During the afternoon of the 2^nd of June, the Ninth Corps having moved around by our rear toward the left of the line, our corps was drawn in from the right, Cutler’s and Crawford’s Divisions were sent down to hold the line toward Beulah Church, and five or six of the batteries went with them, as above described. This left Griffin’s Division holding the extreme right of our army, his headquarters being at Bethesda Church. He massed his three infantry brigades about the church, and our Battery dismounted in column in the road just book of the church, where there was shade, the day being very hot and sultry. The road we were in was the turnpike leading to the Chickahominy at Mechanicsville. North of this road was another, called the Shady Grove Road, running nearly parallel to it, the distance between the two at this point being about a mile. The country between was mostly “old field,” with a straggling grove about three-fourths of a mile west of the church, and somewhat cut up with small ravines formed by the heads of a creek that flowed toward Mechanicsville, holding its course all the way between the two roads. The ground was dry and dusty, so that movements of large bodies of troops would be indicated at some distance by clouds of dust.

About the time that Griffin had completed the massing of his division, as above described, which may have been between 3 and 4 o’clock, clouds of dust rising from the Shady Grove Road on the north indicated a movement of the enemy to get on our right flank. The indications of this movement rapidly extended to the Mechanicsville Road, and Gen. Griffin, seeing that a heavy attack was imminent, deployed his three brigades – Sweitzer on the right, facing the Shady Grove Road; Bartlett in the center, and Ayres on the left, crossing the Mechanicsville Pike and facing west or southwest. In that shape Bartlett advanced, throwing out skirmishers, who soon became closely engaged. While this was going on the Battery remained in its former position in column, standing at ease. There was a road connecting the two before mentioned, which branched off near our position and ran through Sweitzer’s line, so that we were ready to move out either on the main pike to help Bartlett or Ayres, or on this connecting road to help Sweitzer, as occasion might require. The other batteries with Griffin’s Division – Phillips’s and Richardson’s – were farther to the right, and at that moment moving to the front with Sweitzer’s line.

Soon after the skirmishing began the enemy developed his main line in the grove in Bartlett’s front, on the north side of the Mechanicsville Road, and it was apparent from the deployment of his skirmishers and their audacity that they were backed by a main line extending over behind the crest in that direction. He also developed in front of Ayres south of the Mechanicsville Road, but did not display so much vigor there. In a few minutes a cloud of dust appeared rising just beyond the grove. The rapidity of its movements, as well as its volume, betokened the approach of a battery at a gallop along the pike. On came the dust cloud, and the next moment out of the grove and into the clearing, in plain sight, came the head of column of the Rebel battery, which formed in battery by piece on its left piece in beautiful style, unlimbering and opening on Bartlett’s infantry quicker than it can be told. In our front, where the Mechanicsville Pike entered the grove or woods, west of the Bethesda Church, there was a clearing which extended some distance into the woods, forming a sort of pocket or recess. This clearing may have been 10 or 15 acres in extent, and was of a triangular shape, so that it was commanded by the woods on both flanks. It was in this clearing, about at the base of the triangle, that the enemy came in battery. Between us and the enemy there was a stretch of low ground, somewhat grown up with small brush, and the old pike was graded up to some extent through this low ground. For this reason there was no eligible place for us to go in battery anywhere in this low ground, but Bartlett’s infantry found good cover there, and as soon as the enemy opened with his canister they all lay down and began to dig with their tin plates, etc. It was almost incredible how quickly the veteran infantry would make light earthworks in soft ground – at least enough to cover them when lying down. When the Rebel battery came into position we were “standing at ease” in column just back of Bethesda Church. The Battery was halted in column of pieces, left in front. The Old Man [First Lieutenant Stewart] was lounging on his saddle, near the right gun, with his elbow on the pommel and his chin resting on his hand. He had a group of 15 or 20 of the boys around him, and was evidently telling them some of his droll anecdotes about the “Jackass Cavalry” in Texas before the war or killing Indians and capturing squaws in Utah. I could not hear what he was saying, but judged that he was in one of his funny moods from the laughter of the boys around him. Suddenly Gen. Griffin beckoned to Stewart, who left us and rode over toward the General. But, divining what Griffin wanted, he said, as he wheeled his horse round: “This means us, boys. Drivers, mount! Cannoneers, mount! Attention!” A few words passed between the General and Stewart, which I did not hear, of course, being at that moment in the act of mounting the limber chest, but afterward learned that Gen. Griffin said: “James (he usually called Stewart by his first name in that way), can you go in battery under that fire?”

