DEPARTURE OF THE REGIMENT FROM NEWPORT NEWS--CAPTURE
OF NORFOLK AND PORTSMOUTH--THE “MERRIMACK” BLOWN UP--THE
OCCUPATION OF THE CAPTURED CITIES--CAMP HARRISON--THE
REGIMENT CHARGED WITH KILLING PIGS--IT GOES TO THE MARINE
HOSPITAL--PATROL DUTY IN PORTSMOUTH--THE UNIONISTS OF
PORTSMOUTH--THE REGIMENT LEAVES THE CITY--CAMP ANDREW--CAMP
OF ADVANCED POST--AN ATTEMPT TO MAKE THE MEN SLAVE-CATCHERS
FAILS--THE LONG MARCH TO SUFFOLK--ORDERED TO JOIN THE ARMY OF
THE POTOMAC--SAIL UP THE YORK--THE REGIMENT LANDS AT “WHITE
HOUSE.”
Early in May, the following order was issued:--
“HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF VIRGINIA, }
“FORTRESS MONROE, May --, 1862. }
“GENERAL ORDERS, No. 40.
“The troops of this command being about to march into the
country occupied by the enemy, they are warned that plundering
and depredating upon private property will not be tolerated
for a moment. _The penalty of death will be executed upon any
soldier found violating this order._
“By command of Major-General Wool.
“(Signed) WM. D. WHIPPLE, _Asst. Adj. Gen._”
This order, and the movements which soon followed, clearly indicated
that a more active life was in store for the troops here, who had
performed little else than camp duty for nearly a year.
On the 8th, the new iron-clad “Galena,” accompanied by the
“Aroostook” and “Port Royal,”--the latter vessel under the command
of the brave Lieutenant Morris, and manned by the survivors of the
“Cumberland,”--came up the James, and passing up toward City Point,
engaged several of the enemy’s works.
On the 9th, Captain Howard’s Light Battery left the camp and went
to Fortress Monroe, and at midnight orders were received for the
Twenty-ninth Regiment to march to the same place. The men were aroused
from their slumbers, ordered to pack knapsacks, and be in readiness
to march at four o’clock the next morning. This was indeed a very
brief notice for the men to prepare to quit their old home, to which,
because of the numerous comforts they had enjoyed there, they had
become strongly attached. Every barrack was a little museum in itself,
and each soldier had collected a great variety of useful, and to him,
valuable articles. Knowing that he could carry but a few things with
him, it became a painful struggle to decide what to take and what to
abandon. The regiment was promptly in line at the hour named, but did
not march till eight o’clock in the morning.
The distance by land to Fortress Monroe is about twelve miles. The
day was warm and cloudless, and the men, not having had at that time
much experience in marching, trudged along over the dusty roads,
panting from the heat, and reached Camp Hamilton at two o’clock in the
afternoon, somewhat jaded. Towards evening, when they had refreshed
themselves with a meal made of such rations as they took with them in
their haversacks and some hot coffee, they were ordered to “fall in”;
and after marching out of a large wheat-field, where they had rested
for a couple of hours, proceeded on the road to Fortress Monroe,
reaching there a little after sundown, halting on one of the wharves,
and in the course of an hour embarking on a small steamboat which was
waiting to receive them. A number of other transports were lying in the
Roads, filled with troops, all bound on the same expedition. When the
steamer cast off from the wharf, the troops on the various boats began
to cheer, and cries of “Norfolk!” and “Richmond!” sounded out on the
still air of the mild and pleasant evening.
