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 surprise the Martello Tower and take the feeble garrison thereunder, was the work of Tom Coxswain and a few of his blue-jackets.  The surprised garrison laid down their arms before him.

It was midnight before the boats of the ship, commanded by Lieutenant Bunker, pulled off from Bonchurch with muffled oars, and in another hour were off the Common Hard of Portsmouth, having passed the challenges of the “Thetis” and the “Amphion” frigates, and the “Polyanthus” brig.

There had been on that day great feasting and merriment on board the Flag-ship lying in the harbor.  A banquet had been given in honor of the birthday of one of the princes of the royal line of the Guelphs—­the reader knows the propensity of Britons when liquor is in plenty.  All on board that royal ship were more or less overcome.  The Flag-ship was plunged in a deathlike and drunken sleep.  The very officer of the watch was intoxicated:  he could not see the “Repudiator’s” boats as they shot swiftly through the waters; nor had he time to challenge her seamen as they swarmed up the huge sides of the ship.

At the next moment Tom Coxswain stood at the wheel of the “Royal George”—­the Briton who had guarded, a corpse at his feet.  The hatches were down.  The ship was in possession of the “Repudiator’s” crew.  They were busy in her rigging, bending her sails to carry her out of the harbor.  The well-known heave of the men at the windlass woke up Kempenfelt in his state-cabin.  We know, or rather do not know, the result; for who can tell by whom the lower-deck ports of the brave ship were opened, and how the haughty prisoners below sunk the ship and its conquerors rather than yield her as a prize to the Republic!

Only Tom Coxswain escaped of victors and vanquished.  His tale was told to his Captain and to Congress, but Washington forbade its publication; and it was but lately that the faithful seaman told it to me, his grandson, on his hundred-and-fifteenth birthday.

A PLAN FOR A PRIZE NOVEL.

In A letter from the eminent dramatist brown to the eminent novelist Snooks.

“Cafe des AVEUGLES.