“Yes, sir; where shall I unlimber?”

“Suit yourself about that, but keep an eye to your supports. I would like to see that battery silenced.”

“I will shut it up, sir.”

Now, this question as to whether we should unlimber on this side or the other side of the low ground spoken of was a very important one. If we unlimbered on this side (that is, the side near the church,) we would have over half a mile range, and would have to fire over Bartlett’s head or, rather, over his men. But if we crossed it, we would have to go in battery within a few hundred feet – feet, mind you, not yards – from the enemy’s muzzles, and that was right on Bartlett’s skirmish line; in fact, a little beyond it, because Bartlett’s skirmishers were taking cover of the slight bank formed by the descent from the high ground. Having his choice, as before stated, the Old Man chose the close quarters! Every man and boy in the Battery saw instantly that this was the finest opportunity of the campaign to show the stuff we were made of. There was, as remarked in a former chapter of this sketch, a strong feeling of rivalry between our Battery and Rittenhouse’s, which was Griffin’s old battery, and Griffin had an enormous amount of conceit about his old battery. So we all had the same thought that this would be a fine opportunity to take that conceit out of Gen. Griffin, and to show him what “Gibbon’s old battery” could do.

Turning from Gen. Griffin, Stewart whipped out his saber and spurred to the front of the Battery column, executing a “right moulinet” as he did so. “Attention – forward, march! Trot!! – Ga1lop!!!” And then, as the huge wheels began to thunder behind him and the tramp of the powerful horses and the yells of the drivers and cracking of the whips mingled with the “swish, swish” of the enemy’s canister down the pike, he bent forward over his horse’s neck, and spurring him to a run roared out like a lion: “Come on, boys! Follow me!! Charge!!!” This was an order not included in the “Light Artillery Manual,” but we all knew what it meant. And to this day the surviving veterans of the Fifth Corps will tell yon about the “Charge of Stewart’s Battery at Bethesda Church!”

Old infantry veterans who were out in the fields along the pike that day, have described the appearance of the Battery as it came down the road. The Old Man was about five or six yards in front, bending over his horse’s neck and spurring him with both heels; swinging his saber and shouting, “Come on!” Every driver lying forward on his horse, whipping and yelling every Gunner and Cannoneer hanging on for life to the guard-rods of the limber-chests, and bounding six inches high from the springless seats as the huge wheels flew over the ruts; a long trail of dust streaming behind, and the very earth made to smoke and tremble under the fierce tramp of the flying steeds! Speed was everything here, because it was necessary to get there quick and get to work before the enemy could get many rounds into us; and, besides, as it as a very desperate enterprise, it was best to go in with all possible “whoop and hurrah!”

When we reached the ground which was favorable for going in battery, Stewart gave rapid orders to “trot” and “walk,” and then – “Forward into battery,” etc. Then, depending on the perfect discipline of his boys to execute general orders without details, it was, “Action front! Right section load solid shot and case alternately. No. 1, left section, load common shell. Cut fuses one second (so they would burst at 1,200 feet, just before reaching the enemy’s battery). ‘Old Bess’ (the left gun), give ‘em double Canister!” And “fire by piece!’ And “sock it to ‘em!” All in a perfect torrent of roars!

From that time on it was “Keep that muzzle down!” “Steady, there!” “That’s right!” “Keep her there!” and similar directions. Meantime every one of the boys who survived was working for the great day.

Did you ever hear the thump of a rammer on a shot or canister-head when No. 1 was "sending home” while you were getting ready to prick cartridge and hook on the lanyard? And did you ever hear that sound mingled with the close thunder of the enemy’s guns and the “skitter and kerchug!” of his canister splintering your gun-carriages or plowing the ground about your feet, to say nothing of its whiz and whir in the air about your ears, or the occasional savage “plunk” of one that happened to find a poor comrade’s bosom in its fierce track? If you have, it is not necessary to describe the scene while we were getting in that first load. If you have not, why then description would be wasted. If there was ever a forlorn hope of artillerymen in battle, it was the old Battery while that first load was being “sent home.” But beyond hard breathing through set teeth, lips compressed, nostrils dilated, and eyes hard-tempered in the heat of battle, you could see no change in the expressions of the boys. Almost without exception the men who took the Battery into action there were veterans of from 18 to 20 battles, and they could literally handle 12-pounder Napoleons like horse-pistols! Of course, at that time, when the personnel of the Battery had been winnowed and winnowed in battle after battle, or tried in the test of hungry marches and muddy bivouacs until every man that survived and stood by was as tough as the bronze guns that they served; or when by the frightful fatigues, sufferings and privations of that Wilderness and Spottsylvania campaign, which Stewart had shared with us shoulder to shoulder, we had been drawn so near to the Old Man that he had become not only our commander but our comrade, everyone of whom would have followed him right into an open grave if he had called to us to “Come on, boys!”

