Joan of Arc... and Deborah Samson

Joan of Arc is a name that comes up often when I mention the novel I've written on Deborah Samson, and, indeed, the connection is a logical one: women dressed as men, going in to battle.  

Just as in earlier posts I took a look at the Molly Pitcher legend in comparison to Deborah Samson's battlefield experience, I'd like to compare Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans, to Deborah and see what can be gleaned about women dressing as men, about women on the battlefield, about society's attitudes towards martial women and towards the "masquerade" of cross-dressing.  (Meaning that these were prolonged instances of disguise.)

To start this topic off, I'd like to justify the comparison.  Placing the two in conversation is not an invention of my own mind.  In fact, it is quite likely that this is a comparison that Deborah herself would have made.

Piece of Evidence #1:  Early in the war, when the American forces were in disarray, Thomas Paine wrote in The American Crisis that just as Joan of Arc had "driven back like men petrified with fear" "the whole English army," thus now America needed "some Jersey maid to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair fellow sufferers."  It is likely, though not certain, that Deborah would have seen The American Crisis.  Her hometown of Middleborough was a politically astute and involved place, a crossroads of commerce, and the pamphlets (and discussions about those pamphlets) were likely present. 

Piece of Evidence #2: Deborah was a voracious reader as a young woman.  We don't have a record of the books that she read, but we do have evidence of what was popular and readily available at the time.  These included chapbooks mostly featuring tales of adventure.  One prominent and popular such book was The Maid of Orleans, about Joan of Arc.

So, admittedly, this is tenuous evidence and supposition.  But at least it is possible -- well within the realm of the believable -- that Deborah had heard of Joan of Arc and thought of Joan of Arc in the context of the Revolutionary War.  

It would be too simple to say that Deborah might have read Paine's pamphlet and regarded it as a call to arms, as an invitation to be that Joan of Arc.  For though Paine's language, as I quoted it above, does suggest that, reading the passage in full reveals the sort of misogynistic frame that infiltrated all levels of discourse at the time.  Here's the full quote:

"In the fourteenth [fifteenth] century the whole English army, after ravaging the kingdom of France, was driven back like men petrified with fear; and this brave exploit was performed by a few broken forces collected and headed by a woman, Joan of Arc. Would that heaven might inspire some Jersey maid to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair fellow sufferers from ravage and ravishment!"

The tone of the first line is to suggest that the English defeat is all the more humiliating and outrageous because it was at the hands of a woman.  The line does not suggest that Joan, being a woman, is all the more heroic.  In the second sentence, notice the diction "spirit up" (like a cheerleader) and "fair fellow sufferers" -- fair might suggest a reference to other women and not to men; sufferers also makes this group passive.  This reading is strengthened by the phrase "ravage and ravishment" -- again, crimes that women, not men, are likely to suffer.  

This is not to undermine my piece of evidence: Deborah might well have heard mention of Joan in the context of the Revolutionary War.  Moreover, given that she is a product of her own time, the language and bias of Paine might not have rankled her as it rankles me.  Where I see diminishment (Spirit Up!  They were beaten by a girl!), Deborah and other women might have felt encouragement; Paine is, after all, suggesting they can do something.

Moving on from this basis, I'll take a look at more specifics of Joan's adventures and reception in comparison to Deborah's.

Interview in the Philadelphia Gay News

I am delighted to share with folks... my interview with The Philadelphia Gay News!

Such a delightful and generous piece on the novel and me.  I hope you enjoy -- here's the link:

PGN Interview

Samson or Sampson? What's in a name...

As the days (okay, still months...) tick down towards publication of Revolutionary (January, folks!) all the final details are getting extra attention.  Many of these points are trivial enough not to deserve expansive description, but one task came across my plate this week that is worth getting into.

Namely (pun!), the question of how to spell Deborah's maiden name.  In my novel, I chose to spell it Samson.  Most sources list it as Sampson.  Thus, it might be easy to assume that I made a mistake in my spelling, but really it is a deliberate choice.

I find it fascinating that no signature of Deborah's exists prior to the war -- there is nowhere a place where she penned her own name (Samson or Sampson).  We have, of course, her signature as Robert Shurtliff (which is variously spelled Shurtlieff and Shurtleff -- there are both variant spellings as well as hard to read penmanship).  We have her signature as Deborah Gannett.  But no indication of how she spelled her maiden name.

After the war, there is no question that others spelled it Sampson and did so prominently.  Here, for instance, is the frontispiece of the "memoir" written by Herman Mann (with whom she collaborated closely) Mann Text that has her named spelled "Sampson."

But before the war, Baptist records (Deborah converted, or was "received" as a Baptist in 1780) mark her as "Samson" and then, two years later, when she was excommunicated, list her as "Sampson."  Even further back, all family records indicate that her father and her father's ancestors spelled it "Samson."  (I am indebted, as with many facts about Deborah, to Alfred Young.)   It was for this reason -- the clear family and historical precedent -- that I chose to spell her name "Samson."

