The Heroes and Villians Series - Civil War: Women's Roles in the Civil War
My Name is Clara Barton
A Shy Girl with a Fierce Heart (1821–1839)
I was born on Christmas Day in 1821, in North Oxford, Massachusetts. My real name is Clarissa Harlowe Barton, but everyone has always called me Clara. As a child, I was painfully shy. I often hid behind my older siblings, but I watched everything, and I listened carefully.
My father, a respected war veteran, taught me stories of bravery and duty. My mother, firm but kind, ran the house with purpose. My brothers and sisters were much older than me, but when one of them fell seriously ill, I stayed by his bedside day and night, nursing him back to health. I didn’t know it then, but I had discovered a calling.
Becoming a Teacher and Finding My Voice (1839–1850)
At just 17 years old, I became a teacher. In a time when it was rare for women to work outside the home, I found great purpose in education. I taught in schools across Massachusetts and New Jersey, eventually founding a free public school in Bordentown.
It grew quickly—from six students to over 600. But when the school board hired a man to run the school I had built, simply because he was a man, I was deeply hurt. I resigned. It was one of the first times I saw how unfair the world could be—but it wouldn’t be the last.
A New Challenge in Washington (1854–1860)
After leaving teaching, I moved to Washington, D.C., where I worked as a clerk in the U.S. Patent Office—the first woman to hold a government job there with equal pay to men. But many resented me, and eventually I was demoted, then fired, and then reinstated when the administration changed.
Still, I had found a new sense of independence and resilience. I had faced criticism and isolation but refused to back down. Little did I know, the greatest challenge of my life was about to begin.
Answering the Call of War (1861–1865)
When the Civil War broke out, I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. I saw wounded soldiers pouring into Washington, broken and bleeding with no supplies, no food, no help. I began collecting bandages, food, and clothing—asking anyone I could to donate. I stored them in government buildings and even my own apartment.
But that wasn’t enough. I got permission to go directly to the battlefield. Imagine walking through gunfire, smoke, and chaos, trying to soothe the dying and bind the wounds of the living. That became my life. They called me “The Angel of the Battlefield.”
I was not a trained nurse—very few were back then. But I worked tirelessly to bring comfort, organize field hospitals, and prove that women could serve bravely just behind the front lines.
A New Mission: The Red Cross (1865–1904)
After the war, I traveled to Europe and discovered the International Red Cross, an organization that delivered neutral, impartial aid during wartime. I knew instantly that America needed this. When I returned home, I began the long and difficult campaign to establish the American Red Cross.
It wasn’t easy. Many believed our country didn’t need such an organization in peacetime. But I argued that we could use it for natural disasters, too—floods, hurricanes, and fires. In 1881, at age 59, I became the founding president of the American Red Cross. I led relief missions across the country and even abroad.
A Legacy of Service (1904–1912)
I stepped down as president of the Red Cross in 1904 but remained active in humanitarian causes. I continued writing, speaking, and advocating for others. I believed fiercely in the power of compassion, courage, and preparedness.
I passed away in 1912, at the age of 90. I never married or had children, but in a way, the wounded and weary of war were my family. I gave them comfort. I gave them dignity. And I hope I helped give the world a little more hope.
My Message to You
To every young person reading this: You don’t have to be loud to be powerful. You don’t have to carry a weapon to fight for what’s right. You just have to care enough to act—and never give up when others say “no.”
Women of Courage: My Story of the Civil War - Told by Clara Barton
A Nation at War, and Women Who Rose to Meet It (1861)
When war first broke out in 1861, the streets of Washington buzzed with uncertainty and fear. Men marched off in uniforms, while cannons roared in the distance. But let me tell you something many don’t realize: it wasn’t just the men who went to war—women did too.
No, we didn’t all carry rifles. We didn’t all wear uniforms. But we carried burdens just as heavy. And I saw firsthand how women—strong, determined, and resourceful—held this country together in its darkest hour.
The Battlefield Angels: Women as Nurses
At the start of the war, nursing was not a profession for women. In fact, many people believed it was improper for a woman to be in a hospital, let alone on a battlefield. But when wounded soldiers came flooding in—broken, bleeding, and dying—we answered the call.
I remember walking into overcrowded hospitals and finding no clean bandages, no proper food, no supplies, and men lying in pain, whispering for help. I began collecting supplies—bandages, medicine, blankets—and delivering them myself. Soon, I was on the front lines, sometimes even under fire, caring for the wounded. They called me the “Angel of the Battlefield,” but I was only one of many women who gave everything to save lives.
Others like Dorothea Dix, who organized thousands of women into the Union Army nursing corps, and Mary Ann Bickerdyke, who built hospitals from scratch and earned the respect of generals, became legends in their own right.
And then there were the quiet heroes—Black women, enslaved and free, who cared for soldiers without recognition or pay, and who kept wounded men alive in the worst of conditions. They were angels too—forgotten by history but not by those they saved.
The Homefront: Where Women Became the Heart of the Nation
While we nursed the wounded at the front, thousands more women stayed behind and kept America running. Farms had to be tended. Businesses had to be managed. Children had to be raised—often without fathers, brothers, or sons.
Women took over planting and harvesting, ran shops, and managed estates. They wrote letters to soldiers, sent care packages, and held their families together with quiet courage. Many even formed Ladies’ Aid Societies, sewing uniforms, knitting socks, and collecting food and medicine for troops. They were the supply line. The support beam. The unshaken core of the country.
In both the Union and the Confederacy, women endured shortages, heartbreak, and fear. When enemy armies marched through towns, women stood their ground. Some defended their homes. Some became spies, like Rose O’Neal Greenhow in the South or Elizabeth Van Lew in the North. Others hid runaway slaves or wounded soldiers, risking everything for what they believed was right.
Changing What It Meant to Be a Woman
Before the war, most women were told their place was in the home—and only the home. But the war changed that. We proved we could do more. We could organize hospitals, manage land, teach, write, lead, and care for soldiers just as bravely as any man could fight.
By the end of the war, many women had discovered new strength, new skills, and new purpose. We returned to our families with our heads held high—not just as caretakers, but as survivors and leaders.
