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Chapter 7
July 2, 1863, 4:00 p.m.
Between Chambersburg and Greencastle, Pennsylvania
John Daniel Imboden picked an apple from the tree under whose leaves he had sought refuge from the scourching sun. The fruit was ripe and after the first hearty bite the juice ran down his chin. His second regiment just trotted past him and its leader, Colonel George H. Smith, saluted him with a big grin. At least the countermarch did not seem to have spoiled his mood. Only a few hours before Imboden had had a heated discussion about the purpose of their latest assignment with his younger brother George, whose 18th Virginia Cavalry was at the head of the marching column.
The order to leave had come around noon, along with the news that the prodigal son, Jeb Stuart, and his missing three brigades had finally linked up with the army at Cashtown. Although it had been written that they were now entrusted with the protection of the right flank and the supplies, Imboden was aware of the fact that the high command rather disregarded his combat skills and those of his men. He was already bored of having to watch out for annoying mule drivers and of having to listen to their complaints about the poor quality of the roads, the hot weather or the world in general.
Life is not fair, Imboden thought in frustration. He had commanded artillery, infantry and cavalry, had marched through the Shenandoah Valley with Stonewall Jackson and carried out a raid through the Kanawha region. He was not an amateur and he commanded nearly 2,000 good men. It was a shame. When another man reined his horse in the shade of the tree, Imboden was torn from his thoughts. The newcomer was a few years older than him and sported a far more impressive beard, but his insignia only identified him as a captain.
'Captain McNeill, it is good to see you, how is your outfit?'
'My men are doing well, the so far not plundered fields and groves of this state provide enough distraction and joy. Why did you call for me, sir?'
'As you know we are heading back to Greencastle. The area is nice to look at and features many beautiful girls, but is not particularly helpful in a strategic sense in my opinion. The mountain range in the east completely shields us from the rest of the state. And I do not like that.'
'So you would like me and my company to take a look at what is located behind? You know that we are riders and not mountain goats?', the older man added with a smirk.
'Despite your beard I would never mistake you for a goat, Captain', the amused Imboden fired back. 'Do not worry, nobody is asking you to climb. Post yourself at the entrance to Monterey Pass and send a message if you do not like what you see there. That would certainly ease my paranoia.'
Brig. Gen. John D. Imboden and Captain John H. McNeill, CSA.
Chapter 7
July 2, 1863, 4:00 p.m.
Between Chambersburg and Greencastle, Pennsylvania
John Daniel Imboden picked an apple from the tree under whose leaves he had sought refuge from the scourching sun. The fruit was ripe and after the first hearty bite the juice ran down his chin. His second regiment just trotted past him and its leader, Colonel George H. Smith, saluted him with a big grin. At least the countermarch did not seem to have spoiled his mood. Only a few hours before Imboden had had a heated discussion about the purpose of their latest assignment with his younger brother George, whose 18th Virginia Cavalry was at the head of the marching column.
The order to leave had come around noon, along with the news that the prodigal son, Jeb Stuart, and his missing three brigades had finally linked up with the army at Cashtown. Although it had been written that they were now entrusted with the protection of the right flank and the supplies, Imboden was aware of the fact that the high command rather disregarded his combat skills and those of his men. He was already bored of having to watch out for annoying mule drivers and of having to listen to their complaints about the poor quality of the roads, the hot weather or the world in general.
Life is not fair, Imboden thought in frustration. He had commanded artillery, infantry and cavalry, had marched through the Shenandoah Valley with Stonewall Jackson and carried out a raid through the Kanawha region. He was not an amateur and he commanded nearly 2,000 good men. It was a shame. When another man reined his horse in the shade of the tree, Imboden was torn from his thoughts. The newcomer was a few years older than him and sported a far more impressive beard, but his insignia only identified him as a captain.
'Captain McNeill, it is good to see you, how is your outfit?'
'My men are doing well, the so far not plundered fields and groves of this state provide enough distraction and joy. Why did you call for me, sir?'
'As you know we are heading back to Greencastle. The area is nice to look at and features many beautiful girls, but is not particularly helpful in a strategic sense in my opinion. The mountain range in the east completely shields us from the rest of the state. And I do not like that.'
'So you would like me and my company to take a look at what is located behind? You know that we are riders and not mountain goats?', the older man added with a smirk.
'Despite your beard I would never mistake you for a goat, Captain', the amused Imboden fired back. 'Do not worry, nobody is asking you to climb. Post yourself at the entrance to Monterey Pass and send a message if you do not like what you see there. That would certainly ease my paranoia.'
Brig. Gen. John D. Imboden and Captain John H. McNeill, CSA.
- Lothar
- Word Count: 520