Women in Warfare: Elizabeth van Lew, the Southern Lady Spy

By Celia Hayes

She was the very last person in the world whom anyone in Richmond, Virginia, would have suspected of being a spy … well, almost the last person, as her abolitionist sympathies were not a secret. But she was a genteel lady of certain years – and a very Southern sense of gentlemanly chivalry ensured that her activities went unsuspected and unhampered all during the Civil War. Elizabeth van Lew, if not a classical Southern belle in the Scarlett O’Hara mode was pious, eccentrically addicted to doing good works, and from a wealthy and well-established old Richmond family. Of course she couldn’t possibly be up to anything more than visiting the captive Union officers held as prisoners of war in a comfortless converted tobacco warehouse, bearing genteel gifts of food, books, clothing and writing materials, or being a regular Lady Bountiful towards the families of Richmond’s freed slaves. Everyone knew of her families’ eccentricities – her mother was a Quaker from Philadelphia, don’t-cha-know. 

Elizabeth van Lew

Elizabeth van Lew was born in 1818; her father had built up a prosperous hardware business in Richmond and a grand mansion on Church Hill. In spite of the family’s abolitionist sympathies, he also had owned slaves. But when the senior van Lew died in the mid 1840s, Elizabeth’s brother took over management of the firm and household – and he freed the families’ nine household slaves. Around the same time, Elizabeth used her own allowance to purchase and free the relatives of those family slaves. For some years afterwards, John van Lew routinely visited Richmond’s slave market to purchase whole families who were at peril of being sold to different owners and separated from each other. Then he would formally free them. And this would likely have been seen as no more than a peculiar eccentricity … until the beginning of the Civil War, when the aftermath of the battle of Manassas brought Union Army officers to a squalid and overcrowded imprisonment in the tobacco warehouse. 

Libby Prison

The middle-aged Elizabeth and her elderly widowed mother began visiting the Union officers, bearing their lady-visitor charitable gifts. Eventually there would be more than a thousand of Union prisoners crammed into the two top floors of the warehouse – and turnover at Libby would be constant, primarily because of a high casualty rate. Although barred, the windows were left open to the elements of weather and the prisoners suffered accordingly. For exposure, disease and malnutrition, Libby Prison eventually became second only in notoriety to Andersonville. For that kindliness to the prisoners, Elizabeth and her mother were publicly criticized for disloyalty to the Confederate cause; little did the critics realize that while Elizabeth might have felt the sting of neighborly disapproval and public bullying, she did not give two pins for the Confederacy … and in fact resolved to do whatever she could do in order to bring about its downfall. Chatty, eccentric and seemingly harmless, Miss van Lew proved to be a woman of infinite nerve and resource. For she began helping the prisoners even more actively; smuggling messages in a dish with a hidden compartment, and through notes hidden in books, or with key passages in those books underlined faintly in pencil. She had a tiny cipher key on a scrap of paper hidden in her watch – and a secret diary outlining her activities, buried in the garden. She bribed the guards to permit the prisoners to have food and clothing over and above what they had been allowed. She helped organize escapes, even hiding escaping prisoners in her family home. 

Van Lew cipher

In the early days of the war, she began sending letters bearing information of military knowledge to Union commanders, gleaned from newly-arrived prisoners who would have observed Confederate fortifications and troop dispositions on their way to Richmond and captivity. Before many months had passed, Elizabeth van Lew was a full-fledged spymaster, and one of the most valued Union assets within Richmond, sending coded messages, requested specific intelligence – as well as flowers from her garden directly to General Grant. Many of her couriers were freed slaves, and often her messages were concealed in hollowed-out eggs. She cultivated the friendship of the Confederate commander of Libby Prison; she even saw to it that one of the Lew family’s former slaves, a young woman named Mary Bowser, was hired by the family of Confederate President Jefferson Davis. Mary, who worked serving meals at the Jefferson home, was privy to much interesting mealtime conversation. 

And when the war ended and Union troops were about to enter the defeated Confederacy’s capital city, Miss van Lew was the first to raise the American flag over Richmond with her very own hands, to the anger and chagrin of her neighbors. A mob formed before the Lew family mansion, but Grant’s lady spy was undeterred by it. “I know you, and you, and you!” She shouted, pointing at them one by one and addressing them by name. “General Grant will be in this city within the hour; if this house is harmed, your houses shall be burned by noon!” The mob dispersed – and General Grant came to take tea with her – almost his first act upon entering Richmond.

The story of Miss van Lew and the remainder of her life is an equivocal one. The fortunes of her family – no less than those of many of Richmond’s old elite – were ruined by the war. She was socially ostracized by her neighbors, once it came out how she had aided the hated Yankees. The Union, which she had served with such commitment, could not or would not reimburse her for the expenses that she had borne during the war, nor offer any kind of pension other than a sinecure for a few years as postmistress. But she was generously supported for the remainder of her life by those former prisoners of war, or their families, whom she had aided at great personal risk to herself during the war. But knowing that slavery was ended and the Union restored – and that she had been no less a soldier than any of the captives in Libby Prison in bringing about that conclusion – must have been of considerable comfort to the lady spymaster during the rest of her life. She died in 1900, and is buried in a Richmond cemetery, under a stone monument paid for by the families of soldiers she had assisted during the war. 

Celia Hayes is the author of Daughter of Texas & The Adelsverein Trilogy. A writer and memoirist, dreamer and adventurer, storyteller and gardener,   mother and military veteran, Celia Hayes lives in San Antonio, Texas. She writes of the past as a means of exploring who we are, of honoring our unknown heroes and heroines, in order that we may appreciate the present which they built for us... and that we may use their lives as a guide for our own future.

Real Life Heroes: Harriet Tubman

By Lisa Marie Wilkinson

The accolade of hero is appropriate when applied to Harriet Tubman, a woman born into slavery whose activities ranged from abolitionist during the Civil War era to staunch supporter of the women's suffrage movement during the early 1900s.

Born Araminta Ross during a time when neither year nor place of birth was recorded for most slaves, various historical documents place Tubman's birth date somewhere between 1815 and 1825. One of "Minty's" first responsibilities at age 5 or 6 was as a child's nurse. After learning she would be whipped if the baby in her charge cried, she adopted the practice of wrapping herself in extra layers of clothing to minimize the damage inflicted by the beatings she endured.

At age 12, she suffered a serious head injury when a heavy metal weight thrown by an angry overseer at another slave hit Tubman instead as she acted to protect the slave from injury. Historians speculate that Tubman suffered from epilepsy as a result of this injury, citing symptoms of headaches and seizures resulting in sudden sleep. After being brought up by deeply religious parents on Bible stories featuring themes of deliverance from oppression, Tubman believed the visions that accompanied her seizures represented direct communication from God.

She married free black man John Tubman in 1844, changing her name from Araminta to Harriet--her mother's name--around that time. Despite her husband's free status, Harriet's status as a slave dictated that any children born to her would also be slaves.

After reaching the decision, "Liberty or death. If I could not have one, I would have the other," Harriet escaped and fled north with her two brothers on September 17, 1849, but after their owners posted a reward notice for the return of the three escaped slaves, her brothers began to fear the consequences of capture and forced Harriet to return with them.

She soon escaped again and fled to freedom alone, using an allied network of freed blacks, white abolitionists, and other antislavery activists known as the Underground Railroad, to escape into Pennsylvania. Traveling by night and using the North Star for guidance, she watched for signs such as lanterns on hitching posts indicating safe houses as she made her way north to freedom.

After her escape to Philadelphia, she worked as a cook and domestic in order to earn money to return to Maryland to guide her own family north and to help other slaves escape to freedom. As one of the most famous of the Underground Railroad "conductors," Harriet Tubman led numerous missions and it is estimated she rescued more than 300 slaves over a period of eleven years, constantly risking her own safety and freedom to aid others. Sadly, her sister Rachel died before she could be rescued, and Tubman did not have the funds to make the bribes necessary to free Rachel's two children, who remained enslaved.

After the Fugitive State Law was enacted by Congress in 1850 imposing penalties on law enforcement and providing for payment of bounties upon the return of escaped slaves, the risk of capture increased to the point where slaves began heading for the safety of Canada, a country which refused to extradite fugitives. In tribute to her fearless and selfless exploits, Tubman earned the nicknames, "General Tubman" and "The Moses of her People."

Years later, she told an audience: "I was conductor of the Underground Railroad for eight years, and I can say what most conductors can't say--I never ran my train off the track and I never lost a passenger." Her impressive record was mostly likely due in part to the fact that she allowed no turning back and she carried a loaded revolver to back up that policy during the trek north. As she told one runaway slave who began to lose courage on the journey north, "You'll be free or die." As she later explained, "a live runaway could do great harm by going back, but a dead one could tell no secrets."

When the Civil War broke out, Tubman saw a Union victory as the perfect means to end slavery. She joined the Union Army, first working as a cook and a nurse, and then later as a scout and a Union spy. Giving up government rations after others grumbled she was receiving special treatment, she began selling pies and root beer to support herself. In June of 1863, she led the Combahee River Raid, freeing more than 700 slaves and becoming the first woman to lead an armed expedition in the war.

After her first husband did not join her in freedom, she married a man 22 years her junior in 1869, and they adopted a daughter. During her lifetime, her humanitarian efforts included teaching newly freed blacks how to become self-sufficient, raising funds for schools, and finding housing and clothing for the poor and disabled. Her humanitarian works kept her mired in poverty and she worked various jobs and took in boarders to offset her expenses. Friends and supporters from her abolitionist days raised funds to help support her.