I believe the Civil War was not only a fight to save the Union—it was a quiet revolution for women. A revolution won not with muskets, but with soap, stitches, bandages, and bravery.
My Message to the Next Generation
If you ever wonder what difference one person can make—remember us. Remember the nurses who walked into danger, the wives who held their homes together, the mothers who waited by candlelight, and the girls who grew into women too soon.
We did not ask for war, but we did not run from it either. We stayed. We fought. We healed. We built. And you can too.
My Name is Elizabeth Blackwell
A New Life in a New Land (1821–1838)
I was born on February 3, 1821, in Bristol, England. I was one of nine children in a lively, progressive family. My father, Samuel Blackwell, was a sugar refiner with a strong sense of justice—he believed in education for girls, abolition of slavery, and independent thought. When I was eleven, our family sailed to America in search of better opportunities after our business fell on hard times.
We settled first in New York, then moved to Cincinnati, Ohio. Tragedy struck soon after—my father died, leaving us with very little. My mother, sisters, and I had to find work to survive. I became a teacher, but it was more out of necessity than passion.
A Radical Idea Takes Root (1839–1846)
It wasn’t until a close friend of mine, who was very sick, told me that she would have felt more comfortable with a female doctor that the idea hit me like lightning: Why couldn’t I become one? At first, the thought was appalling—I didn’t even like being around illness! But the idea wouldn’t leave me alone.
No woman in America had ever attended medical school. When I applied, every school but one rejected me. Some even laughed at the idea. But in 1847, Geneva Medical College in New York took a vote—among the male students, who thought it was a joke—and admitted me. And so, I became the first woman to study medicine in the United States.
Breaking Barriers and Earning Respect (1847–1849)
Medical school was brutal. I was stared at, whispered about, and even excluded from labs and lectures. But I was determined. I studied harder than anyone and graduated first in my class in 1849. It was a personal victory—but also a symbol of what women could accomplish if given the chance.
I wanted more training, so I sailed to Europe to study in Paris and London. There, I was mostly limited to midwifery and nursing, but I gained critical experience. Unfortunately, while treating an infant with an eye infection, I caught the infection myself, leaving me blind in one eye. I could no longer be a surgeon—but I would not stop being a doctor.
A New Hope for Women in Medicine (1851–1860)
When I returned to the U.S., no hospital would hire me. So I opened a small clinic in New York City to care for poor women and children. It was modest, but it was mine. In 1857, along with my sister Emily Blackwell (also a physician) and friend Dr. Marie Zakrzewska, I co-founded the New York Infirmary for Women and Children—a revolutionary hospital run by women, for women.
We didn’t just treat patients—we trained female doctors and nurses, giving them opportunities that we never had.
Answering the Call of War (1861–1865)
When the Civil War began, I was ready to serve. I helped form the Women’s Central Association of Relief, which became part of the U.S. Sanitary Commission. We organized nurses, supplies, and medical training to support the Union Army.
However, my vision for a women-run medical corps was often overshadowed by male officials. Still, I kept fighting—for the soldiers, for the patients, and for the future of women in medicine.
A Life of Teaching, Writing, and Leading (1866–1907)
After the war, I returned to England and co-founded the London School of Medicine for Women in 1874—the first of its kind in Britain. I lectured, wrote books on hygiene and health, and continued advocating for women’s rights, public health, and moral reform.
Though I never married or had children, I considered my students and patients to be my legacy. I lived simply but purposefully until my death in 1910 at the age of 89.
My Message to the Future
When I began my journey, I was told “no” more times than I can count. But I believed that education, persistence, and service could change the world—and they did. To every girl or boy who dreams of breaking a barrier, know this: You do not have to follow the path. You can create one of your own.
Healing a Nation: The Untold Story of Women in the Civil War - Told by Blackwell
A Nation in Crisis—and Women Step Forward (1861)
When the first cannon roared at Fort Sumter in 1861, I knew this war would not only test our country—it would test the spirit and strength of its women. The fields would become battlegrounds, the cities would become supply lines, and disease would spread faster than bullets.But I also knew one thing for certain: women were ready to serve.
As the first woman in America to receive a medical degree, I had long dreamed of helping women break into medicine. Now, the war created a sudden, urgent demand for nurses, doctors, and organized care—and women answered with open hearts and steady hands.
Creating Order in Chaos: The Women’s Central Association of Relief
Before the Union Army had its own organized medical system, women in New York and beyond took the lead. I helped form the Women’s Central Association of Relief (WCAR)—one of the very first organized responses to the war’s medical needs. We trained women in nursing, collected supplies, and established standards for care.
The WCAR became the foundation of what would later be the U.S. Sanitary Commission, which helped save thousands of lives. This was not simply charity—it was professional, organized relief work, and it was powered by the determination of women who had never before been allowed near a battlefield or hospital ward.
The Nurse Army: Ordinary Women Doing Extraordinary Work
Women from all walks of life volunteered to care for the wounded. They were farmers’ wives, schoolteachers, factory workers, and former slaves. Most had never seen the inside of a hospital before, but they learned quickly—and many became expert nurses and caretakers in a matter of weeks.
Some, like Dorothea Dix, were given authority by the Union government to recruit, train, and assign nurses. Her standards were high—women had to be over 30 and plain in appearance—but her mission was clear: bring discipline and dignity to military nursing.
Others, like Clara Barton, worked outside official channels, showing up on the front lines with wagons full of supplies and hearts full of courage. She bandaged wounds under fire and became a living legend—the “Angel of the Battlefield.”
Building Hospitals from the Ground Up
In the beginning, many of the Union’s hospitals were filthy, overcrowded, and unfit for care. Women stepped in—not only to nurse patients, but to build systems, design facilities, and clean and organize spaces where men could actually heal.
We helped convert churches, warehouses, schools—even barns—into makeshift hospitals. In cities like Washington, New York, and Philadelphia, women helped plan, supply, and manage hospitals for thousands of wounded soldiers.
And even in the South, Union women—sometimes freed African American women or Northern missionaries—helped set up care stations for formerly enslaved individuals, sick soldiers, and civilians suffering from neglect and disease. Their bravery cannot be overstated.
