by B.C. Bond

Nulgar grunted as he dragged the sack across the dirt floor.

"Finally home, Master Chipman?" Lieutenant Pennefeather said as Nulgar dumped the wood chips into a box by the blazing hearth.

"Where you been?" Rachel demanded. Her brown face shone with perspiration. "The lieutenant’s horse needs tendin’."

"Don’t cane me, Lieutenant," Nulgar pleaded. "Got these chips to chase off the chill."

"Lieutenant, my brother’s got clouds in his head," Rachel said, stirring the bubbling cod chowder. "Your owners don’t cherish quartering us," the British officer said, testing the chowder. "We honor your devotion—washing, cooking, helping with the horses, running errands. . . ."

Pennefeather grinned like a hungry Boston Harbor shark.

"I’m proud givin’ you soldiers a hand tamin’ these ungrateful rebels," Nulgar said. "If King George hadn’t sent you gentlemen, there’d be no peace."

"You’re kind, Laddie. Wish others felt the same." Sitting near the glowing fire, the officer sighed. "Ahh, maybe it’ll be over soon."

Nulgar tossed chips on the fire. "Lieutenant, them rebels are sassier than ever. Sons of Liberty stampin’ about. Minutemen marching. Secret meetings goin’ on."

Pennefeather lit his clay pipe. "General Gage is sending us on a little picnic," he said. "Can’t tell where, but tomorrow the world will be upside down for some folks."

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. "Tonight’s clear. Lots of folks will picnic tomorrow," she said. "Nulgar, see to them horses. You eat later."

Rebels!

Grumbling, Nulgar stumbled outside. He knew the officers would make short work of that chowder. He’d get cold biscuits again.

He shivered, pulling his scarf tight. Trees bloomed and the Charles hadn’t frozen over like most winters, but the cold was sharp enough to remind him it would be nice to huddle by a fire listening to Pennefeather’s stories.

Looking at the star-speckled April sky, Nulgar gasped as he was yanked into the blackness of the stable. "What you want?" he blurted.

"Quiet, Nulgar!" the shadow whispered hoarsely. "You want to get Pennefeather and the night watch down on me all at once?"

"Master Newman. How’d I know it’s you ambushin’ me like that?" Nulgar answered.

"What’s happenin’ inside?" Newman asked. "I heard them lobsterbacks come trespassin’ in again, carryin’ on like the king invited them to high tea."

"They’re excited about some picnic." Nulgar squirmed out of Newman’s grasp.

"Picnic?" Newman searched Nulgar’s eyes.

"All I know is they’re goin’ someplace tomorrow."

A smile slid across Newman’s face. "I knew it. There’s been movement since Saturday. Today North Square is turmoil."

"I wish somebody would tell me what’s happenin’," Nulgar scowled. "Nothin’ makes sense."

A stone thumped the stable door. Three figures crept beside the brightly lit house. Pulling Nulgar along, Newman followed them to the church entrance across the street.

If the watch comes or Pennefeather finds me with Master Newman and his rebel friends . . . I’m awful young to be hung, Nulgar thought.

Another voice, quiet but firm, started talking. "Boys, we must work tonight. Things are about to get hot."

Despite the cold Nulgar began sweating. He recognized the voice from church. It was the silversmith, Paul Revere, a man he knew was deeply involved with the Sons of Liberty.

"Everything’s ready," Revere continued. "Munitions at Concord been buried since Saturday’s warning. Clark’s two guests in Lexington are aware of the situation. One of them won’t go. Likes lobster for breakfast." The others chuckled. "Right, let’s be about it. Open her, Newman. Let’s put a gleam in that spire."

Fumbling in his pockets, Newman snorted, "The keys."

"What about the keys?" Revere said. "You’re sexton. You carry them."

"I was polishin’ horse gear today. My pants got mucky. Rachel collected them for washin’. The keys must be in them."

"It’s too risky breaking down the door," Revere said. "We don’t want the watch knowing anyone was here tonight. You’ll have to get those keys, Newman."

"If I try to get the keys, Pennefeather will plunk me down and question me till dawn," Newman said. "He’s already suspicious about my comings and goings." He placed a hand on Nulgar’s shoulder. "You’ve got to get the keys, Nulgar, or we’ll all swing at the gallows."

