DoÑa Maria de Jesus, Private in the Brazilian Army (War of the Reconcave)—Russian Female Soldiers—Juana de Areito (Civil Wars in Spain, 1834)—Anita Garibaldi—Appolonia Jagiello (Rebellions in Poland, 1846 and '48, and Vienna and Hungary, '48)—Bravery of the Croatian Women—Countess Helena St. ——, a Hungarian Patriot—Garde Mobile—Louisa Battistati (Milanese Revolution, 1848)—Fatima, a Turkish Commander (Russo-Turkish War)—Lady Paget (Attack on the Mamelon, June, 1855)—Miss Wheeler (Cawnpore Massacre)—Queen of Naples—Polish Insurrection—Mdlle. Pustowjtoff, Adjutant to Langievicz—Female Polish Chasseurs—Female Lieut.-Colonel in the Mexican Army—Civil War in America—Female Privates in the Potomac Army—Female Lieutenant and Privates in the Army of the West—Mrs. Clayton, Private in the Federal Army—Emily ——, Private in the Drum Corps of a Michigan Regiment—Female Confederates at Ringgold, Chattanooga—Mrs. Florence Bodwin—Female Mulatto Sergeant—Native Contingent in New Zealand—Herminia Manelli, Corporal of Bersaglieri (Battle of Custozza, 1866)—Lopez's Amazons—Cretan Amazons—Women of Montenegro—Female Brigands—German Order to Reward Courage in Women—Franco-Prussian War—Minna HÄnsel's Amazon Corps.

Since the first French Revolution, monarchs have not always sat easily upon their thrones. They fancied they had cut down the Tree of Liberty after the downfall of Napoleon, and that it would never grow up again; but in a very short time it brought forth new branches, and has since borne fruit in a way which the most sanguine Republican of olden times would scarcely have ventured to predict. Since the battle of Waterloo, Europe and America—even parts of Asia and Africa—have been convulsed by rebellions, civil wars, and revolutions, which have often shaken the world to its centre. The peoples learnt to hate their rulers; and one nation after another, catching the revolutionary fire from the smouldering brand half stamped out in France, rose in rebellion against the monarch who refused them immediate enfranchisement. Again and again have the nations been compelled by force of arms to submit; but they rise again whenever they fancy they see a favourable opportunity. Thus it happened that almost every war, fought in Europe or America since Waterloo up to some ten years since, had its origin in the same cause—the struggles of nations to cast off their rulers.

Amongst those states which took the initiative in raising the standard of revolt, the South American colonies of Spain and Portugal were foremost. Brazil declared its independence in 1821, and elected Don Pedro, the Crown Prince of Portugal, to be Emperor. The latter had a hard struggle to maintain his throne against not only the Portuguese troops, but against the Republicans, who composed a large party in Brazil. His emissaries were despatched all over the country, to the most distant plantations, to raise recruits for the Imperial Army. One of these messengers arrived one day at the farmhouse of Gonzalez de Almeida, a Portuguese settler in the parish of San JosÉ, on the Rio de Pax. The patriot was invited to dinner; and, mindful of his object, he endeavoured to enlist the sympathies of his host for Don Pedro. Almeida listened very attentively; but it awakened no feelings of patriotism in his breast. He was old, and could not join the army himself, nor had he a son to give.

"As to giving a slave," added he, "what interest would a slave have in fighting for the independence of Brazil?"

But though Almeida had no sons, he had two daughters. One of them, DoÑa Maria de Jesus, was desirous, for many reasons, to leave home and seek employment elsewhere. Her father had married again, and the step-mother and her young children made home exceedingly uncomfortable for Maria. She was much excited by the patriot's words; "So that at last," she said, "I felt my heart burning in my breast!"

She stole from the house, and went to that of her married sister. After recapitulating the stranger's discourse, she expressed a wish that she were a man and could join the Imperial standard.

"Nay," said her sister. "If I had not a husband and child, for one half of what you say, I would join the ranks of the emperor."

This decided the wavering resolution of DoÑa Maria. Her sister supplied her with a suit of clothes belonging to the husband, so Maria took the opportunity, as her father was going to Cachoeira, about forty leagues distant, to dispose of some cotton, to ride after him; not close enough to be seen, but sufficiently near for protection. When in sight of Cachoeira, she halted; and going a little way from the road, dressed herself in male attire.

She entered the town on a Friday, and by the following Sunday she had enlisted in an artillery regiment, and had already mounted guard. She was, however, too slight for the heavy duties of an artilleryman; so she exchanged into an infantry corps, in which she remained till the close of the war.

Her real sex was not even suspected till Almeida applied to the commanding officer of her regiment. In the summer of 1823 she was sent with despatches to Rio Janeiro, and there presented to Don Pedro, who gave her an ensign's commission and the Order of the Cross—the latter of which he himself placed upon her jacket.

Maria Graham in her "Journal of a Voyage to Brazil," gives, as one of the illustrations, Maria de Jesus in her uniform. "Her dress," says this traveller, "is that of a soldier of one of the emperor's battalions, with the addition of a tartan kilt, which she told me she had adopted from a picture representing a Highlander, as the most feminine military dress. What would the Gordons and Macdonalds say to this? The 'garb of old Gaul' chosen as a womanish attire!" This lady further says that Maria, though clever, was almost totally uneducated; "she might have been a remarkable person. She is not particularly masculine in her appearance, and her manners are gentle and cheerful."

