My Brother Sam is Dead (18 page)

“I
WANT TO SEE COLONEL PARSONS, PLEASE, SIR,”
I
SAID
.

The adjutant stared at me through the half-opened door. “What about?”

“Sam Meeker sent me. He's been arrested as a cattle thief.”

“Colonel Parsons can't be troubled about that.”

“But it's all a mistake,” I said. “He didn't do it, he was chasing the ones who did.”

The adjutant laughed. “Sure,” he said. “He didn't steal the cows, they followed him out of the barn of their own accord.”

“Please,” I begged. “It's true. We were sitting there—”

“Enough,” he said. “Colonel Parsons is in bed. Come back in the morning and perhaps he'll see you then.”

There wasn't any point in arguing with him, I realized. I would have to see Colonel Parsons in the morning. The cows were still loose, and I had to do something about them, anyway. “Thank you, sir,” I said and turned and ran back over the empty spaces of snow toward the training ground. In the brightness of the moonlight it was easy to see the forms of three cattle standing in the middle of the snowy field. As fast as I could I pushed out into the snow toward them. As I came up I saw the fourth cow lying on the ground. It was dead, half-buried in the snow and its belly had been sliced open, its guts glistening wet in the moonlight.

The three living cows were staggering around in the deep snow and bawling unhappily. I found a stick in the treeline at the edge of the field and began driving the cattle home. It was a terrible job. They hated floundering around in the deep snow and balked constantly. It took me over half an hour to get them safely back into the barn. I threw them down some hay and then I went into the tavern.

Mother was sitting in front of the fire, looking worried. “I saw you coming across the road,” she said. “Where's Sam?”

“They arrested him,” I said. “The ones who stole the cattle beat him up, and then they said he'd stolen the cattle himself and marched him off somewhere.”

“Back to the encampment?”

“I guess so,” I said. “They'll let him go in the morning, won't they? I mean all we have to do is explain it, don't we?”

She shook her head. “I have a terrible foreboding, Timothy. I want to pray.”

“The dead cow is still out there, Mother. I want to get it before somebody else does.”

“If we haven't got time to pray to the Lord for help, we haven't got much time at all, have we?” So we got down on our knees and prayed for Sam. Then I got the butchering knives out and we went together into the snow field and cut up the cow. The meat was already beginning to freeze, making it hard to cut. We had to chop it into small pieces, too, because neither of us was strong enough to carry off a whole side of beef by ourselves. It took us an hour of struggling to cut the animal up and carry it home. We hid it in the barn loft under the hay; it would keep well enough in that cold weather.

In the morning I went back to Captain Betts' house to talk to Colonel Parsons. They made me wait around outside the door for half an hour before they let me in. Colonel Parsons seemed nice enough but awfully busy. I told him the story, but he shrugged. “It surprises me that Sam would be taken for a thief. I thought he was a man of greater patriotism than that, but people fool you.”

“He didn't do it, sir. These other men—”

He held his hand up to stop me. “I know, you told me that. In any case there isn't anything I can do. They've taken him out to the encampment, and it'll be up to General Putnam to do what he wants. I'd get out there in a hurry, though. The General is determined to make an example of somebody. It could go hard with Sam. General Putnam is a great and dedicated patriot and he does not take defection from duty lightly.”

Now I was beginning to get worried. At first it had seemed that it wouldn't take much to straighten the mistake out. After all, it was our cows that had been stolen. Surely they'd believe us when we told them Sam hadn't taken them. But the way Colonel Parsons talked about it bothered me. He didn't seem to care very much whether Sam was guilty or not. It didn't seem very important to him. I said so to Mother.

She looked sad. “They've seen so much death, these soldiers. What does the life of one more man mean to them?” She sighed. “Now we must go down to the encampment and try to save him.”

