leading necessaries of life.

It was an early hour of a July morning. The sun had not
appeared on the eastern horizon. By a wharf-side on the
Hudson floated the strange marine monster whose powers were
about to be tested. On the shore stood Putnam and many other
officers. In their midst was Abijah Shipman, ready to start
on his dangerous enterprise. It was proposed to tow the
nondescript affair into the stream, set it adrift on the
tide, and trust to Abijah's skill to bring it under the
bottom of the "Eagle," Admiral Howe's flag-ship, which had
been chosen for the victim. If the magazine could be
attached to the bottom of this vessel, she must surely be
destroyed. But certainly the chances seemed greatly against
its being thus attached.

Everything was ready. Abijah stepped on board his craft,
entered the air-tight chamber, closed the cover, and was
about to screw it down, when suddenly it flew open again,
and his head emerged.

"Thunder and marlinspikes!" he exclaimed, "who's got a cud
of tobacco? This old cud won't last, anyhow." And he threw
away the worn-out lump on which he had been chewing.

A laugh followed his appeal. Such of the officers as used
the weed felt hastily in their pockets. They were empty of
the indispensable article. There was no hope for Abijah;
daylight was at hand, time was precious, he must sail short
of supplies.

"You see how it is, my brave fellow," said Putnam. "We
Continental officers are too poor to raise even a tobacco
plug. Push off. To-morrow, after you have sent the 'Eagle'
on its last flight, some of our Southern officers shall
order you a full keg of old Virginia weed."

"It's too bad," muttered Abijah, dejectedly. "And mind you,
general, if the old 'Turtle' doesn't do her duty, it's all
'long of me goin' to sea without tobacco."

Down went Abijah's head, the cover was tightly screwed into
place, and the machine was towed out into the channel and
cast loose. Away it floated towards the British fleet, which
lay well up in the Narrows. The officers made their way to
the Battery, where they waited in much suspense the result
of the enterprise.

An hour slowly moved by. Morning broke. The rim of the sun
lifted over the distant waters. Yet the "Eagle" still rode
unharmed. Something surely had happened. The torpedo had
failed. Possibly the venturesome Abijah was reposing in his
stranded machine on the bottom of the bay. Putnam anxiously
swept the waters in the vicinity o