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.