The American Civil War played a pivotal role in the societal changes for women. Finding themselves in many cases having to assume the role of the head of the household, changes were inevitable. Though politics was considered a subject too complex for women, the majority of them did get caught up in the patriotic fever that swept the country. Only men might be allowed to don the uniform of their choice and go off to battle, but more than a few women wanted to be involved beyond what was considered proper and ladylike. The following profiles are of three such women - women who risked their lives and reputations for their beliefs, making contributions that they hoped would make a difference in the end.
|
|
Pauline Cushman was born in New Orleans on June 10, 1833. Her family later moved to Grand Rapids, Michigan, where Pauline became restless for adventure and at age 18, left for New York City to try a stage career.
Landing a role in a play at the New Orleans Varieties, Pauline returned to her birthplace, later marrying a Charles Dickinson. Together they produced a large family, but all of her children died young. By her own account, four of them died in one day from diphtheria. When the Civil War broke out, her husband enlisted as a musician in the Union army, then died of dysentery in 1862. Pauline returned to the stage, working in the Wood's Theatre in Louisville, Kentucky.
During a play, Pauline was approached by two Union officers who asked that she make a Southern toast during her performance. Though she had befriended paroled Confederate officers in Louisville, she agreed to do so. The idea of being a Union spy appealed to Pauline's sense of adventure and patriotism. After her performance, her employment was terminated and she was shunned by her Union friends. From that point on she was labeled a Southern sympathizer and her reputation fixed.
Pauline soon found work in Nashville, which enabled her to move behind Confederate lines in Wartrace, Columbia, Tullahoma and Manchester. She followed Bragg's Confederate army, traveling under the guise of looking for her brother, "a Confederate officer." But eventually, her constant appearance aroused suspicion and she was detained for questioning. Pauline panicked and attempted to escape, but was recaptured by General John Hunt Morgan.
Morgan passed her to higher headquarters, those of General Nathan Bedford Forrest, who in turn sent her to General Braxton Bragg. Bragg handed her over to the provost Marshall, who imprisoned her and ordered a court-martial. During imprisonment, her health failed and when she was sentenced to hang, Pauline collapsed. While awaiting her execution, the Confederates had to abandon Shelbyville, leaving the sick Pauline behind.
Too well known as the celebrated "Spy of the Cumberland," Pauline could no longer be of service to the Union. However, Lincoln commended her for her service and she was formally proclaimed a major of cavalry. This turned out to be the high point of Pauline's life, as she tried to recapture her celebrity status in years to come.
Making her way out west to California, Pauline became a regular fixture at the local saloons. An illness in her declining years introduced her to morphine, which she habitually used in conjunction with alcohol. At the age of 60, Pauline was found dead in a lodging house in San Francisco, dying of a self-induced overdose. The G. A. R. arranged to have a procession of Union veterans to carry her casket, and military glory was finally hers at last.
Rose O'Neal Greenhow was born in Montgomery County, Maryland in 1817. "Wild Rose", as she was called from a young age, was a leader in Washington society (where important political figures were often seen at her gala events), a passionate secessionist, and one of the most renowned spies in the Civil War. She was also the aunt of Mrs. Stephen A. Douglas. Rose made it her business to know everyone who was anyone, and to know them well.
When the Civil War broke out, Rose elected to stay in Washington, although her loyalties were suspected by some to be of the Southern persuasion. Given a cipher code by a member of Beauregard's staff, Rose passed along General McDowell's plans for the 1st Bull Run campaign to Beauregard.
In late August of 1861, Rose was put under house arrest at her home on Sixteenth Street. Soon, other female prisoners were brought to her home and it turned into a women's prison. Dubbed Fort Greenhow, other security leaks were tracked back to Greenhow's home, and she was sent to the Old Capitol Prison, with her daughter, in January of 1862.
Late in the Spring, with her health failing from the confinement, she was sent South, where she was hailed as a heroine by Southerners. Here, she met with high Confederate officials and visited with Beauregard in Charleston. Then, running the blockade to France, Rose had a private audience with Napoleon III, placed her daughter, Little Rose, in a convent, and made her way to England. After being presented to Queen Victoria, Rose penned "My Imprisonment" before returning without her daughter to the Confederacy.
Rose's ship ran aground on September 30, 1864, off of the Wilmington, North Carolina coast. Requesting to be put ashore with two Confederate agents, Rose drowned when their boat was overturned by a wave. Buried with the honors of war , Rose was said to have drowned due to the weight of the gold she was carrying back to the Confederacy. Her daughter, Little Rose, would later become an actress.
Lorinda Anna Blair was born May 3, but the year is in dispute. It is believed to have been 1839, because the 1850 census of Wayne County, Michigan, lists her name and age as eleven years old. Her parents, Cynthia and John, had two other children, Maria and John, 6 and 4 years of age. Her father was a blacksmith; he died when Anna was very young, and the family moved to Wisconsin. It is uncertain whether she returned to Michigan on a visit or moved back to live there, but by 1861 she had married twice already. Very little is known of either husband; it appears that of the second, James Etheridge, Annie kept only the name. Her first husband, a David Kellog, is a complete mystery.