After a delightful moonlight voyage of an hour, the boat approached the
shore at Ocean View, where a pontoon wharf, formed of canal-boats and
planks, had been constructed. The boat was made fast to this floating
structure, and the regiment immediately landed by companies, marching
up upon the white sand-beach and forming in line. Just above the
beach, on a grassy lawn of several acres, stood the remains of a large
building, windowless and dark and deserted; close about this cleared
space was the edge of the forest, which stretched as far inland as the
eye could see in the dim moonlight. After the regiment had formed on
the beach, it marched up to this grass-plot and halted. The men were
already weary, and in a few moments they began to lie down on the
grass, and soon fell into a sound sleep. At last, after nearly an hour
spent here, the men were aroused, and the regiment took up its line of
march into the woods, a squad of cavalry going in advance. The road was
narrow, rough, and muddy, the branches of the towering trees meeting
overhead and forming an arch, shutting out even the light of the stars,
and rendering the way blinding dark. The discomforts of the march were
much increased by the numerous obstructions the enemy had placed in
the road, consisting chiefly of large pine-trees that had been felled
across it, through the branches of which the men were obliged to crawl,
tearing their clothing, and scratching their faces and hands. The
result was, the marching was very slow and exhausting, it being nearly
midnight before the halting-place was reached. The bivouac was made in
a deserted cavalry camp of the enemy, formed in a little clearing in
the forest; on two sides of the enclosure were rows of very comfortable
board huts, and on the third, a long line of horse-sheds. All about the
camp, fires were burning brightly, indicating recent occupation.
By the time the halt was made, both officers and men were about worn
out, and every one shifted for himself, seeking some unoccupied house
or sheltered place. “Tattoo” was not sounded that night; the owlish
propensities of the mischievous ones were thoroughly overcome by
fatigue, and in a few moments the camp was as quiet as a bed-chamber.
After a sound and refreshing sleep, the men awoke bright and early on
the morning of the 11th of May. The forest in which they had reposed
seemed primeval and boundless. Shaggy green moss hung in long, graceful
locks from the boughs of the gigantic pines; the woods were vocal with
the music of merry birds; it was one of the most genial days of all
the spring. But the boys had not long to tarry here; Norfolk was to be
taken, and as soon as breakfast was had, the regiment was to march.
While waiting here, a tremendous explosion was heard; the noise
seemed to come from the direction of Sewall’s Point, and the rumor
immediately spread through the camp that the “Merrimack” had been blown
up. Though the person who started this report doubtless guessed at it,
yet such proved to be the fact, and the guess was founded upon the
general belief that the Confederates would be certain to destroy the
iron-clad as soon as a movement was made on Norfolk.
The regiment “fell in” about seven o’clock, and the march to Norfolk
was at once commenced. The road for most of the distance lay through
the forest and a country that was almost destitute of habitations. The
men were in light marching order, having left their knapsacks at Camp
Hamilton on the day previous. Many of the soldiers who performed that
march will remember the unsatisfactory statements of the negroes met on
the road, as to the distance to Norfolk. “How for is it to Norfolk?”
was the oft-repeated inquiry made of these grinning contrabands. “I
s’pose dis eighteen mile, massa,” and “a heap of a way off,” were the
invariable answers made to these questions. And the same statements
were made by them when the regiment was actually within a mile of the
city.
At noon, the regiment arrived at a line of breastworks, two miles
from the city, enclosing a deserted camp of the enemy, known as Camp
Harrison. Intelligence had been received while on the march that
Norfolk and Portsmouth had capitulated the night before; and when the
long line of works, bristling with guns, some sixty-five in number,
greeted the eyes of the soldiers, they inspired no emotions other than
surprise that the enemy should have abandoned a position of such great
strength, and wonder as to how the city could ever have been taken, if
the Confederates had made a determined stand here.
After a brief halt at this place, the regiment was again ordered to
“fall in,” and in the course of a half-hour was in the heart of the
captured city. The march through Norfolk proved very interesting to
the men, though few, if any, demonstrations were made by the people. A
solitary house displayed the American flag, and this was greeted with
cheers. The regiment marched to the City Hall, from the dome of which
the Stars and Stripes were flying. From this point a view of the river
was obtained, and, lying at anchor, were seen a number of our gunboats,
together with the “Monitor,” all making a liberal display of bunting,
and reminding one of a Fourth of July celebration.
