Chapter III: Part 3

"She's been out with me many a night on the Sound. She's brave, and won't mind a good south-west wind, such as I dare say breaks in on the shore this minute. Go and call her."

And so the family started forth to go fishing.

This was a night the two brothers had been looking forward to during weeks of earnest labor, and now--well, it could not be helped, and there was not a moment in which to hold counsel.

Mr. Bushnell had planned this surprise early in the day, but had not told his wife until evening. Then he announced his determination to "learn what all these midnight and all-night absences did mean."

As the Lady Fenwick came out from the Pochaug River into the Sound, the south-west wind brought crested waves to shore. The wind was increasing, and, to the great relief of David and Ezra, Mr. Bushnell gave the order to turn back into the river.

The next day David Bushnell asked his mother whether or not she knew the reason his father had proposed to go out with them the night before.

"Yes, David," was the reply, "I do."

"Will you tell me?"

"He does not believe that you and Ezra go fishing at all."

"What do you believe about it, mother?"

"I believe in _you_, David, and that when you have anything to tell to me, I shall be glad to listen."

"And father does not trust me yet; I am sorry," said David, turning away. And then, as by a sudden impulse, he returned and said:

"If you can trust _me_ so entirely, mother, _we_ can trust _you_. To-day, two gentlemen will be here. You will please be ready to go out in the boat with us whenever they come."

"Where to?"

"To my fishing ground, mother."

The strangers arrived, and were presented to Mrs. Bushnell as Dr. Gale and his friend, Mr. Franklin.

At three of the clock the little family set off in the row-boat. Down at Pochaug harbor, there was Mr. Bushnell hallooing to them to be taken on board.

"I saw my family starting on an unknown voyage," he remarked, as the boat approached the shore as nearly as it could, while he waded out to meet it.

"Ah, Friend Gale, is that you?" he said, as with dripping feet he stepped in. "And whither bound?" he added, dropping into a seat.

"For the far and distant land of the unknown, Mr. Bushnell. Permit me to introduce you to my friend, Mr. Franklin."

"Franklin! Franklin!" exclaimed Mr. Bushnell, eyeing the stranger a little rudely. "_Doctor Benjamin Franklin_, _if you please_, Benjamin Gale!" he corrected, to the utter amazement of the party.

The oars missed the stroke, caught it again, and, for a minute, poor Dr. Franklin was confused by the sudden announcement that he existed at all, and, in particular, in that small boat on the sea.

"Yes, sir, even so," responded Dr. Gale, cheerfully adding, "and we're going down to see the new fishing tackle your son is going to catch the enemy's ships with."

"Fishing tackle! Enemy's ships! Why, David _is_ the laziest man in all Saybrook town. He does nothing with his first summer but fish, fish all night long! The only stroke of honest work I've _ever_ known him to do was to build this boat we're in."

During this time the brothers were pulling with a will for the island.

Arrived there, the boat was drawn up on the sand, the seine-house unlocked, and, when the light of day had been let into it, fishing-reel and seine had disappeared, and, in the language of Doctor Benjamin Gale, this is what they found therein:

THE AMERICAN TURTLE.

"The body, when standing upright, in the position in which it is
navigated, has the nearest resemblance to the two upper shells of
the tortoise, joined together. It is seven and a half feet long,
and six feet high. The person who navigates it enters at the top.
It has a brass top or cover which receives the person's head, as
he sits on a seat, and is fastened on the inside by screws.

"On this brass head are fixed eight glasses, viz: two before, two
on each side, one behind, and one to look out upwards. On the same
brass head are fixed two brass tubes to admit fresh air when
requisite, and a ventilator at the side, to free the machine from
the air rendered unfit for respiration.

"On the inside is fixed a barometer, by which he can tell the
depth he is under water; a compass by which he knows the course he
steers. In the barometer, and on the needles of the compass, is
fixed fox-fire--that is, wood that gives light in the dark. His
ballast consists of about nine hundred-weight of lead, which he
carries at the bottom and on the outside of the machine, part of
which is so fixed as he can let run down to the bottom, and serves
as an anchor by which he can ride _ad libitum_.

"He has a sounding lead fixed at the bow, by which he can take the
depth of water under him, and a forcing-pump by which he can free
the machine at pleasure, and can rise above water, and again
immerge, as occasion requires.

"In the bow he has a pair of oars fixed like the two opposite arms
of a windmill, with which he can row forward, and, turning them
the opposite way, row the machine backward; another pair, fixed
upon the same model, with which he can row the machine round,
either to the right or left; and a third by which he can row the
machine either up or down; all of which are turned by foot, like a
spinning wheel. The rudder by which he steers he manages by hand,
within-board.

"All these shafts which pass through the machine are so curiously
fixed as not to admit any water.

"The magazine for the powder is carried on the hinder part of the
machine, without-board, and so contrived that, when he comes under
the side of a ship, he rubs down the side until he comes to the
keel, and a hook so fixed as that when it touches the keel it
raises a spring which frees the magazine from the machine, and
fastens it to the side of the ship; at the same time it draws a
pin, which sets the watch-work a-going, which, at a given time,
springs the lock, and an explosion ensues."

