Johnny Compton was a rough and tumble boy with an even tougher upbringing. He wasn’t the type to delve into personal details, so it was near impossible to get the truth out of him. Sometimes he said he was from Tennessee, other times from Pennsylvania or even Canada.

But he was definitely an orphan; his parents died when he was just a baby and as soon as he could lift a shovel, he was put to work as a fieldhand. He wasn’t educated, but he knew about the greatness of his country and loved it with every part of his being. When talk of secession from the Union started, Johnny was disgusted. When he learned that the couple who had taken him in were secessionists, he knew what he had to do. He loved his country too much to stay with them.

He was barely a teenager, but Johnny ran away and, when the Civil War broke out a year later, enlisted in the Union Army by lying about how young he was. With the 11th Kentucky Cavalry, he fought in the Battle of Mill Springs.

A month later, he marched with his regiment to Fort Donelson and then, in the spring, met the Confederate Army at the Battle of Shiloh. In just a matter of days, more soldiers died than in all prior battles combined, and Johnny was in the thick of the fighting.

One of the youngest soldiers in his company, he had earned a reputation as one of the toughest. During a brief break in what seemed like nonstop fighting, Johnny and his fellow cavalrymen were sent a horse that was simply too wild to ride. None of the other men dared to try, but Johnny mounted up. The horse bucked and threw Johnny to the ground and it was feared that the bravest young man in the 11th Kentucky was seriously injured.

A doctor was called immediately and treated Johnny in a nearby tent. A short time later, the doctor emerged looking shocked and puzzled. Would Johnny be okay? His fellow soldiers asked.

He would be fine, the doctor assured them. But there was something else. Something…odd. Johnny wasn’t a boy at all. He was a girl.

His commanding officer confronted him and Johnny came clean: His real name was Lizzie Compton and he had cut his hair and was passing himself off as a boy because he just wanted to kill those damned secessionists and preserve the Union he loved so much.

It didn’t matter. Females—especially 14-year-old ones—weren’t allowed to fight and Lizzie was discharged on the spot. Heartbroken, she watched as her regiment marched on without her.

Yet she was undeterred. She walked until she came upon another regiment and took up with them, fighting with General McClellan’s army in the Battle of Antietam. She was still tough, but now she was also tender and took to nursing the injured.

That December, she herself was hurt by shrapnel in the Battle of Fredericksburg and once again, an army surgeon discovered that she was a girl. Once again, she was abandoned as her company marched on.

But Lizzie Compton wouldn’t stop fighting. She turned up again with the 79th New York Regiment and fought in the Battle of Gettysburg. Once again, she was injured, and once again she was discovered. But Lizzie Compton still wouldn’t stop fighting.

She re-enlisted again. Then again, and again. In just 18 months, she served with the 21st Minnesota Infantry, the 8th, 17th, and 28th Michigan Infantry, the 125th Michigan Cavalry, and the 3rd New York Cavalry.

In Rochester, she was caught trying to re-enlist and arrested. When she was told it was against the law for a lady to be wearing men’s clothing, she said she would rather be thrown in jail or even hanged than be forced to dress and act like a woman.

“I don’t want to be no woman,” she told him. “Someday I may be a gentleman, but I’ll bever be a lady.”

Lizze was released and kept on re-enlisting. Each time she was discovered, she would move on to the next regiment and keep fighting and tending to the wounded.

She had found her purpose in life—not only to fight the secessionists, but to nurse the Union. And everywhere she went, she was highly regarded.

At a military hospital in Marietta, Georgia, a young soldier with the 11th Kentucky who was badly injured woke up thinking he must be delirious with pain. Standing at his bedside was what looked like a familiar face, only dressed in a nurse’s uniform and with long, flowing hair.

“Don’t you recognize me?” the nurse said. “It’s me, Johnny!”

She took care of him until he was able to leave the hospital, and he called her his guardian angel, but he had no idea what ever became of her. No one did. As a fellow member of the 11th Kentucky put it, “She was one of the mysteries of which army life was full. Perhaps some great sorrow drove her from home. Of this we may never know; but we do know that many a brave boy who was wounded or sick will never forget ‘Johnny.’”

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