General John D. Imboden and the Confederate Retreat from Gettysburg

General John D. Imboden and the Confederate Retreat from Gettysburg

By Heather K. Peake 

It was the evening of July 3, 1863, and General Robert E. Lee faced a serious problem. The Battle of Gettysburg was over; his massive assault on the Union center had failed; his troops were spent; it was time to depart the field. He needed to get his army back to the safety of Virginia, and the sooner the better, for if the Union army caught its breath and went on the attack, the whole cause could be lost. As the night wore on, a general plan of retreat began to form -- and therein arose the problem. Three days of hard fighting had left more than 3,500 of his men dead and a staggering 18,735 wounded. Those wounded could not simply be left to the enemy. But how to bring them along without slowing the retreat to a crawl? That was the question. [1]

Around 11 pm, Lee called for Brigadier General John D. Imboden to report to his headquarters. Imboden's command was a semi-independent cavalry unit that had spent the summer campaign attached to Robert E. Lee's left flank, carrying out raids and destroying railroad bridges and canals as the main body of the Army of Northern Virginia moved northward. They had not arrived on the field until noon on July 3, and Lee, busy with the final plans for Pickett's advance on the Union lines, had simply ordered them to guard the rear of the Confederate line. "[M]y little force took no part in the battle," Imboden later wrote, " but were mere spectators of the scene, which transcended in grandeur any that I beheld in any other battle of the war." His men and their mounts were fresh and comparatively well-rested, and that made Imboden a valuable commodity on that particular night. [2]

John Imboden was not highly regarded by Lee or other high-ranking officers in the Confederate Army. The 40-year-old lawyer and politician from Staunton, Virginia had first won attention in April 1861, just as Virginia seceded from the Union, when he led his hometown artillery to Harper's Ferry and seized the arsenal. Then he returned to Staunton and raised a cavalry, the First Partisan Rangers. He fought with Stonewall Jackson in the 1862 Valley Campaign, and in January 1863 had been rewarded with a promotion to brigadier. Now in command of the 18th Virginia Cavalry, the 62nd Virginia (Mounted) Infantry, the Virginia Partisan Rangers, and the Virginia (Staunton) Battery, he had gained a reputation as a first-class raider. As they advanced into Pennsylvania, his men were delighted to find that this reputation has preceded them. "The country was in a perfect panic when they heard of the coming of 'Imboden, the Guerilla,' as they call him," a soldier wrote in a letter published in the Staunton (Va.) Spectator on July 3, 1863. "Five thousand Pennsylvania 'Melish' advanced to meet him on the National road. He let the 'Melish' stand and wait for his coming, while a squadron of cavalry went around them and gathered the fine horses they had left at home!" But as important as these activities were, cutting enemy communication and rail lines and rounding up food and supplies, there was a kind of taint to it -- the sense that it wasn't quite as honorable as combat - and perhaps this marked Imboden as belonging to a lower class of soldier. [3]

General Lee was not at his headquarters when Imboden and his aide arrived around 11:30, so they lay back in the soft grass and waited. Nearly two hours passed before Imboden saw the general riding, all alone, down the road from A.P. Hill's camp, his beautiful horse Traveller moving along at a plodding walk. Lee greeted Imboden quietly; trying not to wake his exhausted staff, and made to dismount. "The effort to do so betrayed so much exhaustion that I hurriedly rose and stepped forward to assist him, but before I reached his side he had succeeded in alighting, and threw his army across the saddle to rest, and fixing his eyes upon the ground leaned in silence and almost motionless against his equally weary horse - the two forming a striking and never-to-be-forgotten group."

Imboden stared at this poignant scene until the silence became "embarrassing," and he awkwardly blurted out: "General, this has been a hard day on you."

Lee looked up. "Yes, it has been a sad, sad say to us." He slumped back against Traveller. One, two minutes passed. Then he spoke of Pickett's brave Virginians, of how they might have carried the day had the only been properly supported. Then, he paused again. "Too bad! Too bad! Oh, too bad!"

Settled in his tent a few minutes later, Lee announced: "We must now return to Virginia. As many of our poor wounded as possible must be taken home. I have sent for you because your men and horses are fresh and in good condition, to guard and conduct our train back to Virginia. The duty will be arduous, responsible and dangerous," he cautioned, "for I am afraid you will be harassed by the enemy's cavalry. He promised all the additional artillery Imboden wanted - but no additional troops. His 2000 men and the few extra artillery crews would have to protect the nearly 13,000 wounded themselves.

Imboden was to proceed west along the Cashtown road, and then south by whichever road he choose, to Williamsport, Maryland. This would keep the cumbersome wagon train out of the way of the main column, which was to retreat by the shorter Fairfield road. At Williamsport, Imboden would stop only long enough to rest his horses. Then they were to ford the Potomac and moved without delay to Winchester, Virginia. [4]

His operation got underway early on the morning of July 4. "It was apparent by 9 o'clock that the wagons, ambulances and wounded could not be collected and made ready to move till late in the afternoon," he wrote of that long and frustrating day. Compounding the difficulties, at around noon "the very windows of heaven seemed to have opened." The downpour turned the field beside the Cashtown road into an instant quagmire. Horses and mules, already unnerved by three days of shelling, grew frenzied by the wind and could not be calmed. Wagons and artillery carriages became hopelessly entangled and began to sink in the deepening mud. "The deafening road of the mingled sounds of heaven and earth all around us made it almost impossible to communicate orders, and equally difficult to execute them," wrote Imboden. Somehow, though, they got it done. In less than 14 hours, they had loaded 12,700 of the 18,735 wounded into some 1,200 wagons. [5]