Thus wrote Dr. Benjamin Gale to Silas Deane, member of Congress at Philadelphia. His letter bears the date November 9, 1775, and, after describing the wonderful machine, he adds:

"I well know the man. Lately he has conducted matters with the
greatest secrecy, both for the personal safety of the navigator,
and to produce the greater astonishment to those against whom it
is designed; and, you may call me a visionary, an enthusiast, or
what you please, I do insist upon it that I believe the
inspiration of the Almighty has given him understanding for this
very purpose and design."

When the seine-house door had been fastened open, when Dr. Franklin and Dr. Gale had gone within, followed by the two brothers, Mr. Bushnell and his wife stood without looking in, and wondering in their hearts what the sight they saw could mean; for, of the intent or purpose of the curious, oaken, iron-bound, many-paddled, brass-headed, window-lighted thing, they, it must be remembered, knew nothing. It must mean something extraordinary, of course, or Doctor Franklin would never have thought it worth his while to come out of his way to behold it.

"Father," whispered Mrs. Bushnell, "it's the _fish_ David has been all summer catching."

"Fish!" ejaculated Mr. Bushnell, "it's more like a turtle."

"That's good!" spoke up Dr. Gale, from within. "Turtle it shall be."

"It is the first _submarine_ boat ever made--a grand idea, wrought into substance," slowly pronounced Dr. Franklin; "let us have it forth into the river."

"And run the risk of discovery?" suggested David, pleased that his work approved itself to the man of science.

"We meant to try it last night, but failed," said Ezra Bushnell.

"There, now, father, don't you wish we had staid at home?" whispered Mrs. Bushnell.

"No!" growled the father. "They would have killed themselves getting it down alone."

He stepped within and laid his hand on the machine, saying:

"Anna, you keep watch, and, if any boat heaves in sight, let us know. Does the Turtle snap, David?" he questioned, putting forth his hand and laying it cautiously upon the animal.

"Never, until the word is given," replied the son, and then ten strong hands applied the strength within them to lift the curious piece of mechanism and carry it without.

The seine-house was close to the river-bank, and in a half-hour's time the American Turtle was in its native element.

Madam Anna Bushnell kept strict watch over the shores and the river, but not a sail slid into sight, not an oar troubled the waters of the tide, as it tossed back the tumble of the down-flowing river.

It was a hard duty for the mother to perform; for, at a glance toward the bank, she saw David step into the machine, and the brass cover close down over his head. She felt suffocating fears for him, as, at last, the thing began to move into the stream. She saw it go out, she saw it slowly sinking, going down out of sight, until even the brass head was submerged.

Then she forsook her post, and hastened to the bank to keep watch with the rest.

One, two, three minutes went by. The men looked at the surface of the waters, at each other, grew thoughtful, pale; the mother gasped and dropped on the salt grass, fainting; the brother gave to Lady Fenwick a running push, bounded on board, and clutched the oars to row swiftly to the spot where David went down.

Mr. Bushnell filled his hat with water, and sprinkled the pale face in the sedge.

"_There! there!_" cried Dr. Franklin, with distended eyes and eager outlook.

"_Where? where?_" ejaculated Dr. Gale, striving to take into vision the whole surface of the river, at a glance.

"It's all right! He's coming up _plump_!" shouted Ezra, from his boat, as he rowed with speed for the spot where a brass tube was rising, sun-burnished, from the Connecticut.

Presently the brass head, with its very small windows, emerged, even the oaken sides were rising,--and Mr. Bushnell was greeting the returning consciousness of his wife with the words:

"It's all right, mother. David is safe."

"Don't let him know," were the first words she spoke, "that his own mother was so faithless as to doubt!"

And now, paddle, paddle, toward the river-bank came the Turtle, David Bushnell's head rising out of its shell, proud confidence shining forth from his eyes, as feet and hands busied themselves in navigating the boat that had lived for months in his brain, and now was living, in very substance, under his control.

As he neared the bank a shout of acclamation greeted him.

He reached the island, was fairly dragged forth from his seat, and carried up to the spot where his mother sat, trying to overcome every trace of past doubt and fear.

"Now," said Dr. Gale, "let us give thanks unto Him who hath given this youth understanding to do this great work."

With bared heads and devout hearts the thanksgiving went upward, and thereafter a perfect shower of questions pelted David Bushnell concerning his device to blow up ships: _how_ he came to think of it at all--_where_ he got this idea and that as to its construction--to all of which he simply said:

"_You'll find your answer in the prayer you've just offered!_"

"But," said practical Mr. Bushnell, "the Lord did not send you money to buy oak and iron and brass, did he?"

"Yes," returned David, "by the hand of my good friend, Dr. Gale. To him belongs half the victory."

"Pshaw! pshaw!" impatiently uttered the doctor. "I tell you it is _no such thing_! I only advanced My Lady here," turning to Madam Bushnell, "a little money, on her promise to pay me at some future time. I'm mightily ashamed _now_ that I took the promise at all. Madam Bushnell, I'll never take a penny of it back again, _never_, as long as I live. I _will_ have a little of the credit of this achievement, and no one shall hinder me."

"How is that, mother?" questioned Mr. Bushnell. "_You_ borrow money and not tell me!" and David and Ezra looked at her.

"I--I--" stammered forth the woman, "I only _guessed_ that David was doing something that he wanted money for, and told Dr. Gale if he gave it to him I would repay it. Do you _care_, father?"

