by Pam Berkman
Frances and Filigree looked at each other. Something’s wrong.
4
Into the Boston Night
They padded silently through Mr. and Mrs. Revere’s bedroom. It was empty. Filigree made sure his toenails didn’t click on the wooden floor. At the stairway, his ears and nose twitched, alert. He stayed on guard all the way downstairs. Frances’s stepmother sat at the table in the main room, holding Mr. Revere’s leather bag.
Frances darted behind the armchair. Filigree followed. He tried to breathe quietly. They waited for what seemed like a long time.
Finally the door opened. Mr. Revere was back. He strode into the room and walked over to Frances’s stepmother.
“It’s happening, Rachel,” he said. He didn’t sit down. “Warren says the Regulars are heading to Concord tonight to take our supplies.” “Regulars” was another name for Redcoats. “And they’re on their way to arrest Adams and Hancock. I’m going across the river and riding to Lexington to warn them. William Dawes is already on his way there. If one of us is caught, maybe the other will get through.”
Filigree felt Frances tense beside him. He pressed up against her. “And the signal . . . ?” Frances’s stepmother began.
Mr. Revere’s voice was grim. “Our friend Newman is on his way to the Old North Church to hang the lanterns. That will let our men know the Regulars are coming across the river. Our men will ride out to the towns and farms to warn everyone they can.” He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Rachel . . . if I’m caught . . .”
“The Redcoats will be happy to hang the spy Paul Revere,” she finished. “So you’d best keep ahead of them.” She slung his leather bag over his shoulder.
Mr. Revere walked out into the night.
“Stay alive,” Frances’s stepmother whispered to the closed door. She shut the latch. Filigree saw her feet go by as she walked upstairs.
As soon as she was gone, Filigree sprang onto the armchair. Frances stood up. She was trembling. “Hang the spy Paul Revere! Oh, Filigree!” She bent down to bury her nose in his fur. He woofed in sympathy.
“I’m going after him!” Frances whispered. “I can warn him if anyone follows him. I’m so small, those Lobsterbacks won’t even see me.”
Me either, Filigree thought. He jumped down from the chair.
“Are you coming with me?” Frances asked.
Of course I am. Filigree was already running toward the door. The patriots would need all the help they could get.
Frances put on her shoes.
Filigree felt a twinge.
Take care of my girl, Mr. Revere had said that day he brought Filigree home. I’m trusting you.
Maybe she shouldn’t go.
But to protect Frances, Filigree had to protect the patriots. Especially her father. Besides, he knew that Frances would go no matter what. If she went, he was going with her.
Frances reached up and unlatched the door so slowly, it didn’t make any noise. She opened the door a crack. Filigree nudged it farther so they could both slip through. They stepped outside together.
They had only taken a few steps when a booming voice stopped them.
“What are you doing here?” it demanded.
Filigree’s left front paw froze in midair.
He looked way, way up. Right into the face of General Gage, leader of the Redcoat army.
5
General Gage
The general towered over them. His jaw looked as set and still as stone. Filigree felt miles and miles below him, as if General Gage were a tree or a mountain sticking up through the clouds.
Filigree shook like the mouse that Anvil had cornered by the stove that morning.
They were caught.
Then the general spoke.
“Why, if it isn’t Pudding!” he exclaimed. He put his hands on his knees. “Mrs. Banks’s little Pomeranian!” He patted Filigree’s head. “I didn’t realize she’d left you in Boston. What are you doing out at this hour? Are you lost?”
He’s only talking to me! Filigree realized. He doesn’t see Frances!
Filigree could just hear Frances breathing fast behind him. She must be curled in the deep frame of the low window peeking into the Revere’s cellar. That was another of her favorite spying places. She was hidden—for now.
His next thought was, Please don’t let anyone in the patriot pack hear General Gage call me Pudding.