We couldn't both go. One of us had to stay and watch the tavern. We were required by law to keep open most of the time in case travelers came by. In any case, it was risky to leave the place unguarded. We decided that Mother ought to go. She was an adult, her word would go better with General Putnam than mine would. She put on her bonnet and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and started out. I stood in the yard and watched her go down the road until she was merely a black spot in the field of white. Then I went out to the barn to look the cattle over more carefully, in case any of them had been hurt. Not that it mattered much; I was determined to butcher them as soon as I had a chance.

Betsy Read came into the tavern a half hour later. She hadn't bothered to comb her hair properly and she looked scared. “What's happened to Sam? I heard he was arrested for something.”

“For stealing our own cattle,” I said.

She got angry. “Sam didn't do that,” she said.

“I didn't say he did.” I told her the story. “Mother's really worried. I've never seen her so down, not even when we found out Father was dead. She bore up when he got captured and bore up when we learned he'd died, but she isn't bearing up now. She's trying, but she isn't bearing up.”

“It's not having enough to eat,” Betsy said. “You don't have the strength to keep your spirits up.” She sat and dropped her head on the taproom table. “What are we going to do about Sam?”

“I don't know. Mother's finding out.”

“Will they hang him if they think he did it?”

“I don't know,” I said. It seemed a good chance that they would the way everybody was talking about how hard General Putnam was, but I didn't want to think about that. “Probably they would just put him in prison.”

“I wouldn't mind that,” Betsy said. “At least he wouldn't be able to get himself into anymore trouble.” I didn't say anything. All I could think about was Father and Jerry Sanford. “Could your father do anything?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I'll talk to him right away.” She left. I was glad; I didn't want to dwell on Sam. There were plenty of things to do to keep myself busy. Besides my regular chores I had to start getting ready to butcher. This meant putting up hooks for hanging the meat in the barn. We'd never butchered eight head of cattle at one time, and we didn't have the hanging space for them. To occupy my mind I spent my spare moments figuring out the best way to do it.

And of course people kept coming in. There were the usual customers—officers wanting food, ordinary soldiers wanting a chance to get warm, Redding people buying things. There were also people asking about Sam. Word had got around, and people wanted to know what had happened. Mr. Beach came in and Mr. Heron and Captain Betts.

I expected that Mother would be back by noon but she wasn't, and by mid-afternoon I began to worry. I kept looking out the window about every five minutes, but still she didn't come. I got the supper stew started—it was about all we served to anybody anymore. It began to get dark, and then she came in. She looked exhausted. She slumped down in a chair by the fire. I gave her a glass of rum to warm her up, and was about to ask her what had happened, but just then some officers came in wanting dinner and some drinks and we got busy. It wasn't until an hour later when we'd got the officers settled over their rum and water that she could tell me the story out in the kitchen.

She'd had to wait until the middle of the afternoon to see General Putnam. The aides kept putting her off and sending her away, but she stuck it out and finally she got to see him. He was curt; he really didn't want to take the time. She told the story. He merely shrugged. “You see what the problem is, Tim. Those two men who brought him in have sworn it was Sam who stole the animals.” Her voice was slow and tired and hopeless. “Sam wasn't supposed to be here; he was supposed to be on duty with Colonel Parsons at the Betts' house.”

“But Colonel Parsons didn't care, he always let Sam come over and visit.”

“Still, he wasn't supposed to. Officially Sam had deserted his post. Why should they believe Sam about the cattle over the other men? Why should they believe me? I'm his mother, I'd certainly lie to save him.” She paused. “Go out and see if the officers need anything. And bring me some more rum. I'm cold.”

They wouldn't let us see Sam, but a few days later Colonel Read came into the tavern and sat down with Mother and me. He looked serious. “I've been down to the encampment,” he said. “I've talked with some of the officers there. I'm afraid it looks bad for Sam.”

“Would you like some rum, Colonel Read?” Mother asked. Her voice was harsh. “I'm going to have some myself.” Without waiting for him to answer she brought the rum and poured two glasses.

“Thank you,” Colonel Read said.

“Why is it bad for Sam, sir?” I asked.

