20

DESPITE THE SNOW, it did not take me long to reach the college building. A large number of armed soldiers surrounded it, like a living, insurmountable wall. Knowing that it had become a prison, I could no longer think of it as a place of learning. Quite the opposite. Moreover, as I gazed upon the building’s rows of windows, I fancied I could see many people inside. Too many. Even from a distance, I observed inmates crowding and pressing against the windows, as if seeking air. From one window, a hand reached out, like that of someone drowning in the sea.

In the off chance I’d be able to catch a glimpse of William at a window, I drew nearer. Even as I watched, a troop of soldiers, led by officers, emerged from the central door. With disgust, I saw the same portly, red-nosed officer who had marched Nathan Hale to his death leading the way. His lumbering stride was heavy and gross.

I knew his rank and name now—Provost Cunningham—and had learned his history. He had been abused by the Sons of Liberty—was William one of them?—and was now revenging the favor multitimes. Thus does cruelty beget cruelty.

Afraid he would recognize me, I shrank back, but he passed without so much as a glance in my direction. Nonetheless, just to see him gave me a chill harsher than the cold air did.

Seeing the provost reminded me of my brother’s possible fate, and my fears redoubled. Indeed, John André’s words “By the laws of all countries, rebels taken in arms forfeit their lives. They should all be hung” were more than menacing. What if the lieutenant refused to intercede?

With my anxiety telling me that I must act in haste, I clutched my coins tightly and stepped forward. As I went, I tried to decide which of the soldiers I should approach. By that time I had seen so many British soldiers I could read their uniforms. That is to say, I knew which ones were common soldiers, which officers. John André had told me that British officers purchased their commissions. Therefore, since officers were most likely gentlemen, my innocence suggested they would be less inclined to take a bribe. Such reasoning suggested a lower-grade soldier would have more need and be more inclined to help me. So I scanned the line of guards and picked out a young soldier.

He was about the same age as William, with red cheeks and flaxen hair beneath his tall hat. On his shoulder was a musket with a bayonet, taller than he was. As I drew closer, he came to attention.

“Yes, miss,” he said, standing stiffly. “Good morning. You can’t come any further, miss.”

“I know, sir. But I’m searching for my brother. I saw him led into the building, a prisoner.”

“Sorry, miss. Can’t rightly help you.”

“Is there a way to be sure he’s here?”

“Miss, there are some five thousand prisoners in the city.”

I did not move.

The soldier sighed. “The sergeant down the line, miss. He’s got a ledger, but under orders from Provost Cunningham, he’s not to give out names.”

“Is it something you can determine, sir?”

“Not usually, miss.”

I held out my hand. The two shilling pieces Mr. Gaine had given me rested in my palm. “It would be a kindness, sir.”

He stood still, as if considering my request. I observed his eyes move, first to my hand, then along the line of soldiers as if trying to determine if he was being watched.

“Step closer, miss,” he said in an undertone.

I did so, my hand out.

Quick as a flea jump, his free hand snatched the coins.

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“William. William Calderwood.”

“Back off,” said the soldier, “as if going away.”

I retreated some yards. He stood where he had been until I wondered if he was going to do as I asked. Then he shifted and marched down along the line of guards before stopping in front of a man I took to be an officer. They seemed to confer. Their hands touched. I suspect shillings were divided. The officer opened what appeared to be a book.

Back came my soldier. I waited for a few moments, then approached.

When I drew near, he spoke in a low voice to say, “He’s been transferred to the sugarhouse on Crown Street.”

I had no choice but to walk away. My only thought was John André must help us.