They would never stop laughing at him. And that was nothing compared to what they would do if they found out that he knew General Gage! The general used to come to tea with Mrs. Banks. She called him “Thomas My Lad” and his American wife “Peggy Dear.” Filigree always found it hard to believe that Thomas My Lad was the same person as the fearsome General Gage.
He had to make sure the general didn’t look Frances’s way. If General Gage saw a little girl out at night, he would start knocking on doors, including the one at 19 North Square. He would find out that Mr. Revere wasn’t home in bed like he should have been.
Filigree jumped up and licked the general’s nose. Then he ran in a circle and yipped. That was how they used to play together. “That’s my Pudding!” the general laughed.
Suddenly the smell of gunpowder and damp wool wafted under Filigree’s nose. It got closer and closer. There was no mistaking that smell—the scent of a Redcoat uniform. Then he heard the quick clomp-clomp of a soldier walking briskly up to them. General Gage stood up straight as a musket and stopped laughing.
“General,” the soldier said. “I’m sorry to tell you, sir. We have word that the rebels know about our plans. Some of them might try to cross the Charles River tonight to warn their militia that we’re coming.”
The general’s voice reminded Filigree of Jove when he growled. “I want more patrols at the river, Captain,” he said. “Order them to arrest anyone at the river’s edge or anyone who tries to cross it. If they have to shoot those rebel villains, shoot them.”
“Yes, sir,” said the captain. As he turned, his buttons flashed in the moonlight. He clomped away even faster than he had come.
“I’m sorry, Pudding,” General Gage said. “I can’t play tonight.”
He took a piece of shortbread out of his pocket and tossed it to Filigree. Filigree gulped it down. He knew General Gage was the enemy, but he hadn’t had dinner. And shortbread was shortbread.
The general stomped off.
Small hands grabbed Filigree. Frances had come up behind him. She pulled him close.
“We have to get to the river before Papa does,” she said. “We have to warn him the Redcoats know what he’s doing!” She set Filigree down and ran.
Above Filigree, a low meow sounded. He looked up at the windowsill. Anvil’s unblinking amber eyes gazed down at him. She had a dead mouse in her mouth. Its tail hung down like a string. She crunched and swallowed.
“Was that Redcoat shortbread tasty?” she mewed. “Not much of a patriot, are you? Pudding.” Then she leaped out of sight.
“More than you are,” Filigree muttered.
Frances was already far ahead of him. Filigree took off after her. He caught up with her at the corner of Charter Street and Henchman Lane.
“I’m going to be Papa’s eyes and ears, Filigree,” Frances whispered. “I’m going to ride with him.”
Filigree wasn’t at all sure that Mr. Revere would let her do that. Either way, he would stay by her side.
They hurried up Lynn Street toward the river. Frances moved so quickly, Filigree had to run to keep up.
The paving stones were still slick from the rain earlier that day. Colorless mists swirled like ghosts out of doorways and alleys.
They had just passed the entrance to Baker’s Shipyard near the water when Filigree heard paws padding on packed dirt.
He smelled dogs in the shipyard. But there was no Rosie or Scout or even Jove.
These dogs were the enemy. The pack loyal to the British. And they were on his trail.
6
The Loyalist P
ack
Filigree let Frances run on ahead. He turned back toward the shipyard and the loyalist dogs.
He couldn’t let them follow Frances. If they did, they’d find Mr. Revere. They’d start up a yapping that could wake King George himself across the ocean. Redcoats would come running.
He dashed into the shipyard and waited. He could see a half-built ship, a schooner, looming up on a frame. It looked like a giant’s wooden skeleton. A foxhound stepped from the shadows beneath it.
“Hello, Queenie,” Filigree said.
The leader of the loyalist dogs stood very still. Her tail curved high above her. “Why, look who’s here,” she said. “If it isn’t that little turncoat, Pudding.” She didn’t snarl, like Jove might have. She sounded cool and calm. Which was much worse.
