by Pam Berkman
Mr. Revere didn’t say anything. He just walked over to a chair, sat in it, and started to put on his spurs. Dawes nodded at him. He didn’t even sit down.
“You’ve been riding all night, Revere,” Clarke said. “It’s after midnight. You’re exhausted. You too, Dawes. We’ll find someone else.”
“We have to make sure at least one rider gets through to Concord,” Mr. Revere answered. He stood up. “And you know very well there are no better riders than Dawes and me.”
“He’s just being nice about Mr. Dawes,” Filigree told Jove proudly. “Everyone knows Mr. Revere is the fastest rider in Massachusetts.”
John Hancock picked up his sword. “I’ll go!” he boomed. “I’ll fight any Regular who gets in my way.”
“That fool,” Jove muttered.
Mr. Adams took the sword from Mr. Hancock. “Now, John,” he said. “We’ve talked about this.”
“I’ll get the horses,” said Mr. Dawes. “Adams, Hancock—you head to Watertown, away from the Regulars. Revere, I’ll meet you outside.”
Mr. Revere walked to the door. Filigree started to follow and then stopped. Mr. Revere had been so angry with him for following before.
Jove shoved him with his nose. “What are you waiting for?” he barked.
Mr. Revere turned back.
“Coming, boy?” he said. “Can’t do it without you.”
Filigree’s heart soared like an eagle. He had never felt this way before. He ran to Mr. Revere. Together they set out into the night.
12
Capture
“I see them, boy,” Mr. Revere breathed. Two Redcoat officers sat on their horses at a narrow bend in the road. Filigree didn’t dare bark or even whimper. He had warned Mr. Revere by nudging him on the chest with his nose.
After they’d left Reverend Clarke’s house, they’d run into another rider, Mr. Prescott. He was a Son of Liberty and had offered to help. So now there were three of them trying to get to Concord.
Mr. Prescott and Mr. Dawes were behind them. Mr. Revere called quietly, “Dawes! Prescott! Regulars straight ahead! There are only two of them. We can get through.”
But something was wrong. Filigree knew it. There weren’t just two Redcoat scents.
They were everywhere.
Frantically he pushed his head against Mr. Revere. He even barked. It was too late.
Two other Redcoats emerged from the woods. All four rode toward Mr. Revere. Their swords were in their hands. Their pistols were at their sides.
“Stop!” one of them shouted. “If you go an inch further, you are a dead man!”
Right then, Mr. Prescott and Mr. Dawes rode up. The three patriots spurred their horses forward. They were going to try to ride through all the soldiers! Brown Beauty called a challenge and galloped. Faster, faster! Filigree pleaded silently.
But the soldiers rode straight toward the patriots. They drew their pistols.
“Into that pasture or we’ll shoot!” they called. Filigree heard the sharp clicks of them cocking their guns. The patriots stopped. They were surrounded.
One of the soldiers pointed to a pasture at the side of the road. The Redcoats herded the three patriot riders toward it.
Why couldn’t I find a way to tell him there were so many? Filigree said to himself. I should have found a way.
Brown Beauty whinnied angrily. Mr. Revere shushed her. But Filigree had understood her even if Mr. Revere couldn’t. “Can you get away, dog?” she’d asked. “Go for help?”
How? thought Filigree, though he didn’t dare even snuffle.
Suddenly he heard Mr. Prescott’s voice. “PUT ON!” Mr. Prescott cried at the top of his lungs. Brown Beauty took off at full speed. Filigree heard Mr. Prescott’s horse galloping to the left. Brown Beauty was headed for the woods beyond the pasture. Mr. Revere was half standing in his saddle.
“What’s he doing?” Filigree cried under the sound of Brown Beauty’s gallop.
“It’s a trick we’ve used before,” Brown Beauty answered. “If he jumps off when we’re hidden by the trees, the soldiers might not see him. They’ll follow me instead. And then they’d better watch out.”
Filigree braced himself to land hard.