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In a census of the population of St. Petersburg, published about 1829, there appears the following curious item:—

When the civil war broke out in Spain, in 1834, the town of Eybar, in the province of Guipuzcoa, being attacked by Zabala, the Carlist general, several women and girls assisted the Christino troops in its defence. One of these brave girls, Juana de Anito, at this time barely fifteen, was married six years later to Don Eulogio Barbero Quintero, a young officer in the Spanish Army. In 1840 he became mixed up in a conspiracy against the Government; and on the failure of the plot, attempted to escape into France. He was intercepted on his road, and imprisoned in the citadel of San Sebastian. Directly Juana heard of his capture she resolved to effect his escape; which she accomplished in Nov. 1841, by exchanging clothes with him. Don Eulogio succeeded in reaching the French frontier; but the courage and devotion of his young wife did not avert the wrath of the Spanish Regent, by whose orders she was condemned to imprisonment for life.

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It was whilst fighting in Brazil as a rebel against the Imperial Government that Garibaldi first met his beloved wife, Anita. She was a Brazilian by birth, and possessed all the beauty of her countrywomen. Her complexion was a clear olive, set off by piercing black eyes, her figure tall and commanding. She was a fit companion for the brave Garibaldi; being to the full as courageous as he. The general himself said that his wife took part in battle as "an amusement" and "a simple variation to the monotony of camp-life."

Anita accompanied her husband in all his expeditions both on shore and at sea. Ably did she second him in the struggle for Brazilian freedom. Shortly after marriage they were one day at sea, when the Imperial fleet hove in sight, and bore down upon them. Garibaldi entreated his bride to land, and remain on shore whilst the engagement lasted; but she firmly refused, and not only remained during the action, but took a very leading share in it. One of the sailors fell dead at her feet; she snatched up his carbine, and kept up a constant fire on the Brazilians for several hours.

When the battle was at its height, Anita was standing on deck, waving a sword over her head, encouraging the men to resist bravely. Suddenly she was struck down by the wind of a cannon-ball, which killed two men close by. Garibaldi rushed forward, expecting to find that life was extinct; but to his astonishment and delight she rose up unhurt. Again he entreated her to go below, and remain there till the fighting was over.

"Yes," said Anita. "I will go below; but only to drive out the cowards who are skulking there."

And running down the hatchway, she speedily reappeared, driving before her three men who had gone below to escape the storm.

Anita was also present, on horseback, in a battle fought at a place called Coritibani, where the Garibaldians, numbering scarcely eighty men, half of whom were infantry, were attacked by a large body of Brazilian cavalry. She was not satisfied with being a mere spectator; knowing that the rebels, as they kept up a constant fire, would soon exhaust their ammunition, she went to the baggage-waggons to see that the men were properly supplied with cartridges. She had not been there very long before the baggage-train was attacked by twenty or thirty Brazilian horsemen. Anita was a good rider, and could have saved herself; but she preferred to remain on the spot, encouraging the Garibaldians.

The Brazilians were victorious in this battle; Anita surrounded on every side, received orders to yield. Clapping spurs to her horse, she dashed through the midst of her foes. Several shots were fired after her; one, a pistol shot, went through her hat, cutting off a lock of hair, while another pierced her horse's head. The animal fell heavily to the ground, flinging her with violence from the saddle. Before she could recover her feet, the Brazilian troopers had made her prisoner.

Anita believed that her husband had been killed; so the Brazilian colonel gave her permission to search the battle-field for his body. She looked through the corpses again and again for several hours, and at last came to the conclusion that Garibaldi still lived, and she determined to rejoin him. That night, when the Brazilians had retired to rest, and when even the sentry began to nod, she succeeded in escaping to a farmhouse a quarter of a mile distant; where she seized a horse, and plunged into the forest, in the direction which she believed the Garibaldians to have taken.

For more than a week, Anita Garibaldi wandered alone amidst the almost impenetrable wilds of the dense Brazilian forests, without food, and exposed to the hourly chances of capture. More than once she was pursued by the enemy placed in ambush at various points. One stormy night, four horsemen, who were stationed at a ford of the river Canoas, believing her to be a phantom, fled in terror. Anita plunged boldly into the stream; and, although it was five hundred yards broad, and swollen by the mountain rivulets till it had assumed the aspect of a roaring cataract, she succeeded, holding on by her horse's mane, in reaching the opposite shore, amidst a shower of bullets from the Brazilians, who had found out their mistake.

After enduring for eight days every kind of danger and privation, she overtook the Garibaldians, and rejoined her husband.

"Yes, yes, gentlemen," added Garibaldi, when he related this anecdote, "my wife is valiant."

There are many more of these anecdotes related concerning the extraordinary bravery of Anita. She afterwards accompanied her husband on his return to Italy, in 1848, and was with him during the insurrection of Lombardy against Austria. In the following year she attended him throughout the siege of Rome. After the fall of the Eternal City in 1849, when Garibaldi was escaping to Venice, Anita, worn out by long suffering, died at Mandriole, a small village in the marshes of Ravenna.

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Apollonia Jagiello, a Polish heroine, who acquired no little celebrity for her bravery during the insurrections of '46 and '48, was born in Lithuania, in 1825. She was educated at Cracow, in which city she passed her early life; sometimes changing for a few weeks to Warsaw or Vienna. In 1846 the insurrection broke out in the former city. Apollonia was, at this time, rather more than twenty, of medium height, with a graceful and slender figure. She was a brunette, with big black eyes, and a profusion of dark hair. Her arms and hands, which were more than once admired by those who saw her, were beautiful, and delicately formed. Although her lips were usually compressed, with a resolute expression of one who was not easily daunted, yet she could also smile most sweetly. "In that," says the National Era (an American journal), "the woman comes out; it is arch, soft and winning—a rare and indescribable smile. Her manner," adds this paper, "is simple and engaging. Her voice is now gentle or mirthful, now earnest and passionate—sometimes it sounds like the utterance of some quiet home lyre, and sometimes startles you with a decided ring of the steel."

