sprinkled with the blood of indiscriminate youth, beauty, innocence, and decrepit old age, I only seemed to want the license to become one of the severest avengers of the wrong. . . .
Wrought upon at length, you may say, by an enthusiasm and frenzy, that could book no control—I burst the tyrant bonds, which held my sex in awe, and clandestinely, or by stealth, grasped an opportunity, which custom and the world seemed to deny, as a natural priviledge. And whilst poverty, hunger, nakedness, cold, and disease had dwindled the American Armies to a handful—while universal terror and dismay ran through our camps, ran through our country—while even WASHINGTON himself, at their head, though like a god, stood, as it were, on a pinacle tottering over the abyss of destruction, the last prelude to our falling a wretched prey to the yawning jaws of the monster aiming to devour—not merely for the safe of gratifying a fecetious curiosity, like that of my reputed Predecessor, in her romantic excursions through the garden of bliss—did I throw off the soft habiliments of my sex, and assume those of the warrior, already prepared for battle.
Thus I became an actor in that important drama, with an inflexible resolution to persevere through the last scene; when we might be permitted and acknowledged to enjoy what we had so nobly declared we would possess, or lose with our lives—FREEDOM and INDEPENDENCE! . . .
What shall I say further? Shall I not stop short, and leave to your imaginations to pourtray the tragic deeds of war? Is it not enough, that I here leave it even to inexperience to fancy the hardships, the anxieties, the dangers, even of the best life of a soldier? And were it not improper, were it not unsafe, were it not indelicate, and were I certain I should be intitled to a pardon, I would appeal to the soft bosom of my own sex to draw a parallel between the perils and sexual inconveniences of a girl in her teens, and not only in the armour, but in the capacity, at any rate, obliged to perform the duties in the field—and those who go to the camp without a masquerade, and consequently subject only to what toils and sacrifices they please: Or, will a conclusion be more natural from those who sometimes take occasion to complain by their own domestic fire-sides; but who, indeed, are at the same time in affluence, cherished in the arms of their companions, and sheltered from the storms of war by the rougher sex in arms?
Many have seen, and many can contemplate, in the field of imagination, battles, and victories amidst garments rolled in blood: but it is only one of my own sex, exposed to the storm, who can conceive of my situation. . . .
But the question again returns—What particular inducement could she have thus to elope from the soft sphere of her own sex, to perform a deed of valor by way of sacrilege on unhallowed ground—voluntarily to face the storms both of elements, and war, in the character of him, who is more fitly made to brave and endure all danger? . . .
And dost thou ask what fairy hand inspired
A Nymph to be with martial glory fired?
Or, what from art, or yet from nature’s laws,
Has join’d a Female to her country’s cause?
Why on great Mars’s theatre she drew
Her female pourtrait, though in soldier’s hue?
Then ask—why Cincinnatus left his farm?
Why science did old PLATO’S bosom warm?
Why HECTOR in the Trojan war should dare?
Or why should HOMER trace his actions there?
Why NEWTON in philosophy has shown?
Or CHARLES, for solitude, has left his throne?
Why LOCKE in metaphysics should delight—
Precisian sage, to set false reason right?
Why ALBION’S SONS should kindle up a war?
Why JOVE or VULCAN hurried on the car?
Perhaps the same propensity you use,
Has prompted her a martial course to choose.
Perhaps to gain refinements where she could,
This rare achievement for her country’s good. . . .
I would not purposely evade a pertinent answer; and yet I know not, at present, how to give a more particular one than has already been suggested.
I am indeed willing to acknowledge what I have done, an error and presumption. I will call it an error and presumption, because I swerved from the accustomed flowery paths of female delicacy, to walk upon the heroic precipice of feminine perdition!—I indeed left my morning pillow of roses, to prepare a couch of brambles for the night; and yet I awoke from this refreshed, to
gather nought but the thorns of anguish for the next night’s repose—and in the precipitancy of passion, to prepare a moment for repentance at leisure!
Had all this been achieved by the rougher hand, more properly assigned to wield the sword in duty and danger in a defensive war, the most cruel in its measures, though important in its consequences; these thorns might have been converted into wreaths of immortal glory and fame. I therefore yield every claim of honor and distinction to the hero and patriot, who met the foe in his own name; though not with more heartfelt satisfaction, with the trophies, which were most to redound to the future grandeur and importance of the country in which he lives.
