Introduction: Meet Private Franklin Thompson…or Is It Sarah Emma Edmonds?

Welcome September 17, 1862. It is the bloodiest day in American history. The Battle of Antietam has ended, leaving a sea of carnage in its wake. Over 22,000 men lie dead, wounded, or captured. Amongst this grim backdrop, a Union soldier by the name of Franklin Thompson roams the field, checking on the wounded. As Thompson kneels beside a young soldier with a neck wound, he hears a shocking confession. The soldier whispers: “I am not what I seem, but am a female.”

As if that revelation isn’t enough to knock Thompson off his feet, there’s another twist: he is also not what he seems. Private Franklin Thompson of the Second Michigan Infantry Regiment is, in fact, Sarah Emma Edmonds, a Canadian-born woman who enlisted in the Union Army disguised as a man.

As remarkable as this scene may seem, it’s only the beginning of Edmonds’ tale—a saga of bravery, deception, intrigue, and lots of unexpected plot twists.

Sarah’s Transformation: From Canadian Daughter to American Soldier

Sarah Emma Edmondson (yes, there’s a bonus “o” in the original spelling) was born in New Brunswick, Canada, in December 1841. She was the daughter of a man who, judging by his behavior, had probably wished for a lumberjack son rather than a daughter. Unsurprisingly, life with an unsupportive father and the looming threat of an arranged marriage led young Sarah to hop a metaphorical—and literal—fence into the United States.

Freedom and opportunity for a woman alone in 1850s America weren’t exactly overflowing. Sarah couldn’t help but notice that the members of society who happened to have a Y chromosome seemed to have things a bit easier. She wondered if the way to get ahead in a man’s world might require her to play the part of a man. She chopped her locks, dressed in men’s clothing, and took the name Franklin Thompson. With a new persona, she assumed the most stereotypically wholesome job available: a traveling Bible salesman.

Responding to Lincoln’s Call for a Few Good Men

Fast forward to 1861. Edmonds—still living as Franklin—is waiting for a train when she hears President Abraham Lincoln’s call for 75,000 volunteers to defend the Union. “The announcement startled me,” she would later write in her memoir. Who could blame her? War had broken out, and the “horrors” she imagined were pretty well on point, as the Civil War would go on to prove itself a four-year display of human suffering on an industrial scale.

Edmonds responded to the Commander-in-Chief’s call. She enlisted and was assigned to the Second Michigan Infantry, serving as a field nurse. By this time, she also adopted a middle name and enlisted as Franklin Flint Thompson. Her new middle name may have been inspired by the city of the same name where she signed the enlistment paperwork.

In her role as a male nurse, Sarah witnessed some of the fiercest fighting of the Civil War, including the First and Second Battle of Bull Run, Antietam, the Peninsula Campaign, Vicksburg, and Fredericksburg.

Spy Games

Had this been the extent of her service, it would have been sufficient to earn Sarah a place in history. There weren’t, after all, very many women soldiers in the Civil War. When she learned about the capture and execution of a Union spy in Richmond, Virginia, that got her thinking. If she could convince her fellow soldiers that she was a man, perhaps she could use her skills to deceive the enemy. That’s how Sarah entered into the murky world of Civil War espionage.

Sarah Emma Edmonds didn’t just waltz into enemy territory; she practically turned the Confederacy into her personal stage for espionage theater, complete with a rotating cast of characters. Our heroine could transform herself at the drop of a hat—or, in this case, a black wig and a bottle of silver nitrate. In one memorable role, she strode straight into Confederate ranks disguised as a Black man named Cuff, with her skin dyed dark and her posture adjusted to sell the act. The method was questionable, but the results? Highly effective, and risky enough to make any spy worth their weight in intrigue look twice.

Then there was her stint as Bridget O’Shea, the plucky Irish peddler with a basket full of apples and soap and a brogue thick enough to make you believe she’d just stepped off the boat. “Just selling a few bits and bobs to the fine soldiers,” she’d say, all while gathering critical intel under the guise of chatting up her customers.

In yet another act of Civil War improvisational theater, she posed as a Black laundress, ostensibly there to wash uniforms but really keeping her ears open for any useful tidbits. One day, the jackpot quite literally fell into her lap—a packet of official papers slipped from a Confederate officer’s jacket. Naturally, she hustled those papers back to Union generals, who were undoubtedly thrilled to find they had an agent capable of scooping up Confederate secrets along with the laundry.

But perhaps the pièce de résistance in her espionage career was her stint as Charles Mayberry, a Union detective prowling the streets of Kentucky. In this role, she managed to uncover a Confederate agent, adding “detective” to her impressive list of personas. Edmonds didn’t just cross enemy lines; she wove herself into them, one clever disguise at a time.