Apollonia, inspired by that enthusiastic love for her country, which we so often find amongst Polish girls, joined the national army; and, throughout the struggle, which lasted only two or three months, was always found wherever danger was greatest. Mounted on horseback, she was one of those patriots who planted the White Eagle and the flag of freedom on the Castle and Palace of Cracow. She also formed one of that gallant little band which fought the battle near Podgorze against an army ten times their strength.

When the insurrection was suppressed, Madlle. Jagiello, resuming her own attire, remained in Cracow for several weeks without detection. She then removed to Warsaw, where she stayed until the year 1848, the Year of Revolutions. Directly the Cracovians took up arms, she joined their ranks, and displayed the same courage which she had shown two years previously.

The insurrection of '48 proved, if possible, a greater failure than the first. Apollonia fled from Cracow, and reached Vienna just in time to take share in the skirmish of the Faubourg Widen. She remained here only a few days, her object being to join the Hungarian insurgents under Kossuth. With the assistance of some friends she succeeded in reaching Presburg; whence, disguised as a peasant, she was conveyed to the village of St. Paul by those unfortunate country-folks who were compelled to carry provisions for the Austrian army. Crossing that part of the country occupied by the German troops, she reached the Hungarian camp, near the village of Ezneszey, on the 15th August, 1848. This was immediately before the battle fought here, in which the Austrians were defeated, and General Wist slain. Apollonia took part in this battle as a volunteer; but such was her courage that the Hungarian general presented her with a lieutenant's commission.

Apollonia, on the urgent solicitation of all, undertook the superintendence of the hospital at Comorn. This post she resigned for a while to join as a volunteer in the expedition of twelve thousand men, commanded by General Klapka, who captured Raab. Returning to Comorn, the heroine resumed her hospital duties, and remained there until the fortress surrendered.

In December, 1849, in company with Governor Ladislaus Ujhazy and his family, Apollonia Jagiello sailed to the United States, where they received an enthusiastic welcome. Here she continued to show that hatred of tyrants for which she had ever been distinguished. One day, when she was at Washington, an album was handed to her, with the request that she would add her autograph to those it already contained. She took it with a smile, but it chanced that on the very page at which she opened, the signature of M. Bodisco, the Russian ambassador, figured prominently. Flinging the album from her, with flashing eyes, she declared that her name should never appear in the same book with "the tool of a tyrant."

While the hatred of Austria was felt by all throughout Hungary, Croatia and Sclavonia were actuated, on the contrary, by feelings of the deepest loyalty to the house of Hapsburg. Baron W., who published his adventures under the title of "Scenes of the Civil War in Hungary in 1848-9, with the personal adventures of an Austrian officer, etc.," declares that the Croatians joined the Imperial standard by thousands; even the women, moved by an ardent and loyal courage, aided in defending the frontiers against the Bosnians, who, excited by the emissaries of Kossuth, took every opportunity for raids and invasions over the border. While the men were flocking to the banners of Jellachich, the ban of Croatia, their wives and daughters took up arms and repaired to the chain of posts on the Turkish boundary, "that all the men might be able to take the field; and such an eight days' duty as these frontier posts," he adds, "is no trifle, and requires not a little firmness." Old, half-invalided frontier subalterns, incapacitated for taking the field, were the commandants; young, many of them handsome, females composed their troops. "By my faith!" exclaims the Baron, "I should have no objection to be the commander of such a corps of Ottochan females myself!"

Numbers of Croatian and Sclavonian women accompanied the Austrian army into Germany and Italy. "We had," says the same author, "wives and daughters of frontier soldiers with us in Peschiera and on the march through Hungary, who equalled the men in the endurance of fatigue, and displayed undaunted courage in battle. In Hungary we had with us a young Croatian, the daughter of an old Seressan, who was as daring a rider as the best hussar, and more than once fearlessly joined the men in the charge. A Hungarian jurat gave her in an action a cut on the left cheek, which she returned with a severe blow on the arm, seized the bridle of his horse, and took him prisoner. This horse, a grey stallion, she ever afterwards rode, and refused to sell, though I offered her forty ducats for him."

The Countess Helene St. ——, a Hungarian patriot, was the sister of an old comrade of Baron W. The brother, who owned a magnificent estate, was a Magyar to the very core; and directly the insurrection broke out, he took up arms, and fell bravely fighting for his country in February, 1849. His dying agonies were soothed by an unexpected meeting with his early friend; the Baron.

Helene joined the insurgents soon after her brother left home, and served as aide-de-camp to his maternal uncle, who commanded a considerable Magyar corps. One cold, moonlight night, a few days after the death of the count, the author of the "Adventures" discovered the corpse of this beautiful girl, dressed in the military uniform of a Hungarian soldier, stretched out at the foot of a tree, her life's blood crimsoning the white snow.

"Forcibly mustering my spirits," says he, "I ordered my men to carry the body to the fire. There we examined it more closely, and with extreme anxiety I sought to ascertain whether there was any hope left of reviving her. Vain hope! It was several hours since her spirit had departed; the ball of one of our riflemen had gone through her heart. From the small red wound blood was still oozing in a single drop, which I carefully caught in my handkerchief to be preserved as a relic.

"My only consolation was that the deceased could not have suffered long; that she must have expired the very moment she was struck. Those pure, noble, still wondrous beautiful features; on her brow dwelt peace and composure, and the lips almost smiled. There she lay, as if in tranquil slumber, and yet those eyes were never more to open—those lips never more to utter noble sentiments or words of kindness.

"My hussars were visibly affected, and thought it a pity that one so young and so beautiful should die so early. Many of them who had been with me on our first march through Hungary for two days together at St. ——'s mansion, instantly recognised Helene, and doubly lamented her death, because she had shown such kindness to them."

