"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.