My selection aside, the point I wanted to make here is one about the historical period (and history in general).  First, there is the variation in spelling (and my study of letters and journals of Revolutionary War soldiers bears this out) -- as long as it sounded right, the spelling didn't seem to matter much.  Second, there's the lack of documentation and "official" status to identity.  Deborah was Samson or Sampson; she was Robert Shurtliff or Shurleff or Shurtlieff.  No licenses, no passports, no papers.  Just say-so.  Just here-I-am.  And third, the idea that one's material self disappears.  That she lived in a time when she would right her own name so infrequently and on substance so ephemeral that it doesn't remain, except when others wrote it.

Identity and how we forge our own expressions of ourselves lies at the core of Revolutionary.  This minor (what does spelling matter?) factor is just one more way to consider how different the presentation and recording of self was back in the 1780s.

Understanding Your Characters...

This post is tailored specifically to those who are developing characters in historical fiction, but is, I believe, applicable to the craft of understanding your characters in general.  It also builds on some previous posts I have done about women in the revolutionary war.

You can read the earlier posts (I hope you do!) about Molly Pitcher(s) and their role not only during the war (camp followers) but after the war (loyal wives, in-the-moment-soldiers).  Given how these women are celebrated, as I noted earlier, it is not surprising that Deborah Sampson was given little attention for many decades:  she didn't fit neatly into the women-who-followed-her-husband-into-combat mold that felt "safe" to 19th century readers and writers.

When I began the research for my first novel, Revolutionary, I wanted to look at as wide a range of sources as I could on Deborah.  The earliest material is filtered through her biographer, Herman Mann and the later material is filtered through the biases and predispositions of the era in which they were written.

So here's the first part of the craft lesson for writers of historical fiction: make sure you look at your "real life" characters not just from one historical vantage point.  Get the fullest picture of them that you can by considering how they were written about by their contemporaries, by their children, by their friends, by their rivals, and by later writers.  It is poor history (and poor historical fiction) to rely only on one source or from sources all from the same era (even if it is "eye-witness").

For Deborah, two visual images will suffice to prove my point.  Here they are:

Both are early-mid 19th century depictions of Deborah Sampson that accompanied pamphlets or short writings on her. In both she is in uniform and with a weapon (or two!).  But, as those who read the earlier blogposts might note... she is also posed near a cannon.  It is not impossible that Deborah might have been near cannons in her service.  Certainly, she was at sites that would have had them.  But it is quite hard to argue that she used cannons at all.  Cannons were for pitched battle and Deborah was involved in small skirmishes only.  (Granted, she did claim to have been at Yorktown, or Mann placed her there, or both, but this is not true.)

So, when I was researching her character, I asked myself: why is she depicted this way?  What is being said about her?  I believe that both artists are making a subtle nod to the Molly Pitcher(s) legends.  By putting Deborah near a cannon, they are indicating to the viewer that this is a woman on the battlefield.  It is somewhat comforting -- suggesting that she served in the familiar and acceptable manner -- to have her depicted thus.  Much more comforting than Deborah just waving a sword or holding a gun, I'd argue.

To leave my particular case and look at craft in general, what I'd suggest is this.  Read (and look) widely as you explore your historical character.  Chip away at bias.  Consider how your character has shifted and been reinvented over the course of history.  And then...

Take good stock of how you wish to depict your character.  Realize that you are situated on this continuum that you have just explored.  Your depiction will be no less biased, no less a product of your own time and expectations (and this, I would argue is true for fictional characters that aren't historical) than any other.  It is better to be upfront and aware of your bias though.

In my own case, I knew that being transgender, I would come to Deborah's story from a particular angle.  Likewise, writing with a 21st-century understanding of gender and women's rights, I would also be biased against certain depictions of her and want to show her actions as reasonable and even virtuous -- quite the opposite of how many of her contemporaries saw her and wrote about her.

In order to fully understand, fully develop, and fully realize your characters, you need to understand your own perspective on that character!

Let me know what you think... Leave a Comment!

Character Motivation in General... and Historical Context in Particular

In any work of fiction, the main character's (or characters') desire drives the piece forward.  Don't know what your main character wants?  Or can't make that want clear, compelling, and believable to the reader?  Then your fiction will never take off.

Desire is linked to motivation: what you want, how you're going to get it, and why you want it so bad.

Because of the important of desire in driving fiction, a writer should spend lots of time understanding and deepening this aspect of the story or novel.  This is time "off the page," as I like to say, by which I mean that a lot of what you will work on in developing is for your own understanding of the character and not to be included in the finished writing.  Well, it will be included but not word by word... your understanding will inform your writing.

To give you an example of this, I'll use my forthcoming novel, Revolutionary.  Early in the story, the main character, Deborah Sampson, runs away from home.  Why? That isn't an easy decision to make in anyone's life, at any time, but particularly for a young, unmarried woman in 1782, this would have been an earth-shattering choice.  So I needed to understand her motive well.

