Deck! Sails to the south and east! A lookout high atop the mainmast had made the discovery and was quite animated about it. The United States Frigate President had left New York only days earlier with orders to protect American interests along the coast from British warships.

Captain John Rodgers shielded his eyes and tried to make out the familiar form of a frigate along the seas southern horizon, but could see nothing. Mr. Creighton, a glass if you will.

As Lieutenant John Creighton had been one step ahead of the captain, he immediately had the telescope in Rodgers hands.

Thank you. Let us see what we have. Rodgers extended the glass and carefully scrutinized the distant seascape. The first time he saw it, he wasnt sure. A second look revealed more detail: she was indeed a frigate under full sail, and headed directly for the President.

I cannot tell her nationality. If she is British, by the Heavens, let her be the Guerriere. We have a score to settle. Rodgers pulled the telescope from his eye and quickly collapsed it, his mind already churning as he planned for the forthcoming confrontation.

Only days earlier, the Guerriere had seized the U.S. Brig Spitfire and impressed one of her crewmena documented American citizen. There was no resistance as the Spitfire had little or no chance in a battle with the much larger British frigate.

It was just past noon now, the sun beating relentlessly on the Presidents crew. Rodgers had not yet called the men to general quarters as the distance between the ships was still too great. And he still had no idea of her identity. Let the men relax, he thought, let them eat and carry out their normal duties for now. Then when the time for action came, the crew would be rested and ready.

Rodgers cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled to his lookout in the fighting tops above, Mr. Myatt, when and if you can identify her, please relay the information at once.

Aye, sir!

For nearly an hour, Rodgers paced the deck, spending much of the time speaking with crewmen or talking pleasantries with Creighton. Finally, word from the fighting tops came down: Deck! Ships changing course, turning back to the south.

Again Rodgers fixed the telescope on the mysterious quarry, but still he was unable to identify her. Mr. Creighton, best guess at her distance?

Several miles, maybe more. Too far.

Then we chase her. Full sails. I will be in my cabin if the situation changes.

Very well, sir.



John Rodgers finished an entry into the log, closed the journal, and pushed it to the back of his desk. A lot of nothing, he thought in disgust. Not even the weather held any excitement: calm, cloudless, with only light winds from the north and east. He had remained in his cabin examining maps, planning tactics and reviewing strategies. Minutes had turned to hours, and now the day was waning. It was close to 4 p.m. yet still there was no change, no word from the lookout.

Rodgers chewed at the words of Navy Secretary Paul Hamilton. He had been told to protect and defend U.S. merchantmen, even if force was necessary. He was well prepared to use his fifty guns if push came to shove, but he was not prepared to turn tail and run. Nor was he ready to strike his colors and offer his ship as a sacrifice if the odds looked bad. He would not make the same mistake Barron had made with the Chesapeake four years earlier. The thought of that cowardly act still made Rodgers stomach tighten.

Perhaps it would be best if he took a walk, make another inspection of the distant vessel, for whatever that was worth. The same wind pushing the President south was moving her prey south as well. He lifted himself from the chair, grabbed his blue coat from his cot, and pulled it on. After giving his desktop one last look to make sure all items were stowed, he departed the cabin.

As he moved to the upper deck, he realized the day had cooled considerably; the eastern horizon was blanketed with tall, billowing clouds that promised a storm later that evening.

He stepped to the larboard gunwale near the front of the ship and joined Lieutenant Creighton, who was carefully monitoring the unidentified vessel with the telescope. How does she look, Lieutenant?

Creighton jumped, as he hadnt realized anyone was nearby. Aye! You got the better of me there, sir!

I apologize Mr. Creighton, Rodgers said with a grin. I did not mean to startle you. At least you did not drop that damnable spyglass in the sea.

Yes, sir. Creighton moved back from the gunwale. Well, sir, she is a bit closer. I think we are gaining on her. I was about to notify you.

Rodgers took the telescope and leaned into the gunwale to steady himself. Indeed, the ship was closer, her stern clearly visible. A frigate she is, Mr. Creighton. And still under full sail.

She is making good speed, sir. Headingwhere? Cape Hatteras?

That would be my guess, assuming she is British.

If she were not, sir, why would she be running?

My very thoughts, Lieutenant. Let us keep on her. Rodgers slid his bicorn hat off and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. And Mr. Creighton? Clear the ship for action.