Tubman retired in Auburn, NY after the war, and became active in the women's suffrage movement, working alongside Susan B. Anthony. She spoke out publicly in favor of women's rights, and used her own experience to illustrate that women were equal to men, citing having received such "man honors" as having a ship named for her. Illness eventually forced her to be admitted to the Harriet Tubman Home for the Aged, a home for elderly African Americans she had helped open years before. She died of pneumonia on March 10, 1913 after telling those assembled, "I go to prepare a place for you." She was buried with military honors at Fort Hill Cemetery in Auburn.

Lisa Marie Wilkinson is an IPPY Gold Medal winning author of historical adventure-romance. Her latest novel, STOLEN PROMISE, featuring vibrant Gypsy characters and breath-taking romance, is available now.

Women Did It Better: Dr. Mary Walker

By Lorelie Brown

The Congressional Medal of Honor has been on my mind lately because of SSG Salvatore Giunta. He's the very first person to be awarded the Medal of Honor for participation in Operation Enduring Freedom OR Iraqi Freedom. My husband served with him at one point--though not at the time of the actions that have earned him the MoH--and he's a great guy. So it's only right that he's earned the United State's top honor for military personnel.

It was kind of a lucky coincidence that I'd already signed up to chat about Dr. Mary Walker--the first and only woman to have ever been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Mary Walker was born in 1832 and she forged her own path fairly quickly. Her parents had a farm in upstate New York and she frequently did her field work wearing men's clothes. Today that doesn't seem like such a big deal. Who'd want to plow a field wearing a skirt and petticoats, seriously? Um, everyone but her. She taught at the local school for a while, but only until she could gather up the funds to attend Syracuse Medical College.

She graduated in 1855. She was the only woman in her class. (Really, there's a lot of "only" and "first" in Dr. Walker's story.) A year later she married a fellow student, Albert Miller, while wearing male dress. She didn't take his name either. They tried to start up a local practice but people were still wary of being treated by female doctors, so it didn't do well. At all. The practice died.

When the Civil War began, Dr. Walker tried to volunteer as a surgeon, but they wouldn't have her. Can you believe it? Turning down a doctor just because she was a woman? But she ended up having to volunteer her services as a nurse. Despite being called a nurse she was at the First Battle of Bull Run in 1861. At the battles of Fredericksburg and Chickamauga she served as a volunteer--as in unpaid, unacknowledged--assistant field surgeon.

Finally in 1863 the Army of the Cumberland (in Ohio) awarded her a position as Contract Acting Assistant Surgeon (civilian). Duh. Guess they finally pulled their heads out of their bums. She had a modified officer's uniform made for herself to commemorate the occasion. Not long afterward she was made an assistant surgeon for the 52nd Ohio Infantry. She was still technically a civilian and she regularly went back and forth across the battle lines to treat anyone she could.

She was captured on April 10, 1864, by Confederate troops. They even charged her with spying. She spent four months in a Confederate prison near Richmond, Virginia before being released in an organized prisoner exchange. (Honestly, this is the part of her story that fascinates me the most. Was she the only female in that prison? What must that have been like? She apparently advocated for a more balanced diet, including grains and fruit, and the Confederate guards agreed.)

Dr. Walker kept working for the 52nd Infantry for a while, but after a while she moved on to first a prison and then an orphanage in Tennessee. In June of 1865, she left the Army and November she received the Medal of Honor from President Andrew Johnson.

But Dr. Walker didn't stop there. She spent the rest of her life advocating for women's rights, along with the better known Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony. Eventually she was pushed off to the side because her views were rather extreme; she thought women were already granted the right to vote by the Constitution and only legislation to ensure their rights were lacking. She also regularly dressed in men's style top coats and trousers, all the way to the hat and tie.

There's a down side to her story. In 1911, a reorganizing of the rules pertaining to the Medal of Honor declared her MoH invalid. A military tribunal decided that only those who'd received it due to actual combat experience were entitled to wear it. Dr. Walker was ordered to return the ribbon. She refused. I picture her as a crotchety old lady, telling the Army's representatives to stick their revocation up their bum. She wore it every day until her death on February 21, 1919.

President Jimmy Carter reinstated her medal in 1977.

What Surprised Me: Picacho Peak

By Lorelie Brown

Mention the US Civil War and I pretty much think of the Eastern Seaboard. South Carolina, Virginia, Mississippi. You know, the South, with all the images that invokes.

So imagine my surprise on moving to Arizona and discovering I'm living in the vicinity of the westernmost Civil War battle, fought in the sand and cacti and rocks. Huh.

Now where the westernmost battle was kinda depends on your definition of "battle."