They dug a deep grave beneath the frozen snow. "The corpse, in full uniform; the holpack, with plume of glistening heron's feathers on her head, the light Turkish sabre by her side, was then carefully wrapped in a clean large blanket which we had with us, and so deposited in the grave, which we filled up again with earth. Then regardless of caution, I had a full salute fired with pistols over the grave. I have preserved a small gold ring and a lock of her hair for a memorial."

The Baron, it should be added, plainly tells the reader that he was very nearly, if not quite, over head and ears in love with the beautiful Helene.

One of the hussars, who could do carpenter's work, made a cross of two young, white maple trees, which was placed over the heroine's grave.

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The Garde Mobile (which, as an extra battalion to the National Guard, did good service to the people in '48,) when it was disbanded, proved to be half composed of Parisian women and girls.

Louisa Battistati, a heroine of the Lombardian Revolution, was a native of Stradella, in Sardinia, and a mantua-maker by trade. She was dwelling in Milan, following this business, when the five days' Revolution broke out. On Sunday, the 10th March, 1848, Louisa attacked and disarmed an Austrian cavalry soldier, although he carried a carbine. At the head of a valiant band of young women, she now took up her station at the Poppietti bridge, and defended it all through the 20th, the 21st and the 22nd. At every shot from her musket a Croat fell dead.

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In June, 1853, the war between Russia and Turkey broke out. The Turkish government, to swell the ranks of the army, were obliged to beat up for recruits among the semi-barbarous tribes of Asia Minor. The chief of one of the wild tribes in the Cilician mountains having been imprisoned by order of the Sultan, his wife, Fatima, a little old woman, about sixty years of age, with a dark complexion, who governed during his absence, exercising the double duty of Queen and Prophetess, raised three hundred of her best horsemen and led them to the Allied Camp at Scutari, in the summer of 1854. Her appearance created no little sensation amongst English and French. There was very little of the Amazon in her personal appearance, though she bestrode her steed like a trooper, and wore a costume intended to represent the military dress of a chieftain. She was attended by two handmaids, also in male attire.

Fatima, apprehensive that her entreaties for the release of her husband would prove insufficient to move the Sultan, thought the best means of propitiating the Turkish Government was to lead a few hundreds of her bravest warriors to fight the frozen Russ. The pay for her troops was to be eighty piastres a month, besides tooth and stirrup money in every village through which they should pass.

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When the Allies were storming the Mamelon in June, 1855, Lady Paget (wife of Lord George, and daughter of General Sir Arthur Paget, brother of the famous Marquis of Anglesey) was present on the field, at a short distance from the scene of action. General Pennefather went up to the dead body of a Russian officer, and cut a medal off his coat. He then pinned the medal on Lady Paget's shawl, paying her a handsome compliment to the effect that she deserved a medal as much as any one present.

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Most people can remember the fortitude and courage displayed by the British ladies at Cawnpore, Lucknow, and other Indian cities during the terrible Mutiny. Ladies, some of them mere girls, delicately nurtured, unused to hardships of any kind, endured without a murmur, the most heartrending privations; and so far from giving way to useless repinings or sinking into apathy, they tried in every way to cheer up their brave defenders. They bore provisions and ammunition to the soldiers, loaded the rifles, and more than once took their turn in mounting guard and firing on the rebels.

The heroine of Cawnpore, Miss Wheeler, was one of the prisoners captured by the notorious Nana Sahib on the 26th June, 1857, and all who survived the terrible Massacre bore witness to her unflinching courage. She is said to have shot five Sepoys with a revolver; that she was then taken away by a sowar (trooper) to his hut, when she snatched his sabre, cut off his head, and flung herself down a well. An ayah, belonging to an English family, stated that it was in the hut, after killing the sowar, that she shot the five Sepoys.

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The romantic conquest of Naples and Sicily, by General Garibaldi in 1860, has already melted into the past and become an almost distant event in European history. It was said at the time that if Francis II. had possessed a particle of the military courage of his Queen, it would have been easy for him with his trained battalions to have captured or dispersed the handful of Garibaldian volunteers. When Bombino had taken refuge in Gaeta, the great stronghold of Southern Italy, he fancied himself secure from the attacks of the foe; but the Sardinian troops were soon battering the walls with long-range guns, and all the appliances necessary for a modern siege.

Amongst the besieged, Queen Marie Sophie Amelie was the only leader who encouraged the soldiers to make a brave defence. Standing on the ramparts of Gaeta, she incited the Neapolitan troops to shed the last drop of their blood for the Bourbon cause. Doubtless there was much exaggeration in those marvellous anecdotes published in the newspapers of the time relating deeds of Amazonian valour performed by the Queen; but it is certain that she acted the part of King, while her cowardly husband hid away in the darkness and security of bomb-proof galleries. In December, 1860, and January, 1861, it was remarked by the troops of Cialdini that every morning, at a particular hour, the fire of the Neapolitan batteries slackened for a short time; re-commencing, however, with renewed vigour. They soon learned that the Queen, dressed in Calabrian costume, visited a particular battery (named after herself the "Queen's Battery") every morning, sometimes on horseback, but generally in a coach; and would assist in the firing of the heavy guns. The artillerymen were ready to sacrifice their lives in the service of their beautiful and courageous Queen, while they heartily despised the contemptible Francis.

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The chief heroine of the last Polish insurrection (1862-3-4) was Madlle. Pustowjtoff, or, as some have written it, Pustovoydova, aide-de-camp and Adjutant to General Langievicz, the Dictator. When the ill-starred rebellion was at its height, cartes-de-visite of the heroine, in the costume of a Polish officer, were displayed in the shop-windows of the great European and American cities, side by side with all the public celebrities of the day. She was decidedly pretty, though rather childish looking: her features were good, and she had a profusion of fair hair.