At night, the regiment returned to Camp Harrison, where it remained
till the 14th of May. The enemy had burned the barracks at this place,
and our men, not being provided with tents, were obliged to resort to
a great variety of methods to shield themselves from the cold air and
dense fogs at night. Rails were taken, placed against the breastworks,
and covered with grass and green boughs, under which squads of five
and six would sleep; others found lodging in the magazines, which were
formed by deep excavations in the earth, covered with logs and sand;
others still made them little huts of brush and reeds, while not a few
had no other covering than a single blanket. The ground was low and
marshy, and the exhalations from the neighboring swamp (the Dismal
Swamp) and the accumulated offal of the camp, gave the whole air a foul
odor, that eventually would have resulted disastrously to the health of
the troops. On the morning of the 14th, however, the regiment received
orders to march; and although the men knew nothing of what was in store
for them, the order was joyfully received, because any change could
not be otherwise than for the better. The regiment marched again to
Norfolk, and crossing the ferry, entered the city of Portsmouth. After
arriving here, it proceeded to the United States Marine Hospital, and
went into camp, being supplied with Sibley tents, which were pitched
upon the beautiful green lawn bordering upon the water, the officers
taking up their quarters in the hospital.
A report reached General Wool, at this time, that members of the
regiment had killed a number of swine while on their march from Ocean
View to Norfolk, and the result was the following order:--
“HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF VIRGINIA, }
“FORT MONROE, VA., May 12, 1862. }
“BRIG. GEN. EGBERT L. VIELE,
“_Military Governor of Norfolk_.
“SIR: It has been reported at these headquarters
that certain soldiers of Colonel E. W. Pierce’s Twenty-ninth
Regiment Massachusetts Volunteers yesterday killed a number of
hogs, private property of citizens living near Ocean View,
Va. You will use every endeavor to ascertain who are the
offenders, and, if you succeed, you will place them in close
confinement and report them to these headquarters. If it should
be ascertained that this report is true, you will cause the
owners to be paid for the hogs at the rate of five dollars for
each hog. If the money is not immediately paid, you will order
the regiment to return to Newport News forthwith, and send the
offender or offenders prisoners to Fort Monroe.
“By command of Major-General Wool.
“(Signed) WM. D. WHIPPLE, _Asst. Adj. Gen._”
The Colonel of the regiment was called upon by General Viele to
explain the matter mentioned in the order. The affair was thoroughly
investigated; but no evidence could be obtained to show that any member
of the regiment killed the hogs, and the name of the person who gave
the information to General Wool was requested. Here the whole affair
ended; no one of the regiment was executed, nor was the regiment sent
back to Newport News in disgrace on account of two or three defunct
pigs, that probably belonged to the enemy’s camp, and not to private
individuals.
This was a good season for orders. No sooner had the Major-General
recovered from his wrath about the hog affair, than he began to think
about his “skilful and gallant movement” on Norfolk, and the result
was General Order No. 47, as replete with egotism and self-praise as
it was long and gusty. The Major-General took great credit to himself
for having “captured” Norfolk and Portsmouth, the fact being that
these cities were _evacuated_ by the Confederates in consequence of
the movement of General McClellan on Richmond, and simply _occupied_
by the troops under General Wool. Not a drop of blood was shed in the
movement, and not the slightest resistance made by the Confederate
commander. Indeed, the movement did not originate with General Wool,
but was commenced upon the suggestion of President Lincoln.
The regiment remained at the Marine Hospital till the 20th, during
which time it was almost constantly on duty. The duties performed
were those of patrol, provost, and guard. The night-patrol service
was sometimes exciting and amusing. The city was filled with dogs,
mostly of the species known as “cur”; and as the patrol wended through
the dark streets and narrow alleys, the canines would set up their
howlings and yelps. Occasionally a large pack of these animals would
make a sudden sally from out of some yard upon the passing soldiers,
and then would follow a charge with fixed bayonets, from which the
insolent dogs generally came off “second best,” leaving some of their
pack stretched lifeless in the street.