Facing Resistance, Proving Our Worth
Make no mistake—many in the male medical community did not welcome us. Some called us emotional. Others said women didn’t belong in such “bloody business.” But as hospitals filled beyond capacity, and diseases like dysentery and typhoid spread, there was no denying it:
Women were holding the medical system together. Our care wasn’t just tender—it was life-saving. We introduced cleaner practices, better nutrition, and emotional support. We kept detailed records, followed routines, and helped prevent infection, long before modern medicine understood how germs worked.
A Legacy of Healing and Progress
By the end of the war, tens of thousands of women had served as nurses, hospital administrators, cooks, and caregivers. Many had organized their own aid societies, raised money, and supplied entire regiments with what they needed to survive.
More importantly, the Civil War proved that women belonged in medicine. We weren’t too weak. We weren’t too soft. We were essential. After the war, more women entered medical schools, founded hospitals, and trained as professionals—all because the war showed what we could do.
My Message to You
To every young person reading this: you are not defined by what others say you cannot do. The women of the Civil War were not trained, wealthy, or often even welcomed—but they showed up, they worked, and they changed history.
Whether you heal with your hands, lead with your heart, or speak with your pen—you, too, can build something lasting.
My Name is Louisa May Alcott
A Childhood Full of Books and Big Ideas (1832–1848)
I was born on November 29, 1832, in Germantown, Pennsylvania. My father, Bronson Alcott, was a teacher and philosopher who believed deeply in education, kindness, and simplicity. My mother, Abigail, was strong, thoughtful, and full of compassion. We didn't have much money, but we had books, ideas, and love—and that meant everything to me.
As a girl, I ran through the woods, wrote plays with my sisters, and dreamed of becoming a great writer. We moved often and were always poor, but our home was rich in conversation. Our friends included great thinkers like Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, who filled our world with imagination and purpose.
Writing My Way Through Struggles (1848–1860)
By the time I was a teenager, I knew I had to help support my family. I took work wherever I could—sewing, teaching, and cleaning—but my heart belonged to writing. I began publishing stories in magazines under fake names like “A.M. Barnard,” writing sensational tales filled with drama and mystery. They sold well, but I kept my true identity hidden.
Despite hardships, I kept writing. I scribbled poems and stories by candlelight, hoping one day my words would bring my family out of poverty.
A Nurse in the War (1862–1863)
When the Civil War broke out, I wanted to do more than just write—I wanted to serve. So I became a nurse for the Union Army, caring for wounded soldiers in Washington, D.C. The days were long, the conditions were terrible, and the sorrow was overwhelming. But I felt proud to be part of something greater than myself.
Sadly, I became very ill with typhoid fever, likely from the poor conditions in the hospital. I had to return home, but I used the experience to write Hospital Sketches, a small book that shared the reality of war. It was my first taste of real literary success—and it felt like the world had finally heard my voice.
Becoming “Jo” and Finding My Audience (1868–1871)
My life changed when my publisher asked me to write a book for girls. At first, I didn’t want to—what did I know about that? But then I thought of my own sisters, our childhood adventures, and our home full of laughter, dreams, and squabbles. So I wrote Little Women, with myself as “Jo March”—the bold, book-loving sister.
To my surprise, the book was an instant success. Readers loved it because it was real. It wasn’t a fairy tale—it was about family, struggle, and growing up. I followed it with Little Men and Jo’s Boys, giving the world more stories of the March family and showing girls that their lives, their thoughts, and their dreams mattered.
A Life of Letters and Purpose (1872–1888)
With the money I earned, I supported my family—just as I always dreamed. I continued writing, but I also spoke out for women’s rights, education, and the abolition of slavery. I never married; instead, I poured my energy into my work, my causes, and caring for others.
When my youngest sister May died in childbirth, I adopted her daughter and raised her as my own. My health never fully recovered after the war, but I wrote until the end.
I passed away in 1888, just two days after my father. I was only 55, but I left behind stories that touched hearts around the world.
My Message to Young Readers
If you ever feel different, or bold, or unsure of your place in the world—remember Jo March. Remember me. We were not perfect, but we were passionate. We believed in love, in words, and in doing what is right, even when it’s hard.
Never stop dreaming. Never stop writing. Never stop being you.
Quiet Courage: My Story of Women at Home During the Civil War - Told by Alcott
Not All Heroes Wore Uniforms
When most people speak of the Civil War, they talk of cannons, generals, and brave young men marching into battle. And yes, those soldiers gave their all. But I want to tell you about another kind of bravery—the kind shown by women who never left their towns, homes, or farms, but who helped hold the entire nation together while it was falling apart.
I saw it. I lived it. And I wrote about it.
Keeping the Home Fires Burning
While the men were off to war, the women were left to run the household alone—and often with fewer resources, no income, and constant fear in their hearts.
Mothers, sisters, and daughters took over the family farms and businesses, plowed fields, milked cows, chopped wood, and managed finances—all jobs once considered “man’s work.” I knew women who rose with the sun and worked until night, just to keep their families alive.
Even young girls, like the characters I later wrote about in Little Women, learned to sew, cook, and care for others at home. We became the glue that held family life together.
Hands That Healed, Knitted, and Wrote
We did more than just survive—we served. Ladies’ Aid Societies popped up all over the country. Women organized in parlors, churches, and schoolhouses to sew uniforms, knit socks, roll bandages, and package food for soldiers. Every stitch held a prayer. Every letter to a soldier was full of hope.
I remember writing letters to Union soldiers, encouraging others to do the same. Some women even made quilts with hidden messages, folded blessings into packages, and spent their nights working by candlelight so that the boys at war would know they weren’t forgotten.
My Pen, Their Stories
In 1862, I served as a nurse in a Union hospital in Washington, D.C. The things I saw there—the suffering, the bravery, the heartbreak—stayed with me forever. When I fell ill and had to return home, I wrote Hospital Sketches, a book that told not just my story, but the story of women everywhere who were sacrificing in quiet, uncelebrated ways.
The women at home were not always praised. Their names were not in newspapers. But they were the strength behind every soldier, and I felt it was my duty to give them a voice.
Faith, Loss, and Resilience
Many women spent their nights watching the horizon, praying for a letter or a safe return. Some received word that a loved one had died. Yet, they kept going. They still had mouths to feed, children to raise, and neighbors to comfort.
