was dashing down the street after Abner. She glanced up at him and then back at the pail, just as he dodged out of her way, hurrying to keep up with Abner.
In that instant, though, their heads jerked back to face each other. And they stood stunned, the world around them stopped.
“Sa … Samuel?” She dropped the bucket to the ground, reaching out her hand, cracked and red and worn, to gently touch his cheek. “Are you … We thought you were … after the attack … Is it … is it really you?”
Samuel couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. “I … We …”
And then they were holding each other, both crying, until Abner said:
“Leave off! Dammit, leave off! People are watching. Back away!”
They moved away from each other. She was very thin and drawn and looked so small, Samuel thought. “Father? Is he …?”
“Down the road, in that big building. An old sugar mill, full of men, prisoners. I work in this house”—she pointed—“cleaning. I get a corner to sleep in and leftover and scrap food, which I take to your father each night. I’m a prisoner, too, but this family treats me fairly.” She stopped. “What happened to your head?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s scarred—”
“Tell us about the prisoners,” Abner cut in. “Everything you know.”
She looked at Abner, then at Samuel. “He’s helping me,” Samuel said. “Tell him. Everything.”
“Helping you what?”
“We don’t have time now, Mother. Tell him what he asks.” Samuel worried they’d be caught talking and she’d have to go in. “Please.”
“The prisoners are barely fed. Your father can hardly stand or walk.”
“Guards,” Abner said. “How many guards?”
“There are guards inside with the prisoners. At the door—two. But one sleeps almost all the time. The other is by the main door. The back door is nailed and boarded shut. There’s only one way out. If there was a fire—”
“Can you get a private message to your husband? Today or early tonight?”
She nodded. “When I bring the food. The guard goes through it and takes anything good. It’s such a small amount, you’d think he’d just let it be. But I will find a way to hide a message.”
“Tell him to be at the front door at midnight, at the middle of the night if he hasn’t a watch. Tell him to be there hiding close by the guard. Alone. Just him, understand?”
“Yes.”
“Can you slip out at midnight?” Abner was abrupt, terse. “Right here, at midnight?”
“I will. There are a lot of drunken soldiers on the street at night. But yes.”
“All right. Do that. Tell your husband to get by the door at midnight alone, and you be out here at midnight or just a few minutes after.”
She nodded, looking from Abner to Samuel.
“We’ll come for you then, if everything works right. Now say your goodbyes and get back in the house before we get discovered.”
“Samuel,” she said, turning toward him, “you’re sure you’re all right?”
“Everything will be right after tonight, Mother.”
“Please, please, be careful. I thought you were dead and I just got you back. I can’t lose you again.”
“Go inside,” he whispered. He almost smiled. Telling him to be careful now, after all that had happened—that horse was well and truly gone from the barn. “We’ll be back later.”
They looked at each other. She smiled, her lips trembling, staring at him as if to memorize his face. Then, at last, she picked up the slop bucket and went back into the house.
Prisoners of the British
During the war, at least sixteen British hulks—ships that had been damaged and abandoned—lay in the waters off the shores of New York City as floating prisons. Over ten thousand prisoners died of intentional neglect—starvation and untreated disease. Their bodies were tossed overboard into the harbor or buried in shallow graves at the shoreline by fellow prisoners.
CHAPTER
17
D arkness.
Like the inside of a dead cow. There had been a sliver
In that instant, though, their heads jerked back to face each other. And they stood stunned, the world around them stopped.
“Sa … Samuel?” She dropped the bucket to the ground, reaching out her hand, cracked and red and worn, to gently touch his cheek. “Are you … We thought you were … after the attack … Is it … is it really you?”
Samuel couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. “I … We …”
And then they were holding each other, both crying, until Abner said:
“Leave off! Dammit, leave off! People are watching. Back away!”
They moved away from each other. She was very thin and drawn and looked so small, Samuel thought. “Father? Is he …?”
“Down the road, in that big building. An old sugar mill, full of men, prisoners. I work in this house”—she pointed—“cleaning. I get a corner to sleep in and leftover and scrap food, which I take to your father each night. I’m a prisoner, too, but this family treats me fairly.” She stopped. “What happened to your head?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s scarred—”
“Tell us about the prisoners,” Abner cut in. “Everything you know.”
She looked at Abner, then at Samuel. “He’s helping me,” Samuel said. “Tell him. Everything.”
“Helping you what?”
“We don’t have time now, Mother. Tell him what he asks.” Samuel worried they’d be caught talking and she’d have to go in. “Please.”
“The prisoners are barely fed. Your father can hardly stand or walk.”
“Guards,” Abner said. “How many guards?”
“There are guards inside with the prisoners. At the door—two. But one sleeps almost all the time. The other is by the main door. The back door is nailed and boarded shut. There’s only one way out. If there was a fire—”
“Can you get a private message to your husband? Today or early tonight?”
She nodded. “When I bring the food. The guard goes through it and takes anything good. It’s such a small amount, you’d think he’d just let it be. But I will find a way to hide a message.”
“Tell him to be at the front door at midnight, at the middle of the night if he hasn’t a watch. Tell him to be there hiding close by the guard. Alone. Just him, understand?”
“Yes.”
“Can you slip out at midnight?” Abner was abrupt, terse. “Right here, at midnight?”
“I will. There are a lot of drunken soldiers on the street at night. But yes.”
“All right. Do that. Tell your husband to get by the door at midnight alone, and you be out here at midnight or just a few minutes after.”
She nodded, looking from Abner to Samuel.
“We’ll come for you then, if everything works right. Now say your goodbyes and get back in the house before we get discovered.”
“Samuel,” she said, turning toward him, “you’re sure you’re all right?”
“Everything will be right after tonight, Mother.”
“Please, please, be careful. I thought you were dead and I just got you back. I can’t lose you again.”
“Go inside,” he whispered. He almost smiled. Telling him to be careful now, after all that had happened—that horse was well and truly gone from the barn. “We’ll be back later.”
They looked at each other. She smiled, her lips trembling, staring at him as if to memorize his face. Then, at last, she picked up the slop bucket and went back into the house.
Prisoners of the British
During the war, at least sixteen British hulks—ships that had been damaged and abandoned—lay in the waters off the shores of New York City as floating prisons. Over ten thousand prisoners died of intentional neglect—starvation and untreated disease. Their bodies were tossed overboard into the harbor or buried in shallow graves at the shoreline by fellow prisoners.
CHAPTER
17
D arkness.
Like the inside of a dead cow. There had been a sliver
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