Given that Deborah is a historical personage, I could look at material in which she discussed (or others discussed) her motive.  From these sources, I gleaned that her motive was money (the town gave a bounty for soldiers signing on), patriotism, and freedom.  Of these three, money seemed the least interesting: once she had the bounty, she still ran away, so that couldn't have been the sole motive.  Patriotism was a nice thought -- and I don't doubt that she was patriotic -- but this was a reason she offered to her later biographer (Herman Mann) and a very convenient reason it was.  It allowed her a virtuous basis for an unvirtuous act.

That left me with freedom.  She desired to break away from the constraints of society, the bounds of her (medium-sized) town, and, particularly, the limited sphere of being a woman.  I knew that's what I had to convey on the page, what I had to convince my readers of.  But in order to be convincing, I had to know my subject and context much more specifically than that.

In my next blog post, I'll provide more of the historical context of Deborah, but I wanted to open with this general craft point:  start with characters' desires... and let that drive your fiction!

The Myth of Molly Pitcher

Getting back to my earlier blog posts about Molly Pitcher and the question of female war heroes -- how they are portrayed and why we celebrate their achievements (or don't)... I discovered in my internet perambulations a wonderful article by Ray Raphael, which I'll direct you to here.

While you should read the full article (it isn't that long and it is fascinating), I'll offer a brief synopsis (more of a teaser) here.  Raphael argues that the "real" Molly Pitcher was Margaret Corbin, the somewhat coarse character who was injured in battle.  He further presents evidence that the name Molly Pitcher comes not from the battlefield but from a fortune teller in Lynn, Massachusetts.  From these two sources, an entirely mythical beast was born: the Molly Pitcher of the battle of Monmouth.

Not only was this article fascinating for understanding the basis of the legend of Molly Pitcher, but it illustrates several points about female war heroism.  As I've said before, we are more comfortable with "dainty" and "proper" sorts of heroes.  Raphael points out that pitchers would have been impractical on the battlefield; pails and buckets were more likely (indeed, even the Currier and Ives prints show a bucket in the background!).  But the image seems more feminine: a woman traversing the battlefield with a pitcher in hand... it's almost like she's serving someone at a table.  That's much more appropriate than the truth.  And that's why Deborah Sampson is so troublesome: she doesn't fit those "dainty" boundaries and even myth couldn't remake her story in an appropriately feminine way.

There's also the detail that the legends of Molly Pitcher weren't invented or popularized until the 1830s.  When they were told, they were presented as truth.  Each generation likes to make the past over in its own image.  I have no trouble with this when its done under the name of historical fiction (or just fiction).  In fact, that, to me, is often what good fiction does: it translates.  It makes sense of something (from the past or not) and explains it in the context of the author's world.  The danger of the Molly Pitcher legend is that it became accepted as truth and, in doing so, obscured the reality of the women who did serve in the war or who followed the army.  It is these women whose stories need to be told.

Revolutionary Summer

Having just moved to Washington, DC, I want to take advantage of all the city has to offer... to that end, I strolled over to the wonderful Politics & Prose bookstore last night and listened to Joseph Ellis talk about his book Revolutionary Summer, a nonfiction work on the events leading up to (and early on in) the American Revolution.

In general, I like author talks, and this one was great.  He knew the material inside out, spoke without notes, was both precise and expansive, giving a good overall sense of his subject as well as particular and evocative details.

Of course, I was also interested in this material because of my own writing.  And though Deborah comes much later in the war (and has issues of her own to handle -- Ellis touched on women only by virtue of mention Abigail Adams' letters) much of what Ellis spoke about gave me a much better sense of the context in which Deborah existed.

Ellis, at one point, reminded the audience that the vast majority of people during the late 18th century were born, lived, and died within a twenty-mile radius, I was struck anew by how bold Deborah was.  Certainly, a good number of men went beyond this radius in their service to the country (in the army or militia) and certainly Deborah ended up within the sphere where she was born (Plympton to Middleborough to Stoughton/Sharon) but her service, as well as her initial flight, where she seemed to have traveled quite a bit, and -- perhaps especially -- her speaking tour later in life, all speak to a more adventurous and daring spirit than many of her contemporaries.

The second point that really struck me in Ellis's talk was his repeated contention that the Revolution didn't form a nation, so much as a set of sovereign states.  Each state had its own personality and Massachusetts, Deborah's home state, was a firebrand -- far out in front of the other states in its determination for independence.  Even more, the fact that there wasn't a strong sense of nationhood explains why, Ellis said, the Continental Army was treated so poorly, particularly at the end of the war.