But lemme back up really quick. Arizona didn't exactly exist before the Civil War broke out. The land it now encompasses was actually part of the Territory of New Mexico. But as military officers were called back to the various folds and had to decide where their loyalties laid, someone got the bright idea to carve out part of New Mexico and call it the Arizona Territory--and claim it for the Confederacy.

They really wanted Southern California, to give the Confederacy access to the Pacific Ocean, but that never really happened. Instead California troops fought for the Union, including driving the Johnny Rebs back pretty handily into the desert. (Johnny Rebs don't belong in the desert. Didn't anyone tell them that?)

Control of the stagecoach routes fed into this back-and-forth. Each side wanted 'em, naturally, because who wouldn't want the established, easy-to-navigate routes? So here we come back to our original topic--the farthest west battle.

There was an engagement at Stanwix Station, near Yuma, but calling it a battle is a little bit of a stretch. Confederate troops were burning hay meant for California cavalry horses and they got busted. Whoops. There was a small shoot out, but the only casualty was one Union soldier who healed up just fine apparently. But Stanwix Station is still up for consideration because bullets passed back and forth.

But then we come to Picacho Peak Pass, which is kind of the leader for the title of "westernmost Civil War battle." On April 15, 1862, Lieutenant James Barrett lead approximately a dozen men, looking for the Confederates reported to be lurking nearby, though they weren't supposed to actually engage. Well, they found them. From what I can tell, they kind of stumbled onto three of the Confederates and promptly captured them. But they sort of missed the seven other men, who opened fire. And Barrett kept his men pursuing the Johnny Rebs even into a thicket. Perhaps not his best decision, and it has the unfortunate distinction of being his last. He died in the hour and a half long battle, along with two Union privates.

Every year, Civil War re-enactors show up at Picacho Peak Pass and play out the skirmish. But over the years, the event has grown and more than the needed two-dozen men show up. They've had to expand into New Mexico battles to fill their time. But I hear it's a grand old time. The Picacho Peak State Park was slated to be shut down to help Arizona make up their huge budget shortfalls, but it's been saved by an arrangement with local governments to take over the costs. So I do believe I might have to check it out next year.

Dynasties: The Pinkerton Detective Agency

By Lorelie Brown

Allan Pinkerton didn't seem to intend to be America's chief spy, not by a long shot. He left Britain in 1842, disappointed with his unfruitful work with the Chartists, a reformist movement focused on obtaining votes for all men whether they own property or not. He arrived in the US with his wife and set up shop as a cooper--a barrel maker.

One day, out looking for wood to make his barrels, he stumbled across signs of habitation on what was supposed to be an abandoned island. He put what he saw together with reports of counterfeiters in the area. Teaming up with the local sheriff, he helped arrest the criminals. (Doesn't that sound like a refreshingly American story, full of half-luck and half-skill? Makes me wonder what else was really going on.)

Pinkerton served first as Deputy Sheriff, and then as Chicago's first Official Detective. By 1850, he'd gone on to found the North-West Detective Agency with Edward Rucker, a Chicago attorney. The North-West eventually became the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

Initially, the Pinks were the bomb. They patrolled the Wild West, stopping bank robberies, counterfeiters, and pretty much any law-breaking you can think of. A Pinkerton agent, Frank Geyer, helped crack the case of H.H. Holmes, the serial killer who haunted the 1899 Chicago World's Fair. Pinkerton himself pioneered many of the detective techniques that CSI and White Collar make use of now--tailing suspects, and undercover work included. As if that weren't enough, Pinkerton took a turn as the Union's spy-master general during the Civil War and put those techniques to work on the Confederates. He even foiled an assassination plot against Abraham Lincoln.

The Pinkertons were everywhere. Their name became synonymous with private detectives. But every good dynasty eventually comes to the point of collapse.

The Pinkertons' demise began when they were repeatedly used to protect strike-breakers by anti-union industrialists in the late 1890s. Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick hired them to break the Homestead Strike, resulting in the death of a Pinkerton agent by sniper fire. Franklin B. Gowen, a district attorney in Pennsylvania, hired them to help break the "Molly Maguires," a secretive Irish-based group of coalminers in Pennsylvania. Pinkerton agent James Ford Rhodes went undercover with the Molly Maguires, and while his detective work eventually led to the end of the Maguires, it happened amidst bloodshed. A vigilante group was formed that killed several, including one man's wife. Rhodes attempted to resign over the situation, but the damage was done. The Pinkerton name was blemished.

Despite that, the Pinks are still going strong. Yeah, I know, it surprised me too. They're now owned by a Swedish company and do business under a couple names, including the Pinkerton Government Services. From a cursory examination, they look like they're pretty much just gate guards now. Kinda sad, considering their impressive history (which, by the way, isn't even mentioned on their website. Seriously?)