The Rebel battery, which had slackened a little when Bartlett’s infantry lay down, reopened furiously on us as we came along the road, firing both case and canister; but their practice was not good, and they did not hit either man or horse until we halted and began to unlimber. As we unlimbered we could see our infantry poking their heads up out of the grass and weeds to look at us, and they encouraged us with loud yells and cheers; while our skirmishers, lying down in the field on our flanks, kept up a crackling fire at the enemy’s battery, as the enemy’s infantry in the edge of the woods also did at us. Under such circumstances we unlimbered, loaded, and the concert began; and you can bet that from that moment the music was by the full band. We had 13 or 14 men hit, altogether in this affair, of whom 10 or 11 went down in the single minute that it took us to unlimber and get in the first load. After that our Confederate friends had something to engage their attention beside their own practice. The two batteries were not more than 1,200 feet apart, both in the open, without the slightest cover, and the only advantage we had was that the Rebels were on slightly rising ground, which, of course, was an advantage in practice at that range, as point-blank artillery practice is always best from “the lower hillside.” But this trifling advantage was of no account until we could get in position and unlimber and get in one load. In these piping times of peace it would be useless to attempt a description of what it means to jump a battery into position within point-blank canister range of another battery already firing, and that, too, on a broad turnpike road running through open fields, without a particle of cover for at least half a mile. The Rebel battery in this instance was gallantly serviced, and they got one regular blizzard into us, but it was their last chance.

The day being hot and sultry, with no air stirring, the smoke hung right in front of us, so that after the second or third round we could not see the enemy at all, but we could hear his canister rattling among our guns and wheels like big hail-stones, or whizzing past our heads, or whirring through the grass and bushes. But we had the exact direction by the well-defined tracks of the wheels in the first recoil, so there was no difficulty in pointing, and all we had to do was “keep her muzzle down.” In three minutes we could feel the enemy’s fire slacken. In seven or eight minutes more he ceased entirely, and then, as the smoke lifted, we saw his deserted guns standing silent in the field! Ordinarily Stewart was more calm and precise in the most desperate fighting than at any other time, but on this occasion, as we gave a cheer, he joined in with us. His face was as black as any of his cannoneers with burnt powder, and as the day was very hot and sultry and he was quite fleshy, the lively work he had been doing made the sweat pour down his cheeks in comical streaks among the powder stains. At this moment one of the men in the right section – probably Tom Clarke or Bill Bartholomew – shook his fist at the enemy and shouted, “All down! Set ‘em up again, --- ---- you!” This raised a laugh and another cheer, and the Captain said something to this cannoneer, to the effect that he was very hard to satisfy, and asked him about how many batteries he would like to clean out in one afternoon! He also declared, with somewhat profane emphasis, that there was not another four-gun battery in any army on Christ’s green earth that could stand before his boys 10 minutes in the open field at canister range!

We all regarded this as one of the most noteworthy in the long list of the achievements of Stewart’s Battery. It had become a common thing with us to fight charging infantry with double canister at ranges so close that we could almost “smell their breath,” and we had frequent contests with the enemy’s artillery at fair ranges, in which we had often silenced him or driven him out of position, dismounting some of his guns or blowing up some of his caissons. But this affair on the Mechanicsville Road was unique in its way. It was a fair, square duel between two batteries of four guns each – 12-pounder Napoleons on each side – so close together that they might as well have been “muzzle to muzzle,” and without the least cover for either side. The only question was rapidity and precision of fire. The Battery fired everything that would tell – shell, case and canister; shell and case with fuses cut “point blank” to burst at 1,200 feet from three of the guns, and canister, doubled all the time, from the other one. The result was, doubtless, the most perfect tornado of iron ever delivered from a four-gun battery. When the enemy deserted his guns and left them standing silent in the field near the pike, and his infantry recoiled into the woods, it appeared that we had practically captured a battery from the enemy! About this time Generals Griffin, Bartlett, and Ayres came up into the road where we were, and Griffin suggested that as we had silenced the enemy’s battery, and it was too late to make an infantry advance, we might as well limber up and go back to the church.