This aspect had interested me as I did my research for the novel.  Towards the end of her service, Deborah's regiment is called from West Point to Philadelphia because there has been a mutiny of veterans in Pennsylvania.  These veterans were dissatisfied due to the fact that they had been sent home (furloughed) without pay or pension.  Many of these men had served for years and got nothing for it.  When I was researching the novel, I couldn't figure out why this was the case; I just assumed that the Congress was short on funds (and then I got back to more pertinent research).

Ellis's explanation was that the Congress so disliked the idea of a standing army, and so wanted to prevent the glorification and extension of the Continental Army, that they denied them pay and pension -- sending them home, as he said, as beggars -- in order to detract from their standing.  What an unfathomable shame!  But now I understand the motive.  I left the talk feeling -- as I often felt during my research -- that Deborah's world is unbelievably different than the one in which I live (and I know which one I prefer!).

Margaret and Deborah

Margaret Corbin -- the other Molly Pitcher, as one might say -- was wounded in battle when she took over the cannon from her husband.  That was in 1776.  As remarkable as her feat of bravery was, the really remarkable moments (and the reason why she is interesting to compare to Deborah Samson) come afterwards.

I haven't been able to find out concrete information as to where she went in 1777 and 1778, but by 1779, people were petitioning on Margaret's behalf and the Continental Congress responded.  In fact, their response was remarkable: she was granted a pension of a soldier's half-pay as well as clothes.  With this gesture, the Congress recognized Margaret as a soldier -- at least in some sense -- they recognized that she had served and been injured in the line of duty.

Even more remarkable, she was allowed join the Invalid Corps at West Point.  This regiment provided for soldiers who were disabled and -- when possible -- got them to perform some military duties (such as standing guard or doing light labor).  Margaret remained a presence in and around West Point well past the end of the war.

There's a great online text that records some correspondence between General Knox and General Fleming about what to do with this woman. The notes make clear a few things: the army was still paying for her upkeep and she was a well-known (notorious, even!) individual.  Of particular interest to me is the fact that General Fleming mentions that she is called "Captain Molly" and that (while requesting more shifts for her to wear) she regularly is seen about wearing an artillery-man's cloak, and (my favorite) she is "brusque, coarse, red-haired, and wholly wanting in feminine charms" as well as a person who swears regularly.

This is a problematic heroine and a complicated story.  It starts so similarly as the other one: a fallen husband, a brave gesture.  It has a middle with a mix of tragedy and triumph: her injury and also her recognition by the Congress.  And the end... such ambivalence: it is clear that even as General Fleming wants to take care of her (he mentions shifting her from the house of a woman who wasn't treating her well) he also is made uncomfortable by some of her behavior and appearance.

It does make me wonder how Margaret Corbin lived all those year in and around West Point.  "Captain Molly," swearing, wearing an artillery-man's coat... was she "just one of the boys" and if so, was that a reflection of her life-long personality or how she adapted to her situation after being injured?  Unlike the other Molly Pitcher, she doesn't fade back into married life.  She becomes a soldier, of a sort, for the rest of her days.

There are several points of contact with Deborah Samson: the achievement of winning a pension as a woman soldier is one of them.  The second is the ambiguity of gender roles after the war.  Yes, Deborah did go back to life as a woman, but she also then went on the road and performed as a soldier.  The third is, perhaps, the most important one.  Like Deborah Samson, Margaret Corbin was an unknown for many years -- her story wasn't widely told until the early twentieth-century, when the Daughters of the American Revolution did research on her that led to the discovery of her unmarked grave and her reburial at West Point (a remarkable tribute).

Like Deborah, Margaret is a heroine that doesn't easily fit within the bounds of expected feminine behavior of the time. She was unacceptable, too much the soldier.  Her heroism was no less than the other Molly Pitcher, but society tends to like its heroines neat and clean.  Just as Deborah's story was "marred" because of how others perceived her act as deceitful or dishonest, Margaret's "brusque and coarse" behavior (other sources speak of how she smoked a pipe) makes her problematic.  It is a shame that it is so difficult to celebrate these women in the full complexity of the characters and identities.  

Comparing Deborah to Molly

The question at hand... Why did Molly Pitcher gain a national reputation as a heroine while Deborah Samson did not?

The last two posts have looked at the general role of a camp follower (women who joined their husbands through their army service) and then at the specific person of Mary Hays (the most likely historical personage thought of as "Molly Pitcher").  

At first glance, there are several similarities: both women left home and took to the field of battle; both are from lower-class backgrounds; both assumed a role that was decidedly male; both were proud of their military legacy (Mary Hays was said to be called Sergeant Molly well into her later years... while Deborah was called "The Old Soldier"); both received military pensions.

But Molly Pitcher is celebrated and much-written about, while Deborah Samson has languished.  

Don't get me wrong... she has her fans!  But they are few and far between (and delightfully devoted).  I have known Deborah's story since I was a young child because she is part of my family tree and my grandmother loved to tell her story to me.  But if a young person is likely to associate a woman with the American Revolution, that woman is more likely to be Molly Pitcher than Deborah Samson.