Our hearts were often broken, but we had no time to fall apart. The war taught us resilience. It showed us how strong we could be, even when our world was unraveling.
A Message from the Homefront
To those who study history: Do not forget the women who stayed. We did not carry muskets, but we carried families. We did not wear uniforms, but we wore grief, hope, and determination every day. We wrote letters, raised children, ran homes, and gave our all to keep this country alive.
We were the silent army. The steady hands. The beating heart of the homefront.
Living Two Lives: My Story of the Civil War - Told by Sarah Emma Edmonds
A Wild Spirit in a Quiet Town (1841–1856)
I was born Sarah Emma Edmonds in December 1841, in New Brunswick, Canada. From the start, I was different. While other girls were learning to sew, I was climbing trees and galloping horses. My father wanted a son—so much so that he treated me as a failure simply for being a girl. When he tried to force me into marriage, I knew I had to run.
So I did. Disguised as a boy named Franklin Thompson, I crossed the border into the United States. I found freedom, work, and a life where I could choose my own path. That path, as it turned out, would lead me straight into the heart of the Civil War.
Becoming a Soldier (1861–1863)
When war broke out in 1861, I felt the same fire that burned in many young men: a desire to serve my country. I enlisted in the Union Army as Franklin Thompson, joining the 2nd Michigan Infantry. No one suspected I was a woman.
As “Frank,” I worked as a field nurse, dodging bullets while caring for the wounded. I slept in tents, marched in line, and faced the same dangers as any soldier. I fought at Bull Run, Antietam, and Fredericksburg. I saw fear, pain, and incredible courage. And through it all, I kept my secret.
The Spy Within: Behind Enemy Lines
But nursing wasn’t the only role I played. I was also asked to serve as a spy.
Disguising myself was second nature by then. I became a Black man, a Southern woman, an Irish peddler, even a washerwoman. I snuck across enemy lines, gathered critical information, and returned—often just barely—with secrets that could save Union lives.
Each disguise brought danger. If I had been discovered, I wouldn’t have just been arrested as a spy—I would have been executed and exposed as a woman in the army. But I believed the cause was worth the risk.
Illness, Discharge, and Another Disguise
In 1863, I fell seriously ill with malaria. I knew that if I reported to the hospital, I’d be examined—and my secret would be uncovered. So I made the painful choice to disappear. I left the army, and “Franklin Thompson” was later listed as a deserter.
But I wasn’t finished serving. Once I recovered, I rejoined the war effort—as a female nurse, this time, under my real name. Though I was no longer a soldier, I still worked near the front lines, helping the wounded in field hospitals and camps.
Fighting for Justice and Recognition
After the war, I could no longer hide the truth. I wrote a memoir titled Nurse and Spy in the Union Army, telling my full story—and donating the proceeds to help wounded veterans.
Still, I could not bear the shame of being listed as a deserter. So I petitioned the government to clear Franklin Thompson’s name. And I succeeded. I became the only woman recognized as a soldier by the Grand Army of the Republic, the Union veterans' organization.
In 1884, I received an honorable discharge and a military pension, just like any other Union veteran.
My Message to the Brave of Heart
Many people called me strange, bold, or improper. But I knew in my heart that loyalty, courage, and service mattered more than tradition. I didn’t fight for fame. I fought for freedom and honor—for the country that had given me a chance to live as I chose.
To those who feel out of place or bound by expectations, I say this: Follow your cause. Trust your courage. Let no one define your worth but you.
Hidden Soldiers: Women Who Disguised Themselves for War - Told by Edmonds
More Than One Kind of Soldier
When people speak of war, they speak of generals and drums, of soldiers in uniform and flags flying proudly in the wind. But there are other stories—stories that history almost forgot. Stories like mine.
You see, I served in the Civil War disguised as a man named Franklin Thompson. And I wasn’t alone. I was part of a long tradition—women who dressed as men, took up arms, and marched into battle, not for glory, but for duty, for country, and for the freedom to serve.
It Didn’t Start with Me: Women in the American Revolution
Long before my time, in the days of the American Revolution, women already knew what it meant to risk everything.
One of the most famous was Deborah Sampson, a Massachusetts farm girl who disguised herself as Robert Shurtliff and joined the Continental Army. She fought bravely for over a year, was wounded in battle, and even dug a musket ball out of her own leg so no one would discover her secret. She wasn’t found out until she became very ill and a doctor uncovered the truth. But instead of punishment, she was honorably discharged.
Deborah wasn’t alone—records hint that dozens of women joined under false names. They didn’t just follow camps or carry water—they fought. They trained. They bled. And they did it all in secret.
The Secret Sisters of the Civil War
When the Civil War broke out, women weren’t allowed to enlist. But that didn’t stop us.
Like me, many women cut their hair, wrapped their chests, and marched to recruitment offices under male names. Some wanted to fight beside their husbands or brothers. Others believed deeply in the cause—whether it was preserving the Union or defending their home state. We wore the same boots, carried the same muskets, and stood shoulder to shoulder with the men.
Historians now believe there were at least 400 women who fought disguised as men during the Civil War—but we’ll never know the full number, because most were never discovered.
Bravery Without Recognition
There were some whose stories still echo through time:
Frances Clayton, who fought in multiple battles in the Union Army as Jack Williams, even riding into cavalry charges and fighting through fierce skirmishes.
Albert D. J. Cashier, born Jennie Hodgers, who lived as a man before, during, and long after the war—serving bravely in more than 40 battles and continuing to live as a man for the rest of her life.
Loreta Janeta Velázquez, who claimed she fought for the Confederacy as Lieutenant Harry Buford and even served as a spy.
Some of these tales have been debated, exaggerated, or questioned—but the truth remains: women were willing to put everything on the line to serve their country, even if it meant giving up their name, identity, and safety.
Why We Did It
People often ask me, “Sarah, why would you risk your life and your freedom just to serve?”And I say: because I believed I had just as much to give as any man.
We didn’t do it for fame. We did it because we had a voice that wasn’t being heard, and we chose to act when others told us to stay home.