Before he had a chance to get an answer in, David Bushnell stepped forward, and, taking the little figure of his mother in his arms, kissed her sharply, and walked away, to give some imaginary attention to the Turtle at the bank.

"It is a fair land to work for!" spoke up Doctor Franklin, looking about upon river and earth and sea; "worthy it is of our highest efforts; of our lives, even, if need be. God give us strength as our need _shall_ be."

With many a tug and pull and hearty heave-ho, the Turtle was hoisted up the bank and safely drawn into the seine-house. The door was locked, and Lady Fenwick's tomb gave forth no sound that night.

Doctor Franklin went his way to Boston. Doctor Gale returned to Killingworth and his waiting patients, and the Bushnells, father, mother and sons, having put the two gentlemen on the Saybrook shore, went down the river into the Sound, along its edge, and up the small Pochaug to their own home by the sycamore tree.

Mr. Bushnell and Ezra did the rowing that night. David's white hands had, somehow, a new radiance in them for his father's eyes, and did not seem exactly fitted for rowing just a common boat and every-day oars.

The young man sat in the stern, beside his mother, one arm around her waist, and the other clasped closely between her little palms, while, now and then, her finding eyes would penetrate his consciousness with a glance that seemed to say, "I always believed in you, David."

* * * * *

If you go to-day and stand upon the site of the old fort, built at the mouth of the Connecticut River, in the year 1635, by Lion Gardiner, once engineer in the service of the Prince of Orange, and search the waters up and down for the island on which David Bushnell built the American Turtle in 1775, you will not find it.

If you seek the oldest inhabitant of Saybrook, and ask him to point out its locality, he will say, with boyhood's fondness for olden play-grounds in his tone:

"Ah, yes! It is _Poverty_ Island that you mean. It used to be there, but spring freshets and beating storms have washed it away."

The unexpected visit of Dr. Benjamin Franklin, to see the machine David Bushnell was building, gave new force to that young gentleman's confidence in his own powers of invention.

He worked with increased energy and hope to perfect boat and magazine, that he might do good service with them before winter should fall on the waters of the Massachusetts Bay, where the hostile ships were lying.

At last came the day wherein the final trial-trip should be made. The pumps built by Mr. Doolittle, but not according to order, had failed once, but new ones had been supplied, and everything seemed propitious. David and Ezra, with their mother in the boat, rowed once more to Poverty Island. "On the morrow the great venture should begin," they said.

The time was mid-October. The forests had wrapped the cooling coast in warmth of coloring that was soft and many-hued as the shawls of Cashmere, while the sun-made fringe of goldenrod fell along the shores of river and island and sea.

Mrs. Bushnell's heart beat proudly above the fond affection that could not suppress a shiver, as the Turtle was pushed into the stream. She could not help seeing that David made a line fast from the seine-house to his boat ere he went down. They watched many minutes to see him rise to the surface, but he did not.

"Mother," said Ezra, "the pump for forcing water out when he wants to rise don't work, and we must pull him in. He feared it."

As he spoke the words he laid hold on the line, and began gently to draw on it.

"Hurry! hurry! _do!_" cried Mrs. Bushnell, seizing the same line close to the water's edge, and drawing on it with all her strength. She was vexed that Ezra had not told her the danger in the beginning, and she "knew _very_ well that SHE would not have stood there and let David die of suffocation, in that horrid, brass-topped coffin!"

"Hold, mother!" cried Ezra; "pull gently, or the line may part on some barnacled rock if it gets caught."

Nevertheless, Mrs. Bushnell pulled in as fast as she could.

The tide was sweeping up the river, and a shark, in hard chase after a school of menhaden, swam steadily up, with fin out of water.

Just as the shark reached the place, he made a dive, and the rope parted!

Mrs. Bushnell screamed a word or two of the terror that had seized her. Ezra looked up, amazed to find the rope coming in so readily, hand over hand. He cast it down, sprang to the boat, and pushed off to the possible rescue, only to find that the Turtle was making for the river-bank instead of the island.

He rowed to the spot. His brother, for the first time in his life, was overcome with disappointment and disinclined to talk.

"I--I," said David, wiping his forehead. "I grew tired, and made for shore. The tide was taking me up fast."

"Did you let go the line?" questioned Ezra.

"Yes."

"The pump works all right, then?"

"Yes."

"You've frightened mother terribly."

"Have I? I never thought. I _forgot_ she was here. Let us get back, then;" and the two brothers, without speaking a word, rowed down against the sweep of tide, the great Turtle in tow.

The three went home, still keeping a silence broken only by briefest possible question and answer.

The golden October night fell upon the old town. Pochaug River, its lone line of silver gathered in many a stretch of interval into which the moon looked calmly down, lay on the land for many a mile.

Again and again, during the evening, David Bushnell went out from the house and stood silently on the rough bridge that crossed the river by the door.

"Let David alone, mother," urged Ezra, as she was about to follow him on one occasion. "He is thinking out something, and is better alone."

That which the young man was thinking at the moment was, that he wished the moon would hurry and go down. He longed for darkness.

The night was growing cold. Frost was in the air.

As he stood on the rough logs, a post-rider, hurrying by with letters, came up.

"Holloa there!" he called aloud, not liking the looks of the man on the bridge.

"It's I,--David Bushnell, Joe Downs! You can ride by in safety," he responded, ringing out one of his merriest chimes of laughter at the very idea of being taken for a highwayman.