The answer to why this is, I fear, is a simple one.  Molly Pitcher stepped out of social expectations, crossing from the male realm to the female realm, only briefly.  Only under duress.  Deborah Samson did so willingly and for a prolonged period.  Molly Pitcher fought not only in the name of her country but also in the name of her husband.  Deborah Samson fought under an assumed name.

On an overly simplistic level (perhaps), Deborah Samson deceived.  She transgressed.  She said she was someone (Robert Shurtliff) that she was not.  (Perhaps this is where my bias as a transgender person comes in: too often, people have a negative response when I come out because they feel “tricked.”) 

Take note of those pictures of Molly Pitcher – one of the engravings has her wearing what seems to be a military cut of jacket.  It also shows a fair amount of cleavage.  Molly Pitcher could inhabit both realms – she could be a wife, a mother, and a woman… and be a fighter.  Deborah Samson was a soldier.  Her service (like the service of camp followers) was not glamorous.  She fought in little skirmishes.  She worked the tedious labors of a soldier not on the field of battle.  There aren’t any heroics (no cannon balls through her petticoats) that can be attributed to her.  Her valor was no more remarkable than the hundreds of other men who signed on (many for the money) at the tail end of the Revolution. 

What makes her remarkable is that she was a woman and defied all expectations that society had for her – not just once, but for a year and a half.  To celebrate this is to celebrate the fact that women are capable of much more than society dictates. Molly Pitcher’s masculinity is momentary; it is safe and fleeting.  She can be a heroine.  Deborah Samson’s is much more problematic.  It is much more Revolutionary.

Molly Pitcher - Who Was She (Part Two)

In my New England childhood, Molly Pitcher was a household name.  Whenever the Revolution came up in elementary school, she got a paragraph in the history text.  But for those less familiar, here's a brief summary of the common "knowledge" about her: she accompanied her husband to war, she brought water to the men, and when her husband fell during battle, she ran her husband's cannon in his place.

This story is attributed to Mary Ludwig Hays McCauley, the real-life woman most often associated with the title Molly Pitcher.  Of course, the historical details aren't entirely clear and there's been lots of conflation and embellishment, but here are the details on the real Molly Pitcher.  In 1777, her husband (she married at the age of 15 or 16) enlisted in the army and she followed him in his training and fighting.  (Her husband had been a barber prior to enlistment, and this was not a profession she could take over.)  

In 1778, her husband, having been trained in the artillery in Washington's army, was on the front lines of the Battle of Monmouth.  Mary served as she normally did: bringing water for the soldiers and the cannon.  At some point, her husband was unable to continue working the cannon (he was either wounded or collapsed from heat -- the battle was in June).  Mary took over his duties.  

There are several wonderful and perhaps apocryphal stories about her time on the battlefield.  One is that as she stood before the cannon, swabbing the barrel out, a shot from the British blasted across and flew through her legs, tearing her petticoats as it passed. She continued in her role despite this close call.  A second is that her service was recognized by George Washington, who noticed her on the battlefield, inquired about her, and even gave her status as an honorary army member.  

There is little to verify these two accounts, but one can understand why they would be told.  The first gives the power to the idea that she was in battle -- not behind the lines.  Too often, women were cast in supporting roles and thus get little credit.  To claim that Molly Pitcher was involved in the war would be true, regardless of whether she worked the cannon or not: she was there, she served, she made a difference. But to get the glamour of the position, she had to be in danger and she had to do a man's job.  (I find it amusing that the cannon ball went between her legs.  This seems ridiculously suggestive to me.  There is a diary entry from a soldier who claims to be an eyewitness to the event; even he recounts it in a humorous manner.)  As to the second, there seems to be little concrete evidence of this happening, and (given the research I've done on Deborah Samson) such a resounding recognition seems unlikely to me. At the time, she was as likely to be condemned for taking on such an inappropriate role as extolled for it.

What is verifiable is the fact that Mary drew a pension for her service (after suffering, like Deborah, with a husband who made terrible financial decisions).  In 1822, the state of Pennsylvania  granted her a military pension.  It is unclear whether she received this for her own service or as a widow of a veteran.  

There are several paintings, engravings, and woodcuts of Molly Pitcher.  These capture the essence of why she gets so much acclaim.  In these depictions, she is shown in full female regalia: ruffled cap, petticoats, dress, and apron.  Often, her fallen husband's body is by her feet.  She has the tamper for the cannon in her hands and thrusts it down the cannon's barrel.  Thus, she is both perfectly female in her appearance and perfectly male (literally and figuratively) in her behavior.  Scandalous at the time, perhaps, but exciting (even titillating) afterwards.

Here are links to two such images (both mid-19th c.)  Engraving   and Currier&Ives

Next - a closer comparison of Deborah and Molly/Mary.