He sipped at the rum. “Here's the problem. Those soldiers Sam caught with the cattle are scared to death Putnam will simply decide to hang them all as an example. They're prepared to tell any kind of lie about Sam to get themselves off. If it were just Sam's word against somebody else's, it might be different, but there are two of them, and if they tell the same story, they can be convincing.” He shook his head. “Then there's the fact that Sam comes from a Tory family.”

“We're not really Tories, though,” I said. “Father wasn't, none of us are.”

“That's not the way General Putnam's going to see it.”

“But won't there be a trial, sir?” I said.

“Oh yes,” Colonel Read said. “A regular court-martial. There'll be a presiding justice and a board of officers acting as the jury. But we have to face the fact that the board will do whatever they think General Putnam wants. And if they decide that Putnam wants to make an example of somebody, they'll hang—they'll bend over backwards to satisfy him, regardless of the evidence.”

“What can we do?”

“Pray,” Colonel Read said. “Actually there are some others going to be tried at the same time. A butcher named Edward Jones from Ridgefield who was caught spying for the British, another man for stealing shoes and another for desertion, I think. So there's always hope that they'll get enough blood out of the others to let Sam go. His war record is good and that'll help.” The trial was set for February 6th, three weeks away. There was nothing to do but wait it out. I didn't know what to think. I didn't see how they could find Sam guilty—he'd fought for three years, he'd risked his life, how could they decide to punish him for something he hadn't done? It just didn't make sense. Two or three times I went out to the encampment to try to see him, but they wouldn't let me. They had him locked up in a cabin they were using for a prison, but they wouldn't even tell me which one it was, because they were afraid I'd smuggle a weapon to him or help him escape or something. After I'd been out there a couple of times they realized who I was, so they wouldn't even let me into the encampment. I figured I could sneak in after dark if I had to. They'd cut down most of the trees around about for lumber and firewood, but there were rocks on the sides of the steep hill which let down into the encampment, and I figured I could come down in their shadows. But there wasn't any use in trying until I knew where they'd hidden him, so I gave up for the moment and waited.

I was beginning to get worried about Mother. She'd never been one for drinking much—just a glass of rum punch occasionally when she was chilled or sick. But she'd begun to take it more. Not that she was drunk all the time or anything like that. But sometimes I'd come upon her standing by herself with her eyes empty and staring and a little glass of rum in her hands. She'd hardly notice I was there until I spoke to her. It wasn't much as I say, but she was changed, and it bothered me.

Finally February 6th came. Colonel Read came in first thing in the morning. “I'm going out to the encampment,” he said. “I'll bring back news tonight.”

All day long I was so nervous I couldn't eat, I couldn't sit still. I had to keep moving around and I was glad when people came in wanting food or hot drinks so I could keep busy. Once two officers came in and ordered hot rum to warm up with. One of them said, “Did you see any of the court-martial?”

“No,” the other said. “Why bother, Putnam's determined to hang ‘em all anyway.”

I shuddered, but I said nothing.

It was after dark when Colonel Read came in. He was tired; his shoulders were sagging and his face was grim. He didn't have to say anything at all: I knew what had happened.

“Where's your mother?”

“She's out back in the kitchen.”

I went and got her. She stood in the doorway, saying nothing. “Mrs. Meeker, I have bad news. They're going to execute Sam.”

She smiled politely. “That isn't news, Colonel Read. I've known that for three weeks.”

That was the story. The man who had been caught stealing shoes would get a hundred lashes. The deserter would get a hundred lashes. The butcher, Edward Jones, was to be hung. Sam Meeker, cattle thief, was to be shot. The executions would take place on a hill near the encampment on February 16th, a Tuesday. The Sunday before there would be a compulsory church attendance.

It surprised me that I didn't cry or faint or anything like that. I was numb and nervous and nothing more.

And I began making plans. The first thing I did was to go to see Colonel Parsons. He put me off twice because he knew what I was coming for, but as he was quartered next door to us he knew he'd have to see me sooner or later, and finally he did.