“By Jiminy, all the streets in Boston are paved with stones,” Ben exclaimed, “and the whole road from Lexington t’Cambridge is just dirt!”

Middle Street was full of men, women and children carrying bags and suitcases, and wagons loaded with baggage, boxes and crates. Here and there, a table or chair leg stuck out from under a canvas covering. Almost everyone seemed to be headed in the same direction.

“Goin’ to Long Wharf and Hancock’s. Long’s bigger, but Hancock’s is closer,” said Aaron. “All this . . .”  He waved at the crowded street. “This’s why I figure the Redcoats are sailin’ tomorrow. Tories know they have to get aboard a ship today or they’ll be left behind.”

Looks like the rush to get into Fenway Park for a Yankee game.

As we waited on a corner of the busy street to cross into Dock Square, a horse-drawn open carriage, like the ones that give tourists rides around Central Park in New York, stopped at the curb in front of us. The driver dropped off the front seat to look at one of the horse’s hooves. In the carriage were a man, a woman, and three children. The boy looked about ten years old, my brother Matt’s age, and the girls a few years younger. Both girls were crying, and the boy didn’t look too happy.

“But mama, why do we have to go?” one of the girls sobbed. “All my friends are here. And I don’t want to leave our house.”

“Elizabeth, you’ll make new friends,” replied the woman.

“And why can’t I take my dollhouse?” moaned the younger girl. “And my bed? I love my bed.”

“I told you, Jennifer, there’s no room. We can only take what we can carry and one trunk. You’ll get a new dollhouse where we’re going.”

“D’ya know where we’re goin’, Pa?” asked the boy.

The man shrugged. “James, as far as I know, we’re going to Halifax, Nova Scotia, about five hundred miles north of here. I spoke to one of the officers on the HMS Milford, a twenty-eight gun frigate. He said the wind should turn favorable tomorrow and we’ll leave the harbor. His ship will remain here blockading the harbor to make it hard for the rebels to get supplies, but the transports are leaving as soon as they can. We have to go on board today or we’ll be left behind.”

“Well, I don’t wanna go. I’ll stay behind with my friends.”

“Hush, Elizabeth!” snapped James. “You’ll make new friends, and as for the old ones, good riddance to them. If we stayed, pretty soon they’d be calling you a Tory and a king-lover and say nasty things about you. That’s what’s happened to me. I always thought Tom and Rob and Adie were my best friends, but they really changed after that fight at Lexington and Concord, wouldn’t hardly talk to me, and when they did they told me that everyone who believed in King George should go back to England.”

His examination finished, the driver climbed back in his seat, flicked the reins, and the carriage rolled away to join the rest of the traffic.

Emmy was standing next to me. “You heard that?” she asked.

“Yes, yes I did. That’s what Mrs. Warren was talking about.”

“Charles, I haven’t had a chance to say it, but it’s good to see you again. I remember when we first met at Buckman Tavern last year my father thought you might be spying for the British. After we talked, I was pretty sure you weren’t – even though you got some strange ways about you – and I told Pa so. I guess he believed me. He told me later that you were an upstanding young man. Pa don’t cotton to people all that easy, so comin’ from him that’s pretty high praise.”

“Emmy, it’s good to see you too. But it’s sad about those people having to leave Boston.”

“Well, it may be sad for them, but it ain’t sad for us. People that’d rather be ruled by a king than rule themselves don’t belong around here. Someday we’ll be a country of our own, and rule ourselves. Maybe call it the United Colonies of America.”

You’re closer than you think, Emmy.

Out loud, I said, “Rule ourselves. You mean democracy.”

“Democracy . . . we learned about that in school, about how the Greeks ruled themselves by electing people to run their government. America will be a democracy.” Emmy spoke quietly, almost to herself. Then she raised her voice. “But now’s not the time for daydreamin’. Dock Square is right over there. And there’s Faneuil Hall.”

“And there’s the building where they’re keepin’ your father,” said Aaron. “Let’s go see what it looks like.”

Dodging the wagons and carts, we walked quickly across the intersection into Dock Square and stopped in front of Faneuil Hall. I had seen it a few times when I went into Boston with Mom, Dad and Matt. It’s a big tourist attraction now, with lots of restaurants and little shops. We also read about the history of Faneuil Hall in school. But I had never really looked at it the way I was looking at it now.

I wish I had learned more about it.

Aaron was standing beside me, and almost as if he were reading my thoughts, said, “My father was around here a lot ‘fore he died. He was very proud of Faneuil Hall. Told me all about it. Said it might be the most important building in the colonies ‘cause of all the famous people who spoke here.” When Aaron said “Faneuil”, it came out sounding like “Funnel”. In 2007 everyone I knew pronounced it “Fan-you-el.”

Well, I sure can learn something about it now.

“Go on,” I said.

“Well, my father told me that it was built in 1742, when he was about twenty years old.  Course, Pa didn’t know when his birthday was ‘cause he was born a slave. Anyway, he said a real rich man named Peter Faneuil put up the money so Boston would have a big hall where everyone could meet and talk about things. Pa said he heard Sam Adams give a speech here. I’ll bet that was when he joined the Sons of Liberty. Funny thing – though I guess it ain’t too funny. Right after Pa was killed in the massacre, Mr. Adams gave another speech here. Maybe if he hadn’t given that first speech, Pa would still be alive. Anyway, that’s all over. No patriots giving speeches there now. The Redcoats are usin’ the hall as a theater to see plays and listen to music and such.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said the first thing that came into my mind. “What’s that thing on top of the hall, on the weather vane? Looks like some sort of insect.”

