Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2 SEVEN WEEKS EARLIER JULY 11, 1776 12:00 NOON NORWALK, CONNECTICUT Nate crawled along his uncle's vegetable garden, tugging up weeds and flicking away fat green worms. The burning sun cooked his back. His muscles ached from hours of work. But even

worse was the sound of his uncle's voice, barking through the open dining room window. His uncle was talking about the war with England. Nate peeked through the window. His uncle, Uriah Storch, was sitting at the fine wooden table. He was eating his noon meal with his best friend, Mr. Marston. Nate breathed in the delicious food smells. But there was nothing delicious about watching Storch gobble the leg of a roasted goose. Storch pretended to be a gentleman. But Nate had seen hogs with better manners. "George Washington should be hanged!" Storch was saying, cracking the poor goose's bone with his large teeth.

George Washington was the commander of the American army. Most people in Connecticut loved General Washington. They called themselves Patriots, which meant they were rooting for the Americans to win the war. But Storch and his pal were on England's side. Storch hated George Washington more than he hated the fleas that crawled around his curled white wig.

Storch turned toward the kitchen and bellowed, "More meat!" Seconds later Eliza hurried in, carrying a silver platter piled high with fresh goose. Eliza stood patiently while the men heaped food on their plates. She'd been up since dawn cooking this meal. But neither of the men thanked her, or even looked at her. Nate hated living here with Storch. But Eliza had it far worse. Nate was his nephew. Eliza was Storch's slave. Nate caught Eliza's eye through the window. He pushed together his lips and puffed out his cheeks — his best Storch imitation. Eliza raised her eyebrow at Nate, a reminder that he'd better watch himself. Storch was always looking for an excuse to give Nate a whack with his walking stick. He would not be happy to see Nate's blue eyes peering through the window. Nate ducked away. He had hours of work left to do, but he needed a break from the heat. He went to a shady spot under the cherry tree and looked

down at the Long Island Sound. He loved watching the ships sailing by. Nate closed his eyes and pretended he was on one of those ships, heading out to the open sea. His mind filled up with the sounds of flapping sails and squawking seagulls. He imagined a cool sea breeze ruffling his hair. He could practically feel his father's strong hand resting on his shoulder. Papa had been a ship's captain. After Nate's mama got sick and died, when Nate was just four, Papa started taking Nate along with him on his voyages. Nate grew up crisscrossing the ocean with Papa and his crews. What a happy life! Sure, not every kid would want to grow up on the sea. The creaking wooden sailing ships were crawling with rats. The stale, wormy biscuits could break your teeth. Nate's bed was a hammock hanging from the ceiling.

But none of that mattered. Because Nate was with Papa. Nate pictured his father's green eyes flashing from under his old sailing cap, his black ponytail waving in the wind. He'd wrap his arm around Nate's shoulder as they stood on the deck, looking out at the endless ocean. "You never know what's ahead," Papa would say, his eyes brimming with excitement. But now a wave of sadness crashed over Nate. Papa died almost two years ago, while they were sailing home from a trip to the Caribbean islands. The voyage had been smooth, with steady winds, a glassy sea, and a crew of ten men. Nate's favorite crew member was Paul Dobbins, a joking eighteen-year-old with bright red hair and a gaptoothed grin. He'd sailed with Papa before, and had always treated Nate like a favorite brother. They had been halfway through their threeweek voyage home when they sailed into the path of a wicked storm. It came out of nowhere, a