Some of the women of Norfolk and Portsmouth were quite as spiteful
towards the soldiers as were the dogs. The scene was not infrequent
of a bevy of finely-dressed ladies parading the streets with small
Confederate flags pinned to their breasts, and, on passing a soldier,
gathering their skirts closely about their bodies, lest they should
touch the hated “vandal.” And not seldom these fiery women would
indulge in insulting and taunting language. Another, and, if possible,
still more fiendish manifestation of hatred of the soldiers, consisted
in politely presenting them with beautiful bouquets, filled with
needles. The giver would station herself at some convenient point
of observation after doing this, and wait patiently for the soldier
to press the flowers to his face, when up would go a loud shout of
exultation. Few, if any, indignities were visited upon the perpetrators
of these petty, though annoying, insults, the good breeding of our men
usually preventing them from indulging in either harsh or insulting
language, though their ingenuity generally enabled them to do or say
something in return that made their fair assailants feel any way but
pleased with the result. There were, however, among the people of
Portsmouth, and especially,among the former employés at the navy-yard,
those who still loved the Union, and who remembered with gratitude
that for many years they and their children had enjoyed a comfortable
support from the labor which the Government had regularly furnished
them. One day, when Captain Leach’s company was on guard duty at
Newtown (a part of the city), in the vicinity of the navy-yard, the
loyal people there welcomed them by a display of American flags. The
whole settlement was radiant with bunting--streamers, ships’ flags,
jacks, and pennants--which had been saved from the yard in April,
1861, when the place was abandoned by the United States officers. How
these poor people had managed to keep these emblems of loyalty during
the year that had elapsed, was something of a mystery, considering
how strict was the surveillance under which all suspected Unionists
had been placed. But they had hidden them under carpets, in attics,
and cellars; and one old gentleman stated that his had been boxed up
tightly and buried in his garden, and the musty, soiled appearance of
the flags showed plainly these statements were true.
On the 20th of May, the regiment broke camp at the Marine Hospital,
and marched through Portsmouth to the Gosport Navy-Yard, near which
it went into camp. The camping-ground was by no means pleasant, nor
the means of comfort there afforded great. On the following day,
the Quartermaster reduced the number of tents, at which there was
considerable fault found; but by this time the majority of the men
had arrived at that desirable point in a soldier’s life, where they
treated every discomfort and privation as a necessary part of their
military experience. Only four days were spent here, when the regiment
again moved, this time some five miles from the city, encamping in an
extensive clover-field, that was named by Colonel Pierce “Camp Andrew.”
While here, the men were kept quite active in drilling, and in the
performance of guard and picket duty. The location of the camp was only
a little less unhealthy than that of Camp Harrison. On the 26th, the
regiment moved again, going just outside of a line of earthworks that
had been thrown up by the enemy during their occupation. At this place,
which was called “Camp of Advanced Post,” were also the Twentieth New
York and a Pennsylvania regiment. The latter manifested a strange
fancy for animals; a black bear, a score or more of dogs and cats,
and a troop of monkeys making up the list. On the night of the 30th,
occurred a severe thunder and rain storm; the camp was flooded, and the
lightning lit up the neighboring forest at every flash.
It was at this place that an attempt was made by a slave-master to
pursue his runaway negroes into the camp of the regiment. Captain
Samuel H. Doten was officer of the day on the first occasion; the
master requested of the Captain, permission to search the camp for his
two negroes, whom he suspected were concealed there, having followed
the regiment from Portsmouth, but his request was flatly refused.
The planter being satisfied that he could not succeed without some
authority from headquarters, called on General Viele, and after telling
his story, had no difficulty in obtaining from that officer an order
directed to the Colonel of the Twenty-ninth Regiment to immediately
produce the negroes in question and turn them over to their owner.