"If the lieutenant catches me with those keys, he’s gonna know somethin’s up." Nulgar rubbed his neck nervously.

"When you go in, say Master Newman told you to get the lanterns from the church ’cause they need cleaning," Revere interrupted. "You got that?"

"Yes, but either Pennefeather’s gonna cane me tonight, or I’m gonna be gallows bait tomorrow."

"Don’t worry," Newman said. "You’re a sly boots. Before Pennefeather’s up, you and Rachel will be at Milton. Rachel’s been with us a long time."

"Rachel’s a rebel?" Nulgar’s mouth dropped.

He remembered Rachel sending him off with notes for strangers, asking questions about goings on in Boston and doing errands for the lieutenant. It fit. His sister was a spy.

"And valuable she’s been," Newman said.

"Moon’s risin’ fast, Nulgar," Revere said. "Get those keys. I’ve got a horse to ride in Charlestown."

"If Rachel’s in, I am too." Nulgar darted away on his errand.

Key Player

"Chores finished?" Rachel asked. Nulgar hoped his fear didn’t show. Rachel bent over the hearth and filled a bowl. "Come have your chowder."

"No," Nulgar lowered his voice nervously. "Master Newman gave me an errand earlier." Rachel smoothed her gray linsey-woolsey dress, giving Nulgar a suspicious look.

The lieutenant squinted at Nulgar. "What’s so fire urgent tonight, Laddie? Master Newman overloading you with chores? I need you fresh, doin’ things for me and his Majesty." Officers playing cards at the table chuckled.

Nulgar’s throat tightened. "Don’t bother yourself, Lieutenant. I got to get lanterns from the church. Master Newman told me to clean ‘em. I’ll be back before steam clears off that chowder." Grabbing the keys out of the pants hanging on a wall peg, he bolted to the door.

Pennefeather leaned back. "I believe that," he chuckled. "You’re not hard to find where there’s food."

One For All

When Nulgar reached the church, he thrust the keys into Newman’s hand. "I got to get those lanterns to the house fast before the lieutenant gets to thinkin’."

Newman opened the door and disappeared inside.

"You did fine," Revere said. "Wait outside and eye the house."

Rubbing his palms nervously against his leather breeches, Nulgar glanced at Christ’s Church spire. Two lights blinked then vanished.

The two men returned. "Here are the lanterns, Nulgar," Newman said. "Act normal. Be ready to leave when your sister gives the word. We’ll get you both to Milton before Pennefeather wakes for his picnic."

Suddenly, Nulgar saw Lieutenant Pennefeather stalking toward the church.

"Out the back window, Newman," Revere ordered.

"Master Revere, my sister and I . . . we’re slaves. What we’re doin’ tonight . . . " Nulgar fumbled for the words.

"Tonight’s work is for every American—rich, poor, free, slave—makes no difference," Revere said. "We’ve got to stand and defend what we believe in. I can’t promise you and your sister freedom, only the beginning of our nation’s freedom. That’s the first step."

He shook Nulgar’s hand. "Those two lanterns we hung tonight only reach Charlestown, yet they’ll burn in history brighter than stars.

Revere melted into the night as Lieutenant Pennefeather’s boots hit the church step.

"I’m coming, Lieutenant. Is there any chowder left?"

"Sure, Laddie." Lieutenant Pennefeather wrapped his arm around Nulgar. "I was thinking it a dark night for a boy to be out on errands. I thought I’d escort you to that warm fireplace and tell you about the time I saved the general."

"That’s kind, Lieutenant," Nulgar said. Holding the silent lanterns in his hands, Nulgar didn’t feel hungry anymore.

On the evening of April 18, 1775, Paul Revere was instructed to ride to Lexington, Massachusetts, to warn Samuel Adams and John Hancock that British troops were marching to arrest them. Robert Newman briefly hung two lanterns in the bell tower of Christ’s Church in Boston to warn Sons of Liberty in Charlestown that troops would row "by sea" across the Charles River to Cambridge rather than march on land from Boston.

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