2
The Civil War
“I Gave My Services Willingly”
“I long to be a man; but as I can’t fight, I will content myself with working for those who can,” the New England spinster wrote in her diary in April 1861.
On her birthday in November 1862, she decided to go to Washington as a nurse. She loved nursing, wanted an outlet for her energy, dreaded the boredom of winter, and hoped not to burden her family with her upkeep.
And she wanted new experiences.
She had been at Georgetown Hospital only three days when cartloads of men wounded at the Battle of Fredericksburg began to arrive. She wished for a moment that she was safe at home again, with a quiet day ahead. From behind a pile of clothing, bandages, and supplies, she watched orderlies carry stretchers of wounded men into her ward, the former ballroom of a hotel. She realized then that her homesickness and distaste for the vile odor of the wounded men must wait: she was “there to work, not to wonder or weep.”
Another nurse handed her a basin, a sponge, towels, and a block of brown soap. “Come, my dear,” she said. “Begin to wash as fast as you can. Tell them to take off socks, coats, and shirts, scrub them well, put on clean shirts.” The order shocked the modest thirty-year-old. But there was no time for nonsense.
Her first patient was an older Irishman with a head wound. He was horrified that a lady would deign to wash him, and he rolled up his eyes and blessed her in an effusive style that made them both laugh. When she knelt to remove his shoes, he refused to let her touch his “dirty craters.”
“May your bed above be aisy darlin’, for the day’s work ye ar doon!—Whoosh! there ye are, and bedad, it’s hard tellin’ which is the dirtiest, the fut or the shoe.”
This made everyone laugh. The nurse thought that if the soldier had said nothing she might have continued pulling on his foot, mistaking it for his boot. Amused and reassured, Louisa May Alcott—Army contract nurse—went to work with a will.
Not all women contented themselves with support roles. Sanitary Commission worker and memoirist Mary Livermore wrote in 1888 that nearly four hundred women fought on both sides of the Civil War disguised as men. She estimated that there were many more. Historians Deanne Blanton and Lauren Cook Wise documented the existence of almost two hundred and fifty such “distaff soldiers.” They believe that more fought disguised as men but were never discovered.
Women took advantage of lax Army physicals; doctors often checked only for a trigger finger and enough teeth to tear open a cartridge. Both the field environment and social expectations helped women maintain their disguises. Working-class and frontier women were used to manual labor; many knew how to fire a weapon. Underage male enlistees had higher voices and lacked facial hair. Loose clothing hid feminine curves, and few men knew how women looked in pants. Healthy women easily carried an infantryman’s equipment: rifles weighed ten or fifteen pounds, and soldiers on march carried about thirty pounds of gear. Soldiers slept in their clothes and used nearby woods or bushes as latrines. Some women adopted “masculine vices”: they drank, swore, smoked and chewed tobacco, gambled, fought, and even courted civilian women to enhance their disguise.
According to Blanton and Wise, “distaff soldiers” served in every rank from private to major, and in infantry, artillery, and cavalry units. They worked as guards, scouts, clerks, dragoons, teamsters, musicians, provost marshals, orderlies, nurses, couriers, and spies. The youngest discovered was a girl of twelve.
Women fought and died at Manassas, Antietam, Shiloh, and Gettysburg; in the sieges of Vicksburg and Richmond; on the Peninsula, Shenandoah, and Red River campaigns; at many minor battles; and at Appomattox. They were promoted more frequently than their male counterparts—possibly because misbehavior attracted attention and threatened their disguises. The Army court-martialed no women for dereliction of duty, military crimes, or disgracing the uniform. Only three are known to have deserted; two of them later reenlisted. Two changed sides from the Confederacy to the Union.
About 15 percent were wounded, often multiple times. They sustained gunshot wounds in the head, neck, and torso; saber cuts; and arm and leg wounds resulting in amputation. More than 10 percent died of wounds sustained in battle or diseases endemic in crowded, unsanitary camp conditions. Soldiers discovered some distaff soldiers’ sex only after their deaths; others, like Rosetta Wakeman, remained undiscovered and were buried as men.
Six served while pregnant. A Union soldier fought at Antietam in her second trimester and at Fredericksburg in her third; two Confederate soldiers gave birth while prisoners of war. All kept their pregnancies secret until they gave birth.
Only one distaff soldier reported a sexual assault. The intended rape victim, a Union soldier, shot her assailant in the face.
