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The Witch of Blackbird Pond
by
Elizabeth George Speare
On a morning in mid-April, 1687 the brigantine Dolphin left the open sea,
sailed briskly across the Sound to the wide mouth of the Connecticut River
and into Saybrook Harbor. Kit Tyler had been on the forecastle deck since
daybreak, standing close to the rail, staring hungrily at the first sight
of land for five weeks.
“There’s Connecticut Colony,” a voice spoke in her ear.
“You’ve come a long way to see it.”
She looked up, surprised and flattered. On the whole long voyage the captain’s
son had spoken scarcely a dozen words to her. She had noticed him often, his
thin wiry figure swinging easily hand over hand up the rigging, his sandy,
sun-bleached head bend over a coil of rope.
Nathaniel Eaton, first mate, but his mother called him Nat.
Now, seeing him so close beside her, she was surprised that, for all he looked
so slight, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.
“How does it look to you?” he questioned,
Kit hesitated. She didn’t want to admit how disappointing she found
this first glimpse of America. The bleak line of shore surrounding the gray
harbor was a disheartening contrast to the shimmering green and white that
fringed the turquoise bay of Barbados which was her home…
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