Sophia's War: Chapters 10–19

The officer touched his hat in a salute and made a slight bow. “Madam,” I heard him say in a bright, cheerful fashion, “your most humble servant. Lieutenant John André, Seventh Foot, Royal Fusiliers.”

The officer turned and I truly saw him. He was a youngish man of middling height, olive complexioned, with black hair and a cheerful, graceful air.

Instead, in what I thought was a haughty, frosty manner (childishly contrived), I walked past him and into the house.

Instead, in what I thought was a haughty, frosty manner (childishly contrived), I walked past him and into the house.

"And when I tell you that I have only lately come from the wilds of Pennsylvania, where I was held a prisoner by a greasy committee of dullards, you may believe I’m heartily delighted to be here.”

“My husband, Mr. Calderwood, is in bed, in the back room. In all candor, sir, I must tell you he was wounded in the fighting.”

The courteous mode that he had displayed when he first came to our house did not abate. Talkative, cheerful, and engaging, he played the part of a guest, rather than someone forced upon us.

Good-naturedly, he accused my father of being a “Leveler,” of wanting to make all men equal. Yet, for all that, he talked and debated with Father in an amiable, civilized fashion.

To me he was chivalrous as any imagined prince.

Once he even brought me a blue ribbon for my hair, which I was captivated to have.

New York City did not resume what it was. The streets were ever more thronged with enemy soldiers.

When I was out, I had to become accustomed to vulgarity, aggravation, and insults.

Some mornings, when I went to market, I would see the word “liberty” or “freedom” scrawled on walls, perhaps with bits of burnt wood from the great fire.

André read me poetry, some of it his. He even offered to take me to a soldiers’ ball. I was all eagerness, but when he made application to my mother, she, to my mortification, said no.

I daresay I liked the thought of myself—for the first time—in such a bemused and pleasant state.

Though my emotions remained in a state of constant flux, I worked hard to keep them silent.

“His name does not signify. I know you spoke with badinage, but I should advise you, such talk is taken seriously by my superiors. Respect for traitors is a grave matter. You must not, Miss Calderwood, let even one taint of this rebellion stain you. It could cause you and your family much harm.”

When I told John André that I needed to go to Hanover Square, he obligingly offered to accompany me.

Consider my happiness: me, an altogether smitten girl, his blue ribbon in my hair—worn like a love token—walking about town on the arm of a handsome officer in a smart red uniform.

The lieutenant and I were thus walking along Broad Street in the North Ward when we came upon a troop of men herded on by armed redcoats. Since Fort Washington had recently fallen, I supposed these men were prisoners from that rout.

At first I was not even sure it was he. I had to look extra hard, for the face I saw was besmeared with filth, and his clothing soiled and torn. There was, moreover, a cloth wrapped round his right thigh. He limped. Overall, this person was in a deplorable state.

“Come, come, Miss Calderwood, rebellion does not suit you,” he said in his lighthearted fashion. “Let grown men take care of such matters. A maid should not pay any mind to disputed polities.”

Flabbergasted—how could I ignore my brother!—I said nothing, but gaped at André as if he were a stranger.

Moments later, I stopped and watched the lieutenant sauntering away. My primary thought was I have put my family in peril.

“William!” I cried again, in as loud and unladylike a voice as I could muster. “William! It’s me! Sophia!”

As William stumbled, I stifled the scream in my throat.

I had the wits to let the line of prisoners pass. But only briefly. Short of breath, heart racing, greatly disconcerted, I began to follow again, this time making sure I stayed behind the prisoners.

They were, I now grasped, going to the King’s College, a wide, tall building, with an elegant cupola top center.

I was reminded of the old adage: Nothing makes one older than knowing how young you are.

It was said that he was a successful man, yet I never saw him dressed other than in the simplest fashion, a suit of brown homespun cloth.

Reluctantly, I told them what had happened when I saw William on the street. At first their response was to say nothing but to look intently at me, so that I hardly knew what to make of their thoughts. Was it censure or sympathy?

When Father put out his good hand, I gave him the papers. After a quick perusal, he said to me, “With your help, we’ll do them easily.”

Mother, having convinced herself that John André was going to provide assistance, was much more at ease; I was not about to share my forebodings.

There was a lull in our conversation, after which Mother suddenly said, “Sophia, there is something I need to say to you about Lieutenant André.”

“It is wonderful that the lieutenant will help us,” she said. “But, Sophia, you are showing a reckless infatuation with him.”

He must have sensed our mood, for he said, “Is something amiss?”

Which is why, though in fact he said nothing, I had bravado enough to call, “Lieutenant, is there anything that has made you regret your staying here?”

She left the room, tactfully giving me time to compose myself.

Grateful for her consideration, I knelt to work the coals into a smoldering heap so that they would remain until morning.

Perhaps I paled, for she showed smug satisfaction at having educated me.