When the war broke out, Annie, living in Detroit, joined the 2nd Michigan Infantry, ironically the same one Sara Emma Edmunds enlisted with as Franklin Thompson. It is not known if the two women ever met. The 2nd, the original Flint Grey militia, embarked for Washington, D.C., in May of 1861, and was in the battle of Blackburn's Ford, VA, July 18th. Annie is reported to have ridden her horse in the charge, afterwards taking care of the wounded on the field, but this too is in doubt, as it appears she did not possess a horse until the battle of Second Bull Run, when General Phil Kearny gave her one. But she was there, and on the front lines, helping nurse the wounded and giving water to the dying.
During the battles, Annie was on the field with the regiment or as close to it as possible; binding up wounds in the storm of shot and shell and deadly "minies", directing and aiding the wounded to the rear to find the surgeons. Twice her horse was shot from under her, but she never quailed. The sick soldier in camp was sure of a visit from Annie, and of her ready sympathy and every comfort she could command. Often the encouraging, hopeful words were of more benefit than the delicacies that Annie's loving heart and willing hands found some means of procuring. She was 'Our Annie' indeed...sympathizing and comforting us in sickness, sharing our perils on the battlefield and binding up our wounds. --Etheridge, Pension Exhibit B RG 46 S 2884, 49th Congress
Annie was at First Bull Run, a few days after Blackburn's Ford, but her regiment was held in reserve until sent in to cover the mad scramble that ensued after seven hours of fighting.
After McClellan took command, Annie's regiment took part in the Battle of Williamsburg, although it is uncertain if Annie accompanied them. It is generally thought McClellan ordered all women to the rear, and forbid them the camps and the front lines. But she was at Williamsburg; some claimed it was here that General Philip Kearny first noticed her, and commended her bravery on the battlefield. She remained with her regiment through the spring and summer, and in the thick of the fighting at Second Bull Run, where a young soldier was literally torn from her hands by a solid shot. She was almost immediately forced to retreat, the Confederates being nearly upon her. It was at this battle that General Kearny rode up to her as she was treating a wounded soldier, and said "I am glad you here, caring for these poor fellows, and I shall recommend that you be given a horse and the rank of sergeant as soon as possible. Thank you, my dear." She did receive a horse from her regiment, but not the rank and pay of sergeant, for the gallant Kearny was killed in the rear guard retreat at Chantilly after the battle. From then on she always had a mount, which enabled her to carry more bandages and water on the battlefield, and helped her reach the wounded more quickly. She soon became a familiar sight on her horse, and the men would cheer her as she rode by.
Annie's division was temporarily detached and sent to Washington before the battles of South Mountain and Antietam; she was thus not present at those fields. After Antietam, the 2nd Michigan was sent to Tennessee. Annie elected to stay with the Army of the Potomac and joined the Third and Fifth Michigan regiments. She was present at the battles of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville. It was at the latter she won most of her fame and was awarded the Kearny Cross for her bravery under fire. It was in this battle she was wounded in the hand when an officer attempted to hide behind her. He was killed, Annie's horse was hit and dashed through the woods in fear and panic, Annie clinging to his neck. They emerged in a clearing, plunging into the midst of the Eleventh Corps, where several soldiers caught and halted the frightened animal.
Birney's Division followed the Confederates down the Plank Road. Surrounded, they were forced to cut their way out. A soldier wrote: "Annie Etheridge...accompanied them on their perilous journey on horseback, and was under fire the whole time; she was perfectly cool, and often dismounted to help the poor wounded soldiers."
Another description of Annie at Chancellorsville:
"Upon a stump sat the form of a woman...Her long black hair had fallen from its coil; no covering was upon her head. A rubber blanket was about her form. It was Annie Etheridge, the heroine of Birney's Division. She had been out all night on the Plank Road, had been hit through the clothing several times, and now, pale and exhausted, but resolute, she was cheering on the poor fellows, whose life-blood dripped from the stretchers as the carriers sped in rapid procession by her position. Her dark, expressive eyes, clear-cut face, and a firm mouth betokened the courageous, daring woman who won the respect of all alike during those dark and perilous days." --Robert G. Carter, Four Brothers in Blue, Austin and London, University of Texas Press.
On May 27th, 1863, Annie stood at attention as General Birney pinned the Kearny Cross, emblem of courage under fire, to her blouse in front of the entire Division. The men agreed unanimously that she had more than earned the recognition.