Brown Beauty’s hooves pounded. Filigree lost track of Mr. Prescott and Mr. Dawes. Brown Beauty came closer and closer to the trees. It looked like she was going to run into a tall pine. He told himself that neither Mr. Revere nor Brown Beauty would let that happen. The smells of Redcoats and horses were all around them. He couldn’t tell one scent from another. But they were almost to the safety of the woods. They were going to make it!
Something moved at the corner of Filigree’s eye. Six more Redcoats on horseback emerged from the trees, three on each side of Brown Beauty.
Three of them grabbed her bridle. She reared up, but the men hung on. Filigree ducked down so the flap of the bag hid his head, but he could still see out. Brown Beauty landed back on all four hooves.
A second later, six Redcoat pistols were pressed against Mr. Revere’s chest.
13
Escape!
“Get down off that horse!” barked one of the soldiers.
Mr. Revere did.
Redcoats surrounded him. Filigree didn’t see Mr. Dawes or Mr. Prescott anywhere. He saw several other prisoners, though. The Redcoats had been busy.
One of the soldiers spoke. Filigree thought he must be the officer in charge.
“Where have you come from, sir?” he asked. Filigree was surprised at how polite he was.
“Why, Boston,” Mr. Revere answered, just as politely.
The officer paused. “Sir, may I crave your name?”
“Revere.”
“What?” said the officer. “Paul Revere?”
“Yes.”
“The Yankee spy?” one of the men grunted.
Filigree was frantic. Why was Mr. Revere telling them who he was?
Some of the soldiers began to shout insults. One of them shoved Mr. Revere hard. Another grabbed him from behind by both arms. A third put his face right up into Mr. Revere’s. “Rebel villain!” he shouted.
Filigree forced himself not to growl. He couldn’t help Mr. Revere if he was seen or heard. He ducked down all the way into the bag.
The officer in charge spoke. “Enough!” he thundered. “We are not ruffians, we are British officers! And we will behave with honor and courtesy! Take your hands from that man.”
Filigree couldn’t see what was going on, but he felt Mr. Revere shrug off the soldiers. He heard Brown Beauty scrape her hoof in the dirt. He realized the Redcoats must still be holding her. He could imagine how she was glaring at them.
The officer in charge said, “Don’t be afraid, sir. I’ll guarantee your safety as long as you behave with honor yourself.”
“If I were you,” said Mr. Revere, “I wouldn’t waste time worrying about me. You’ve treated me decently, sir. I’ll do the same and give you a warning. Your plans are known. There will be five hundred patriots in Lexington soon. They might already be there waiting for you. And your fellow soldiers are not coming to help you. Your boats all ran aground. They’re stuck in the mud in the Charles River.”
No, they’re not, thought Filigree. Mr. Revere is tricking them.
Mr. Revere kept talking. “If you value your lives, you’ll get away from Lexington and Concord and go back to Boston as quick as you can.”
Filigree heard the stunned silence that followed this. One of the officers said, “That’s impossible. We have fifteen hundred men on the way.” The tension in his voice told Filigree he wasn’t so sure.
“Do we?” said another. He sounded nervous.
“I’ll find out,” said the officer in charge. “Come with me, Captain.” Filigree heard horses galloping away.
“I’ve got to get them to think the militia is already in Lexington,” Mr. Revere said under his breath. No one but Filigree could have heard him. “I’ve got to keep them away from there.”
Now Filigree
understood why Mr. Revere had told the officers the truth about who he was. It was to gain their trust. Now they would believe the other things he said. He couldn’t fight them all, so he was trying to outsmart them.
A snarling British voice made Filigree flinch. “I’m going to ask you some questions,” it said. “And I’m not as pleasant as our commanding officer. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll blow your brains out.”
Filigree heard the sound of a pistol being cocked. Brown Beauty neighed angrily. Filigree choked on his breath.
Mr. Revere sounded as calm as if he were discussing a silver teapot with a customer in his shop. “I don’t know what right you think you have to stop me on the road and make me your prisoner,” he said. “But I’m a truthful man, and I’ll tell you the truth. I’m not afraid.”
I am, thought Filigree.