Though her family and her proclivities were essentially Polish, Madlle Pustowjtoff was not a native of the country, but was born in Russia of a Polish mother. When the insurrection broke out, she escaped from a convent where she had been placed (probably by her parents) and joined Langievicz, who almost immediately appointed her to be one of his aides. She was present in numberless battles and skirmishes between the Russians and Poles; and finally accompanied Langievicz in his precipitate—some say cowardly—flight into Galicia, where, being arrested by the Austrian authorities, the fugitives were imprisoned. Madlle. Pustowjtoff was afterwards released on parole, though she was requested not to quit Galicia. In November, 1863, she exchanged the profession of arms for the occupation of companion to a lady in that country; but after the release of Langievicz and his followers by the Austrian Government in the summer of 1865, she resigned this employment, and travelled westwards.

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There was many another Polish heroine as brave though not so famous as the female Adjutant. When national liberty is at stake, there will always be found women as well as men ready to arm in its defence; and the women of Poland have ever been remarked for more than ordinary patriotism. A writer in Fraser's Magazine for December, 1863, speaking of the part taken by the Polish women in the struggles with Russia, relates the following anecdotes of female courage:—

"The following incident of the active heroism of the Polish women, was told me by an officer who had commanded a detachment of cavalry in Lithuania in the early days of the insurrection:—

"One day about twenty of his Cossacks surrounded the house of a lady, living in a retired part of the country, whose daughter was the betrothed of one of the chiefs of bands known to be in the neighbourhood. At that very moment he and several other leaders were in the house, consulting with the two ladies over their plans. Alarmed by the arrival of the Cossacks, the men hastened to escape from the back windows, and fled to the woods; the two women actually protecting their retreat by keeping up a fire from their pistols from the front. When the Cossacks at last forced their way into the house, they found only the two women, whom they do not seem to have molested, but contented themselves, after their manner, with filling their pockets with all the portable valuables within reach. On retiring, they pitched their horses a short distance off, yet in sight of the house. Presently the young girl was seen to come out, and proceed to the stables, from which she soon again came forth, mounted, when she set off in the direction her lover had taken. One of the Cossacks, having a sorry beast of his own, and admiring that which the girl rode, galloped after her, took hold of her bridle, and, as good-humouredly as his rough nature allowed, proposed an exchange, observing that as she was going to join the band, she had no need of such a good horse. The reply was a bullet from her revolver which sent the Cossack reeling from his saddle. Meanwhile his companions, who had followed him, had come up, and seeing the fate of their comrade, surrounded her. The intrepid girl then snapped her pistol at one after the other, and when all the chambers of this one were discharged, flung the empty weapon at the head of the nearest, knocking him from his horse, and immediately drew forth a second. This was too much for the politeness of the Cossacks, of whom three or four were already on the ground; they lifted the poor girl completely off her horse on the points of their lances, and so she perished.

"As a further example," continues this writer, "I will translate an extract from a private letter lately received from an officer serving in the kingdom of Poland:—'Yesterday,' says the officer who wrote it, 'we defeated a band and took nineteen prisoners, one of whom was a woman. There were altogether seven of them belonging to that band, but we do not as yet know if the others were killed or escaped. All the women, our prisoner tells us, were dressed as chasseurs, wearing the same uniform of coarse cloth as the men, only without the red epaulette. Their caps, such as are worn by all the Confederates, were coquettishly made, and decorated with a white ostrich feather. We captured her by the merest chance. She was a girl from Cracow, finely built, with broad shoulders, and muscular hand and arm, which showed she had been used to gymnastic exercises, while her weather-beaten complexion proved she must have belonged to the band for some length of time. Her features, without being pretty, were regular and agreeable. On our asking her reasons for serving with the band, she confessed she had followed her lover to the woods, adding that, when he was killed, she would have gone back home, but was prevented by her comrades. Somebody asking if she had not served as aide-de-camp to C—(the chief of another band), she blushed deeply, and indignantly denied the imputation. After this reply, she was very haughty and retired for a time; but, seeing that we were all respectful to her, she gradually became more at home with us and confiding in her conversation. As she had lost her boots, and was bare-footed, we furnished her with a pair of our long boots and some stockings, for which the poor girl was very thankful. The next day she was released and sent home, her male companions being forwarded on to Warsaw.'"

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During the war between France and Mexico, several women and girls were discovered fighting in the ranks of Juarez. One of them, a young Indian, aged twenty-two, enlisted with her husband, in the regiment of ZacatÉcas. She fought so bravely as to speedily gain her epaulettes. Her husband was slain; but the widow remained in the regiment, where her daring courage soon not only procured the esteem of her superior officers, but caused the Mexican generals to promote her to the rank of lieutenant-colonel, May 5th, 1862. When the French captured Puebla, in the summer of 1863, she was made prisoner, and sent to Vera Cruz; whence she embarked in the "RhÔne" steam transport for France. During the voyage, though a prisoner, she was treated with all the respect due to a superior officer. She arrived in France in August, 1863, and was seen by many persons, who described the female colonel as rather good-looking, but somewhat unfeminine in outward carriage and bearing.

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If we may believe Transatlantic newspapers, the Civil War in America was more productive of female warriors than almost any conflict since the days of the Amazons. The ranks of both Federals and Confederates, from the very commencement of the great struggle, were swelled by numbers of women, who, for various reasons, chose to risk their lives under the Stars and Stripes, or the Stars and Bars. In the summer of 1864, it was said that upwards of one hundred and fifty women were known to be serving in the Army of the Potomac. It was generally supposed that these women had been in collusion with an equal number of men who had been examined by the surgeons; after which the fair ones substituted themselves, and went to the seat of war. More than seventy of the valiant demoiselles were, when their sex became known, acting as officers' servants.