Stewart asked Gen. Griffin if he was not going to advance his infantry to take in the enemy’s deserted guns. He said no, because that would involve too close an approach to the enemy’s cover in the woods, which they were clearly holding in force. Then the Old Man said, “if you will advance your skirmish line to cover me, by --- I will take some of my teams and haul them in myself with my men!”

Stewart was very anxious to get those guns. Of course it would have been a very desperate thing to go out there and haul them in, covered as they were by all of Rodes’s infantry in the edge of the woods on the north side of the Mechanicsville Pike, but he would have done it if he could have got the necessary support. We had destroyed nearly every man and horse they had. They were waiting for darkness, so as to haul their dismantled guns off by band. We had lost only 14 men and not more than a dozen horses. We felt that we had really captured their battery, because we had destroyed every living thing in it, and had made it impossible for anyone to approach the deserted guns. But we could not go out and hook on to the guns and fetch them in without the support of a general advance of our infantry. This Gen. Griffin would not undertake; so, after dark, they hauled their dismantled guns off by hand. No doubt Griffin was right. He always was. It would have cost some lives to go out and get the Rebel guns which we had dismantled, but there was not a man in the Battery who would not have jumped at the chance to volunteer with the teams to go and fetch them in. As it was, whenever the enemy’s infantry showed up in the edge of the woods from that time till pitch dark, we soon sent them to the right about with a few rounds of case and canister. They kept sharpshooting at us till dark, but did not hit anybody. Finally, when Gen. Griffin decided to draw in his picket line about 9 o’clock, we limbered up and went back to the field in front of Bethesda Church, where we bivouacked for the night.

Stewart was the only commissioned officer of the Battery present in this affair; as, in fact, he had been ever since May 8. Orderly Sergeant McBride was commanding the right section, Sergeant Thorpe the left, and Quartermaster Sergeant Henry Moore the caissons. With such Sergeants we did not need any Lieutenants.

I shall never forget the behavior of our No. 1 in this action. It was old Griff Wallace, of the 7^th Wisconsin. He was certainly an artist at the muzzle of a gun. On this occasion he didn’t pretend to sponge, except at about every fifth load. Meantime the hot vent was burning my thumb stall to a crisp and scorching my thumb, so I would call out:

“For ----- -----’s sake, Griff, sponge the gun!”

And he would answer:

“Sponge, --- ------!” “Stick to the vent, you little ------ ------.” “Stick!!!”

Ordinarily I would have resented that epithet, but did not feel called upon to do so then. Toward the last it was really painful. As the leather kept burning through I would pull the thumb-stall down until no more of it was left, and then I appealed to Griff that the vent was burning my flesh. All the satisfaction I got was a fierce growl between his Irish teeth:

“Thumb it with the bone, then, --- ---- you!!”

I can see that Irish hero now, his curly hair loose on his bare head, his arms bare to the elbows, as he had thrown away cap and jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves when we unlimbered. After it was all over, and we were sipping our coffee under the shadow of Griffin’s headquarters at the little church that evening, I said:

“Griff, suppose I had let go of that hot vent when you wouldn’t sponge, and there had been a premature discharge in consequence?”

“Well,” he says, “Cub, I had thought of that, and had made up my mind to brain you at once with the rammer head if that occurred!”

How deliciously Irish that was! The joke of this will instantly be understood by any artilleryman. If I had ever let go of that vent there wouldn’t have been enough left of Pat and his rammer to brain a flea with. He would have been blown from the muzzle.

Every one seemed to feel the contagious spirit of victory. It is a pity that the enemy did not develop another battery there, if for no other purpose than to “set ‘em up again!” Everybody was ready for it. When the smoke lifted the Rebel battery appeared about as follows: The near wheel of their right gun was smashed, and that gun was to that extent, dismounted. Their No. 2 gun of the right section was turned around so that it was almost sideways toward us. Their No. 1 gun of the left section had been knocked out of its trunnion-caps, so that it appeared to be standing on its cascable-knob behind its carriage. The No. 2 gun of their left section was apparently intact, but it was some distance in rear of the others, indicating either that an effort had been made to haul it off by hand, or else that they had let it continue to go back with each recoil instead of running it up into position after the discharges. Be this all it may, the Rebel guns were all there, and nobody was there with them, except those who were stretched out on the ground. But we were ready for another one of the same sort, which, beyond doubt, would have shared the fate of the first.

Buell, Augustus.  The Cannoneer: Story of a Private Soldier.  (Washington, DC: The National Tribune, 1890), 207-217.