Read My Brother Sam is Dead Online
Authors: James Lincoln Collier
My Brother Sam is Dead
Critical acclaim for My B
ROTHER
S
AM
I
S
D
EAD
:
A NEWBERY HONOR BOOK
AN ALA NOTABLE CHILDREN'S BOOK
A NATIONAL BOOK AWARD NOMINEE
“A moving junior novelâ¦. How Sam's fate occursâ¦is the wrenching part in this fictional reconstruction of how the Revolutionary War affects the Meekers, a nonpartisan family of the Tory town of Redding, Connecticut. The story is told through young Tim Meeker, who guardedly watches the war edge closer and closer until it engulfs his familyâ¦. A sobering tale that will leave readers with a more mature view of history and war.”
âStarred Review, ALA
Booklist
“Young Tim Meeker looks on as his Loyalist father and older brother Sam, a ârebel' partisan, confront each other but can never make much sense of the political controversyâ¦. Assumes for once that children can think.”
â
New York Times Book Review
“With its sharp revelation of the human aspects of Revolutionary War life and its probing of political views and divided loyalties, this stirring and authoritative novel earns a place beside our best historical fictionâ¦.A memorable piece of writing.”
â
Horn Book
James Lincoln Collier & Christopher Collier
For Sally and Ned, who live there.
Copyright ® 1974 by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher
Collier. All rights reserved.
First Ebook edition 2012 by AudioGO. All rights reserved.
LIBRARY ISBN: 978-0-7927-9094-5
TRADE ISBN: 978-1-62064-198-9
Digital Editions (epub and mobi formats) produced by
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How Much of This Book is True?
My Brother Sam is Dead
Timeline
IT WAS APRIL, AND OUTSIDE IN THE DARK THE RAIN
whipped against the windows of our tavern, making a sound like muffled drums. We were concentrating on our dinner, and everybody jumped when the door slammed open and banged against the wall, making the plates rattle in their racks. My brother Sam was standing there, wearing a uniform. Oh my, he looked proud.
“Sam,” my mother said. We hadn't seen him since Christmas.
“Shut the door,” Father said. “The rain is blowing in.” That's the way Father wasâdo right first, and then be friendly.
But Sam was too excited to pay attention. “We've beaten the British in Massachusetts,” he shouted.
“Who
has beaten the British?” Father said.
Sam shut the door. “We have,” he said, with his back to us as he slipped the latch in place. “The Minutemen. The damn Lobsterbacks marched out of Boston yesterday. They were looking for Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock and they marched up to Lexington. Some of the Massachusetts Minutemen tried to stop them there in the square, but there were too many British, and they got through and went on up to Concord looking for ammunitions stores. But the Patriots got the stores hidden mostly and they didn't find much. And then when they turned around and went back, the Minute-men hid in the fields along the roads and massacred them all the way back to Boston.”
Nobody said anything. They were silent and shocked. I couldn't take my eyes off him; he looked so brave. He was wearing a scarlet coat with silver buttons and a white vest and black leggings halfway up to his knees. Oh, I envied him. He knew everybody was staring, but he liked being the center of attention, and he pretended it was just an ordinary thing and he was used to it. “I'm starved,” he said, and sat down at the table. “I started out from Yale at six o'clock this morning and didn't stop to eat all the way.”
There were seven of us at the table in the taproom. Mother and Father and me were there. Then there was the minister, Mr. Beach, who lived in Newtown but spent Saturday night here in Redding so he could preach in our church early Sunday morning. Then there was a couple of farmers from Redding Center I didn't know, and, of course, Sam. But still they all sat silent. I guess they figured that it was up to Father to speak first, seeing as Sam was his son.
My mother got up, fetched a plate from the rack, and filled it with stew from the iron pot on the fire. Then she drew Sam a pot of beer from the tap and put it all down in front of him. He was hungry, and he bent over his plate and began shoving in the food as fast as he could.
“Don't eat like that,” Father snapped.
Sam looked embarrassed and sat up straight.
“All right, now,” Father said. “Tell us the news again in an orderly manner.” Father had a temper and I could see he was trying hard not to lose it.
Sam dug his spoon into the stew and started to fill his mouth, but suddenly he realized that if he began talking with his mouth full, Father would yell at him again, so he put the spoonful or stew back on his plate. “Well it's hard to tell it orderly, Father. There were so many rumors around New Haven last night thatâ”
“I thought it might be like that,” Father said.
“No, no, it's true about the fighting,” Sam said. “Captain Arnold told us himself.”
“Captain Arnold?”
“Captain Benedict Arnold. He's Captain of the Governor's Second Foot Guard.” He looked down at his stew. “That's my company.” He looked up and gave Father a quick sort of scared look.
“That explains the fancy dress, I imagine,” Father said.
“Captain Arnold designed the uniformâ”
“Never mind, tell the story.”
“Well, the beginning was when the Lobsterbacksâ”
“By that I suppose you mean the soldiers of your King,” Father said. He was still holding onto his temper.
Sam blushed. “All right, the British troops. From the garrison in Boston. They marched up to Lexington looking for Mr. Adams and the rest, but they'd got away. Somebody signalled them from some church steeple in Boston, so when the LobstâBritish got up to Lexington there wasn't anybody there, except the Minutemen. Then the shooting startedâ”
Mr. Beach put his hand up to stop Sam. “Who shot first, Sam?”
Sam looked confused. “Well, I guess the British. I mean that's what they said in New Haven.”
“Who said?”
“Well, I'm not sure,” Sam said. “I guess it's hard to tell in a battle. But anywayâ”
“Sam,” Father said. “Who do you think fired first?”
“I don't know, Father, I don't know. But anywayâ”
“I should think it might matter to know, Sam,” Father said.
“Why does it matter?” Sam was beginning to lose his temper the way he did. “What right have the Lobsterbacks to be here anyway?” I thought it was pretty funny that he kept calling the British Lobsterbacks, when he was dressed in red, too.
“All right, all right,” Mr. Beach said. “Let's not argue the point. What happened then?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said. “So anyway, some men were killed, I don't know how many, and then the British went on up to someplace called Concord looking for the ammunition stores there, but they didn't find very much and turned around and started back to Boston. That was when the Minutemen really peppered them; they chased them all the way back home.” Quickly Sam began to eat his stew before they had time to ask him more questions.
“Damn it, that's rebellion,” one of the farmers said. “They'll have us in war yet.”
Mr. Beach shook his head. “I think men of common sense will prevail. Nobody wants rebellion except fools and hotheads.”