ticut officer named
Bushnell, an ingenious mechanician, had invented during his
college-life an oddly-conceived machine for submarine
explosion, to which he gave the appropriate name of "The
American Turtle." He had the model with him in camp. A
report of the existence of this contrivance reached General
Putnam, then in command at New York. He sent for Bushnell,
talked the matter over with him, examined the model, and was
so pleased with it that he gave the inventor an order to
construct a working-machine, supplying funds for this
purpose.

Bushnell lost no time. In ten days the machine was ready. It
was a peculiar-looking affair, justifying its name by its
resemblance to a large ocean-turtle. In the head, or front
portion, was an air-tight apartment, with a narrow entrance.
It was claimed to be capable of containing fresh air enough
to support life for half an hour. The bottom of the machine
was ballasted with lead. Motion was obtained from an oar,
adapted for rowing backward or forward, while a rudder under
control of the operator served for steering purposes. In the
bottom was a valved aperture, into which water could be
admitted when it was desired to sink the machine; while the
water could be ejected by two brass pumps when the operator
wished to rise again.

The torpedo arrangement consisted of two pieces of oak
timber, hollowed out and filled with powder, the space
containing a clock-work arrangement that could be set to run
any time desired, and a contrivance for exploding the powder
when the time expired. This torpedo was fixed in the rear of
the vessel, and was provided with a strong screw, that
could be turned by the operator, so as to fasten it under
the bottom of a ship or in other desired location. So far as
appeared, the contrivance was not unpromising. It failed in
its purpose, but solely, if the word of the operator may be
taken, from the absence of an indispensable article of
supply. What this was will appear in the sequel.

Captain Bushnell's brother had volunteered for the perilous
enterprise. A sudden sickness prevented him, and his place
was taken by a venturesome New London sergeant named Abijah
Shipman, or, as rechristened by his companions, "Long Bige."
He was an amphibious chap, half sailor, half soldier, long,
thin, and bony, and not wanting in Yankee humor. He had
courage enough to undertake any enterprise, if he could only
be primed with rum and tobacco, articles which he deemed the