Cathay Williams is one of my favorite Black history figures — not because she is well known, but because she is not.
I was first introduced to her by my nephew, Remmie, during one of the hardest seasons of my life — while I was going through breast cancer. He told me her story and then said something that stopped me cold.
He said I reminded him of her.
Like Cathay, I hid some of the pain I was really going through — not out of denial, but out of love.
Not because the fight wasn’t real, but because I wanted to encourage others who were fighting too.
Cathay Williams was born enslaved in Missouri around 1844. During the Civil War, she followed the Union Army as a cook and laundress. But when the war ended and the Army opened its ranks to Black men only, Cathay did something unthinkable.
She cut her hair,
wrapped her body,
changed her name to William Cathay
— and enlisted.
For nearly two years, she served as a soldier in the 38th U.S. Infantry, one of the original Buffalo Soldier regiments. She marched. She guarded. She endured brutal conditions — all while hiding her identity in a world that would not make space for who she truly was.
Eventually, illness exposed what society refused to imagine:
a Black woman had carried a rifle, worn the uniform, and served her country faithfully.
She was discharged — not for lack of courage, but for daring to exist outside the rules.
Cathay Williams lived a life where survival required disguise.
Not because she lacked strength — but because the world lacked vision.
There are seasons when God calls people to serve before the world is ready to name them correctly.
Cathay was known as William by the Army.
But she was known fully by God.
“The Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” — 1 Samuel 16:7
History overlooked her.
The Army dismissed her.
But heaven recorded her obedience.
Some call her story deception.
Others call it desperation.
But I call it courage under constraint.
And here is the part history often whispers instead of says out loud:
Cathay Williams never received military honors.
She never received a pension.
In 1891, after her health had been permanently damaged by her service, she applied for a military disability pension. It was denied. She died poor and largely forgotten.
She was victorious without reward.
Cathay Williams did everything she was asked to do — and more.
She served faithfully.
She endured quietly.
She finished her assignment.
Her story reminds us that victory and recognition are not the same thing.
“Well done” does not always come from the systems we serve — but it is always recorded by God.
She didn’t fight for history.
She fought through it.
And God did not waste a single step she took.
She did not live to see her story told.
But her life still speaks.
And for those who have ever given their strength, their hope, or their encouragement without guarantee of return:
You may be unrewarded by the world —
but you are not unseen by God.
We see you, Cathay.
We salute you.
Love, Chelle
About the History in Bread Crumbs
Bread Crumbs reflections are grounded in documented historical records, including archives from the U.S. National Archives, Library of Congress, court records, contemporaneous newspapers, and first-person accounts. Spiritual reflections and personal connections are clearly marked as such and are offered with respect for the historical record.
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