Aaron smiled, which made me feel better. “That’s a grasshopper. Don’t know why it’s there, but I heard a story that a few months ago about how they caught some fella snooping around over in Cambridge where our army is. He said he was from Boston and came over to join them. They were goin’ to let him go ’til one smart soldier who came from Boston asked the stranger what was on top of Faneuil Hall, and he didn’t know. Turned out he was a Redcoat spy. The soldier said that anyone from Boston would know that it was a grasshopper on top of the hall.”

Emmy cleared her throat noisily. “If you boys are done chatting, seems to me we should be takin’ a real close look at that building where they’re holdin’ my pa.”

We walked to the corner of a street on the other side of Dock Square and stood in front of the door of a one-story brick building. The door had a small window with bars in it.

“Looks like a prison to me,” said Ben. “Let’s walk around it. Maybe there’s another way in.”

The building was considerably longer than it was wide. There were no windows along the sides except for one that was dark with grime and soot near the back of the building. The window was partly open from the bottom, probably to let some light in. A rear door with another barred window opened into a narrow alley that ran into Dock Square.

“Front, back, looks the same to me,” said Ben. “So how do we get Pa out? It sure don’t look easy.”

As we brooded over Ben’s question, the back door opened and a British soldier stepped out. He paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder.

“Alfred, I’ll be back ‘round midnight with a squad, and we’ll move the prisoners down to the harbor. You sure you’ll be all right alone?”

We couldn’t hear a response from inside the building, but the soldier nodded and said, “Be ready at midnight then,” and walked into Dock Square.

Ben looked at me. “Only one man’s guarding Pa. That could make it somewhat easier.”

Just then, two men pushing a creaking cart heavily loaded with firewood walked down the alley behind Ben. Momentarily distracted, I looked over his shoulder. A man wearing a long dark coat was standing by the trunk of a tree on the corner of Dock Square staring at me. I sucked in my breath, rubbed my forehead with my hand to cover my face and turned away.

Ben reacted to my expression. “What’s the matter?” he asked, beginning to turn around.

“Don’t!” I whispered, grabbing his arm. “You remember that man who took a shot at us the night before the battle, the one that I saw on Lexington Common and told your father about, the one who was spying for the British?”

“You mean Silas Tucker? Far as I know, the Minutemen put him in some sort of jail.”

“I don’t think he’s in any jail. I think he’s standing over there by that tree on the corner, about a hundred feet from us, looking this way. I don’t know if he recognized me or not. Just don’t turn around because he’s sure to recognize you. But I’m not positive it’s him.”

Ben’s eyes widened. “I don’t b’lieve Tucker ever saw Emmy so I’ll just go hide behind her and take a look.”

Ben crouched behind a puzzled Emmy. “Yep, that’s him,” he murmured, adding in a louder voice, “and he’s comin’ this way!”

“What’s goin’ on?” Both Emmy and Aaron spoke simultaneously.

“We’ll tell you later!” Ben replied, pulling Emmy’s hand. “Right now we just need to get away from here. Fast!”

We ran. With Aaron leading the way, we sprinted down the side of the building and through Dock Square, dodging people and wagons. Even though she was wearing a dress, Emmy had no trouble keeping up with us. When we stopped for the traffic on Middle Street I looked back and saw Tucker talking excitedly to three British soldiers and pointing in our direction. The soldiers, holding their muskets across their chests, immediately began running towards us.

“C’mon! C’Mon!” I urged. “We have to get across the street!”

“Can’t!” gasped Emmy, gaping at the heavy traffic, “we’ll get run over by a wagon or trampled by a horse!”

I looked back again. The soldiers were only about fifty feet away, pushing aside passers-by and coming fast.

“There’s a space!” cried Aaron.

There was a gap in the traffic, but a carriage drawn by four fast-moving horses was rapidly closing it.

“Can’t make it! We’ll get run over by that big carriage!”

The soldiers were close enough for us to hear them.

“You! You there! Stop! Stop in the King’s name!”

I pushed Ben and Emmy off the curb. “We have to go! Now!”

With Aaron in the lead, we darted into the street in front of the on-coming carriage. Halfway across, one of my moccasins slid on a wet cobblestone and I stumbled. Emmy caught me by the arm to keep me from falling, but the holdup put us directly in the path of the galloping horses. At the last second the driver saw us and stood up, hauled back on the reins and yanked the handbrake. As we leaped to safety, the carriage skidded sideways, tottered on two wheels and tipped over, crashing to the ground and dragging the horses down with it in a tangle of harnesses, reins and bridles. A second carriage, closely following the first, plowed into the pileup, blocking the whole street.

We stopped briefly on the far side of the street to catch our breath and view the wreckage. A gold-braided British officer, tricorne hat tilted on his powdered wig, was trying to open the door of the first carriage by reaching through the broken side window. Other officers were sprawled on the seats behind him. The soldiers who had been chasing us had dropped their muskets and were trying to open the door of the second carriage, which was also on its side. They were much too busy to pay us any attention.

“Walk, don’t run,” said Aaron as we turned away. “There may be Redcoats around that saw what happened and we don’t want to call attention to ourselves.”

We didn’t talk much on the way back to Mrs. Warren’s house. I said nothing. I was too busy thinking about how close we had come to being captured, and wondering how four young people could rescue Ben’s father from a jail guarded by soldiers of the British Army.