Her pack marched out of the darkness at the edges of the shipyard. They formed two straight lines behind Queenie. Filigree recognized a tall poodle named Chaucer, and Biscuit and Gravy, twin terriers. Half a dozen other dogs—setters, mastiffs, collies—stood with them. They were all perfectly washed and combed and trimmed. But they were tough. And they were all bigger than Filigree.
“Forward!” ordered Queenie. The pack stalked toward Filigree in formation. They crossed the big square of ground where the boats were built. They surrounded him beneath the moonlight.
“He’s not Pudding anymore,” Biscuit said. “He has a new name now.”
“What is it?” Gravy laughed. “Custard?”
Filigree growled. He loved his name. Frances had given it to him.
“It’s Filigree,” Queenie said. “Because he belongs to that traitor silversmith. The spy Paul Revere. You know what we do to traitors and spies, don’t you, Filigree?”
The entire pack lowered their heads and growled.
“We dump them in the river,” Chaucer woofed.
Filigree couldn’t let them get to the river and see Mr. Revere!
What would Jove do? He would stop them!
Earlier, in the fight with the Redcoats, Filigree’s aim had been off. This time, he’d do better.
“You just try it!” he woofed.
He hurled himself at Queenie as hard as he could.
It felt like hitting a brick wall. He fell. Before he could get back up, Biscuit shoved him with his muzzle. Filigree rolled over twice. He jumped on Biscuit’s back. Gravy knocked him off.
“Take the little traitor prisoner!” barked Queenie. “To the river!” The loyalist pack closed in on Filigree. A big collie picked him up by the scruff of his neck. Filigree struggled as hard as he could. It did no good.
Then Filigree heard loud barking and paws running up the street. Rosie, Scout, and the other patriot dogs raced into the shipyard. They jumped on the loyalists.
“We heard Queenie!” Scout growled.
“We told you to stay out of our way!” Rosie barked. She butted at the collie until he dropped Filigree. “We have better things to do tonight than rescue you!”
“I don’t need rescuing!” Filigree barked, even though it wasn’t true.
He watched Rosie chase Chaucer back under the skeleton ship. Scout and a large hound struggled with Queenie. Filigree scrambled toward them.
“Get out of here!” cried Scout. “You can’t do any good!” Filigree wanted to sink into the ground.
“I’m staying to fight!” he woofed.
But he couldn’t. Frances needed him to help her watch over Mr. Revere. He had to go to her, no matter what the patriot pack thought of him.
It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but Filigree ran from the shipyard. The sounds of the fight got farther away. He saw a small dark shape moving down Lynn Street toward him. Frances was coming back for him. He ran to meet her.
“There you are!” Frances panted. “I saw Papa go down Freeman’s wharf!”
All along the river, wharves stuck out into the water. Filigree and Frances raced toward one of them. At the end of it, Mr. Revere moved like a dark ghost. As they watched, he jumped down under the wharf.
“He must have a boat hidden!” Frances whispered.
Filigree’s nose twitched.
Gunpowder. Damp wool.
Three Redcoats rounded the corner and marched down the wharf—right toward Mr. Revere.
7
Freeman’s Wharf
Filigree’s tail shot straight up. Frances froze. They stumbled into the shadows of the barrels and crates that lined the wharf.
“They’ll see Papa,” Frances gasped. She knelt and looked into Filigree’s eyes.
“Listen, Filigree,” she said firmly. “The Lobsterbacks will see me if I go to Papa, and then they’ll see him, too. But they won’t notice you. I’m going to distract them. I can’t be his eyes and ears now. You have to be. Stay here until I get rid of the soldiers. Then go on with Papa without me.”
No! Filigree thought. He couldn’t let her do that! He was supposed to take care of her—forever! That was why he’d made such a fool of himself in the shipyard. He couldn’t fail at this, too!
Frances stood. She walked away from him. Filigree scampered after her.
Frances turned. “Stay,” she mouthed. Oh, Frances! Filigree thought. But he stayed. He still tensed his back legs, ready to get to her if she needed him.
