Abijah, fearing that he might be seen, had cast off the torpedo that he might go the faster. The clock had been set to run an hour, and at the end of that time there was a thundering explosion near the fleet, hurling up great volumes of water into the air.
Soon there were signs of fright in the ships. The anchors were raised, sails were set, and off they went to safer quarters down the bay. They did not care to be too near such dangerous affairs as that.
Boats were sent out to the aid of the Turtle and it was brought ashore at a safe place. On landing Abijah gave, in his queer way, the reasons for his failure.
"It's just as I said, Gineral; it went to pot for want o' that cud of tobacco. You see, I'm mighty narvous without my tobacco. When I got under the ship's bottom, somehow the screw struck the iron bar that passes from the rudder pintle, and wouldn't hold on anyhow I could fix it. Just then I let go the oar to feel for a cud, to steady my narves, and I hadn't any. The tide swept me under her counter, and away I slipped top o' water. I couldn't manage to get back, so I pulled the lock and let the thunder-box slide. That's what comes of sailing short of supplies. Say, can you raise a cud among you now?"
Later on, after the British had taken the city of New York, two more attempts were made to blow up vessels in the river above the city. But they both failed, and in the end the British fired upon and sunk the Turtle. Bushnell's work was lost. The best he had been able to do was to give them a good scare.
But he was not yet at the end of his schemes. He next tried to blow up the Cerberus, a British frigate that lay at anchor in Long Island Sound. This time a schooner saved the frigate. A powder magazine was set afloat, but it struck the schooner, which lay at anchor near the frigate. The schooner went to pieces, but the Cerberus was saved.
The most famous of Bushnell's exploits took place at Philadelphia, after the British had taken possession and brought their ships up into the Delaware River.
One fine morning a number of kegs were seen floating down among the shipping. What they meant nobody knew. The sailors grew curious, and a boat set out from a vessel and picked one of them up. In a minute it went off, with the noise of a cannon, sinking the boat and badly hurting the man.
This filled the British with a panic. Those terrible kegs might do frightful damage. They must be some dreadful invention of the rebels. The sailors ran out their guns, great and small, and began to batter every keg they saw with cannon balls, until there was a rattle and roar as if a mighty battle was going on. Such was the famous "Battle of the Kegs."
This was more of Dave Bushnell's work. He had made and set adrift those powder kegs, fixing them so that they would explode on touching anything. But he did not understand the river and its tides. He intended to have them get among the ships at night, but it was broad day when they came down, and by that time the eddying waters had scattered them far and wide. So the powder kegs were of no more account than the torpedoes. All they did was to give the British a scare.