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 103 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.