"I've news," said Joe; "want it?"

"Yes."

Joe Downs opened his pocket, and, by the light of the moon, found the letter he had referred to.

"Dr. Gale told me not to fail to put this into your hands as I came by. I should kind o' judge, by the way he _spoke_, that the continent couldn't get along very well _'thout you_, if I hadn't known a thing or two. Howsomever, here's the letter, and I've to jog on to Guilford afore the moon goes down. So good-night."

"Good night, Joe. Thank you for stopping," said David, going into the house.

"Were you expecting that letter, David?" questioned Mr. Bushnell, when it had been read.

"No, sir. It is from Dr. Gale. He asks me to hasten matters as far as possible, but a new contrivance will have to go in before I am ready."

"There! _That's_ what troubles him," thought both Mrs. Bushnell and Ezra, and they exchanged glances of sympathy and satisfaction--and the little household went to sleep, quite care-free that night.

At two of the clock, with nearly noiseless tread, David Bushnell left the house.

As the door closed his mother moved uneasily in her sleep, and awoke with the sudden consciousness that something uncanny had happened. She looked from a window and saw, by the light of a low-lying moon, that David had gone out.

Without awakening her husband she protected herself with needful clothing, and, wrapped about in one of the curious plaid blankets of mingled blue and white, adorned with white fringe, that are yet to be found in the land, she followed into the night.

Save for the sleepy tinkle of the water over the stones in the Pochaug River, and an occasional cry of a night-bird still lingering by the sea, the air was very still.

With light tread across the bridge she ran a little way, and then ventured a timid cry of her own into the night:

"David! David!"

Now David Bushnell hoped to escape without awakening his mother. He was lingering near, to learn whether his going had disturbed anyone, and he was quite prepared for the call.

Turning back to meet her he thought: "_What_ a mother _mine_ is." And he said, "Well, mother, what is it? I was afraid I might disturb you."

"O David!" was all that she could utter in response.

"And so _you_ are troubled about me, are you? I'm only going to chase the will-o'-the-wisp a little while, and I could not do it, you know, until moon-down."

"_O_ David!" and this time with emphatic pressure on his arm, "David, come home. _I_ can't let you go off alone."

"Come with me, then. You're well blanketed, I see. I'd much rather have some one with me, only Ezra was tired and sleepy."

He said this with so much of his accustomed manner that Mrs. Bushnell put her hand within his arm and went on, quite content now, and willing that he should speak when it pleased him to do so, and it pleased him very soon.

"Little mother," he said, "I am afraid you are losing faith in me."

"Never! David; only--I _was_ a little afraid that you were losing your own head, or faith in yourself."

"No; but I _am_ afraid I've lost my faith in something else. I showed you the two bits of fox-fire that were crossed on one end of the needle in the compass, and the one bit made fast to the other? Well, to-day, when I went to the bottom of the river, the fox-fire gave no light, and the compass was useless. Can you understand how bad that would be under an enemy's ship, not to know in which direction to navigate?"

"You must have fresh fire, then."

"_That_ is just what I am out for to-night. I had to wait till the moon was gone."

"Oh! is _that_ all? How foolish I have been! but you ought to tell me some things, sometimes, David."

"And so I will. I tell you now that it will be well for you to go home and go to sleep. I may have to go deep into the woods to find the fire I want."

But his mother only walked by his side a little faster than before, and on they went to a place where a bit of woodland had grown up above fallen trees.

They searched in places wherein both had seen the fire of decaying wood a hundred times, but not one gleam of phosphorescence could be found anywhere. At last they turned to go homeward.

"What will you do, David? Go and search in the Killingworth woods to-morrow night?" she asked, as they drew near home.

"It is of no use," he said, with a sigh. "It _must_ be that the frost destroys the fox-fire. Unless Dr. Franklin knows of a light that will not eat up the air, everything must be put off until spring."

The next day David Bushnell went to Killingworth, to tell the story to Dr. Gale, and Dr. Gale wrote to Silas Deane (Conn. Historical Col., Vol. 2), begging him to inquire of Dr. Franklin concerning the possibility of using the Philosopher's Lantern, but no light was found, and the poor Turtle was housed in the seine-house on Poverty Island during the long winter, which proved to be one of great mildness from late December to mid-February.

In February we find David Bushnell before Governor Jonathan Trumbull and his Council at Lebanon, to tell about and illustrate the marvels of his wonderful machine.

During this time the whole affair had been kept a profound secret from all but the faithful few surrounding the inventor. And now, if ever, the time was drawing near wherein the labor and outlay must either repay laborer and lender, or give to both great trouble and distress.

I cannot tell you with what trepidation the young man walked into the War Office at Lebanon, with a very small Turtle under his arm.

You will please remember the situation of the colonists at that moment. On the land they feared not to contend with Englishmen. Love of liberty in the Provincials was strong enough, when united with a trusty musket and a fair supply of powder, to encounter red-coated regulars of the British army; but on the ocean, and in every bay, harbor and river, they were powerless. The enemy's ships had kept Boston in siege for nearly two years, the Americans having no opposing force to contend with them.

Could this little Turtle, which David Bushnell carried under his arm, do the work he wished it to, why, every ship of the line could be blown into the air!

The inventor had faith in his invention, but he feared, when he looked into the faces of the grave Governor and his Council of War, that he could _never_ impart his own belief to them.

