The History of the Twenty-ninth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry / in the Late War of the Rebellion

by William H. Osborne

On the 10th, the men were ordered to have three days’ rations in their haversacks, and to have on hand sixty rounds of cartridges each.

On the morning of the 11th, the Brigade of Colonel Christ was ordered under arms, but did not march till nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. Upon reaching the river, the order was countermanded, and the Brigade returned to its camp, the men being allowed to enjoy a good night’s rest.

At eight o’clock on the morning of the 12th, the Brigade was again ordered under arms, marched to the river, and crossed on a pontoon bridge. The enemy had previously been dislodged from the formidable works on the water-side of the town, and hence no opposition was made to the crossing of the Brigade. The regiment remained near the river all day, and, except a portion of the afternoon, was not under fire. The air was filled with a thick fog, and was intensely cold; without tents or any adequate covering, the men spent that long, cheerless, winter night on the banks of the river, half paralyzed with the cold, waiting for the day to break, which, as they supposed, was to usher in a terrible battle, and in which it then seemed probable they would take a conspicuous part.

When the day came, the fog-cloud lifted, and the sun shed upon the waiting army its cheering beams of warm light. Soon after sunrise, the order came for the Brigade to form in line of battle, but it did not move till near nightfall. For the first time in its field life, the regiment was on the reserve line all day, but within full view of the battle, which raged and roared from sunrise till far into the night. When it was quite dark, the line was advanced into the outskirts of the town; the men not being permitted to enter the houses, remained in the streets. The battle had gone against us, and during the night some of the shattered regiments, which had been at the front all day, filed sadly through the streets on their way to the river, telling their story of disaster as they passed along.

Early in the morning of Sunday the 14th, the Brigade fell back, but still farther to the left, where they spent the day in quiet. The temptation to visit the deserted houses in the town was too great for many, and though the orders to the contrary were very imperative, yet not a few of the men left the lines upon various pretexts, and went sight-seeing. The effect of our shots upon the buildings was very severe, and the ruin and desolation thereby occasioned, furnished one of the saddest chapters in that campaign. Family portraits were torn from the walls of the dwellings, costly pianos and elegant furniture broken, marble mantles thrown down, and the cherished keepsakes of once happy families strewn about the floors and streets. In some instances huge shells had entered the buildings and exploded, tearing the walls open, leaving nothing but a mass of ruins; while in others, solid shots, speeding with the velocity of lightning, had passed entirely through the buildings, leaving black-looking but smoothly-cut apertures of the size of one’s head. “I had no temptation to take anything which I found in my searches through these shattered homes, though filled with many articles of great value. I was so impressed by these sad scenes of war, that I hastened back to my regiment, sorry to have witnessed such desolation and ruin,” says a soldier of the regiment, in a letter to his wife. These are the true sentiments of a good soldier, and if they had been more generally entertained by the soldiers of both armies, there would have been far less wanton and needless destruction of property during the war.

It was by a mere accident that the regiment did not become actively engaged in the battle. On the afternoon of the 13th, the division of General Burns was ordered to support General Franklin’s corps; in moving towards Franklin’s position, it became somewhat exposed to the artillery fire of the enemy, and Lieutenant Carpenter of Company H (Twenty-ninth), was slightly, and James L. Pettis of Company E severely, wounded. The other regiments of the Brigade (Christ’s) suffered some loss, the Twenty-seventh New Jersey, which was next the Twenty-ninth in the line, losing seventeen killed and wounded.[40]

After the Brigade retired from its advanced position, on Sunday the 14th, it formed near the gas-works, on the outskirts of the city. The enemy, from the heights beyond the town, occasionally threw a shot towards our lines, many of which struck the gasometer,—an iron structure,—glanced off with great fury, tearing away pieces of the iron, and throwing them about in various directions.

All during the 15th, the regiment had direct orders to hold itself in readiness to march at a moment’s warning. After dark, the men were directed to roll up their blankets, and were cautioned against lighting their pipes or kindling fires. All orders were passed along the line in low tones. It was apparent that some movement of importance was on foot, and it was soon discovered that our army was falling back across the river, a movement that was attended with great danger, inasmuch as the enemy was close at hand, and the river only passable by means of pontoons. Late in the afternoon, after it was decided to recross the river, the regiment was directed to remain until the other troops of the corps had crossed, when it was to remove three small pontoon bridges that had been thrown across a canal or creek which ran between the Rappahannock and the enemy’s works, and then emptied its waters into the river. The Brigade commander, Colonel Christ, intimated that he considered the undertaking a hazardous one, and scarcely worth the risk. The corps commenced crossing shortly after dark, the regiment remaining in its position until all were fairly across, and then moved forward and a considerable distance to the left, and commenced at once the work assigned to them. A captain, with a sufficient number of men, was detailed for each bridge, and the work went on rapidly and noiselessly, the regiment mean-while remaining in line of battle, ready for any emergency. It was remarkable that a work of this nature could be done so quietly; but the men, as well as the officers, fully realized the necessity of stillness. Only once in the course of the labor was any noise made, and this was caused by the falling of a plank against one of the boats. Even this noise was not great; but it seemed to the anxious listeners like a peal of thunder, that was likely to be followed by the crash of the enemy’s muskets. Fortunately it did not arouse the enemy; but it called out a large bloodhound, with powerful voice, which came running down to the opposite shore of the creek, and commenced baying and howling, keeping up its savage cries till the work was ended, annoying the men greatly, as they suspected that the next yelp would be followed by the enemy’s charging yell. Finally, after what seemed an age, but which in reality was only a short time, the three bridges were all removed, without the loss of a single piece, and the boats successfully floated across the Rappahannock. If the enemy had moved forward,—and it is surprising that they did not,—the result would have been disastrous to the regiment, perhaps cost it its very existence; and had this result followed, the attempt would have been deemed an act of folly. As it was, the plan was successfully carried out, and the regiment was warmly congratulated.

The first streaks of the morning light appeared in the eastern horizon before the men, worn by the fatigues of the night, reached their old camping-ground, on the northerly bank of the Rappahannock. The regiment escaped this battle with but two casualties; but had it remained with the Irish Brigade, which was at the front, and suffered terribly, probably nearly half its members would have been killed or wounded. To this circumstance chiefly,—one over which none of its officers had the slightest control,—it owes this remarkable piece of good fortune.

On the 21st of December, died Chaplain Hempstead, after a short illness. The position of a chaplain in the army was a peculiar one, and by many practical minds the office was regarded as one of doubtful utility, there seeming to be very little natural connection between the sacred and delicate duties of the saving of human souls and the stern and bloody work of man-killing. Neither the Act of Congress which provided for the appointment of chaplains, nor the Army Regulations, prescribed their duties, any further than to provide that they should render to the colonels of their regiments quarterly reports of “the moral and religious condition of the regiment, and such suggestions as may conduce to the social happiness and moral improvement of the troops.” Though the duties of these officers were not particularly specified, yet a conscientious chaplain had abundant chances to render great service in both a moral and social way. Such a chaplain was the Rev. Henry E. Hempstead. He was ever at the bedside of the sick and wounded soldier, attended to the distribution and forwarding of the mails (a service more keenly appreciated than most others by the soldiers), and in a thousand other ways endeared himself to the members of his regiment. He was the cherished companion for a long time of the heroic Arthur B. Fuller, Chaplain of the Sixteenth Massachusetts Regiment, and, strangely enough, the tragic death of the latter preceded that of Mr. Hempstead by only a few days.