The soldier asked the same questions the other man had. Mr. Revere gave the same answers. When he said again that there were five hundred militia men waiting in Lexington, the soldier lost his temper.
“Why would Paul Revere, the rebel spy, want us to stay away from Lexington?” he shouted. “To save our lives? I don’t think so. I don’t believe you do have any armed men there. What’s in Lexington that you don’t want us to see, Revere? We’re going there, and you’re coming with us. Search him for pistols, men!”
The other officers patted Mr. Revere all over. Filigree curled himself up as small as he could in the corner of the bag.
It did no good. A soldier grabbed it and felt something inside. He opened it. He burst out laughing. He tore the bag off Mr. Revere and shook it out. Filigree fell to the ground.
“Look at this!” the soldier cried. “The great spy Paul Revere’s got a little lapdog with him!”
Filigree scrambled to his feet. He was surrounded by a circle of Redcoats. “I am NOT a lapdog!” he growled at them. “I’m a patriot!”
“Shh, boy. Careful,” Mr. Revere whispered between his teeth.
All the soldiers were laughing at Filigree now. The Redcoats thought he was a joke. They’d never met a patriot dog before. And this time, Filigree knew it wouldn’t help to fight them. He had a better idea.
“Distract the Redcoats,” he woofed to Brown Beauty. “Um, please?”
“Gladly,” Brown Beauty said. She lowered her head and kicked up her back legs. Then she reared up and screamed in fury. The British shouted and grabbed at her.
Filigree darted between one of the officers’ legs. The officer reached down to grab him, but Filigree was too quick. He slipped through his hands.
“Here, catch him!” called the man.
“It’s just a silly little dog,” said the mean officer. “Grab that mare!”
“Calm down, girl,” Filigree heard Mr. Revere say to Brown Beauty. Filigree didn’t know if either of them had seen him escape.
“Get on your horse, Revere,” an officer said. “We’re going to Lexington. If you try to get away, we’ll shoot you. Grab his reins, one of you.”
Filigree didn’t hear anything else. He was already rushing into the woods.
If Mr. Revere couldn’t keep the men away from Mr. Hancock and Mr. Adams in Lexington, maybe he could.
But he had no idea how.
14
The Plan
Filigree flung himself down next to the belfry at the edge of Lexington Common. He’d never run so far and fast in his life. He’d done it in short bursts. All he cared about was staying ahead of the Redcoat patrol. If he hadn’t jumped on a wagon full of wood heading past the town, he would never have made it in time.
He was covered in mud from his paws to his ears. Even his nose was full of mud. He’d had to cross the swamp by the graveyard to stay out of sight.
The houses of the town were dark, but light from Buckman Tavern spilled out across the road. Now that Filigree was here, he wasn’t sure what to do. If he went back to Reverend Clarke’s house without Mr. Revere, they would guess that something was wrong. But there was no way for him to tell them about having to keep the patrol away. And the house was past the far end of town. By the time Filigree got there, it might be too late.
Something huge and dog-shaped crossed in front of Buckman Tavern. Relief washed over Filigree. Only one dog could be that big. Jove would know what to do!
Filigree ran toward him. And straight into a man hiding beside the little shed that stood between the belfry and the tavern. Filigree’s nose was so full of mud, he hadn’t smelled a thing.
In the moonlight, Filigree saw that the man was tall with a pale face. It was the Redcoat from the fight that afternoon on Back Street! The same one who had tried to smash Jove’s head in! But he wasn’t wearing a uniform. He was in ordinary clothes. He stared at Filigree.
“YOU. LITTLE. RAT!” he whispered.
There weren’t supposed to be any British soldiers in Lexington yet.
“Everyone laughed at me,” the Redcoat growled. “Said I couldn’t even fight a yippy little dog. The captain said I was useless and sent me here to wait in the dark.”
He’s a spy! Filigree realized.
Another man stepped out from behind the shed. It was the shorter Redcoat from that afternoon. He wore ordinary clothes too.