We weren’t trying to trick anyone. We were trying to belong—to be part of something bigger. And when we put on those uniforms, we weren’t pretending. We were being our bravest selves.
Remember the Hidden Soldiers
So if you ever walk through a battlefield, or stand before a statue of a great general, remember the unnamed women who marched alongside them, whose names were lost to time because they weren’t supposed to be there.
But we were there.We were there with bandaged chests and borrowed names.We were there in the mud and the fire, in the victories and the defeats.And we would do it all again.
The Rebel Rose: My Life as a Confederate Spy - Told by Rose O’Neal Greenhow
A Southern Belle with a Washington Heart (1813–1835)
I was born in 1813, on a Maryland plantation, into a proud Southern family with deep roots. I was raised with charm, wit, and all the expectations of a proper lady. But life had other plans for me. When I was a young woman, I moved to Washington, D.C., and that changed everything.
Washington in the 1830s was a city of politics, parties, and power—and I loved every moment of it. I married Dr. Robert Greenhow, a scholar and government official. We had children and lived well. My husband worked in government circles, and I became known as a brilliant hostess and influential friend to some of the most powerful men in America.
I made friends in high places—presidents, senators, diplomats, and military officers. What I learned at those dinner tables would one day become my greatest weapon.
A Nation Divided—and So Was I (1850s–1861)
As the 1850s wore on, the country grew more and more divided over the issue of states' rights and slavery. I was a loyal Southerner in my heart. When war seemed inevitable, I knew where my loyalties lay: with the Confederacy.
Even though I lived in the North, my soul belonged to the South. And when the Civil War began in 1861, I made a decision that would define the rest of my life—I would fight for the Confederacy, not with a sword, but with something just as powerful: information.
Becoming a Spy: Secrets, Codes, and Courage (1861–1862)
Not long after the war began, I was recruited to gather intelligence for the South. And I was good at it. My high-society connections gave me access to Northern generals, politicians, and messengers. I listened, I charmed, and I passed what I learned to the Confederate command.
My most important moment came just before the First Battle of Bull Run. I sent a warning to Confederate General Beauregard that the Union Army was advancing. Thanks in part to that message, the Confederacy won that battle—and I was hailed in secret as a hero.
I used coded messages, invisible ink, and even hid notes in my daughter's curls to get secrets past Union patrols. My house in Washington became the center of a spy network. I was risking everything, but I believed deeply in my cause.
Arrest, Prison, and Unbroken Resolve (1862)
But secrets have a way of catching up. In August of 1861, I was arrested by Allan Pinkerton, head of the Union’s new secret service. They had been watching me for months. I was placed under house arrest with my youngest daughter, and eventually sent to Old Capitol Prison in Washington.
Even in prison, I did not give up. I kept writing, sending messages, and maintaining my dignity. I knew I was being watched, but I also knew I was making history.
Eventually, I was exiled to the South in 1862, traded like a soldier in a prisoner exchange. When I arrived in Richmond, I was welcomed as a Confederate heroine. But my work wasn’t done.
A Final Mission and a Watery Grave (1864)
In the final years of the war, I traveled to Europe to gather support for the Confederacy. I met with influential people in France and England, wrote a memoir about my time in prison, and tried to win sympathy for our cause.
In 1864, I set sail for home from England, carrying gold and dispatches for the Confederate government. But as my ship approached the North Carolina coast, it was pursued by a Union vessel. In the dark and the chaos, I tried to escape by rowboat, clutching my bag of gold.
The boat capsized, and I drowned in the waves, my weighted bag pulling me under. They found my body days later—still holding the bag.
My Message from the Shadows
I lived in the shadows of war, not with weapons, but with secrets. I was called a traitor by some, a patriot by others. But I never doubted my convictions. I fought for what I believed was right, and I paid the ultimate price.
To those who think women only watched from the sidelines—look again. We wrote letters in code, listened behind doors, delivered messages in the dark. We were there.I was there.
And if I had to do it again—I would.
In the Shadows of History: The Secret Sisterhood of the Civil War - Told by Rose O’Neal Greenhow
I Was One of Them
They called me a traitor.They called me dangerous.They even called me “Rebel Rose.”But I’ll tell you what I really was: a woman of conviction, cunning, and courage.
I didn’t fight with a sword or a rifle—I fought with whispers, glances, notes in invisible ink, and messages tucked beneath a corset. I was a Confederate spy, and I was not alone. During the Civil War, hundreds of women risked everything to pass information, smuggle supplies, and change the course of battles.
These women—on both sides of the conflict—worked in the shadows. Most will never be known. Some were caught, others died with their secrets. But a few of us, through boldness or fate, had our names etched into history. Let me tell you who we were—and why we mattered.
Why Women Were Perfect for Espionage
Women were rarely suspected, and that made us powerful. We could walk through checkpoints, eavesdrop at tea parties, and hide messages in petticoats and sewing baskets. Some of us posed as loyal wives or grieving widows. Others worked as nurses, servants, or laundresses in enemy camps. Some even used their charms—though never without purpose—to extract information from unsuspecting officers.
We were trusted, overlooked, and underestimated. And that’s exactly what made us so dangerous.
Spies for the Confederacy: A Cause, a Code, and a Calling
I worked in Washington, D.C., before the war—a city filled with generals, senators, and secrets. When war came, I stayed behind and turned my parlor into a Confederate spy ring. I used coded letters, invisible ink, and couriers—even my own daughter carried messages in her curls.
But I was not the only Southern woman living a double life.
Myself: Rose O’Neal Greenhow
From my home in Washington, I passed crucial intelligence to the South. Before the First Battle of Bull Run, I warned General Beauregard that the Union Army was advancing. He used that information to prepare—and secured a major Confederate victory. My spy ring included diplomats, socialites, and even Union officers who unknowingly gave me what I needed.Eventually, I was arrested, placed under house arrest, then imprisoned in Old Capitol Prison. After being released, I traveled to Europe to seek support for the Confederacy, only to die by drowning in 1864 off the coast of North Carolina—trying to return with gold and documents for the South.
