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“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.

“No, but we expect them every minute,” said Mr. Bushnell.

“Well, friends, I had a patient within three miles of you to visit, and I thought I’d come on and hear the news.”

Ere he was fully made welcome to hearth and home, in walked David, with the little Turtle under his arm. Without ado he went up to his mother and said:

“Madam, I present this to you, with Governor Trumbull’s compliments. He has ordered your boy money, men, metals and powder without stint to work with. Wish me joy, won’t you? “

I do not anywhere find a record of the words in which the joy was wished, on that 2nd of February, a hundred years ago, but it is easy to imagine the very tones in which the good, God-loving Dr. Gale gave thanks for the new blessing that had that day fallen on his friend’s house.

It is impossible to follow David Bushnell in his many journeys to the iron furnaces of Salisbury, in the spring and early summer of 1776, during which time the entire country was aroused and astir from the removal of the American army from Boston to New York; and our friends at Saybrook were busy as bees from morning till night, in getting ready perfect machines for duty.

David Bushnell’s strength proved insufficient to navigate one of his Turtles in the tidal waters of the Sound, and his brother Ezra learned to do it most perfectly.

In the latter end of June, the British fleet, which had sailed out of Boston harbor so ingloriously on the 17th of March, for Halifax, there to await re-inforcements, appeared in waters adjacent to New York.

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.

The flashing light that illumines the waters at night for us, did not gleam on them, but nevertheless, the high brown bank and the little slope of land looked inviting to weary men, as they cautiously rowed near to it, not knowing whom they might meet there.