Armed with this order, the citizen appeared the next day, and demanded
of Captain Thomas W. Clarke (who had succeeded Doten as officer of
the day), in the arrogant plantation style, permission to search the
camp for his missing servants, at the same time exhibiting the order
from General Viele. Like his predecessor, Clarke refused to grant the
request, but on the ground that it was improper to allow citizens
to search the camp, and especially in an enemy’s country, and that,
moreover, the order did not give the bearer any such authority. The
citizen was therefore retained on the guard line, and the order taken
by Clarke to headquarters, where a consultation with the Colonel was
had. The order demanded the giving up of the slaves, and thus rendered
a search imperative; but it was concluded that the search should be
made, not by the citizen, but by the non-commissioned officers of each
company. Curious as it may seem, notwithstanding a most thorough hunt
was made, and that there were a large number of negroes in camp, the
particular negroes inquired for were not found, and the citizen was
compelled to return without his slaves.
The officers and men of the Twenty-ninth Regiment never felt a very
deep interest in returning refugee negroes to their masters, and had
never been educated up to the point of believing it to be any part
of their duties as soldiers, in fighting for the restoration of the
Union, to aid the slave-masters who were attempting to destroy it. To
have felt otherwise, would have been as unjust as unnatural, for the
poor negroes were the best, and in many instances the only, friends
which the soldiers found throughout the Southern land. Whenever they
came into our camps, they communicated to our officers whatever
information they possessed about the movements and plans of the
enemy; and although this information was seldom reliable, yet it was
conscientiously given, its imperfections being mainly attributable to
the utter incapacity of the negro to comprehend number or distance.
They were faithful and devoted servants to the soldiers, never
demanding or expecting pay for their labor; were made supremely happy
by the gift of a pair of blue trousers or a blouse; would follow a
regiment on its longest and hardest marches; relieve the weary soldier
of his knapsack or gun, and if the soldier was sick or overcome by the
heat, save him from falling on the road and suffering the fate of a
straggler. Scarcely a soldier of Company C will fail to remember the
faithful “Toney,” who came to them from North Carolina through the
wilds of the Dismal Swamp, and followed their fortunes to the end of
the war.
On the 1st of June, the Paymaster arrived in camp, and paid off the
men. At midnight of the 2d, orders came for the regiment to march early
the next morning; it was in line and moved out of camp at six o’clock
on the morning of the 3d. The place of destination was Suffolk, a
post-village, capital of Nansemond County, Va., distant from Portsmouth
about thirty-five miles, and the distance actually marched by the
regiment, from its encampment to the village, not less than twenty-five
miles. The day was extremely hot and sultry; the roads for much of the
distance half submerged in water, and everywhere muddy. The men were in
heavy marching order, each man’s burden consisting of his rifle, three
days’ rations, forty rounds of cartridges, a canteen, and a knapsack.
The men had not had much practice in marching, and it was easy enough
to foresee the result of such an undertaking. Long before noon they
began to straggle; instances of sunstroke were quite numerous; and all
during that boiling, blistering day, no halt exceeding fifteen minutes
was permitted. It was _a forced march of the most aggravated character,
and that, too, without the slightest demand or necessity_.
At this time, the Sixteenth Massachusetts Regiment, under Colonel
Powell T. Wyman, was at Suffolk, and the post was in command of that
officer, who was a soldier of superior qualities. When the Twenty-ninth
Regiment straggled into Suffolk, on the night of the 3d of June, with
about half its numbers, and the circumstances became known to Colonel
Wyman, he expressed great indignation at the manner in which this
movement had been conducted, asserting that the order to Colonel Pierce
did not contemplate a forced march.
The regiment had outmarched its baggage-wagons, and when it arrived in
the town it was consequently destitute of tents; and without any orders
or arrangement on the part of the commanding officer, the men were left
to shift for themselves. The majority slept in the open air, and among
them a veteran captain of sixty, who wrapped himself up in a blanket
and lay down upon the field. During the night, it rained heavily, and a
more sorry-appearing body of soldiers was never mustered for roll-call
than the Twenty-ninth on the following morning. Quite a number were
made seriously ill by sunstrokes.
