The _Constitution_ was the finest, perhaps, of the United States frigates, and a favorite ship with commanders, yet her fame began with her success in running away, Broke’s British squadron chasing her three nights and two days, only to lose her after all. The winds were so light that she sent out her boats to help the sails urge her forward. It was only a few days after that (August 19, 1812) that Commodore Isaac Hull, cruising in search of the British vessel _Guerrière_ (the same that had been captured from the French in the battle of the Nile, and again dismasted at Trafalgar), overhauled her off the coast of Newfoundland. The London newspapers had not only been sneering at the _Constitution_ as “a bundle of pine boards sailing under a bit of striped bunting,” but Captain Dacres had sent a boastful challenge to Hull to meet him and see what would happen. The vessels, though nominally of different rate, were actually in close equality, and both crews were eager for a fair fight. It was already well along in the afternoon, and the sea was rough, but Hull would not reply to the enemy’s fire until he was within pistol-shot, then his broadside opened. “Fifteen minutes after the contest began,” to quote Lossing’s lively account, “the mizzenmast of the _Guerrière_ was shot away, her mainyard was in slings, and her hull, spars, sails, and rigging were torn to pieces. By a skilful movement, the _Constitution_ now fell foul of her foe, her bowsprit running into the larboard quarter of her antagonist. The cabin of the _Constitution_ was set on fire by the explosion of the forward guns of the _Guerrière_, but the flames were soon extinguished. Both parties attempted to board, while the roar of the great guns was terrific. The sea was rolling heavily, and would not permit a safe passage from one vessel to the other. At length the _Constitution_ became disentangled, and shot ahead of the _Guerrière_, when the mainmast of the latter, shattered into weakness, fell into the sea. The _Guerrière_, shivered and shorn, rolled like a log in the trough of the billows. Hull sent his compliments to Captain Dacres, and inquired whether he had struck his flag. Dacres, who was a ‘jolly tar,’ looking up and down at the stumps of his masts, coolly and dryly replied: ‘Well, I don’t know. Our mizzenmast is gone, our mainmast is gone,—upon the whole you may say we _have_ struck our flag.’”