I cannot tell you with what trust of heart and faith of soul Mrs. Bushnell kept the February day in the house by the bridge at Pochaug. Even the strong-minded, sturdy-nerved Mr. Bushnell looked often up the road by which David and Ezra would approach from Lebanon, with a keen interest in his eyes; but he would not let any word escape him, until darkness had fallen and they were not come.

"He said he would be here at eight, at the very latest," said the mother at length, and she went to the fire and placed before the burning coals two chickens to broil.

"I'm afraid David won't have much appetite, unless his model _should_ be approved, and money is too precious to spend on _experiments_," said Mr. Bushnell, as she returned to his side.

"Do you mean to tell me you _doubt_?"

"Of course I doubt. Jonathan Trumbull is a man not at all likely to give his consent to anything that does not commend itself to common sense."

Mr. Bushnell was saved the pain of saying his thought, that he was afraid, if David's plan was a good one, _somebody_ would have thought of it long ago, for vigorous knuckles were at work upon the winter-door.

As soon as it was opened the genial form of good Dr. Gale stood revealed.

"Are the boys back yet?" he asked, stepping within.

"No, but we expect them every minute," said Mr. Bushnell.

"Well, friends, I had a patient within three miles of you to visit, and I thought I'd come on and hear the news."

Ere he was fully made welcome to hearth and home, in walked David, with the little Turtle under his arm. Without ado he went up to his mother and said:

"Madam, I present this to you, with Governor Trumbull's compliments. He has ordered your boy money, men, metals and powder without stint to work with. _Wish me joy, won't you?_"

I do not anywhere find a record of the words in which the joy was wished, on that 2nd of February, a hundred years ago, but it is easy to imagine the very tones in which the good, God-loving Dr. Gale gave thanks for the new blessing that had that day fallen on his friend's house.

It is impossible to follow David Bushnell in his many journeys to the iron furnaces of Salisbury, in the spring and early summer of 1776, during which time the entire country was aroused and astir from the removal of the American army from Boston to New York; and our friends at Saybrook were busy as bees from morning till night, in getting ready perfect machines for duty.

David Bushnell's strength proved insufficient to navigate one of his Turtles in the tidal waters of the Sound, and his brother Ezra learned to do it most perfectly.

In the latter end of June, the British fleet, which had sailed out of Boston harbor so ingloriously on the 17th of March, for Halifax, there to await re-inforcements, appeared in waters adjacent to New York.

The signal of their approach was gladly hailed by the inventor and by the navigator of the American Turtle.

A whale-boat from New London, her seamen sworn to inviolable secrecy, was ordered to be in the river at a given point, on a given night, for a service of which the men were utterly ignorant.

On the evening previous, Ezra Bushnell, overworn by many attempts at navigating the machine, was taken seriously ill. At midnight he was delirious--at day-dawn Dr. Gale was sent for.

When night fell he was in a raging fever, with no prospect of rapid recovery.

David set off alone, and with a heavy heart, to meet the boatmen. In the seine-house on Poverty Island the brothers had stored provisions for a cruise of several days. To this spot David Bushnell went alone, and with a saddened heart, for he knew that it must be many days ere he could learn of his brother's condition.

The New London boatmen were promptly at the appointed place of meeting.

When they saw the curious thing they were told to take in tow, their curiosity knew no bounds; and it was only when assured that it was dangerous to examine it, that they desisted from their determination to know all about it, and consented to obey orders.

When, at last, a departure was made, the hour was midnight, the tide served, and no ill-timed discovery was made of the deed.

The strong-armed boatmen rowed well and long, and, as daylight dawned, they were directed to keep a look-out for Faulkner's Island, a small bit of land in the Sound, nearly five miles from the Connecticut shore.

The flashing light that illumines the waters at night for us, did not gleam on them, but nevertheless, the high brown bank and the little slope of land looked inviting to weary men, as they cautiously rowed near to it, not knowing whom they might meet there.

They landed, made a fire, cooked their food, ate of it, and lay down to sleep until night should come again.

They set out early in the ensuing twilight, and rowed westward all night, in the face of a gentle wind.

"If there were only another Faulkner's Island to flee to," said Mr. Bushnell, as morning drew near. "Do you know (to one of the men) a safe place to hide in on this coast?"

They were then off Merwin's Point, and between West Haven and Milford.

"There's Poquahaug," was the reply, with a momentary catch of the oar, and incline of the head toward the south-west.

"_What_ is Poquahaug?"

"A little island, pretty well in, close to shore, as it were, and, maybe, deserted."

After deliberate council had been held it was resolved to examine the locality.

A few years after New Haven and Milford churches were formed under the oak-tree at New Haven, this little island, to which they were fleeing to hide the Turtle from daylight, was "granted to Charles Deal for a tobacco plantation, provided that he would not trade with the Dutch or Indians;" but now Indians, Dutch and Charles Deal alike had left it, the latter with a rude, sheltering building in place of Ansantawae's big summer wigwam that used to adorn its crest.

To this spot, bright with grass, and green with full-foliaged trees of oak on its eastern shore, the weary boatmen, who had had a long, hard pull of twenty miles to make, came, just as the longest day's sun was at its rising.

They were so glad and relieved _and_ satisfied to find no one on it.

The Turtle was left at anchor near the shore; the whale-boat gave up of its provisions, and presently the little camp was in the enjoyment of a long day of rest and refreshment.