Early in May, 1863, a Pennsylvania girl was discovered serving in one of the regiments in the Federal Army of the West, to which she had belonged for ten months. She said that there were many females in the ranks of this army, and one female lieutenant. She had herself, she declared, assisted in burying three female soldiers whose sex was unknown to any but her.

Mrs. Francis L. Clayton, another female Federal, enlisted in 1861, in company with her husband at St. Paul, Minnesota. The husband and wife fought together, side by side, in eighteen battles, till the former was slain in the engagement of Stone River. After his death, the wife did not care to remain any longer in the service, so she went to the general, and told him she was a woman, and was at once discharged. She then returned to Maine. During her military career, Mrs. Clayton was wounded three times, and once was made prisoner.

The following story, "strange if true," appeared in the Brooklyn (New York) Times, in October, 1863, just after the battle of Chattanooga:—

"About a twelvemonth since, when disaster everywhere overtook the Union arms, and our gallant sons were falling fast under the marvellous sword of rebellion, a young lady, scarce nineteen, from an academy in a sister State, conceived the idea that she was destined by Providence to lead our armies to victory, and our nation through successful war. It was at first thought by her parents—a highly respectable family in Willoughby-street—that her mind was weakened simply by reading continual accounts of reverses to our arms, and they treated her as a sick child. This only had the effect of making her more demonstrative, and her enthusiastic declaration and apparent sincerity gave the family great anxiety. Dr. B. was consulted, the minister was spoken to, friends advised, family meetings held, interviews with the young lady and her former companions in the academy were frequent, but nothing could shake the feeling which possessed her. It was finally resolved to take her to Michigan. An old maiden aunt accompanied the fair enthusiast, and for weeks Anne Arbour became their home. But travel had no effect upon the girl. The stern command of her aunt alone prevented her from making her way to Washington to solicit an interview with the President for the purpose of getting command of the United States Army. Finally it was found necessary to restrain her from seeing any one but her own family, and her private parlour became her prison. To a high-spirited girl that would be unendurable at any time, but to a young lady filled with such an hallucination it was worse than death. She resolved to elude her friends, and succeeded,—leaving them clandestinely,—and, although the most distinguished detectives of the east and west were employed to find her whereabouts, it was unavailing. None could conjecture her hiding-place. This was last April. She was mourned as lost, the habiliments of mourning were assumed by her grief-stricken parents, and a suicide's grave was assumed to be hers. But it was not so. The infatuated girl, finding no sympathy among her friends, resolved to enter the army, disguised as a drummer boy, dreaming, poor girl, that her destiny would be worked out by such a mode. She joined the drum-corps of a Michigan regiment at Detroit, her sex known only to herself, and succeeded in getting with her regiment to the Army of the Cumberland. How the poor girl survived the hardships of the Kentucky campaign, when strong men fell in numbers, must for ever remain a mystery. The regiment to which she was attached had a place in the division of the gallant Van Cleve, and, during the bloody battle of last Sunday, the fair girl fell, pierced in the left side with a MiniÉ ball, and, when borne to the surgeon's tent, her sex was discovered. She was told by the surgeon that her wound was mortal, and advised to give her name, that her family might be informed of her fate. This she finally, though reluctantly, consented to do, and the colonel of the regiment, suffering himself from a painful wound, became interested in her behalf, and prevailed upon her to let him send a despatch to her father. Here, then, is a short incident of the war, which might read like romance, but to the unhappy family which are now bowed down by grief, romance loses its attraction, and the actual sad, eventful history of poor Emily —— will be a family record for generations to come."

In December, 1863, the correspondent of the Cincinnati Times, describing a skirmish between the Federals and a detachment of General Bragg's army at Ringgold, near Chattanooga, says "Several of the fair sex were in the Confederate ranks, and certainly conducted themselves with a great deal of courage. We make no reflection on their taste in entering the ranks with negroes and greasy grey-backs. Rebellion now needs every aid on the earth above or in the caverns under it."

At Timonsville, S.C., is the grave of Mrs. Florence Bodwin, of Philadelphia, Pa. She was a member of a Federal regiment, and as such, being dressed as a soldier, her sex was not discovered until after her death.

The following anecdote went the round of the papers in October, 1865, though the event chronicled must have taken place some time previously, doubtless before the close of the war:—

"At Theresina, a mulatto girl, nineteen years old, cut her hair, bandaged her bosom, and dressed as a man, went to the President to offer herself as a volunteer. The President detected her sex, and supposed at first that she was mad, or had taken this plan to accompany a lover; but finding that she was really actuated by patriotism, he accepted her, and appointed her second sergeant, and she does all the duties of her post, dressed in the proper uniform."

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The Maori War in New Zealand, like the conflicts between the Red Skins and the Pale Faces in North America, gave many opportunities for the wives and daughters of settlers to play the heroine. Some of the native women, too, displayed great prowess, both for and against the English. A correspondent of the Irish Times, writing from Wanganui, under date of the 7th January, 1866, in describing the native contingent (a force recruited from the Wanganui River Tribes) to which he was Assistant Surgeon, says "Numbers of women accompany us, who generally carry the baggage of the men. This is not their only use in campaigning. They fight, and fight well, carrying their gun and tomahawk."

