 | WOMEN AS SOLDIERS. Women of the war : |  |
WOMEN AS SOLDIERS.
DURING all periods of the war, instances occurred of
women being found in the ranks, fighting as common
soldiers, their sex remaining unsuspected, and the particular
motive in each case often unknown.
Some went to avoid separation from those who were
dearer to them than ease, or life itself; others, from a pure
love of romance and adventure; and others, from a mental
hallucination that victory and deliverance would come to
the war-burdened land only by the sacrifice of their lives.
As an instance of the latter kind, we cite the story of the
young lady of Brooklyn, New York, who was killed at the
battle of Chickamauga.
In the early part of the year 1863, when the national
fortunes were darkest, and victory perched continually on
the standards of rebellion, this young lady, then fresh from
school, and scarce nineteen years of age, conceived the idea
that Providence had destined her, as an American Joan of
Arc, to marshal our discouraged forces, rally them to new
efforts, and inspire them with a fresh and glowing enthusiasm.
Probably she had lingered too fondly over that most
thrilling chapter of French history, where, as by a miracle,
the obscure shepherdess leaps to the van of the demoralized
heroism with the courage of an Amazon, the bearing of a
queen, and the purity of a saint.
Her parents at first treated this fancy of hers as a harmless
day-dream, produced by excessive study, and by hearing
of the constant reverses of the Union arms. At length
more active means were employed to disabuse her mind of
an impression so idle, and to dissuade her from a plan of
action so utterly impracticable; but in vain.
An eminent physician was consulted, her pastor called
to converse with her, and her former associates at school
brought to her, that by their united influence she might see
the folly of her dream; but none of their representations
could dissuade her from a determination that was every day
becoming more fixed. Finally, in a family meeting, it was
held the most judicious course to take her to Michigan; and
a maiden aunt became the companion and custodian of the
enthusiastic girl. But she was not improved by the change,
for only the positive command of her aunt prevented her
from going to Washington to seek an interview with the
good president, and ask the command of the national forces.
At length it was found necessary to deprive her to some
extent of her liberty; but this made her quite unmanageable,
and she determined to enlist at all hazards.
Escaping from her aunt, she disguised herself as a boy,
and joined the drum corps of a Michigan regiment.
All efforts to trace her were unavailing; and after some
weeks of search, she was mourned by her parents as dead,
and was believed to have committed suicide.
The regiment to which she was attached being ordered
and marched under that accomplished strategist in all
those skilful movements by which the rebel general Bragg
was forced across the Cumberland Mountains and beyond
the Tennessee River, at the sacrifice of hardly a man in the
Union lines. Then followed the hard struggle for Chattanooga.
Her regiment was in Van Cleve's division, and in
the sharp but indecisive engagements of Saturday she was
unhurt. But on the disastrous day which followed, as the
fair young soldier was standing unterrified under a deadly
fire, a minie ball pierced her side, and she fell. On being
carried to the surgeon's tent, an examination of her wound
revealed her sex. The surgeon told her that she could not
live, and advised her to disclose her real name. This she
was unwilling to do. But the colonel of the regiment,
though suffering from a painful wound, at length prevailed
upon her to inform her family of her situation; and just before
she died she dictated the following telegraphic despatch
which was sent to her father: "Mr. —, No. — Willoughby
Street, Brooklyn. Forgive your dying daughter.
I have but a few moments to live. My native soil drinks
my blood. I expected to deliver my country, but the Fates
would not have it so. I am content to die. Pray, pa, forgive
me. Tell ma to kiss my daguerrotype. Emily.
"P. S. Give my old watch to little Eph."
The gentle enthusiast was buried under the shadow of the
cloud capped mountain, which a few weeks after echoed
from base to summit with the victorious cheers of our triumphant
host, and the broad blue Tennessee murmurs for
fitting she could not have chosen.
Equally romantic, and more sad if possible, is the story
of the Wisconsin girl, who, with a devotion of which only
woman is capable, followed her soldier-lover through four
years of active service, and at last closed his eyes in death
in a Washington hospital a few days after Lee's surrender.
Her name is Ellen Goodridge, and the brave boy she
loved so truly was James Hendrick. He volunteered for
three months when the war broke out in 1861, and was at
the first battle of Bull Run. Receiving a lieutenant's commission,
he enlisted for three years, and wrote to that effect
to his parents, and also to Ellen. When she told her parents
that she had made up her mind to go with her lover and
share the fortunes of war by his side, they were so incensed
at what they considered her folly, that they turned her from
their doors, and bade her never return. Going to Washington,
she found young Hendrick's regiment, and obtained
permission to remain at the colonel's headquarters and look
after the cooking.