Who Was Molly Pitcher? (Part One)

Today begins a comparative look at women's roles in the American Revolution -- who has been celebrated, for what, and why... the goal is to get some context and perspective on Deborah Samson, the main character of my forthcoming novel, Revolutionary.

Who Was Molly Pitcher?

     Interestingly, this name was a generic term, almost a title, given to many women who served in a similar capacity.  And what capacity was that?  Well, in the Revolutionary War, many women followed men (be they husbands, sons, or brothers – though husband was the most typical) to wherever they served in the war.  Why would a woman do this, given that the life on the lines must be tough and unpredictable?  There might be a variety of reasons, ranging from the romantic to the practical.  But for many of these women, as tough as life might be following the army, life without that would be even harder. 

     The reality for the 18^th century lower classes was not a pretty one.  For a woman left alone to tend a farm or manage a workshop of some sort while her husband fought, life could be nearly impossible. Some of these women – even those with children – found it necessary to trail along after their husbands.  Indeed, there were at times so many of these camp followers that Generals, Washington included, had to thin their ranks.  In 1777, he wrote: 

"the multitude of women in particular, especially those who are pregnant, or have children, are a clog upon every movement."

A census of sorts would be conducted and those women who were found to be single or not performing a necessary service were sent away.  The married women who could work for the army were permitted to camp nearby and were often given some quantity of rations and even, on occasion, drew pay for their work.

     And work they did.  These women most frequently did laundry for the soldiers.  Sometimes they cooked or cleaned.  On rare occasions they had a formal occupation as a servant for an officer.  Though they maintained a separate camp, these women were frequent visitors to the army post and some of them labored alongside their husbands.  This was the role of “Molly Pitchers,” who brought water to the lines.  Sometimes the water was intended to relieve the soldiers, but often it was used to cool the cannons down and to wash them out between shots, keeping the barrel clear of debris and sparks. 

     Without question, camp followers were brave.  They transgressed gender boundaries of the time.  During the eighteenth century, the proper sphere of woman was home and hearth.  Even though Martha Washington went to visit George at Valley Forge, she left and went back where she “belonged.”  But the other women didn’t... mostly because they couldn’t.  Perhaps some, though, didn’t want to and followed not only out of personal obligation but out of a patriotic desire to serve. 

Next up... a look at the woman commonly believed to be “the” Molly Pitcher.

Women of the Revolutionary War... A Comparative View

On a recent drive down the New Jersey Turnpike, my wife and I stopped in (by complete chance) to the Molly Pitcher service area.  Perhaps it is only because I grew up in New England, but Molly Pitcher was a well-known name in my childhood.  Fourth grade (maybe third grade?) pageant on American History: the Revolutionary-era women were Betsy Ross and Molly Pitcher.  We sang a song about her; we recited a poem about her.

After reading the small plaque about the "New Jersey Maid" and refreshing my memory on her exploits, I had to ask: why does she get all the press while Deborah Sampson Gannett remains somewhat (relatively) obscure?

I returned home and went to the local library (always my place of refuge).  A quick skim of the children's section on the American Revolution showed something similar to what I recalled from my childhood.  There were books that made an attempt to show that women were involved in the American Revolution.  The women mentioned: Betsy Ross, Martha Washington, Molly Pitcher.

For the first two, I can immediately see why fame comes easily.  Martha Washington's role, after all, is one still familiar today: first lady.  Betsy Ross, well, sewing was what women were supposed to do.  She fulfills a predictable and acceptable female role.

But what makes Molly Pitcher so much more heralded than Deborah Sampson?  That will be the subject of my next few blog posts... a comparison of these two revolutionary women, a grudge match of sorts.

Deborah Sampson Gannett and... George Washington?

As I was sleuthing around the internet, looking for information on Deborah's years after the war (a fascinating story, though not part of my novel), I kept coming across an image of her handing a letter to General George Washington.

Here's a link to this image: Deborah&Washington.

The image is a 19th century engraving, and in it, Deborah (on the right), stands with her arm extended, offering a letter to a seated Washington.  She is dressed in military garb, of a sort.  Certainly, her garments are men's wear.  However, she doesn't have a weapon nor does she have any sign of rank.  In one hand, she holds a tricorn hat -- the emblem of the "minute man" and revolutionary war soldier.  She is also bent, as if bowing to Washington, her eyes clearly downcast.  In all, she appears submissive, especially in comparison to how the men are depicted.

Two men are in the engraving.  One, his back to the viewer, has epaulets and a sword at his side (signifier of rank as well as of masculinity!) and stands in a posture that appears almost hostile.  He has a hand on his hip and his face, shown in profile, bears a look of disdain.  It isn't clear who this person is supposed to be -- General Paterson (Deborah's commanding officer)?  An aide to Washington?  What he represents, though, is clear: he is the military establishment, overseeing the scene before him, asserting dominance and displeasure.