Belle Boyd
They called her the “Cleopatra of the Secession.” She was just 17 when she started spying. Belle worked out of Martinsburg, Virginia, and used her charm and daring to extract information from Union officers. She once shot a Union soldier who threatened her family—and instead of being punished, she became a local hero.Belle carried messages across enemy lines and once rode through bullets to deliver news of Union troop movements to General Stonewall Jackson. She was arrested multiple times, but never broken. Her bravery became the stuff of legend.
Antonia Ford
Antonia was a young Virginian who passed information directly to Confederate cavalry commander J.E.B. Stuart. She worked behind the scenes in Fairfax Court House, charming Union officers while secretly spying on them. When she was discovered and arrested, she was imprisoned for several months.She was eventually released and married Union Major Joseph Willard, who had once helped secure her arrest—a twist of fate only war could write.
Spies for the Union: Loyalty, Intelligence, and Silent Resistance
Not all women worked for the South. Many, including formerly enslaved women, risked everything for the Union cause. Their work was often more dangerous—because they operated deep within Confederate territory, without protection and with everything to lose.
Harriet Tubman
Though known for her work on the Underground Railroad, Harriet Tubman was also a Union spy, scout, and nurse. Working behind enemy lines in South Carolina, she helped organize a network of informants, many of them formerly enslaved people who knew the land and the Confederate forces well.In 1863, she led the Combahee River Raid, guiding Union boats to destroy plantations and free over 700 enslaved people. She was the first woman in U.S. history to lead a military expedition. And she did it without glory, without pay, and with a fierce love of freedom.
Elizabeth Van Lew
A Richmond aristocrat who supported the Union, Elizabeth Van Lew ran one of the most successful Union spy rings in the South. Posing as a harmless, eccentric spinster, she gathered information from Confederate soldiers, nurses, and servants.She even placed a former enslaved woman, Mary Bowser, as a spy inside the Confederate White House. Van Lew’s messages—often written in invisible ink or hidden in hollowed-out eggshells—were passed to Union generals throughout the war. She risked everything in the heart of enemy territory.
Mary Bowser
Born into slavery, Mary Bowser was freed and educated by the Van Lew family. She became one of the most daring spies of the war by working as a servant in Jefferson Davis’s home, where she had access to the South’s most guarded secrets.Her brilliant memory allowed her to read, remember, and report information without taking notes. She helped pass crucial intelligence to the Union Army—and to this day, her full story remains partly hidden, because much of her spy work was deliberately kept secret for her protection.
Why It Mattered
Our work was not just thrilling—it was critical. The information we delivered helped win battles, avoid ambushes, and anticipate enemy movements. We were often the first to know and the last to be suspected.
But we also faced incredible risks. We had no official rank, no protection, and no promise of honor. If caught, we could be imprisoned, executed, or simply erased from history.
And yet, we did it anyway.
We did it because we believed. In freedom. In our homes. In our causes. In ourselves.
My Message from the Shadows
So now you know our stories.We were belles in ballgowns and maids with memory, Southern charmers and Northern patriots.We moved through the war unseen but unforgettable, and though many never knew our names, we helped shape the future of this country.
If you ever doubt the power of one determined woman—remember us. We were the hidden eyes of the war. We were the secret voices of history. And we were never just watching—we were winning.
We Did Not Stand Still: Women in the Workforce During the War - Told by Barton
When the Men Went to War, Women Stepped Forward
When the first shots of the Civil War rang out in 1861, everything changed. Not just for the soldiers who would fight and fall on the battlefield, but for the women who were left behind—in homes, in towns, in factories, and farms.
I saw it with my own eyes: as the men marched off to battle, a silent army of women stepped into their roles, rolled up their sleeves, and kept the nation running.
Women didn’t wait for permission. We just began.
Women Entering the Workforce and Taking the Helm
Before the war, most women were expected to stay at home—managing the house, raising children, maybe sewing or helping on the family farm. But when husbands, sons, and brothers went to war, someone had to fill their places in businesses, government offices, farms, and schools.
For the first time, women in the North took on jobs as clerks, factory workers, telegraph operators, printers, and even tax collectors. I remember walking into Washington offices and seeing rows of women copying reports and sorting records—tasks once reserved only for men.
Even in my own work at the U.S. Patent Office, I had been the first woman to work for the federal government with equal pay. During the war, I was no longer alone. Women flooded government offices, not just answering mail but also helping process medical records and logistics for the growing Union war machine.
On farms, women planted, harvested, and traded goods. They bartered and managed estates, proving they could handle the business side of life just as well as their male counterparts. Their work kept the supply chains alive and families fed.
Industry, Factories, and Dangerous Work
In Northern cities, women joined the war effort from behind sewing machines and inside factories. They produced uniforms, blankets, weapons, ammunition, and tents. It was hard, tedious, and sometimes dangerous work. Explosions were not uncommon in munitions plants. Still, they came—young girls, widows, wives of soldiers—each stitch and spark helping supply the troops.
Southern women, too, worked in munition factories and made homespun goods when imported materials became scarce due to Union blockades. They ran plantations and supervised enslaved laborers in the absence of men. Their daily work became a constant act of adaptation and survival.
Women’s hands were in everything—feeding, arming, and supporting the war effort.
The Rise of Aid Societies: Organized Compassion
But perhaps one of the greatest contributions women made during the war came from the Aid Societies—groups of ordinary women who organized extraordinary acts of compassion.
In 1861, I watched as women in New York, Boston, and Philadelphia gathered in church halls and living rooms to form groups like the Women’s Central Association of Relief and the U.S. Sanitary Commission. These were well-organized, disciplined efforts to gather and distribute supplies, raise money, and support the medical needs of the Union Army.
I worked closely with many of these groups. While I traveled to the battlefield to nurse wounded soldiers, they were the ones who sent me barrels of bandages, crates of linens, and wagons of food. They were the lifeblood of the relief effort. Without them, there would have been no medicine, no clean clothes, and far fewer lives saved.
Women sewed bandages, made hospital gowns, knitted socks, baked bread, and packed care kits. Ladies’ Aid Societies popped up in nearly every town and village. Even young girls took part, organizing “soldiers’ fairs” to raise money and writing letters to lift the spirits of lonely, injured men in faraway camps.
