A robust looking woman with a blanket roll draped over her shoulder and around her waist clumped up onto the stage, a clatter of pots and a pair of men’s shoes too big for her feet. She drops her gear onto the wooden stage and looks sadly a her bare feet, blistered and rubbed raw where insects have made their mark. Missy Clark, a sutler and writer for "On the Trail" magazine, is about to enlighten the crowd gathered in front of the rustic stage near the gate where flatlanders have come to experience the Rendezvous. She is going to tell them about her life as a camp follower.
"These shoes are highly overrated," she exclaims. "The next man that dies, he best be just a bit smaller. These shoes are just too big! Shoes are highly over-rated. But nobody is going to take away my shoes.
The problem with being a camp follower is that you gotta to carry everything. Let me tell you about it.
Mothers, what would you do to save the life of your children? Would you wash another man’s shirt? Would you patch holes in somebody’s stockings when you wash them? Would you marry a total stranger on the battlefield? You know the only way that you can stay attached to the army is to be attached to a man. If your husband was to die today, tomorrow you need to be married. People often think that camp followers are women of ill repute. That is so, so not true. I may be dirty, but I walk an average of 8-10 miles a day. I haul wood. I haul water. I provide water for the troops that are dying or in need. That’s my job – I find water.
I don’t get much for myself. I’m an old woman now. My husband is a soldier. He is not a soldier like wears a uniform cause he’s an old man too. He is a militia man. When the war came through where we live, he had to go. He had to go. Damn pride and honor, huh. He had to go and I had to go too. Who would hunt for me? Who would chop wood for me? So I had to follow him. Fortunately he is good and hiding and not getting shot!
I don’t think that I would one to marry another man if my husband got shot. Too old for that. I might try fighting – as a target. But that’s my choice; I don’t have children to look after anymore. But that doesn’t mean I don’t help with everybody else’s children. Any cold child is welcome to curl up on my lap. Any tearful eye is welcome to be mopped up by my apron.
Ach, look it, I’m ready. I’m ready. I’ve got some bandage stuff here. Ach, I haven’t seen anything this white in awhile – except for this little pretty. My treasures are small. I can have everything I can carry. The things that I hafta have. No matter what, I hafta have a blanket. It’s my coat. It’s my warm at night. And one more time if I’ve got a child I got to keep warm, I cuddle him on my lap.It’s my raincoat. It is a pretty good place to hide when it gets to scary.
The other things I gotta keep with me is my sewing kit. I’ve been sitting here sharpening my needle in the sand. The sand keeps my needle good and sharp, so when I have to stitch up somebody’s wound, it won’t hurt so bad. There is precious little comfort out there. Women following the army are a necessity.
Men need women. Men need women – to wash their clothes to mend their holes, to fix their wounds, to hold them when they die. Nobody wants to die alone without being held. And I also have a lot of young women out there. I help them a little bit too. Cause their first responsibility in following the army is hauling water – hauling wood.
Look around you. If we had to get enough wood to feed three hundred people, look around, do you know what a job it is to find enough wood to make fire to feed three hundred people? So oft times as we walk along we stuff our aprons with as much wood as we can carry. But always, always, always you might have to carry a child as well. I’ve carried plenty."
Missy holds up her hobnailed shoes to show the crowd. She continues with a hint of frustration and dispair.
"This whole shoes problem is terrible. I ain’t never had shoes of my own anyway. What did I need shoes for anyway. But after walking mile after mile, day after day, I need shoes sometimes. They are just too big. My only chance of getting shoes again is getting them off somebody else. Hey, did you notice something funny about them? They don’t have any lefts or rights! And they’re huge too. When it’s cold and snowy it’s pretty bad. Slush, slush!
I bring my pot to cook in and a cup which can also be used as a bowl. I bring my spoon too. This is really all I need. My husband eats with the mess. I get what’s left over. Women will share their ration with their children.
So many people think that women were of ill repute. But let me tell you something there was a woman couple of weeks back, who got caught hopping from one man’s tent to the next. So which one of them was her husband? Well there wasn’t one. So she was drummed out – to the middle of nowhere. She was a trouble-maker – not welcome to follow the army and get her half ration. She was drummed out. Just like that!
It’s a hard life. Some people think that of course the women would follow the army and have tea parties. Hah! I can see it now. Here I am at my teapot – I up gathered up my firewood and scooped up my water.
Oh, I don’t have a teapot. I don’t have a teacup. Why I don’t have tea. Well I guess I’ll just have some water, maybe some ale.
Yes, it’s a hard life being a camp follow, but it is a life you get familiar with. You’ve got family, as transient as they are, and there are always children to look after. I’ve been known to carry an orphaned child to the next town and hand it over to a family there. Imagine being born in a war or following parents into war. But there it is. You don’t have a choice. Somebody has to hunt. Somebody has to chop wood.
During the American War for Independence, George Washington wrote ten orders referring to the women following the army. You won’t ride with the baggage train. You won’t ride with in the wagon. Women will not advance the men into the town. Women will not go into town. George Washington had his hands full with the camp followers. It is sort of like a snowball. As you go along you gain more and more people as the war progresses. Then you loose some and pick up some more. It is an ever moving thing."
Missy Clark, a renowned clothier, fashions colonial styles for men and women.
