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.