The occasion for this preliminary experiment was soon at hand. The movements of General Washington about Long Island had been accompanied by the arrival of a large British fleet from Halifax under Admiral Lord Howe, brother of the commander of the British army. Putnam had been left with 4000 men in New York, and sent for Bushnell, inviting him to test his submarine boat against one of the enemy’s ships. Bushnell was himself physically incapacitated from managing his machine, for it required considerable strength. He had, however, taught his brother its fine points, and the latter in many trials had demonstrated his skill. At the critical time, however, the latter fell ill of a fever and a substitute had to be found. Ezra Lee of Lyme, Conn., was finally decided upon as the fittest man for the place. Lee had already volunteered to go in a fire-ship, and his bravery was unquestioned. Bushnell spent several days teaching Lee the management of the boat—altogether too short a time, as subsequent events showed. The British fleet lay a little above Staten Island, the flagship, against which it was determined to operate being the Eagle.

It was a queer craft, the like of which no man had ever seen, in which Ezra Lee embarked one dark night in August, 1776, with the firm intention of destroying the pick of the British fleet. Its shape suggested a turtle or rather two upper turtle shells, securely fastened together. A brass crown, resembling a hat, represented the head of the turtle; it was provided with glass windows, which supplied light while the boat was on the surface, and with several round doors, which were opened before submersion for the admission of air. The turtle rested in the water with its tail downwards, being held in position by a permanent lead ballast in the hold of 500 pounds. This was supplemented by 200 pounds of the same metal, which could be released at the will of the navigator, enabling him to rise suddenly to the surface. The turtle was made of oak, put together in the strongest manner; it was seven and one-half feet long and six feet high. It admitted only one person, who had room enough either to stand up or sit down. There were two air-tubes, one for letting the fresh air in and another for letting the foul air out. These were ingeniously arranged so that they operated whenever the boat was brought to the surface and closed immediately after it was submerged. There were no means of generating or supplying air while the contrivance was under water. Sufficient atmosphere to last the operator thirty minutes was supplied before the trial began, after the exhaustion of which he was obliged to rise to the surface.

The question of light presented a still greater difficulty. A candle exhausting the air too rapidly, Bushnell was obliged to find some less embarrassing substitute. He finally noted the points of the compass by two pieces of fox-fire wood—that is, wood that emitted a phosphoric light. The same method was used to determine the depth of the water. For this Bushnell constructed a peculiar contrivance, the secret of which is unknown, consisting of a glass tube, filled with water, in which a cork floated up and down. This cork was also covered with fox-fire, and by its rise and fall the operator could determine the depth to which his vessel was submerged. The boat was propelled back and forth by a paddle in front, shaped like the arm of a windmill. The operator turned this with a crank, and could go either forwards or backwards, as he desired. It was precisely the same principle as the modern screw, with the exception that it was placed in the bow instead of the stern of the boat. Another “oar,” identically the same, was arranged at right angles with the first, by means of which the vessel could be guided up or down. The progress of the boat was necessarily slow, but it is said that a strong man, with a favoring tide and current, could propel it three knots an hour. The rudder, also turned by a crank, could be used for sculling when desired. In the bottom of the vessel were two large water tanks, into which the water was let by a spring. It was by this means that the boat made its descent. There were two pumps, which the operator worked with his feet, for the expulsion of the water when he desired to rise. In case these failed to work, the two hundred pounds of lead on the bottom could be released, after which the rise was very sudden. The operator sat upright, with his head in the crown of the vessel, and by a dexterous use of his hands and feet, had little difficulty in completely mastering his boat. It required considerable practice, however, and unusual strength.

This was Bushnell’s submarine boat, but it was only one feature of his invention. His other discovery, the torpedo, was ingeniously combined with his vessel. On the stern of the boat, just above the rudder, on the outside, was a large cask, made of two pieces of oak, carefully caulked and tarred, and bound together with iron. The interior was dug out and contained a charge of powder. Within was a gun-lock, which was arranged to strike fire whenever a clock-work attachment ran down. The magazine was fastened to the boat by a screw, which could be unscrewed from within. It was contrived so that when the magazine should be disengaged from the vessel the clock-work should be set agoing. The clock-work ran down in about thirty minutes, when the gun-lock went off and ignited the charge. A short cable attached the magazine to another screw in the top of the vessel. From within the operator could fasten this screw into the bottom of a vessel and fill his own boat at the same time. He could, therefore, sail safely away, leaving the magazine attached to the bottom of the enemy’s man-of-war, and await developments.

There was no evident reason why the attempt upon the Eagle should not have a satisfactory issue. Sergeant Lee was obliged to wait several nights for a favorable opportunity. Finally, at eleven o’clock one night in August, he embarked on his dangerous voyage. General Putnam was on the wharf when he pushed off, and kept a constant watch throughout the next few hours. Lee was towed by whale-boats as near the ships as the oarsmen dared to go, and was then cast off. He discovered that it was too early to make the attempt. The tide was running strong, and, in spite of all that he could do, it carried him far beyond the ships. He rowed aimlessly around until the tide slowed up, when he made directly for the man-of-war. He drew so near under the stern of the ships that he could see the British sailors and hear their voices. At a favorable moment he let the water into the reservoirs and sank. Everything up to this point worked splendidly. He had no difficulty in managing his boat under the water, and took up a favorable position directly under the keel of the man-of-war, near the stern. He at once proceeded to attach the screw to the bottom of the vessel, when he struck a formidable opposition. He had not figured on the copper with which the bottom of the ship was covered, and which resisted all his attempts to fasten the screw. At every attempt the boat rebounded from the vessel’s bottom. Lee finally moved to another part of the ship, and in so doing lost his hold completely, and rose with tremendous velocity to the surface. He came within two or three feet of the man-of-war, upon whose destruction he had been bent—a rather uncomfortable circumstance, especially as it was nearly daylight. He at once, therefore, filled the reservoirs and sank again. As it would soon be morning, however, and as he had four miles to row, he decided to abandon his attempt to blow up the man-of-war, and instead to look out for his own safety. Bushnell never blamed Lee for his failure to execute the plan, owing to the fact that he had had such slight preparation for the task.

There was naturally much disappointment over this initial failure, and especially when a British frigate came up and anchored off Bloomingdale, and Lee made another equally unsuccessful attempt. His intention this time was to go up to the stern of the vessel and, without sinking, screw in his magazine close to the edge. Discovered by the watch, he dove under the frigate, but went too deep and came up on the other side. In the year 1777, however, Bushnell sent one of his machines against the Cerberus, a British frigate, lying at anchor between New London and the mouth of the Connecticut River. The machine instead fell in with a schooner, anchored astern of the frigate, which had escaped Bushnell’s observation. It blew up the schooner, completely demolishing it, and killed three men. Bushnell was very much cast down by the failure of his contrivance, which he believed had never had a fair show. At the end of the war he went to France, and was present during the stirring scenes of the Revolution. His relatives lost all track of him, and supposed that he had died in a French prison or upon the guillotine, until, in 1826, they received information of his death in Georgia.

B. J. Hendrick.

ANTHONY WALTON WHITE

[Concluded from January Number.]

At the end of the “Western Insurrection,” in 1794, General White issued the following address to the troops: