and brother at sea, Devon and her mother have run a small shop, struggling to make ends meet. She dreams of growing up and going to sea herself, longing to see the world, and spins dreams and plans with her childhood friend, Morgan Gadwin. During Chapter One, 13-year-old Devon is captivated by her first sight of the legendary privateer captain Andre Raveneau. Word reaches New London that war has broken out between England and the Colonies, and Devon's schoolmaster, Nathan Hale leaves to join the militia. Chapter Two begins five years later, when Devon is 18.
From Chapter Two.
October 20, 1780
New London glowed with autumn's deepest colors. Leaves of crimson, gold, rust, and saffron blanketed the stone walls that bordered every road; pumpkins lay fat and orange on their vines; bright red apples dripped from orchard branches.
Devon, at eighteen, seemed an additional gift of the season. Her cloud of strawberry-blond curls and her soft creamy skin were more beautiful than ever against the fiery leaves, and the sight of her on the street lightened the hearts of the war-weary citizens.
On this October afternoon she strolled toward the Beach, a faded hatbox swinging on her arm. Deborah had labored for hours over the bonnet that Nick had ordered for his wife's birthday, a perfect copy of a European original. Devon had stern instructions to deliver it directly to the Nicholson home, yet she could not resist the urge to make a detour along the waterfront. Pausing in the shadow of a Shaw warehouse, she surveyed the activity on the docks. True to her mother's prediction, war had changed New London. The past five years seemed like a dark eternity.
The town itself harbored nearly sixty successful privateers, and the anchorage was used by vessels from all over America, even Europe. Many New London men had chosen to join the army, and ships had been built for the State and Continental navies, but privateering was supreme. Privately owned vessels had been armed and fitted out at their owners' expense for the purpose of capturing enemy craft, and everyone—owners, crew, and the government—divided the booty. Five years ago it had all seemed a great romantic adventure.
Devon thought sadly of the night she had said goodbye to Nathan Hale. Eighteen months later the young captain she had so admired had disguised himself as a Dutch schoolmaster to spy on the British who occupied Long Island. He was discovered and hanged on September 22, 1776. Too many men, men she had known since birth, were now dead like Mr. Hale, or imprisoned.
New London lived under a cloud of fear; even now Devon could see a great British ship anchored to the south in Long Island Sound. The townspeople expected to be attacked at any moment and there had been countless false alarms, leading to the evacuation of all women, children, the ill, and the elderly. Devon's heart tightened at the remembered nightmares: screaming, sobbing, praying all around her as wagons rumbled out of town in the middle of the night.
Less than a month ago General Benedict Arnold had conspired to surrender West Point to the British. Though his plot had been discovered, he had escaped, and New London continued to reel under the shocking blow, for Arnold had grown up just ten miles north, in Norwich. Until now, his exploits had been a source of deep pride to everyone from the area. Disillusionment and mistrust abounded. Neighbors and lifelong friends suspected one another of being Tories; several had actually admitted their loyalties and left for British-occupied New York town, including the local Anglican minister.
Despite the dark days and harsh realities that had been thrust on Devon, she still passionately wished that she were a boy so that she might sail off to fight for America's independence. No one cheered more loudly than Devon when Fort Griswold's cannon fired the three-shot signal to greet the latest privateer returning with its prize. Her heart would swell with joy and pride at the sight of the rakish craft sailing up the Thames, laden with cargo from British ships. Devon knew that New London was truly hurting the British, and she was convinced that the hardships of the past five years had not been suffered in vain.
A chilly breeze swept off the Thames and Devon stepped into the sunlight. Approaching the docks, she scanned the sleek, lightweight vessels at anchor and strove to appear nonchalant in her search for the Black Eagle.