Annie was next under fire at the Battle of Gettysburg. She had marched there with her regiment, now and again riding her horse at the rear of the soldiers. At night she wrapped herself in a blanket and slept on the ground, her saddle as a pillow. A soldier recalled:
"I remember her moving softly amongst the wounded kneeling upon the ground beside them and tenderly bathing and dressing their wounds. Her low woman's voice was music to their ears and her kind words of sympathy and encouragement and gentle reproof for undue and dangerous restlessness seemed almost angelic to the sufferers whose eyes followed her from place to place as she went from one to another. Her presence alone was of incalculable benefit...she filled a place there that no man could fill...." --Pension, Exhibit U
At Trostle Farm, on July 2, 1863, Annie was seen walking among falling shells, retreating from the Peach Orchard with her regiment, and riding her horse back amid falling shrapnel. From time to time, she would dismount to tend wounded or help a limping soldier back to the rear. On the third day of the battle she had retired from the front and was seen tending wounded of her regiment at the Third Corps Hospital behind the Round Tops. She marched to New York with the remainder of the Third Michigan on July 13, where it was sent to quell further demonstrations of the Draft Riots. Many people had heard of her by now, and her tent was invaded by the curious who wondered what manner of woman would elect to live a life of such danger and hardship, to tend the soldiers in the field. In person she was reported to be five-foot-three in height, with dark hair and eyes, and was "decidedly good looking." She dressed in a riding habit, the skirt of which she hooked up to her waist, wearing pants and high boots underneath; she also wore a sack coat in colder weather and a forage cap. She carried two Navy Colt revolvers, but was reported never to have used them.
On April 15, 1864, General Grant issued an order commanding all women to leave the front. Annie's records, however, showed complete disobedience to this, as she was in seven battles of the Army that spring and summer; the Wilderness campaign, Cold Harbor and Petersburg. In July she returned to City Point, and on the 13th of that month 286 men of her regiment, the Colonel, the Brigade General, the division's Major General, and the II Corps commander Major General A. A. Humphreys all signed a petition asking Grant that she be allowed to remain with her regiment. It was presented to the Union commander, who denied it. Annie was still at City Point that September, but she often rode back to look in on her "boys".
By October, she was back in action:
"On the 27th of October, 1864, in one of the battles for the possession of Hatcher's Run and the Boydtown Plank Road, a portion of the Third Division of the Second Corps, was nearly surrounded by the enemy, in what the soldiers called the "Bull Ring." The regiment to which Annie was attached was sorely pressed, the balls flying thick and fast, so that the surgeon advised her to accompany him to safer quarters; but she lingered, watching for an opportunity to render assistance. A little drummer boy stopped to speak to her, when a ball struck him, and he fell against her and then to the ground dead. This so startled her, that she ran towards the line of battle, but to her surprise she found that the enemy occupied every part of the ground held a few moments before by Union troops. She did not pause but dashed through their lines unhurt." --Brockett and Vaughn, "Women's Work in the Civil War."
She was also observed, dressed in her best, at the Sunday church services with her regiment in the spring of 1865. But Grant put his foot down with finality, and Annie was not at Appomattox when Lee surrendered. She had been sent back to City Point to nurse in March of 1865, and there remained until her regiment returned. She mustered out with them in Detroit on July 17, 1865. One soldier describes this scene:
"Noble Annie is with us to the last, and her brave womanly spirit breaks down, and scalding tears trickle down her beautiful bronze face as each of the boys and comrades bid her goodbye."
After the war, Annie married a third time, a one-armed veteran named Charles Hooks, of the 7th Connecticut Infantry. She took a job at the Treasure Department, but was discharged in 1878 to make room for someone else. Her soldiers were furious at this treatment and petitioned the Treasury Department to reinstate her. Hundreds of signatures were obtained, but the government remained unmoved and Annie remained out of work. She wrote a deposition in 1886 tinged with bitterness, requesting a pension for her wartime service:
"I served upon the field as well as in the camp hospitals -- "under fire" the same as were the soldiers -- dressing the wounds of the fallen -- caring for the dying and preparing and supplying from the stores in my care nourishment and stimulants which alone could save the lives of many of our brave men.
I received no compensation whatever during the war for any services -- they were given entirely at the front and most amid hardships and dangers of the battlefield. In this receiving none (not even what the soldiers received), I was obliged to expend for personal expenses in living -- clothing, some even in transportation though that it was expected I would be furnished -- All of which for four years and three months could but be considerable.
I most earnestly and respectfully ask for the rate of $50 per month [private's pensions ran as high as $72] feeling that the length of my service and the character of the same with the great danger and hardship incurred from which I can never fully recover...my services have never received recognition unless some government employment at low compensation for very hard work in the U.S. Treasury where I earned more than received can be called such -- prior to 1878 -- since which time I have been denied even that."
The pension was approved by Congress on Feb. 9, 1887, for $25 a month.
Annie Etheridge Hooks died on January 23, 1913, at Georgetown University Hospital. Her husband had died three years earlier; the cause of her death is unknown. On January 27, 1913, she was buried in Arlington National Cemetery; her grave is in section 15, number 710. -- E. F. Conklin, "Women At Gettysburg."
|
