Margaret Gage Pulls the Devil’s Tail

Margaret Gage doesn’t exactly belong in the Edes & Gill print shop, which is precisely why her arrival is so delicious. In this scene from Broadside, the wife of General Thomas Gage steps unexpectedly into Boston’s most ink-stained corner, where Paul Revere and the printers are busy shaping the arguments of a restless city. She’s polished, thoughtful, and dressed with unmistakable taste; he’s practical, outspoken, and covered in the honest grime of the trade. Put them in one room with a printing press between them, and suddenly politics gets very personal.

Margaret Gage visits Edes & Gill

What makes the moment so fun is that Margaret isn’t there to scold, threaten, or spy. She comes with an idea. She wants to know whether words, images, and a well-placed broadside might help calm a city that seems determined to split itself in two. For Margaret, this scene deepens her arc in a meaningful way: she is trying, sincerely, to support her husband’s success in Boston, not through force, but through influence, tact, and persuasion. She still believes there may be a way to shape public feeling before anger hardens into something irreversible.

Margaret Gage makes a proposition

Of course, this is Edes & Gill, so nothing stays polite for long. The press itself becomes part of the flirtation and the fun, especially when Margaret launches into a lively number built around printing language, persuasion, and the famous “Devil’s Tail,” the long bar that brings the press together. It’s witty, rhythmic, and a little dangerous; in other words, exactly the kind of theatrical trouble we like. Margaret tries to sell the power of messaging; Paul, naturally, pushes back with the steady conviction of a man who prints what he believes. Ink flies, sparks fly, and nobody in the shop is looking away.

Margaret Gage pulls the Devil's Tale

And then, just when the tension has tightened to the breaking point, the scene swerves into charm. Paul reaches for a mandolin, Margaret’s carefully ordered composure starts to soften, and what began as a political visit turns into something warmer, stranger, and much harder to define. That’s the pleasure of this sequence: it isn’t just about broadsides, slogans, or sides being chosen. It’s about attraction, ideology, performance, and the thrilling possibility that sometimes the most dangerous thing in a revolution is not a musket or a mob, but a well-timed song in a room full of ink.