Should anyone approach from the seaward or from the mainland, it was determined that the party should resolve itself into a band of fishermen, fishing for striped bass, for which the locality was well known.

As the day wore on, and the falling tide revealed a line of stones that gradually increased, as the water fell, to a bar a hundred feet wide, stretching from the island to the sands of the Connecticut shore, David Bushnell perceived that the locality was just the proper place in which to learn and teach the art of navigating the Turtle. He examined the region well, and then called the men together.

They were staunch, good-hearted fellows, accustomed to long pulls in northern seas after whales, and that they were patriotic he fully believed. The Turtle was drawn up under the grassy bank, where the long sedge half hid, and bushels of rock-weed and sea-drift wholly concealed it, and then, in a few carefully-chosen words, David Bushnell entrusted it to the watch and care of the boatmen.

"I am going to leave it here, and you with it, until I return," he said. "Guard it with your lives if need be. If you handle it, it will be at the risk of life. If you keep it _well_, Congress will reward you."

The mystery of the whole affair enchanted the men. They made faithful promises, and, in the glorious twilight of the evening, rowed David Bushnell across the beautiful stretch of Sound that to-day separates Charles Island from the comely old town of Milford.

As the whale-boat went up the harbor, a sailing vessel was getting ready to depart.

Finding that it was bound to New York, David Bushnell took passage in it the same night.

Two days later, with a letter from Governor Trumbull to General Washington as his introduction, the young man, by command of the latter, sought out General Parsons, and "requested him to furnish him with two or three men to learn the navigation of his new machine. General Parsons immediately sent for Ezra Lee, then a sergeant, and two others, who had _offered_ their services to go on board a fireship; and, on Bushnell's request being made known to them, they enlisted themselves under him for this novel piece of service."

Returning to Poquahaug (the Indian name of Charles Island), the American Turtle was found safe and sound. Here the little party spent many days in experimenting with it in the waters about the island; and in the Housatonic River.

During this time the enemy had got possession of a portion of Long Island, and of Governor's Island in the harbor--thus preventing the approach to New York by the East River.

When the appalling news of the battle of Long Island reached David Bushnell, he resolved, cost what it might of danger to himself, or hazard to the Turtle, to get it to New York with all speed.

To that end he had it conveyed by water to New Rochelle, there landed and carried across the country to the Hudson River, and presently we hear of it as being on a certain night, late in August, ready to start on its perilous enterprise.

If you will go to-day and stand where the Turtle floated that night (for the land has since that time grown outward into the sea), on your right hand across the Hudson River, you will see New Jersey. At your left, across the East River, Long Island begins, with the beautiful Governor's Island in the bay just before you, and, looking to the southward, in the distance, you will discern Staten Island.

Let us go back to that day and hour.

The precise date of the Turtle's voyage down the bay is not given, but the time must have been on the night of either the thirtieth or thirty-first of August. We will choose the thirtieth, and imagine ourselves standing in the crowd by the side of Generals Washington and Putnam, to see the machine start.

Remember, now, where we stand. It is only _last_ night that _our_ army, defeated, dispirited, exhausted by battle, lay across the river on Brooklyn Heights. Behind it, busy with pickaxe and shovel, the victorious troops of Mother England were making ready to "finish" the Americans on the morrow.

There were supposed to be twenty-four thousand of the enemy, only nine thousand Continentals; and, just ready to enter East River and cut them off from New York, lay the British fleet to the north of Staten Island.

As happened at Boston in March, so happened it last night in New York, a friendly fog held the heights of Brooklyn in its grasp, while at New York all was clear.

Under cover of this fog General Washington withdrew across the river, a mile or more in width, _nine thousand men_, with all their "baggage, stores, provisions, horses, and munitions of war," and not a man of the enemy knew that they were gone until the fog lifted.

Now, as we stand, Long Island, Governor's Island, Staten Island, one and all are under the control of Britons.

David Bushnell is in a whale-boat, down close to the Turtle, giving some last important words of direction to brave Ezra Lee, who has stepped within it. David Bushnell could not help wishing, as he did so, that he could take his place and guide the spirit of the child of his own creation, in its first great encounter with the world.

The word is given. The brass top of the Turtle is shut down. Watchful eyes and swift rowers belonging to the enemy are keeping guard on Governor's Island, by which Ezra Lee must row, and it is safer to go under water. How crowded this little pier would be, did the inhabitants but know what is going on!

The whale-boats start out, David Bushnell in one of them. They mean to take the Turtle in tow the minute it is safe to do so and save Ezra Lee the labor of rowing it until the last minute.

It is eleven o'clock. All silently they dip the oars, and hear the sentinels cry from camp and shore.

Past the island, in safety, at last. They look for the Turtle. Up it comes, a distant watch-light gleaming across its brass head disclosing its presence. Once more it is in tow, and Lee is in the whale-boat.

Down the bay they go, until the lights from the fleet grow dangerously near.

On the wide, wind-stirred waters of New York Bay, Ezra Lee gets into the Turtle, and is cast off, and left alone, for the whale-boats return to New York.

With the rudder in his hand, and his _feet_ upon the oars, he pursues his way. The strong ebb tide flows fast, and, before he is aware of it, it has drifted him down past the men-of-war.

