p, at a quarter past three P.M., by a
lucky shot which fell into her caboose, and communicated with the
powder-magazine, that Commodore Bowie was enabled to lay himself on
board the "Dettingen," which he carried sword in hand. Even when the
American boarders had made their lodgment on the "Dettingen's" binnacle,
it is possible that the battle would still have gone against us.
The British were still seven to one; their carronades, loaded with
marline-spikes, swept the gun-deck, of which we had possession, and
decimated our little force; when a rifle-ball from the shrouds of the
"Repudiator" shot Captain Mumford under the star of the Guelphic Order
which he wore, and the Americans, with a shout, rushed up the companion
to the quarter-deck, upon the astonished foe. Pike and cutlass did the
rest of the bloody work. Rumford, the gigantic first-lieutenant of
the "Dettingen," was cut down by Commodore Bowie's own sword, as they
engaged hand to hand; and it was Tom Coxswain who tore down the British
flag, after having slain the Englishman at the wheel. Peace be to the
souls of the brave! The combat was honorable alike to the victor and
the vanquished; and it never can be said that an American warrior
depreciated a gallant foe. The bitterness of defeat was enough to the
haughty islanders who had to suffer. The people of Herne Bay were lining
the shore, near which the combat took place, and cruel must have been
the pang to them when they saw the Stars and Stripes rise over the old
flag of the Union, and the "Dettingen" fall down the river in tow of the
Republican frigate.

Another action Bowie contemplated: the boldest and most daring perhaps
ever imagined by seaman. It is this which has been so wrongly described
by European annalists, and of which the British until now have
maintained the most jealous secrecy.

Portsmouth Harbor was badly defended. Our intelligence in that town and
arsenal gave us precise knowledge of the disposition of the troops, the
forts, and the ships there; and it was determined to strike a blow which
should shake the British power in its centre.

That a frigate of the size of the "Repudiator" should enter the harbor
unnoticed, or could escape its guns unscathed, passed the notions of
even American temerity. But upon the memorable 26th of June, 1782, the
"Repudiator" sailed out of Havre Roads in a thick fog, under cover
of which she entered and cast anchor in Bonchurch Bay, in the Isle
of Wight. To surp