Work That Transformed a Nation
When the war ended in 1865, many women returned home—but they did not return unchanged. We had stepped into new roles, and we had proven our ability to lead, labor, and serve at every level of society. We had built factories, nursed soldiers, run farms, raised money, and led relief efforts.
We had kept the nation alive while it tried to tear itself apart. I believe that the Civil War was not only a test of the Union—it was a test of what women could do when given no choice but to rise.
My Message to Future Generations
Some would say we were just “filling in” while the men were away. But I say: we did far more than fill in—we carried the weight, and we did it with skill, courage, and devotion.
To every girl who wonders if she is strong enough, or capable enough—remember us. Remember the women who kept the machines humming, who made the bandages that stopped the bleeding, who counted the coins at the soldiers' fairs, who led quietly and powerfully in times of fear.
We were more than mothers and wives. We were leaders, workers, and warriors of a different kind. We didn’t wear uniforms—but we served just the same. And we helped change the course of history.
Hard Times and Brave Hearts: Life at Home During the Civil War - Told by Alcott
The War Came Home With Us
When the Civil War broke out in 1861, it didn't just begin in the fields and forests where soldiers fought—it began in our homes and hearths, too. The moment our fathers, sons, brothers, and husbands marched off to war, the war marched into our kitchens, our markets, our hearts.
As a nurse, I saw firsthand the pain and sacrifice on the battlefield. But as a woman, a writer, and a daughter of a struggling New England family, I also saw the daily battles fought at home. Not with guns, but with grief. Not with armies, but with empty cupboards and worn-out shoes.
Penny-Pinching and Rationing: An Economy Under Pressure
The war tightened its grip on the economy like a slowly winding clock spring. Prices soared. Simple goods like flour, sugar, coffee, and cloth became luxuries. In our house, like many others, we learned to do without. We drank roasted barley or chicory instead of coffee, we baked with less sugar, and we patched the same dress again and again.
In the North, factories were focused on producing goods for the army—uniforms, weapons, boots, tents. While this brought some jobs, it also raised prices and made everyday necessities scarce. Poor families could barely afford bread, let alone meat. And in the South, with blockades strangling trade, the situation was even more dire. There, starvation was real, and families sold heirlooms for flour.
Children grew up hungry and hurried, their innocence cut short by worry.
Homemakers Became Providers
Women, once expected to simply manage the household, suddenly had to become the household. With so many men at war, women planted crops, ran shops, managed finances, and even negotiated with suppliers and tax collectors. The Civil War gave us no choice but to become stronger, savvier, and more resourceful.
I remember my mother, Abigail, managing our modest home while also helping raise funds for soldiers. Like many women, she baked, sewed, and organized supplies. It was a delicate dance—keeping the family fed and warm while also supporting the cause. There was no safety net. If you fell ill, or if your crops failed, or if your husband died, you relied on neighbors, churches, and your own grit.
Widows, Orphans, and the Lonely Left Behind
Every home had someone missing. Every village knew the sound of bad news. Women became widows before their wedding dresses faded, and children became fatherless before they could ride a horse.
My own family lived with the constant fear of loss. While I was working in a hospital in Washington, I met young boys dying far from home—some with no one to write to, no mother left waiting. And I met mothers who had buried three sons and still sent food to the army.
The emotional toll of war was just as real as the economic one. Women stayed strong for their children. Girls learned to be little mothers. Boys stopped playing and started working. Even laughter seemed more rare. But still—we pressed on.
Fighting Back with Needles, Words, and Willpower
When we couldn't give money, we gave time. Women formed Aid Societies, sent homemade quilts, socks, and bandages, and raised funds with bake sales and fairs. I wrote stories and sketches, not just to earn a little income, but to lift spirits.
Books, poetry, letters, and prayers became our refuge. The war took so much, but it did not take our will to endure.
The War Changed Us All
When the war finally ended in 1865, no one came out the same. Many families had lost everything—sons, savings, and stability. But they had also found something new: inner strength, independence, and a voice.
I later poured some of those feelings into my book, Little Women. Though fictional, it holds the spirit of those times—how girls became women too soon, how families made do with little, and how love and courage lived even in hard places.
My Message to Those Who Read This Today
Hard times are like the winter—cold, quiet, and unforgiving. But they also prepare the soil for spring.
The women who lived through the Civil War were not just survivors—they were builders, protectors, and leaders in their own quiet ways. We patched holes in more than our clothes—we patched holes in our hearts, in our homes, and in our nation.
So if you find yourself in hardship, remember us.Remember the women who made soup from scraps, raised children alone, wrote letters by candlelight, and waited at the window for someone who might never return.
We stood strong, even when our world trembled. And so can you.
A Heavy Weariness: How War Wore Down the Hearts at Home - Told by Blackwell
I Came to Heal—but Saw Much More Than Wounds
When the Civil War began in 1861, I felt a call—not just as a citizen, but as a physician and a woman. I had spent years proving that women could become doctors. Now, as the nation fractured, I knew that healing the wounded would not be enough. Because the wounds I saw weren’t only on bodies.
They were in hearts. In homes. In entire communities that grew exhausted, broken, and quietly desperate. It’s called war fatigue—the slow, suffocating weariness that settles in when the war is no longer new, the rallies have ended, and the cost is no longer measured in speeches, but in empty chairs and silent prayers.
When Enthusiasm Turned to Exhaustion
At the beginning of the war, both the North and South were brimming with energy, pride, and even excitement. Young men rushed to enlist. Towns held parades. Mothers stitched flags and sang patriotic songs.
But that feeling did not last. As months turned to years, the harsh realities of war set in. Food grew scarce. Supplies ran low. Prices climbed. Every household became its own battlefield—not with muskets, but with worry, hunger, and fear.
People began to whisper, “When will it end?” But no one had an answer.
The Burdens on Women’s Shoulders
Women were expected to keep everything going—the homes, the farms, the businesses, the children. And we did. But there is a price for such constant labor.
I saw it in the eyes of women who came to my clinics. They didn’t complain—no, that was not the way then—but you could read it in their posture, their paleness, their trembling hands. They were tired to their bones.
Many were widowed, and many more feared they soon would be. Their sons were off at war, their daughters were working longer hours, and the burden of holding life together grew heavier by the day. Some women broke under it. Others simply faded into a quiet sadness that never lifted.
