Though the brave frigate lay off Havre de Grace, she was not idle.  The gallant Bowie and his intrepid crew made repeated descents upon the enemy’s seaboard.  The coasts of Rutland and merry Leicestershire have still many a legend of fear to tell; and the children of the British fishermen tremble even now when they speak of the terrible “Repudiator.”  She was the first of the mighty American war-ships that have taught the domineering Briton to respect the valor of the Republic.

The novelist ever and anon finds himself forced to adopt the sterner tone of the historian, when describing deeds connected with his country’s triumphs.  It is well known that during the two months in which she lay off Havre, the “Repudiator” had brought more prizes into that port than had ever before been seen in the astonished French waters.  Her actions with the “Dettingen” and the “Elector” frigates form part of our country’s history; their defence—­it may be said without prejudice to national vanity—­was worthy of Britons and of the audacious foe they had to encounter; and it must be owned, that but for a happy fortune which presided on that day over the destinies of our country, the chance of the combat might have been in favor of the British vessels.  It was not until the “Elector” blew up, 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.