They were in every great battle that was fought in
Virginia, and in the intervals she often went with him in
skirmishes and raids, on one such occasion receiving a
painful wound in her arm from a minie ball. His health
remained good till after the fall of Richmond. Then he
became very sick, and was taken to Washington, where she
watched over his couch, bathed his hot forehead, read to
him, wrote for him, and showed the most painful anxiety
for his recovery; but all in vain. A day or two before he
The occasion was inexpressibly sad, he writhing in
the grasp of a fatal disease, having survived all the great
battles of the war only to die, and leave the noble girl, who
had been so true to him, broken-hearted and a widow, and
she almost wild with the terrible thought that, after giving
up so much, and suffering so much, to be near him, death
would leave her only his name and a bleeding heart.
The hardihood of "Irish Biddy" was probably not surpassed
by any camp-follower during the war.
She sometimes went out with the men on picket, and
remained all night on watch. At times, when sickness or
hard service had thinned the ranks of the regiment, she
would take the place of a soldier, and go out on a scouting
or a raiding expedition, doing the full duty of a soldier.
At other times the part she acted was more fearless and
sublime, taking then the place of an officer, and acting the
commander rather than the companion.
One occasion of the latter class shows that Irish Biddy
possessed the courage, if not the grace and poetry, of Joan
of Arc.
The brigade was in Virginia, near Dinwiddie Court
House, engaged in a series of skirmishes and actions with
the enemy, the general object of which was to complete
the investment and isolation of Richmond.
One of the captains in the regiment to which she was
attached had fallen in a skirmish with a party of Confederate
cavalry. The regiment was repulsed at the end of the action,
and the body of the fallen officer left in the lines of
knew that his body was abandoned by the men in their
retreat.
She rode boldly in, and was not challenged or disturbed
by the enemy, who may not have seen her, or who respected
her sex and the sacred character of her errand too much to
fire upon or capture the heroine. The lifeless body of the
captain she lifted and laid over her horse, and with this
double, and to most persons fearful, load, she rode alone
for twelve miles before she found the majority of the regiment,
and could deliver the corpse to those who would give
it Christian burial.
During this ride of twelve miles she came upon a small
wagon train, and rode along with it for some distance.
When some hostile demonstration was made, the teamsters,
who were few in number and poorly armed, were on the
point of making a sudden and what would have been a dishonorable
escape and abandonment of their train to the
enemy, when Bridget rode among them, rallied them, told
them there was no real danger, and, in language less polite
than forcible, called upon them "for God's sake not to run
off and leave their wagons before the rebs were within a
mile of the nearest of them."
Her efforts were successful, and the men were actually
recalled to a sense of soldierly duty by a woman who was
then in the act of rescuing the dead body of an officer who
had fallen in a skirmish, and had been abandoned by his
men, who sought safety in retreat.
The battle of Fair Oaks commenced by a vigorous
charge of an overwhelming rebel force upon a single division
Chickahominy. As Casey's division, thus attacked, gave
way, there was danger that the panic might spread and infect
the troops that were hastening to the support. Among
these was the seventh Massachusetts, that, having advanced
to within range of the rebel artillery, had just received the
order, "Forward," that would in a few moments plunge
them into the heat of the contest. They obeyed the command
but slowly, for the enemy's fire was growing every
moment more terrific. Just then "Irish Biddy" came along,
supporting her husband, who had a ball through his leg.
Swinging her soldier's cap over her head, she shouted,
"Arrah! go in, boys, and bate the bloody spalpeens, and
revinge me husband, and God be wid ye."
The effect was instantaneous and decisive. The regiment
gave three cheers for "Irish Biddy," and three for the seventh.
Then joining the tenth Massachusetts, and other
troops, they made a gallant and successful charge on the
enemy's centre.
Browned by exposure, and with sensibilities somewhat
hardened by years of constant service in camp, a character
like that of Irish Biddy may fail to interest us for its feminine
characteristics, but it must, nevertheless, command our
admiration for its strength, its fortitude, its dauntless courage,
and the genuine and inextinguishable kindness of heart
which led her ever to place the good and the comfort of the
men above all demands of safety, and all considerations of
personal ease.
| WOMEN AS SOLDIERS. Women of the war : | |