Snark wasn’t feeling up to his name this morning. The plan to steal the Mitchell Map from a sleepy small-town museum in Urbanna, Virginia, didn’t sound quite so easy this morning as he lay in his forward bunk listening to the sweet pitter-patter of rain hit the deck of his 35-foot sloop on anchor in Urbanna Creek.
Great decisions mulled deep in the cerebellum of his brain. To steal or not to steal? That is the question. Hamlet’s great soliloquy always came to mind when he was caught in a moral flummox. It’s fair to say a moral code of any special sort did not come easily to Snark.
The idea had sounded brilliant while he was at a waterside bar in Baltimore last weekend drinking with his ex-girlfriend, Whiz. But now, well, now he didn’t think it was such a hot plan.
Then, she had described in detail how simple it would be to pick up a tidy sum with a guarantee of not getting caught. Why, it would be as easy as flicking a fly off one’s nose! As the diabolical plan had unfolded it sounded better and better in exact correlation to how many vodka collins drinks he had consumed.
He had suggested they meet in a week in the tiny historic town of Urbanna on the Rappahannock River where Whiz lived with her parents. A perfect spot for a heist, population under 500, about a third of it only in town on weekends and summers, and no full-time police force. OK, there was a sheriff to watch over the entire county but an entire week might go by before the town would even know the map was gone. “Simple as taking candy from a baby!” Whiz had promised.
He was out of a job so it seemed right that next week to take on provisions he needed for the adventure and sail his 35-foot sloop, “Goose,” down the coast. It made for a fine trip even in February which had hit a rare mild spell on the Chesapeake Bay; first, crossing the mouth of the Potomac, heading south mostly at an easy run, wing and wing, finally turning into the Rappahannock River and sailing on a reach up river and under the Norris Bridge that had glowed like a long silvery spine in the dying light of day.
It was evening when he turned into Urbanna Creek dropping his sails and purring under power by blinking red and green lights. He had actually felt a shiver go up his spine as he dropped anchor opposite the empty Urbanna Town Marina from the beauty of the setting sun and oncoming starry night.
He remembered what he had come to do — break into the town museum and steal the valuable Mitchell Map which was an original print done in 1755 created of the “New World” by the Virginia medical doctor and botanist, Dr. George Mitchell. His map was once the only source available of coastal and inland information of the Colonies. Born in Lancaster in 1711, Mitchell had actually lived and practiced medicine in Urbanna which made the map even more dear to the people in town.
That thought in his mind that evening in Urbanna was the first moment he felt a tiny pang of conscience that stirred like a mouse about to awaken in the deep recesses of his brain. Stealing a map from such a sweet little town was not a very nice thing to do.
As he lay in his bunk thinking about all this, he could feel the ship shift at anchor with the slight wind in the creek that gently rocked the Goose back and forth. He loved sleeping on the boat, inhaling the rich boat aroma of varnish and sea, hearing the eternal lilt playing on the shrouds, such fine violins, which produced the sweetest music ever played.
He was ready for breakfast. He pulled himself up out of his bunk and into his clothes and tinkered with the alcohol stove. The delicious smell of alcohol flooded the galley. Soon Texas toast fried in butter was sizzling in a large frypan, followed by a slab of Country ham and scrambled eggs. A breakfast fit for a king!
Food always tasted better at sea, he thought finishing the last bite and last gulp of hot coffee. He checked his watch. He needed to get himself launched and into shore as he was to meet Whiz at the town drug store’s lunch counter for coffee at 10 a.m.
He piled the plastic dishes in the sink and headed up on deck. The rain had stopped and the sun was just peeking out of the grey clouds. It looked like it would be clear, however there was still a line of black clouds on the horizon. Snark thought it could very well be a stormy day ahead so better move before it started to rain again.
As he untied his dingy from the bow of the Goose and lowered it into the drink to row to the landing, he took in the sight of the tiny town of Urbanna. On one side of the creek was a string of marinas with various docked boats along a road up a hill that led up to the village.
On the other side of the creek was a sand spit jutting out from a tract of undeveloped land. He assumed this was a popular swimming area for the town people that could arrive by boat or had the courage to swim across the creek from the town marina.
A string of upscale houses spread down the remaining shore all the way to a bridge that crossed the creek as a means for traffic to enter the village.
Snark decided he had better call Whiz and remind her of their planned rendezvous at 10 a.m. that morning at the town’s drug store lunch counter. He landed his dingy, tied it to a pole, and then dialed his ex-girlfriend.
“What? What? You’re actually here, in Urbanna? “Whiz shouted into the phone. “Don’t tell me you took that crazy plan for a perfect crime seriously last week?! It was meant as only a joke, Snark!”
The call ended on a sour note but Whiz agreed to meet him shortly for coffee. Snark frowned staring at the dead phone in his hand as if totally puzzled. How could she have thought last week’s plan to snatch the Mitchell Map had only been a joke?
He was not happy but he made his way up the long hill to town wondering at the never ending whims of women.
→ Part 2
Note to readers: The actions and characters that appear in this story are fictional. The story is written for entertainment and to promote knowledge of our town and local history.
