She was born in 1821 in the humble town of Winchendon, Massachusetts. She must have been a spirited baby because she was a spirited woman.

She was a tomboy. Her family moved to New Hampshire, and eventually she grew up to become a public school teacher.

Not only did she help students learn and grow, she began writing. In fact, she quickly became a prolific writer. Mostly, on serious socio-political matters, such as abolition and other moral issues.

Her work started appearing in magazines. Then people started asking her to lecture. So she began lecturing. If you’re wondering whether it was common for a woman to lecture in the mid-1800s, the answer is no.

At age 40, she finally got married. She was a late bloomer. He was a minister, named John. Those were turbulent times. It was 1861, a Civil War was tearing the nation asunder.

Only days into their marriage, the country came calling. The reverend was made chaplain of the 8th Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry Regiment, and expected to muster off to war.

And I wish I could’ve heard the reverend break the news to his wife inasmuch as it probably didn’t go well. Because no sooner had her husband informed her he was shipping off, than she replied: “I’m going with you.”

And she did.

Together, they joined the 8th Infantry, a hard fighting regiment, scrappy and unrelenting. They were known for their mascot “Old Abe,” a war eagle whose image, emblazoned on a tattered flag, struck fear into their opponents.

Namely, because the 8th Infantry didn’t screw around. These guys were tough. So tough, in fact, their screaming eagle mascot would be later adopted by the US Army’s 101st Airborne Division.

The regiment participated in the major battles of Iuka, Corinth, Vicksburg, Nashville, the Red River Campaign and too many others to list. Bloodlettings. Each one. Horrific campaigns that wiped out thousands.

And she was there.

Alongside them. Arm in arm. Often, on the battlefield itself, tending to the wounded and dying. Of both sides.

She bandaged gunshot wounds. She carried bodies from bloodsoaked pastures. She dug graves with rusty shovels. She was present at impromptu funerals. And when her husband was detained, she began officiating the funerals herself. The men started calling her their preacher.

Which is why in 1864, she became an ordained minister. She was recommended for appointment by the Wisconsin governor as chaplain to the 1st Wisconsin Heavy Artillery. President Abraham Lincoln endorsed her appointment. So did other officials.

But…

Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton refused to muster her because she was a woman.

Even so, it didn’t stop her. She served anyway. She spent the rest of the war, ministering to soldiers at Fort Lyon, in Alexandria, Virginia. And she did this without pay since Congress simply could not approve the compensation of a lowly woman in its military.

By the war’s end, she had served hundreds—maybe thousands. She held each hand, prayed with each man, encouraged them, baptised them, let them cry into her shoulder, and buried them.

And still, she had not been paid for a day of work.

Finally, over a decade after the War Between the States had ended, she received a check from US Treasurer John C. New for $1210.56, reimbursement for the sum total of her lifetime of military service.

It was a laughable amount. She took the money and distributed it to local charities.

During her line of duty, she contracted malaria, which severely disabled her. But she continued working. And she continued writing, to support herself financially, until she died.

And 141 years after that pivotal day she joined the military, in the year 2002 she was finally recognized as the first female chaplain of the U.S. Army. She was posthumously given the rank of Captain.

And I just thought you should know about Captain Ella Gibson Hobart on Veteran’s Day.