She ran out in front of the soldiers. All three men stopped short and looked down at her.
“In heaven’s name, what are you doing out here??” one of them said. “Little girl, it’s dangerous to be out tonight.”
“Where are your parents?” said the second one. “Where do you live?”
“On Essex Street,” Frances lied.
“That’s all the way on the other side of Boston!” the first Redcoat said.
“I want to go home,” Frances said. “But, um . . . I saw . . .”
Filigree could tell she was trying to think of something. He panted with worry. What if the Redcoats figured out she was tricking them?
“A bear!” Frances said at last. “I saw a bear on Foster Lane!”
The soldiers laughed. The third one, who looked as big as a bear himself, said, “I don’t think there are any bears in Boston, little girl.”
“Yes, yes, there is. I saw it!” Frances said.
The soldier snickered. “Still, we can’t have you wandering around alone at night,” he said. “Especially tonight.”
“I’d rather take her home than stay here and deal with the Yankee rebels,” said one of the others. He popped a walnut into his mouth. “And we’re supposed to keep the Boston children safe.”
They began to lead Frances away. Filigree couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t leave her in the hands of Redcoats.
He took a step toward her.
A large ball of fur plopped down in front of him from the roof of a shed.
It was Anvil.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she spat. “Frances told you to go!”
Filigree couldn’t believe his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“You think you’re the only patriot in the house? I’ve been keeping an eye on the two of you all the way from North Square. I’ll get her home. You know her; she’ll slip away from them. She knows every doorway and alley in Boston. And the Lobsterbacks aren’t allowed to hurt children. You have to make sure Mr. Revere gets to Lexington.”
“I thought your job was catching mice! Why do you suddenly care about the patriots?” Filigree demanded.
Anvil hissed, “I’ve been a patriot since you were a pup. We just didn’t know if we could trust you. You lived with that loyalist for years. We’re still not sure about you. But we don’t have a choice.”
“Who’s we?” Filigree asked. He looked up. At least a dozen cats of all shapes and sizes were hiding in the shadows. They crouched on top of barrels and peered out of crates.
“We’re ready when you are, General,” one of them meowed to Anvil.
“General?” Filigree repeated. “You’re a general?”
Then he shook himself.
“I won’t leave Frances!” he insisted.
Anvil swatted him across the nose. “Mr. Revere needs you now! Are you a patriot or not? Or do you only want to help when it’s easy?”
Filigree looked toward Frances. She was turning a corner with the soldiers.
GO! she mouthed over her shoulder. Please!
“Go,” said Anvil. “I’ll watch over her.”
Anvil slunk away to follow the Redcoats and Frances. One by one, the other cats stalked after him.
Filigree looked at Frances one last time. Then he made his decision.
He ran down to the very end of the wharf.
He jumped from the wooden planks onto the sand below. Mr. Revere and two other men were tugging and pulling at something. It was a rowboat.
“Softly as you can, Thomas,” Mr. Revere whispered. “Joshua, take care of the oars.”
Joshua nodded. He tied lengths of cloth around the iron oarlocks. It made them quieter. He looked up and saw Filigree.
“Revere,” he said, “we have a visitor. Isn’t that your dog?”
Mr. Revere turned.
“Good heavens! What are you doing out here, Filigree?” His face was stern. “Go home, boy.”
Filigree stayed where he was.
“Bad dog. Home!” Mr. Revere pointed toward North Square.
Filigree thought his heart would rip in two. No one had ever called him a bad dog. Not once.
“Now!” Mr. Revere said, still pointing. He stared until Filigree started to walk away. Then Mr. Revere turned back to the boat.
Filigree wanted more than anything to be a good dog. But Mr. Revere needed him, even if he didn’t know it. Filigree stopped walking and looked back at the river.
He had always gone home when he was told to. Mr. Revere wouldn’t think he would disobey now.
The men slipped the boat into the water. Mr. Revere got in while the other two held it.