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During the Austro-Italian war of 1866, a Florence journal related that, after the battle of Custozza (June 27th), a surgeon of the Italian army discovered among the wounded a young corporal of Bersaglieri still alive, notwithstanding three severe injuries in the neck, left arm, and right leg. When about to dress those wounds the surgeon perceived that the sufferer was a young woman, who then declared her name to be Herminia Manelli, and her age twenty. Just before the opening of the campaign her brother, who was a corporal of Bersaglieri, had fallen ill, and returned home to his family until his recovery. The sister, whose parents had previously had some difficulty in preventing from joining the Garibaldians, took advantage of that circumstance, and, cutting short her hair, dressed herself in her brother's uniform, and joined his regiment, her resemblance to him enabling her to pass unnoticed. Four hours later her regiment was engaged, and she was wounded on the field of battle. After the discovery of her sex by the surgeon she was taken to Florence, where she died a few days later.

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In the summer of 1868, there was a great deal of talk about an army of women which had just been raised by the savage Lopez, Dictator of Paraguay. A correspondent writing from Buenos Ayres under date May 14th, says:—

"An army of women confronts the allies! Lopez has enrolled the Amazons of Paraguay, and we have entered upon what may be called for the sake of distinction—the petticoat campaign? Brigadier-General Eliza Lynch commands the main body of the female army, which is encamped midway between the pass of the river and a small inland town. On the road to Villa Rica her right wing, under Mrs. Captain Herrero, has deployed to the left a little, to hang on the allies should they assail the position of Tebiquary, held by Mrs. Lieutenant Colonel Margaret Fereira and her fair brigade of womankind. Can 'stern-visaged Mars' prove unpropitious?... According to authentic accounts, relays of women and girls are constantly at the head-quarters of the feminine commander-in-chief to whom has been entrusted the guerilla portion of the campaign."

The Brazilian journals were of course indignant at what they termed an outrage on civilization, and alternately sneered and railed at Lopez's petticoat corps d'armÉe. Very little was afterwards heard of these Amazons. Since their first formation, with the exception of a few stray anecdotes related by travellers and adventurers returning to the States or to this country, absolutely nothing transpired concerning the movements of this female army.

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Again we meet with female warriors in the struggle between Crete and Turkey. "Whether they have been effectual defenders of their country," says a writer in a newspaper eleven years ago, "or whether their enthusiasm decreased before the stern necessity of a camp, is hardly known, for very little intelligence comes from the mountains of Crete." However, in January, 1869, a body of about fifty Cretan Amazons, in uniform, was seen at Michali, practising shooting with carbines at a mark. They were, it is said, very good shots, and had been organised into a regular corps, with a regimental flag, which was carried by a religieuse who had turned Amazon.

The Philo-Cretan Committee recognised the patriotism of these Lakkoite damsels, by providing them with arms (consisting of a rifle of the English pattern with a sword-bayonet) and handsome uniforms similar to those worn by the Palikares. This costume included the fez, a corset embroidered in gold and silver, a short, piquant half-sleeved jacket, a white petticoat and "continuations," and the most charmingly neat buckskin gaiters. A cartridge-box hung to the belt, while a havresack depended from the shoulders. Picturesque sketches of these heroines, in uniform, appeared in the French and English journals of January, '69.

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But while a few of the Cretan women have proved themselves heroines, bravery has been the character of those of Montenegro for more than half a century. War against the Mussulman is the object, the engrossing passion of nearly every Montenegrin—men, women, and children, cripples even, rush to the fight with enthusiasm. In truth, the Turkish Government has never been able thoroughly to subdue the Black Mountain. Women accompany their male relatives in all their expeditions against the infidels, wives are ever ready to seize up the yataghan and pistols of a slain husband, and avenge his death. Various heroic ballads have been sung or recited from time to time in the fastnesses of the Tsernogora relating the martial deeds of some valiant widow who has slain Turkish Agas, captured or dispersed, single-handed, whole companies of the foe, or in other ways distinguished their military courage and their hatred of the Moslem.

A singular incident is alleged to have taken place some nine years since on the occasion of a marriage before the chief authorities in Algeria. The official required the consent of the bride's mother, and asked if she was present. A sonorous bass voice answered "Yes." The Mayor looked up and saw a tall soldier before him. "That is well," said he. "Let the mother come here. Her consent and signature are necessary." To the astonishment of all present, the soldier approached the Mayor with long strides, saluted military fashion, and said—"You ask for the mother of the bride. She stands before you." "Very well, sir," replied the Mayor. "Then stand back. I can take no proxy. I must see the mother—the mother, I tell you." "And I repeat that she stands before you," rejoined the soldier. "My name is Maria L——. I have been thirty-six years in the service. I have been through several campaigns, and obtained the rank of sergeant. Here are my papers—the permission to wear uniform, and my nomination as sergeant-major." The mayor carefully examined the documents, and found them perfectly correct. There was nothing to be done but to complete the marriage of the young couple. The mother bestowed her blessing fervently with her deep bass voice in a manner which impressed all present, but the company were "more startled than touched."

The Brigand chiefs of Southern Italy are the last representatives of the Condottieri who ravaged the land in olden times. But so far from improving with the march of intellect and growing more civilized, the bandits of our days would seem to have very decidedly retrograded as regards the more polite arts of life; indeed, they are nothing but savage beasts, who can handle the carbine or the dagger, and have the passions of avarice and the thirst for gold added to the reckless cruelty of the tiger. These ferocious brigands are almost invariably accompanied in their adventurous journey through life by some beautiful fiend, either the wife or the mistress of the redoubtable chief. These women are often the most abandoned and worthless of their sex, without even the virtue of mercy—the tigress is not uncommonly worse than the tiger.

