“It is shown in the evidence that an expectation of attack or movement on Philippi, shortly to be made, was generally entertained among the officers and others of the command, and that intelligence (how well founded is not known) was brought from time to time of the strength and supposed intent of the enemy.
“The testimony sets forth that this had so far produced its effect as to induce the officer in command to call a meeting of his officers; that the result of their consultations and deliberations was an almost if not entirely unanimous decision in favor of immediate retreat; that when Colonel Porterfield returned to the room (from which he had been absent a short time), their opinion was conveyed to him, to which he seemed loath to accede; yet, determined to make a further examination of the ammunition on hand, and to prepare the baggage and train for removal at a moment’s notice.”
Here follow several points in which, according to the judgment of this court, the commanding officer “erred.” General R. E. Lee, in reviewing the case, approved the finding of the court and said:
“The commanding general remarks with pleasure upon the coolness, self-possession, courage and energy displayed by Colonel Porterfield at the moment of attack; but he cannot exonerate him from blame in not taking proper precautionary measures beforehand. Yet, in consideration of all the circumstances of the case, he does not think it necessary to do more than to express the opinion of the court, in the hope that the sad effects produced by the want of forethought and vigilance, exhibited in this case, will be a lesson to be remembered by the army throughout the war.”
After the action at Philippi came a season of inaction. The available Union force was not deemed sufficient to make a further advance without too great risk of defeat, which would put in imminent jeopardy all the advantage that had been gained. For a month the troops lay quietly at Philippi, detachments being stationed to guard the bridges on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. The headquarters of the Cleveland Artillery were at Philippi, but the companies were scattered, some of them, with their guns, doing duty with the bridge guards. There were constant rumors of active service ahead and of impending attacks by the enemy, but none of them appeared to have any foundation in fact, for the weeks passed without any of “war’s alarms” of a serious nature.
During the latter part of June General Henry A. Wise became a prominent factor in Confederate operations in Western Virginia. At the head of a considerable force he threatened an attack upon Philippi. As the Fourth of July drew near a report came to be currently believed that on that day he would attempt to retake the place. All arrangements possible for defense were made. Neither officers nor soldiers had yet learned much about fortifying, in the art of which they became so skilled at a later day, but some rude works had been thrown up which promised to be serviceable and “handy” in case of attack. Part of the guns of the Cleveland Artillery were kept in position where it was thought they might do the most good if there came a rebel visitation. A strong and vigilant picket guard was maintained to prevent anything in the nature of a surprise.
Most of the soldiers were in a sad plight as to clothing. Especially was this true of the members of the Cleveland Artillery. Much of the wretchedly poor, shoddy clothing received by them at Camp Putnam had literally fallen to pieces. The men were actually in rags. Some of them went around during those warm July days with only drawers to cover the nakedness of their nether limbs. They looked more like a congregation of beggars than patriotic American citizens engaged in the work of saving the country. That pestilent insect, the “grayback,” made its appearance and was soon on terms of the closest intimacy with them. Probably not one in twenty of these innocent young men had ever seen one of these things before. Most of them did not even know that this carnivorous bug had an existence in the wide and variegated realm of animated nature. But it did not take them long to become extensively acquainted with him.
Patriotic emotions were active as the “Glorious Fourth” drew near, and although the American Eagle seemed to be in a bad way just then, it was determined to have a fitting celebration of the day, whether or not Wise kept his reputed engagement. Notwithstanding their dilapidated condition the members of the artillery entered into the matter with great gusto. The arrangements were made by a committee consisting of Colonels Dumont, Sixth Indiana, Milroy, Ninth Indiana, Lieutenant Colonel Dickey, Fifteenth Ohio, “Bob” McCook, Ninth Ohio, Barnett, Cleveland Light Artillery, and others. During the month previous the Union forces had been augmented by several additional regiments, as designated above.
An elaborate program was made out, which included speeches, music, both vocal and instrumental, and, of course, the reading of that patriotic but somewhat musty and dusty old document, the Declaration of Independence. This always has been, and probably always will be, considered an essential factor in a Fourth of July celebration, under any and all circumstances, although nobody ever listens to it, or can remember, five minutes after a single word of what it contains. In casting about for a person who could read this ponderous paper with fitting dignity and impressiveness the committee decided upon Warren P. Edgarton, then a private of Company D, Cleveland Light Artillery, who had won some reputation as an elocutionist, and he was promptly detailed for this duty.
Edgarton was in sore distress of mind over the condition of his wardrobe. He hadn’t any clothes to speak of, and half the time was running around camp with only a ragged shirt and a pair of drawers. He had a fine physique and would tip the beam at about a hundred and eighty. He had a sort of artillery jacket but it was three sizes too small, and when he crowded himself into it he looked and felt like a woman wearing a tightly laced corset; so that he didn’t put it on except on state occasions, when his usual negligee uniform would be considered a gross and violent breach of army regulations. He had a pair of shoes that were three sizes too large for even his substantial and well-developed feet, in which he would go sloshing around camp. At night he used to “park” his shoes outside, as there wasn’t room for them in the tent, without crowding everybody out. He wore on his head a little cap which, never within an inch of his size, had so shrunk and shriveled under the demoralizing influence of sun and storm that it only lay upon the top of his head, looking not much bigger than a postage stamp. All in all he was a startling and picturesque object to stand before a crowd of raging patriots and read the Declaration of Independence.