The tall soldier swung his musket off his shoulder. “I’ll teach you to get in the way of one of King George’s best fighters!” he snarled at Filigree. He reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a paper wad stuffed with what smelled like gunpowder. Within seconds, he’d cocked the gun, bit off the top of the paper wad, and poured some powder into the firing pan. Then he stuffed the rest of the wad into the barrel of the musket. His gun was loaded!
Filigree bolted across the road to the tavern. He swerved sharply back and forth.
The Redcoat fired. The dirt just to the left of Filigree exploded. He yipped and kept on running.
“You fool!” he heard the shorter Redcoat whisper. “We’re supposed to be quiet! That shot could be heard all the way to Charlestown! If you fire again, I swear I’ll tell General Gage himself. Understand? I’m going to see what’s happening across the Common. You stay here and be quiet.” Filigree heard him stomp away.
Filigree reached Jove. His ears hurt from the sound of the shot, and he was panting so hard, his ribs ached. “There are Redcoats hiding on the Common!” he yipped breathlessly.
“There are what? Who fired that shot?”
“The REDCOAT!” Filigree woofed, shaking. “Why isn’t anyone coming out of the tavern to find him? He shot at me!”
“People shoot off muskets all the time,” Jove rumbled. “They have to empty their guns just to come into the tavern so they don’t fire them by mistake. And I don’t see what you’re so upset about. He missed.”
He didn’t miss by much! Filigree wanted to say. But Jove was watching him. Filigree made himself stop shaking. Jove woofed in approval.
“Now,” the big dog said, “what are you doing here? Where’s your master?”
Filigree told Jove that Mr. Revere had been captured, and that a Redcoat patrol was on its way.
“We have to stop them before they get here,” Filigree panted. “They’ll find your master! Why are you still here?”
“They’re still at Reverend Clarke’s house trying to pack all our secret papers into a trunk,” Jove answered. “Where’s that patrol? Sounds like Mr. Revere could use my help. Those Redcoats won’t know what hit them when I’m through.” He started toward the road.
Filigree jumped in front of him. Jove stopped, startled. Filigree was startled too. A few hours ago, he would never have stood between Jove and where he wanted to go.
“We can’t stop them that way,” he told the big Newfoundland. “There are too many of them. We have to trick them. Mr. Revere did that.” Frances did too, on the wharf, Filigree remembered. “When you fight a bigger enemy, you have to be smarter than they are.”
“How?” Jove asked. Filigree realized that Jove had probably never fought a bigger enemy.
“We ha
ve to make them think that there are armed patriots waiting for them here,” Filigree told him. “That’s what Mr. Revere told the patrol.”
“Well, then, what’s your plan, Dormouse?” Jove asked. Filigree gulped. He never thought that Jove would ask him anything.
They were running out of time. The patrol would be in Lexington any minute. And that Redcoat spy was watching the patriots’ every move.
Then he remembered what the shorter Redcoat had said: That shot could be heard all the way to Charlestown.
And then Filigree knew what he had to do.
If it worked, he could save Mr. Revere and stop the patrol from coming to Lexington. Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock would be safe. If it didn’t . . .
“Jove,” Filigree said, “I need your help.”
15
The Battle
“Can you get the militia men out of the tavern?” Filigree asked Jove. “The more the better.”
“I’d rather fight some Redcoats,” Jove grumbled. But he pushed open the heavy door of the tavern. It stuck open. He shuffled inside. The sound of men talking in urgent whispers drifted out.
Filigree took off at a run.
The tall Redcoat was still beside the shed. Filigree barked to get his attention.
Blood rushed to the soldier’s face.
“Are you mocking me, rat?” he said. He stepped toward Filigree. Filigree took a step backward. He barked again.
The soldier ran at him. Filigree darted in a circle around him.
The soldier picked up a big stick. He swung it. Filigree ducked and the soldier fell onto his hands and knees.
He grabbed for Filigree. Filigree dashed across the road. The soldier got up and followed. Filigree’s fur was standing straight up. But he had to get the soldier closer to Buckman Tavern.
Suddenly the soldier stopped. The men inside the tavern were shouting and laughing. The Redcoat realized how close he was to them and started to move away.