The sun warmed the sailor’s heads under their tall black hats. They moved quietly along the deck performing their daily duties in the August heat. The floor scrubbed, ropes checked, sails reinforced, the hull inspected for damage, and the cannons shined. The lookout climbed to the eagles nest.
“Frigate. Frigate off Bodkin Point. Longboats being lowered,” he shouted to the Captain.
Hearing the shouts, the Captain appeared on the deck. Grabbing the spyglass, he searched the horizon until he spied the mast of the frigate with the Union Jack waving in the corner of a white flag with the red cross of St. George. "It is a royal navy ship not a merchant ship. Their flag would be red.” Dark clouds gathered in the south. “A storm would clear more than the air,” he thought.
“Should we prepare to fight, Captain?”
The Captain’s brow furrowed. He gazed again through the spyglass. More longboats were being lowered. The red coats of the marines blazed in the afternoon sun. The sight brought fear to the farmers along the Bay. He could see that they were outnumbered. He thought that The Lion would be safe, hidden here. The sandbar would keep out large ships from entering the Bodkin. Farms nearby allowed them to stock up on fresh food and water. The Lion was a fine schooner, eighty –five feet, built in Baltimore at Fells Point. Could pull up the anchor, but there was no place to run with the frigate at the mouth of the Bodkin. The other creeks led to dead ends. Trapped. Sailors were no match for a contingent of marines. The anchor needed to be pulled and sails set to place the cannons in position. Marines may come on the bow or stern. No room to maneuver. A plan formed in his mind.
“Get the sails. Take all the sails and stow them in bags.”
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The sailors leaped to work, scurrying to release the sails from the halyards. Working fast sweat beaded on their foreheads.
“Make haste. Place them in the rowboats, grab your gear, the ship’s log, and jump into the boat. Row to that stone farmhouse.”
Men scrambled to place the bags and themselves into the boat. Oars dipping into the gray blue water propelled them to shore. The Captain glanced back at The Lion. She was silent. Her wooden mast gleamed in the hot sun, tall and noble. The Lion of Baltimore waited.
