“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 89 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.”