The Desertion Dilemma: When Malaria and Misogyny Collide

After months of grueling service, Edmonds fell ill with malaria in the spring of 1863. She requested a furlough but feared that a stay in the hospital would lead to her exposure as a woman. Desperate, she left her post rather than risk discovery and potential punishment.

This act of “going AWOL” didn’t end her support for the Union, though. Edmonds continued to serve, this time without her Franklin Thompson alias, through the United States Christian Commission. From 1863 to 1865, she worked openly as a female nurse, no disguise necessary. She also penned her memoir, Unsexed, or the Female Soldier, later reissued under the less scandalous title, Nurse and Spy in the Union Army.

Although she deserted in 1863, her reputation for courage remained intact. A congressional report on her service even praised her, noting that she shared in her regiment’s “toils and privations, marching and fighting in the various engagements.” In other words, Sarah was no slacker, regardless of whether she was wearing a dress or pants.

Living Her Truth: Acceptance Among Her Comrades

After the war, Edmonds lived openly as herself—Sarah Emma Edmonds Seelye. In 1876, she made the brave choice to attend a reunion of the Second Michigan as her true self. One can only imagine the shock, but her former comrades embraced her, supporting her petition for a military pension. In 1884, the U.S. government finally granted her the pension, acknowledging her service and forgiving her desertion.

Sarah Emma Edmonds went on to become the only woman inducted into the Grand Army of the Republic, a Civil War veterans’ organization. For a woman who had lived in hiding, this acceptance must have felt like a true victory. Edmonds died in 1898, and three years later, she was reburied with full military honors in Houston, Texas.

Legacy of Female Soldiers in the Civil War: Sarah Wasn’t Alone

Sarah Emma Edmonds wasn’t the only woman to assume a male identity to serve in the Civil War. Estimates suggest that between 400 and 750 women enlisted as soldiers by disguising themselves as men. Some, like Edmonds, managed to avoid detection for years. Others were discovered due to injuries or illnesses that required medical attention.

Edmonds’ contemporaries included women like Mary Scaberry, who served under the name Charles Freeman, and Frances Clayton, who claimed to have fought in numerous battles. Though many of their stories are obscured by time, the resilience of these women lives on.

It’s a Great Story — But Is It True?

Sarah’s adventures as a male nurse and female spy seem scripted for Hollywood. Could they be true? As you might expect when dealing with Civil War espionage, it’s often difficult to separate fact from fiction.

Take, for example, that fateful scene at Antietam—the encounter with the dying soldier who confessed to be a woman disguised as a man. This poignant moment has one little flaw that has caused historians to question its veracity. Edmonds’ regiment, the Second Michigan, was stationed in Washington, D.C., during the Battle of Antietam. In fact, military records note that she was officially “absent on duty” around the same time.

So, was Edmonds actually there? Some historians think not. Instead, they argue, the scene might have been her way of expressing her own motives and inner turmoil. Perhaps, in that dramatic exchange, she channeled her own feelings about living a life of secrecy.

But whether she actually buried a female soldier beneath a mulberry tree or simply wished she could, the story has endured as part of Edmonds’ legend. And legends, as we know, aren’t about accuracy; they’re about capturing the imagination.

In 1883, when a newspaper reporter asked Sarah Emma Edmonds if her wartime memoirs were the real deal, she responded with the kind of candor that either disarms or alarms, depending on your perspective: “Not strictly so.” Fast forward to the 1960s, and historians were pulling back the curtain even further, highlighting questionable details in her pension records. Her biographer, Sylvia Dannett, even admitted that Edmonds might have taken creative liberties here and there in She Rode with the Generals. And Civil War intelligence historian Edwin Fishel weighed in, suggesting that Edmonds “almost certainly was never a spy.” He pointed to a lack of evidence: Edmonds’ name (or any known alias) was suspiciously missing from the files of General George B. McClellan and Allan Pinkerton, the Union’s go-to spy chiefs.

The lack of references to Sarah’s career in espionage is persuasive but not conclusive. If there is any subject matter where the written record is going to be sparse, it will be in the spy world. That’s why, if you call the CIA and ask if your 5th grade teacher is a spy, the CIA officially cannot confirm or deny such employment.

Conclusion: The Woman Behind the Mask

Sarah Emma Edmonds’ story raises as many questions as it answers. Was she a fearless spy, weaving in and out of enemy lines under elaborate disguises? Or was she a talented storyteller who understood the power of a good tale?

Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between. Edmonds, like many soldiers, endured the horrors of war. But unlike most soldiers, she did so while concealing her identity in a society that expected women to stay out of combat. Her bravery is undeniable, even if her storytelling occasionally blurred the lines between fact and fiction.

In the end, Sarah Emma Edmonds lived a life of daring and deception for a cause she believed in. And while her story might contain a few embellishments, it remains a testament to the courage and ingenuity of women who defied convention to serve their country.

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