“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.”
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.