Amongst those brigand captains who, though almost unknown in Western Europe, have earned a terrible renown in the South of Italy, none was more feared and respected some seventeen or eighteen years ago than Monaco. His deeds of violence and daring audacity rendered him famous throughout the Neapolitan provinces. His wife, Maria Oliveiro, a remarkably handsome woman (about twenty years old in 1864), was his constant companion in all his marauding expeditions. She was unmistakably brave, but her nature was so ruthless that the sight of blood rendered her half mad. Monaco was at last slain in a desperate encounter with the Italian troops near Rossano. Maria was severely wounded; but without losing her courage or presence of mind, she planted one knee firmly on her husband's corpse, and continued to load and fire with extreme rapidity, exciting the admiration even of her opponents. At last she received a severe wound in the leg, and was made prisoner. She was tried by court-martial at Cattanzaro, and condemned to be shot; but this sentence was commuted to thirty years' penal servitude, and she had not been very long in gaol before the gaoler fell desperately in love with her, and they fled together. At a short distance from Cattanzaro they were met by her brothers, also brigands. They immediately slew the gaoler, who was of no further use, and Maria formed a new band of brigands, of which she was made captain, and commenced ravaging the tract of mountainous country lying between Cattanzaro and the river Crati. The reckless, useless acts of cruelty excited the indignation of the people for miles round. She sacked the villages of Spinelli, Cotzenei, and Belvedere; and in spite of the exertions made by the Italian Government of the province, who, in the autumn of 1864, despatched two battalions of the line in pursuit of the band, the rural population were in such dread of Maria that the soldiers could do nothing.

Another locally famous brigand, Crouo Donatello, was accompanied in his campaigns by his inamorata, who was as brave as he. In an encounter with the royal troops in August or September, 1863, Donatello, compelled to fly, left behind him this woman, who fought desperately before letting herself be taken.

In 1866, in a skirmish between the Papal troops and the brigands in the neighbourhood of the Eternal City, two of the latter were slain. One of the corpses proved to be that of a large, good-looking peasant woman, about thirty years of age, armed and dressed like her comrades. She was subsequently recognised as the wife of the bandit chief Cedrone; and the latter was inconsolable for the loss of his brave spouse, being seen for days and days to weep bitterly, though his followers surrounded him, proffering empty consolations.

The famous Brigand Pietro Bianchi, some eighteen or nineteen years since the terror of the district of Nicastro, in the Calabrian mountains, was accompanied in nearly every expedition by a girl named Generosa Cardamone (aged about seventeen in 1861, the chief himself being then twenty), who might frequently be seen on horseback at the head of the band, encouraging them in the fight. In point of ferocity and ruthless courage she was worthy of her lover—nay, she far surpassed him, and is said to have repeatedly cooked human flesh, and served it up to him and his followers. Bianchi loved the young and beautiful demon most passionately, and was madly jealous of her. One day a bandit kissed her, but his audacity was instantly punished by a score of dagger-stabs dealt by the unerring hand of his chief. Generosa was deeply religious after a fashion, and marvellously superstitious; when she was arrested, in 1867, a religious book and a Madonna were found upon her, which she carried, through a blind idea that they rendered her invulnerable.

In March, 1867, a lieutenant of gendarmes discovered the cave of Bianchi at Soveria, and with his own men, aided by a detachment of the line, forced the brigand and his mistress to surrender, after they had been the terror of the country for seven years.

De Martino, for some time the worst and most ferocious bandit in the Abruzzi, was likewise accompanied by his paramour, who had the character of being more cruel than he was himself. For months the Royal troops were engaged constantly hunting them up and down the woods. At last, in August, 1869, they discovered and surrounded the lurking place of De Martino. The brigand, firing upon the carabineers, by mishap set the dry twigs of the hut in a blaze, and was burnt alive, together with the partner of his crimes.

Duke Ernest of Saxe-Coburg Gotha, on the occasion of the 25th anniversary of his accession, February, 1869, founded an Order of Decoration to recompense courage in women.

The Franco-Prussian War, and the subsequent Communist Insurrection, proved that the military spirit was not extinct in the hearts of women, and that modern female warriors were as ready and as eager for the fray as any of their ancestresses. But the numerous newspaper anecdotes and reports were in many instances more or less creations of fancy, often false, frequently written in haste, as a rule full of gross exaggerations, whether emanating from French or German quarters, consequently always unreliable. One of the most remarkable and best authenticated female warriors of the period was Minna HÄnsel, of Berlin, who, in the early days of the war, before the Germans had swept all before them, raised an Amazon corps, all ready equipped and full of military ardour. These warlike women were much ridiculed by the Berlinese, but the FrÄulein HÄnsel, disregarding the adverse criticism which, she said, was "of course only to be expected in these frivolous days of ours," addressed a letter to the Governor of the city, General Von Falkenstein, asking him in what place the services of the corps would prove most effective. The General—purposely, perhaps—delayed returning an answer till the closing days of August, 1870, when Miss HÄnsel, although her offers of service had by no means been rejected, considered that the "rapid and victorious progress of the war" put an end to any necessity for her corps being employed, and accordingly disbanded her troop.

A wounded soldier in November, 1870, passed through Berlin, and was the object of general attention. This soldier was a young woman only twenty-four, carefully educated, but imbued with a strong bias in favour of masculine dress and an active life. She passed the ensign's examinations, and, with good recommendations, entered the army under the name of Weiss. She distinguished herself by the recovery of a Prussian standard, which had been taken by the enemy, and was presented with the Iron Cross. Having received four shot wounds, she was sent for recovery to her native place, Tilsit.

But the hurried, fragmentary mention of either French or German "heroines" is hardly worth serious record or investigation. To ascertain the truth or the falsity of any one anecdote would be now clearly impossible. That noble spirit and patriotic ardour glowed on both sides throughout the desperate struggle is without a doubt; and in the universal enthusiasm women shared as freely as their fellow-countrymen, and were ready to spend life and treasure in the service of their native land and national honour.

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