Captain Howard’s Light Battery, largely made up of detailed members
of the regiment, arrived here on the 4th. The entire Federal force
in and about Suffolk at this time was less than 2,500 men all told,
and consisted of the following troops: Sixteenth Massachusetts,
Twenty-ninth Massachusetts, Captain Howard’s Light Battery, a section
of Captain Follett’s Battery, and two companies of cavalry. The enemy
in large force were in the near neighborhood, the picket duty was not
a little hazardous, and the isolated situation of the troops, and
the constant danger of attack, rendered the responsibilities of this
command of the gravest character. It was fortunate for the cause of the
Government, therefore, that its interests here were confided to the
charge of so brave and skilful an officer as Colonel Powell T. Wyman.
The Twenty-ninth Regiment, as also the Sixteenth, were destined to
remain here but a short time. At two o’clock in the afternoon of the
6th, the Twenty-ninth received orders to march, and striking tents, it
proceeded to the Suffolk Station of the Seaboard and Roanoke Railroad,
where it took the cars for Portsmouth, arriving at the latter place at
five o’clock in the afternoon of the same day. The night of the 6th
was spent in the depot at Portsmouth, none of the enlisted men being
permitted to leave their quarters.
On the morning of the 7th, the regiment embarked on the steamer
“Catskill,” for White House Landing, at the head of navigation on
the Pamunkey River. The pleasure of this trip, which occupied the
entire day, was in striking contrast with the numerous discomforts and
hardships which the soldiers had experienced during the four weeks
preceding, and which they were destined to encounter in the eventful
campaign upon which they were about to enter. The day was exceedingly
fine, and the course of the steamer lay along the banks of the
Elizabeth River, Craney Island, Hampton Roads, and the shores of the
Chesapeake Bay,--some of the finest water and land scenery to be found
in the Old Dominion. The mouth of York River was reached about noon.
There were few, if any, on board the “Catskill” who were ignorant of
the historic associations that clustered about the two points of high
land that form the mouth of the York. All eyes were busy obtaining
a view of these places,--Yorktown on the left and Gloucester on the
right. Here was encamped but recently the army of General Magruder;
here on the 19th of October, 1781, Lord Cornwallis surrendered to
General Washington his sword, an event that practically terminated
the war of the Revolution. Still standing in Yorktown was the house
of General Thomas Nelson, who commanded the Virginia militia at the
capture of Cornwallis.
The sail up the York and its larger branch, the Pamunkey, occupied
the remainder of the day. The country was in its finest dress; broad
green meadows skirted the stream as far as the vision could extend; the
meadows landward were bounded by high banks, covered with flowering
trees and climbing vines; and beyond all were the dense pine forests,
so common to the Peninsula. Here and there along the banks were
comfortable, peaceful-looking farm-houses, about which clustered groups
of colored people, who waved their hands as the large white steamer
glided by.
White House Landing was reached just as the sun was going down. The
river here was filled with transports, gunboats, and vessels of all
sizes and descriptions. White House was a busy place in those days.
There were to be seen large stacks of bread-boxes, immense numbers
of barrels of beef and pork, army wagons, and ordnance supplies; and
droves of horses and mules and large herds of fat cattle were grazing
among the green fields of General Fitz Hugh Lee, who owned the place.
Here, also, were arriving and departing long trains of wagons, engaged
in transporting these supplies to the front, some ten or fifteen miles
away, and close at hand was a locomotive attached to an extensive train
of cars, the engine bearing the familiar name of “Mayflower.”[28]
Upon leaving the steamer, the regiment marched the distance of a mile
from the wharf, into a fine grass-field near the wagon-road. By this
time it was quite dark; the night was warm, and the men made few
complaints at being compelled to sleep without tents. Just as they were
going off into a sound sleep, some wag, whose love of fun was still
active, cried out to the guard, “Put up the bars there, by the road;
if you don’t, we shall all catch our death-colds before morning!” This
was the signal for a hearty laugh, the merriment of the occasion being
heightened by the actual putting up of the bars.