However, he immediately _gets the machine about_, and, "by hard labor at the crank for the space of five glasses by the ships' bells, or two and a half hours, he arrives under the stern of one of the ships at about slack water."

Day is now beginning to dawn. He can see the people on board, and hear them talk.

The moment has come for diving. He closes up quickly overhead, lets in the water, and goes down under the ship's bottom.

He now applies the screw and does all in his power to make it enter, but in vain; it will not pierce the ship's copper. Undaunted, he paddles along to a different part, hoping to find a softer place; but, in doing this, in his hurry and excitement, he manages the mechanism so that the Turtle instantly arises to the surface on the east side of the ship, and is at once exposed to the piercing light of day.

Again he goes under, hoping that he has not been seen.

This time his courage fails. It is getting to be day. If the ship's boats are sent after him his escape will be very difficult, well-nigh impossible, and, if he saves himself at all, it must be by rowing more than four miles.

He gives up the enterprise with reluctance, and starts for New York.

Governor's Island _must_ be passed by. He draws near to it, as near as he can venture, and then submerges the Turtle. Alas! something has befallen the compass. It will not guide the rowing under the sea.

Every few minutes he is compelled to rise to the surface to look out from the top of the machine to guide his course, and his track grows very zig-zag through the waters.

Ah! the soldiers at Governor's Island see the Turtle! Hundreds are gathering upon the parapet to watch its motions, such a curious boat as it is, with turret of brass bobbing up and down, sinking, disappearing--coming to the surface again in a manner _wholly_ unaccountable.

Brave Lee knows his danger, and paddles away for dear life and love of family up in Lyme, eating breakfast quietly now he remembers, not knowing his peril.

Once more he goes up to take a lookout, to see where White-hall slip lies.

A glance at Governor's Island, and he sees a barge shove off laden with his enemies.

Down again, and up, and he sees it making for him. _There is no escape!_ What _can_ he do!

"If I must die," he thinks, "they shall die with me!" and he lets go the magazine.

Nearer and nearer--the barge is _very_ close. "If they pick me up they will pick that up," thinks Lee, "and we shall all be blown to atoms together!"

They are now within a hundred and fifty feet of the Turtle and they see the magazine that he has detached.

"Some horrible Yankee trick!" cries a British soldier. "_Beware!_" And they do beware by turning and rowing with all speed for the island whence they came.

Poor Lee looks out with amazement to see them go. He is well-nigh exhausted, _and the magazine, with its dreadful clock-work going on within it, and its hundred and fifty pounds of powder, ready to go off at a given moment_, is floating on behind him, borne by the tide.

He strains every muscle to near New York. He signals the shore.

Since daylight Putnam has been there keeping watch. David Bushnell has paced up and down all night, in keen anxiety.

The friendly whale-boats put out to meet him.

Meanwhile, slowly borne by the coming tide, the magazine floats into the East River.

"It will blow up in five minutes now," says Bushnell, looking at his watch, and he goes to welcome Ezra Lee.

The five minutes go by.

Suddenly, with tremendous voice, and awful uproar of the sea, the magazine explodes.

Columns of water toss high in air, mingled with the oaken ribs that held the powder but a minute ago.

Consternation seizes British troops on Long Island. The brave soldiers on the parapet at Governor's Island quake with fear. All New York rushes to the river-side to find out what it can mean. Nothing, on all the face of the earth, _ever_ happened like it before, one and all declare.

Opinion varies concerning it, from bomb to earthquake, from meteor to water-spout, and settles down on neither.

Poor Ezra Lee feels that he _meant_ well, but did not act wisely. David Bushnell praises the sergeant, and takes all the want of success to himself, in not going to do his own work.

Meanwhile, with astonishment, Generals Washington and Putnam and David Bushnell himself behold, as did the Provincials, _after_ the battle of _Bunker-Breed's_ Hill, _victory in defeat_, for lo! no British ship sails up the East River, or appears to bombard New York.

Silently they weigh anchor and drop down the bay. The little American Turtle gained a bloodless victory that day.

NOTE.--The writer has carefully followed, in the account of the
Turtle's attempt upon the Eagle, the statement of Ezra Lee, made
to Mr. Charles Griswold of Lyme, more than forty years after the
occurrence, and by him communicated to the _American Journal of
Science and Arts_ in 1820. For the description of the wonderful
mechanism of the machine, the account given _at the time_ by Dr.
Gale in his letters to Silas Deane has been chosen, as probably
more accurate than one made from memory after forty years had
passed.

* * * * *

David Bushnell was appointed from civil life Captain-Lieutenant of a Corps of Sappers and Miners--recommended for the position by Governor Trumbull, General Parsons and others. June 8, 1781, he was promoted full Captain. He was present at the siege of Yorktown and commanded the Corps in 1783.

He was also a member of the Society of the Cincinnati.

THE BIRTHDAY OF OUR NATION.

Bellman Grey and Blue-Eyed Boy were hurrying up Chestnut street; the man carried a large key, the boy a new broom.

It was a very warm morning in a very warm month of a very warm year; in fact it may as well be stated at once that it was the Fourth day of July, 1776, and that Bellman Grey and Blue-Eyed Boy were in haste to make ready the State House of Pennsylvania for the birth of the United States of America. No wonder they were in a hurry.