The other man is George Washington.  He is seated with epaulets of rank on his shoulder, his body turned to face Deborah, suggesting openness.  Together with his seated position, his posture is much less combative than the other man's.  However, it would be too much to read acceptance into his depiction; he doesn't reach for the missive and his face is shown with a clear scowl.

Overall, it is an odd engraving.  The scene that it claims to depict is Deborah handing a letter to Washington, a letter that discloses her female nature (the letter was purported to have been written by the physician who treated an injury of hers).  Two things are strange.  First is the lack of factual basis.  It is possible that Deborah met with (in the sense that she was in the room with) Washington during her service.  She did carry messages between New Windsor (where General Paterson was stationed) and Newburgh (where Washington was stationed).  However, she doesn't mention any meeting in the biography written about her, and that biography is inclined to take notice and make use of any possible means of aggrandizement.  Indeed, she reports that she handed her letter to General Paterson and it was he who dismissed her (the apocryphal engraving account says that Washington read the letter, recognized the sensitive nature of the contents, dismissed Deborah to another room, and then went to meet her there, handing her a letter of discharge as well as a sum of money).

Why make this history up?  I interpret it as a sad statement about fame.  It is not enough to tell one's own story on one's own merit.  Rather, it must be appended to the story of another famous person.  (The old riding of coat-tails cliche.) For the 19th century, claiming a connection with Washington was a means of gaining some celebrity.  Especially for Deborah, this also legitimizes her claim -- it implies that she "passed" in front of Washington and that her service wasn't peripheral to the war but right at the heart.

But, on the level of the art itself, there are several peculiar factors.  It makes sense that Deborah wouldn't be happy about the situation (if she knows what the letter holds).  But why are the men upset?  They don't know what the letter says.  Their apparent disdain could be nothing more than a reflection of the class differentiation at the time; ranking officers had little need to be indulgent with enlisted men.  But I think that their facial expressions and body postures, together with Deborah's positioning and costuming, connote something more significant about gender relationships.  They are showing superiority; they are showing mastery; they are showing disapproval.  Deborah is lesser in every sense.  She is smaller, she is bent, she is not given a rank or a weapon.

Even though this scene is apocryphal, meaning that the artist had ever license needed to recreate it as he wished, he appears to have interpreted it through a heavy lens of 19th century bias, translating his disapproval for her service and her "masquerade."  Too bad... this moment, in my mind, was one of victory and triumph.

1937 New Yorker Article On Deborah

Having had much fun gallivanting about The New Yorker's online archives for a series of posts I did last week, I couldn't resist typing in Deborah Sampson and seeing what I turned up.

Imagine my delight to find a 1937 article written on her!  (I did then go back to Alfred Young's excellent volume on Deborah (Masquerade) and confirmed that he had mentioned the New Yorker article briefly.)  Written by Morris Bishop on July 3, 1937, the article runs over three pages (scantily so, for there are columns of ads on the pages; the advertisements are delightful.).

There is no pressing reason that I can discover for writing an article at this time on Deborah -- no recent discovery of letters, no new release of a book, no resurgence of interest in women in combat.  I can only think that, given a press date of July 3, they were looking for some good Americana.

The article is delightful, if snide, quoting large chunks of her biography as told by Herman Mann, whose florid style is pilloried by the article's author.  I turned to the article interested in how her "adventure" would be portrayed at that time: as a positive, daring adventure; as a negative act of deceit?  I was surprised to find that she is presented almost as a laughing stock.  In part this is owing to Mann's overly-flowery language, but in part this is, I think, owing to the inability -- or, rather, unwillingness -- of society to accept that women are capable and that gender is complex.  It is far easier to brush aside her "escapades" as lighthearted whimsy bordering on craziness or criminality than it is to consider exactly how difficult women's lives were back then and why they might want to escape.

Have no doubt: the article is worth reading (archives are free to subscribers of the magazine).  For those most interested in the presentation of gender, one line is particularly remarkable.  In describing how Deborah bound herself given the shape/style of the Revolutionary War uniform, Morris writes that: "the female of those days was used to enduring severe pressures; it was merely a question of altering the point of incidence of the stress."

What a wonderful caricature.  I thoroughly enjoy the double meaning of women being accustomed to "enduring severe pressures."  This is true sartorially -- of corsets and such -- and it is true domestically and psychologically.

Famous Letter For Deborah Sampson Gannett

Since my lovely wife, also known as the Missive Maven, has been gracious enough to mention my forthcoming novel on her blog (http://www.missivemaven.com/), I thought I would expand a bit on the connection between Deborah Sampson Gannet and letters.  In the novel, as my wife's blog notes, there is an epistolary element.  This is entirely a fictional imagination and -- as far as I know -- no historical record remains of letters Deborah wrote while in the service.

After her discharge, however, there is one famous letter written on her behalf.  

In 1804, (over 20 years after her service in the army ended) Deborah was living in Sharon, Massachusetts. Married and with three children, she and her husband struggled financially, frequently falling into debt.  Deborah had earned some money on a lecture tour and had, in 1792, received the sum of 34 pounds from the Massachusetts Legislature as compensation for her year and half of service in the army.  She felt she was owed more.