The Slow Erosion of Hope
There was something more dangerous than bombs: hopelessness. As battles dragged on—Gettysburg, Antietam, Vicksburg, and dozens more—families learned to live with grief. The first funeral brought sobs. The third brought only silence.
The war wasn’t just taking lives—it was taking light. People grew cynical. Faith wavered. Churches were still full, but now the prayers were laced with confusion and anger.
Children who had once played with wooden swords no longer played at all. They knew too much now.And I remember watching once-cheerful boys, now apprentices or errand runners, silent beyond their years.
Loss Beyond the Battlefield
I cannot count how many letters of condolence I helped write or read aloud. Soldiers weren’t the only ones lost. Disease swept through towns like invisible armies—typhoid, dysentery, smallpox. With every death, the heart of the nation weakened.
And yet, people still tried to live. Mothers still baked bread. Girls still read books by firelight. Boys still hoped to see their fathers again. But beneath it all was a weariness that sleep could not cure and time could not erase.
Some Turned Inward. Others Turned Outward.
Some people closed off. They stopped reading the war news. They stopped writing letters. They refused to cry anymore.
But others—especially women—channeled their fatigue into action. We formed Aid Societies, volunteered in hospitals, wrote for abolitionist newspapers, and even trained as nurses, like I did. If we could not stop the war, we could soothe its pain.
That is how I found strength when mine was nearly gone. In helping others, I was reminded that even in war, compassion survives.
My Message to Those Who Endure
If you live through a war, you do not emerge the same. No one does.But there is power in surviving it—not only the fighting, but the waiting, the worrying, and the wearing down.
War fatigue is not weakness. It is the cost of caring deeply.And to those who bore that cost—silently, bravely, and without applause—I offer this tribute:
You were soldiers too. You who waited beside cold hearths, who watered crops alone, who walked miles for flour, who wore mourning dresses year after year—you did not give up.And in not giving up, you carried the country through its darkest hours.
We Were the Backbone: African American Women in the War - Told by Tubman
I Was Born Into Struggle, But I Wasn’t Born to Stay Silent
I came into this world in the early 1820s, born Araminta Ross, enslaved in Dorchester County, Maryland. From the time I could walk, I worked—hauling logs, tending fields, and later caring for children not my own. I learned early what it meant to survive. But deep inside me, I carried something stronger than fear: freedom.
Long before the Civil War ever began, I had already begun my own war—against slavery. I ran north, and then I went back again and again, risking my life to bring others to freedom through what people called the Underground Railroad.
But when the war finally came to split this country apart, I knew it was my war too. And I was not the only Black woman who thought so.
The Women Who Worked from the Shadows
During the war, African American women served this nation—though it rarely served them in return. We did it anyway.
Some women worked as laundresses, cooks, and nurses. Others were scouts, couriers, and spies. Many of us were formerly enslaved, newly free, and ready to do anything we could to destroy the system that had stolen our children, our husbands, and our names.
We worked in Union camps—cooking meals, cleaning uniforms, and treating the wounded. These jobs may sound small, but they were essential. A clean wound could mean the difference between life and death. A warm meal could keep a man fighting one more day.
And though we had no official rank, we were every bit soldiers in spirit.
My Work as a Scout and Spy for the Union Army
After years of helping enslaved people escape, I had become skilled at moving through the shadows, reading the land, and listening for secrets. Union officers took notice.
In 1863, I was asked to join the Union Army as a scout and spy. I worked in South Carolina, using my knowledge of the rivers and woods to help organize an extraordinary mission: the Combahee River Raid.
I led Union gunboats through Confederate waters, helped disable torpedoes (what we’d call mines now), and freed over 700 enslaved people in a single night. I remember the cries of joy, the singing on the banks, the mothers clutching their children—freedom had come like thunder.
But I wasn’t alone in this work. I led a team of brave men and women—many of them formerly enslaved themselves—who gathered intelligence, mapped safe routes, and watched Confederate movements closely. We were invisible, but we were everywhere.
Nursing the Sick, Healing the Hurt
I also worked as a nurse during the war. I used herbs and roots I had learned about in slavery—like camphor, garlic, and sassafras—to treat illness when medicine was scarce. Disease killed more soldiers than bullets did, and it swept through Black camps twice as fast. We did what we could with what we had.
I sat by the beds of Black soldiers and refugees, held their hands, and prayed over them. Many had nowhere else to go. Their freedom was new, and the world was still cruel. But we carried each other. We formed new families, even in the tents of suffering.
Unsung Sisters of the War
Let me tell you about some of the other women whose names you may never have heard, but who should never be forgotten:
Susie King Taylor, a formerly enslaved woman, became the first Black Army nurse to serve openly. She also taught freedmen and soldiers to read and write, even while under fire.
Charlotte Forten, a free Black woman from the North, traveled to the South to teach newly freed children in the Sea Islands. Her pen became her weapon, and her diary captured the spirit of a changing world.
Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, a poet, speaker, and abolitionist, traveled and raised funds for freedmen’s schools, using her voice to fight for education and equality long before the war ended.
Anna Murray Douglass, the wife of Frederick Douglass, kept their household running, raised their children, and worked in the background so her husband could advocate for the enlistment of Black soldiers. Her labor made his possible.
And there were hundreds more—anonymous women who nursed soldiers, hid fugitives, buried the dead, and never stopped hoping.
Why We Fought, and Why It Mattered
We were not given uniforms. We were not paid fairly, or often at all. We were rarely thanked. But we fought for freedom, and we knew the cost.
Some of us gave our lives. Others lost families. All of us gave our hearts. We proved that Black women could lead, heal, teach, spy, fight, and endure. We laid the groundwork for generations to come—for suffrage, for civil rights, for dignity.
My Message to the Future
If you ever wonder what you can do, remember this: you don’t need a title to make history. You only need courage, faith, and the will to act.
We were women who had been enslaved, silenced, and scorned. But we became liberators, teachers, healers, and soldiers of freedom.
I was called “Moses” because I led my people to liberty. But there were many Moseses. Many Harriets.And together, we helped carry this nation toward a better day.