In fact, everybody seemed in a hurry that day; for before Bellman Grey had whisked that new broom over the floor of Congress Hall, in walked, arm-in-arm, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Bellman Grey. "You'll find the dust settled in the committee-room. I'm cleaning house a little extra to-day for the expected visitor."

"For the coming heir?" said Mr. Adams.

"When Liberty comes, She comes to stay," said Mr. Jefferson, half-suffocated with the dust; and the two retreated to the committee-room.

Blue-Eyed Boy was polishing with his silken duster the red morocco of a chair as the gentlemen opened the door. He heard one of them say, "If Caesar Rodney gets here, it will be done."

"If it's done," said the boy, "won't you, please, Mr. Adams, won't you, please, Mr. Jefferson, let me carry the news to General Washington?"

The two gentlemen looked either at the other, and both at the lad, in smiling wonder.

"If what is done?" asked Mr. Adams.

"If the thing is voted and signed and made sure," (just here Blue-Eyed Boy waved his duster of a flag and stood himself as erect as a flagpole;) "if the tree's transplanted, if the ship gets off the ways, if we run clear away from King George, sir; so far away that he'll never catch us."

"And why do you, my lad, wish to carry the news to General Washington?" asked Mr. Jefferson.

"Because," said the boy, "why--wouldn't you? It'll be jolly work for the soldiers when they know they can fight for themselves."

Just here Bellman Grey shouted for Blue-Eyed Boy, bidding him come quick and be spry with his dusting, too.

Before the hall was cleared of the accumulated dust of State-rooms above and Congress-rooms below, in came members of the Congress, one-by-one and two-by-two, and in groups. The doors were locked, and the solemn deliberations began. Within that room, now known as Independence Hall, sat, in solemn conclave, half a hundred men, each and every one of whom knew full well that the deed about to be done would endanger his own life.

On a table lay a paper, awaiting signatures. A silver ink-stand held the ink that trembled and wavered to the sound and stir of John Adams's voice, as he stated once more the why and the wherefore of the step America was about to take.

This final statement was made for the especial enlightenment of three gentlemen, new members of the Congress from New Jersey, and in reply to the reasons given by Mr. Dickinson why the Declaration of Independence should _not_ be made.

In the meantime Bellman Grey was up in the steeple, "seeing what he could see," and Blue-Eyed Boy was answering knocks at the entrance doors; then running up the stairs to tell the scraps of news that he had gleaned through open door, or crack, or key-hole.

The day wore on; outside a great and greater crowd surged every moment against the walls; but the walls of the State House were thick, and the crowd was hushed to silence, with intense longing to hear what was going on inside.

From his high-up place in the belfry, where he had been on watch, Bellman Grey espied a figure on horseback, hurrying toward the scene; the horse was white with heat and hurry; the rider's "face was no bigger than an apple," but it was a face of importance that day.

"Run!" shouted Bellman Grey from the belfry. "Run and tell them that Mr. Rodney comes."

The boy descended the staircase with a bound and a leap and a thump against the door, and announced Caesar Rodney's approach.

In he came, weary with his eighty miles in the saddle, through heat and hunger and dust, for Delaware had sent her son in haste to the scene.

The door closed behind him and all was as still and solemn as before.

Up in the belfry the old man stroked fondly the tongue of the bell, and softly said under his breath again and again as the hours went: "They will never do it; they will never do it."

The boy sat on the lowest step of the staircase, alternately peeping through the key-hole with eye to see and with ear to hear. At last, came a stir within the room. He peeped again. He saw Mr. Hancock, with white and solemn face, bend over the paper on the table, stretch forth his hand, and dip the pen in the ink. He watched that hand and arm curve the pen to and fro over the paper, and then he was away up the stairs like a cat.

Breathless with haste, he cried up the belfry: "_He's a doing it, he is!_ I saw him through the key-hole. Mr. Hancock has put his name to that big paper on the table."

"Go back! go back! you young fool, and keep watch, and tell me quick when to ring!" cried down the voice of Bellman Grey, as he wiped for the hundredth time the damp heat from his forehead and the dust from the iron tongue beside him.

Blue-Eyed Boy went back and peeped again just in time to see Mr. Samuel Adams in the chair, pen in hand.

One by one, in "solemn silence all," the members wrote their names, each one knowing full well, that unless the Colonists could fight longer and stronger than Great Britain, that signature would prove his own death-warrant.

It was fitting that the men who wrote their names that day should write with solemn deliberation.

Blue-Eyed Boy peeped again. "I hope they're almost done," he sighed; "and I reckon they are, for Mr. Rodney has the pen now. My! how tired and hot his face looks! I don't believe he has had any more dinner to-day than I have, and I feel most awful empty. It's almost night by this time, too."

At length the long list was complete. Every man then present had signed the Declaration of Independence, except Mr. Dickinson of Pennsylvania.

And now came the moment wherein the news should begin its journey around the world. The Speaker, Mr. Thompson, arose and made the announcement to the very men who already knew it.

Blue-Eyed Boy peeped with his ear and heard the words through the key-hole.

With a shout and a cry of "Ring! ring!" and a clapping of hands, he rushed upward to the belfry. The words, springing from his lips like arrows, sped their way into the ears and hands of Bellman Grey. Grasping the iron tongue of the old bell, backward and forward he hurled it a hundred times, its loud voice proclaiming to all the people that down in Independence Hall a new nation was born to the earth that day.