Some women who were taken prisoner were released when their sex was discovered. Both armies incarcerated others as prisoners of war. Austere and unsanitary conditions at all prisons had serious health consequences for men and women alike, discipline was harsh, and guards treated prisoners brutally. The death rate during incarceration was high.
The disguises of three-quarters of the women whose service Blanton and Wise documented were revealed when they became casualties or were taken prisoner, or in rare cases when feminine gestures or behaviors gave them away. A few disclosed their sex to obtain a discharge. The Army usually discharged women caught serving as men—often honorably. Approximately 10 percent of those discovered completed their enlistment as men; almost twice that many eventually served openly as women. Some women reenlisted in other units. Others remained with the Army as nurses, laundresses, or spies.
Women spied for both sides, in uniform and as civilians. Attitudes about women often kept them above suspicion, but the work was dangerous: both armies imprisoned, shot, or hanged captured spies.
After the Wars of Independence, the Army Medical Corps used men as nurses. Aside from a handful of corpsmen and orderlies, most soldiers assigned to nursing duty had proven themselves incompetent soldiers on the battlefield. Predictably, this policy drained manpower from the fight, and invalid soldiers received poor care. In August of 1861, Congress authorized the Union Army to contract women as untrained civilian nurses.
Over the course of the war some 3,200 women nurses, contracted to the Army under the leadership of mental health advocate Dorothea Dix, worked long hours and exposed themselves to deadly contagious diseases. Others volunteered with the U.S. Sanitary Commission, Western Sanitary Commission, and U.S. Christian Commission—forerunners of the American Red Cross. Catholic, Lutheran, and Episcopalian nuns trained in nursing skills also volunteered. The Confederate army did not organize or train a corps of nurses, but relied instead on volunteers.
African American women served as soldiers, spies, and nurses, though their stories were rarely recorded. Some disguised themselves as men to fight. Others filled support roles in racially segregated units. The Union Army conscripted freedwomen as “contraband” cooks and laundresses. African American women volunteered in nursing and relief organizations.
Union spy Elizabeth Van Lew convinced Confederate First Lady Varina Davis to accept the service of Mary Elizabeth Bowser, a former slave freed by the family. Bowser, educated in a Philadelphia school, read Confederate president Jefferson Davis’s correspondence when she cleaned his study and eav
esdropped on his conversations with Confederate leaders. She reported the information to Ulysses S. Grant through Van Lew’s espionage network. Because of racial prejudice and assumptions about the literacy and intelligence of African Americans, Davis did not suspect her of being the leak until late in the war. In 1865 she fled. After the war, the War Department destroyed records of her work; in 1952 her family discarded her diary, unaware of its significance.
Civil War soldiers, most of whom were literate, left a rich heritage of diaries, uncensored letters, and memoirs. Women left far fewer written records of their wartime experiences. Those who enlisted, like the men they served alongside, often came from working-class or immigrant families who placed less value on women’s education. Researchers have discovered the letters of only three women who served as men, and only two published memoirs. (Men documented the existence of hundreds of others.) Some letters, diaries, and memoirs of contract and volunteer nurses have survived.
Sarah Emma Edmonds’s memoir of her service as Pvt. Frank Thompson immediately became a bestseller upon its publication in 1864. After being twice reissued, it sold 175,000 copies. Actress Pauline Cushman published a memoir of her espionage activities in 1875. Loreta Janeta Velazquez published her controversial memoir of service as a Confederate soldier a year later. The wide audience for these stories led to publication of fictional accounts: women in uniform appeared in short stories on the pages of magazines like Harper’s and in a slew of novels published during and just after the war—most seemingly aimed at a literate but lower-class audience, and all conforming to socially acceptable images of women warriors.
After the war Louisa May Alcott wrote commercially successful fiction. Dr. Mary Edwards Walker wrote progressive essays and two books on women’s issues and dress reform. Contract and volunteer nurses continued in the profession as civilians and contributed to a revolution of the nursing profession. Sarah Emma Edmonds and Harriet Tubman engaged in relief work for soldiers and freedmen. A few, like Albert Cashier (Jenny Hodgers), continued to live as men. Some, widowed by the war or married to fellow soldiers, lived in poverty or in poor health from diseases contracted during the war. Few women attempted to claim a pension or other benefits; many contract nurses probably did not realize that they were eligible.
It's My Country Too Page 3