And so she reached out to Paul Revere, who ended up writing a letter on her behalf to Congressman William Eustis.  An image of the original letter, as well as a readable typescript below, can be found at The Paul Revere House Website, here.

As a writer, if not a missive expert, I appreciate this letter for its wonderful display of the spelling and grammar conventions (or lack thereof) at the time, but especially for its sense of rhetoric.  My favorite line is when Revere explains that he heard Deborah's story and fully expected to meet an uneducated, small-minded woman, "one of the meanest of her sex," but found instead a "small, effeminate, and converseable" woman.  This strikes me in particular because the core of this stereotype still holds true today, and Revere is delightfully honest in admitting his expectations when hearing that a woman had passed as a man.  

The end of the story is a happy one: Deborah got her pension of four dollars a month, thanks in large part to Revere's intercession.

The Cover of Revolutionary....

There's the old saying, I know: you can't judge a book by...

BUT.

There are books I pick up, and books I let sit, and sometimes that is based on the cover.  (That said, there are books that have terrible covers that I love nonetheless.  And sometimes covers I once didn't like will grow on me in a thoroughly irrational way.  Perhaps there's a future blog post out there about covers I love, covers I loathe, and covers I've been converted to.)

I am THRILLED with the cover of my first novel, Revolutionary.  So many thanks and so much admiration to the design folks at Simon & Schuster.

Check it out... when the cover is closed:

And when the cover is open:

Okay.  This is going to be a gush.  So bear with me.  The things I love about this cover...

• The use of vertical lines on the front.  I love the suggestion this gives of division, of a split, of a defining line.  I like how it divides my name (and the words "A Novel") as well as the title itself.  This plays so well with the theme of two-ness.
• To pair with this, the use of color in the name and title.  Again, things both run together and are separate.  So essential to the notion of self and identity that Deborah feels.
• The colors/stripes.  I like it for the flag motif, of course.  There is an immediate American theme.  But also for the way the horizontal meets the vertical.  The two intersect inevitably, but it is a merging we expect, given the flag.
• The stitching.  Deborah was a weaver. In the first version of the novel (and a few of the subsequent ones), the construction of her first male garments played a huge role.  In the final version, she stitches much of her uniform while at West Point (a point that is historically accurate, I believe) and so the sewing is part of the plot.  But this also relates to her story, how it is stitched and woven together, and in the novel, she often compares her life to fabric.  Alfred Young notes that Deborah was proud of her weaving: she was good at it.  In later life, when she no longer worked as a weaver, she still kept samples of her fabric at hand to show how tight her "lawn" (linen) was.  Not only is there stitching by the stripes have a fabric look.
• The rough edge on the left.  It looks almost unfinished, and I like that for the suggestion that things aren't neatly concluded.
• The division/unity of the figure on the cover.  She is clearly a woman with the jacket open.  She is clearly whole and in action. But with the cover closed, there is some ambiguity.  Not too much, but enough.  I think Deborah would have had to look more male than this, but the closed image is still very suggestive of how masculinizing a uniform and equipment can be.  Plus, with the cover closed, the idea of division is extended.  She is half there, half not.

Alright.  Clearly I'm a fan.  I just hope it's something that makes you want to pick it up and give it a try.

Pre-Order Revolutionary!!

Grant me a little patience and let me just say... I am so excited that folks can pre-order my novel, Revolutionary!  

Here's the link to Amazon

I know...you'll have to wait a while (1/14/14) until it arrives, but, to be early is to be on time.

At least follow the link to check out the cover design.  Pretty fabulous.  I'll be blogging on it soon!

Another Road Trip

I've just entered another section in my "Researching Revolutionary" section (see tab above)... this one on a road trip to Middleborough and Sharon Massachusetts, where Deborah lived before and after the war, respectively. There are photos of some notable sites, so enjoy! Next week I'll post the final installment in this section... but if you have any areas of research that you'd like me to expand on, please leave a comment and let me know.

Road Trip...

Continuing on with my entries on researching Revolutionary, I just added a section on a road trip I took up to spots in New York:  West Point, New Windsor, Newburgh, and other places where Deborah Sampson was stationed or fought.  There are lots of pictures as well as explanations for how these sites influenced my writing and revision.  Check it out via the tab above.  And... for those who aren't sure it's worth the tab click, here's a sample photo to entice you:  a shot of me at New Windsor, standing next to a reconstruction of one the cabins.  Now imagine you're a woman, disguised as a man, living in one of these (along with a dozen other soldiers) for an entire winter in 1782!

I hope you enjoy the third entry into "Researching Revolutionary" that I just posted.  Check it out here . This time I wrote about when I declared the initial phase of research done, and also how this source gave me (unexpected)insight into Deborah Samson's character.