Colonel S.G. Shepard, CSA

1 ▪ Private Sam The story of Colonel Samuel George Shepard would not be complete without including and starting with the story of the Colonel’s grandfather—Private Sam—Revolutionary Sam. Actually, the whole Shepard family appears to be wrapped in this country’s red, white, and blue. One relative traced the Shepard family back to the early colonization of this country but that is another story. 11 ▪ The Bradshaws Have Visitors About four o’clock that afternoon, when Sallie felt she could not stand another minute of suspense, George came in the back way. Already some soldiers—blue coats—had been going by the front out on the road. Fanny saw George before he got in the kitchen door. She grabbed him as he came in. “Come. Don’t stop to ask questions. Come!” She rushed him up to her room. “Get in,” she ordered, almost pushing him into the big old chest. He was in and she laid the folded quilts on him orderly with no telltale lumps in less time than it takes to tell. When she had the last one in, she closed down the lid and glanced out the window. Five blue coats were coming through the front gate. Three of them stopped at the gate. The two halfway up the walk seemed to be in an argument. “I tell you, sir, these folks are all right. I know. It was this man who gave food to Jim and me yesterday. Don’t know what would have happened to us if he hadn’t.” “Our orders are to search this house,” the officer replied. “The major thought he saw one of Bragg’s men ride in here. Come on.” He went up to the door and banged on it. Fanny opened wide the door. “Well, gentlemen,” she said, smiling and making them a sweeping bow, “what can we do for you today?” “We’ve orders, madam, to search this house. Our major saw one of Bragg’s men riding in here.” “I assure you we have not been honored with a visit from one of General Bragg’s men.” “We are sorry, madam, asking you to do this, but we must obey orders.” “It would seem that killing men on the battlefield would be enough without going in private citizens’ homes and frightening the women and children to death. But if you must, come in and search the house.” They came in and went the rounds, looking under beds, opening closet doors and poking into them; then they went upstairs with the same routine of looking into every conceivable hiding place. When they raised the lid on the cedar chest, Fanny’s hands, already on the back of a chair, tightened till the knuckles were white. She was rigid from head to heel. Had the soldiers looked at her they would surely have read a tale. They didn’t look! They took a quilt or two out, poked into the box, seemed satisfied that the box held nothing but quilts, closed the lid, turned and left the room. They went quickly downstairs and out the door stopping but not looking back, long enough to say, “Sorry, madam, to have disturbed you.” All Fanny’s bravado was gone. She sat down stiff and straight, face set, hands clasped and tears streaming from her closed eyes. Sallie had been in the parlor all the time with Frank on her lap and Ida standing by her knee. She felt and looked almost petrified. Now she murmured, “You were wonderful, Fanny, wonderful—” William was still out by the gate. As the blue coats went through the gate, the man whom he’d fed the day before thanked him again for the food. Fanny didn’t go to release George till she was sure no more Yankees would be coming that night. Then she rushed him to the loft and handed him a basket of food. 13 ▪ Gettysburg Note Archer’s Brigade fired the first shots at Gettysburg, had the first Confederate casualty, fought the first and last battles, and fought the final skirmish in the retreat from Pennsylvania. 15 ▪ The Colonel Goes to Washington On Saturday, April fifteenth, George debarked from a barge on the outskirts of Washington. It was six o’clock in the morning and raining. As he left the pier leading his horse, Selim, a sentinel shouted, “Halt!” George stopped, saluted, and asked what was the trouble. “Where are you from?” the soldier asked. “I’m just off the barge from traveling all night,” George replied. “Pass,” said the soldier, “but watch your step.” George couldn’t figure it out. He had been dismissed with so much finality he automatically walked on, asking no questions. He thought the war was over—or so he had been led to believe from that last awful day at Appomattox. Why this soldier then? What was he doing? Reconstruction had already begun perhaps. Strange city this—didn’t think he’d like it. “He went a quarter of a mile further before he saw a stable where he could leave his horse. He quickly turned Selim over to the half-asleep stable boy at the front and hurried on, hoping soon to find a place to stop and get some breakfast. As he passed along a narrow, unfrequented street, he saw an old man standing out on the curbstone in front of an old house whose front door opened right onto the sidewalk. The old man was peering up and down the street, evidentially looking and listening for somebody he was expecting. When his eye rested on George, he stopped looking elsewhere and gazed at him. As George came within his reach, the old man, seized him by the arm, pulled him into the house, and shut the door. George was too surprised to offer resistance at first. But immediately he freed himself, ready to defend himself from what he supposed was a man with too much drink. “What’s troubling you, my friend?” George asked. “Nothing’s troubling me, but something will be troubling you if you try to walk the streets of Washington this morning in that Confederate uniform,” he replied resolutely. “The war’s over,” George quickly retaliated. “Or haven’t you heard?” “Lincoln’s been shot!” was the reply to George. “Haven’t you heard? And Seward and I don’t know how many more! Might be Mosby2.” No! Why? How?” George was horrified. “A man shot Lincoln in the Ford Theatre last night.” (It was Good Friday.) “Who shot him? What are you talking about? Aren’t you dreaming, my friend?” “Absolutely not. That’s what they are trying to find out. Who!—and the gang he has with him. It’s a company, they say, and lots of people may get killed. Some already have been. You are in danger, great danger, right now. All Confederates are being arrested. Go up in my attic and stay till the excitement dies down.” “How do you know I didn’t shoot Lincoln?” asked George, inclined to postpone his retirement to the attic, indeed not having much notion of going at all. “You’ll have to explain that to that bunch of Federals coming down the street if you wait much longer! And it might not be so good for me if you’re caught in my house. There is a place behind a panel next to the chimney in my attic that they wouldn’t find in a year. But if you won’t hide in the attic, go on out the back door and don’t wait any longer. Now hurry!” George waited no longer. It wouldn’t be right for him to be caught in this old man’s house. Besides, he had no hankering to be caught at all by Federals and maybe meet his doom at the end of a rope. He decided on the attic. 22 ▪ A Marriage, A Death The date had been set for Alice’s marriage to her Dad’s Timothy, William Owen Carver , who had received his Th.D. in the Seminary and had a few months before becoming a member of the faculty. He was being sent to Florida in January to represent the Seminary at the state convention. He wanted to take his bride with him. He arrived at the Colonel’s home on the morning of December 28. The wedding was to be the next morning. As the family and a few friends sat around the fire in the parlor making merry, the young man said to Alice’s father, “Colonel, you know her better than I do. Got any advice to give?” Alice was standing by a little window at the end of the mantel. She was facing her father. The young man’s chair was between her and the Colonel, his back to her so that she did not see his face as he asked this affectionately impertinent question.