In 1776 the _Turtle_ was sent out against a big British ship named the _Eagle_, anch.o.r.ed in New York Bay. The man inside rowed his boat very well under water, and after some time found himself beneath the King"s ship. He now tried to fasten the torpedo to the bottom, but the screw struck an iron bar and would not go in. Then he moved to another place, but now he lost the ship altogether. He could not find her again, and he had to row away, for he could not stay much longer under water.

There is a funny story told about the man in the _Turtle_. He was a queer fellow named Abijah Shipman, but called by his companions "Long Bige."

As he entered the craft and was about to screw down its cover, he opened it again and asked for a chew of tobacco. All those present felt in their pockets, but none of the weed was on hand.

"You will have to go without it, old chap," said General Putnam, who was present. "We Continental officers can"t afford even a plug of tobacco.

To-morrow, after you have sent the _Eagle_ on her last flight, we will try and raise you a whole keg of the weed."

"That"s too bad," growled Bige. "Tell you what, Gineral, if the old _Turtle_ don"t do her duty, it"s all along of me goin" out without tobacco."

After he had gone Putnam and his officers watched anxiously for results.

Time pa.s.sed. Morning was at hand. The _Eagle_ rode unharmed. Evidently something had gone wrong. Had the torpedo failed, and was "Long Bige"

resting in his wrecked machine on the bottom of the bay? Putnam swept the waters near the _Eagle_ with his gla.s.s. Suddenly he exclaimed.

"There he is." The top of the _Turtle_ had just emerged, some distance from the ship.

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 ash.o.r.e 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 pa.s.ses 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 n.o.body 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 b.a.l.l.s, 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.

Philadelphia had a poet named Francis Hopkinson, who wrote a poem making fun of the British, called "The Battle of the Kegs." We give a few verses of this humorous poem:

"Twas early day, as poets say, Just as the sun was rising; A soldier stood on a log of wood And saw the sun a-rising.

As in amaze he stood to gaze (The truth can"t be denied, sir), He spied a score of kegs, or more, Come floating down the tide, sir.

A sailor, too, in jerkin blue, The strange appearance viewing, First "dashed" his eyes in great surprise, Then said: "Some mischief"s brewing.

"These kegs, I"m told, the rebels hold, Packed up like pickled herring; And they"ve come down to attack the town In this new way of ferrying."

The cannons roar from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, The small arms make a rattle; Since wars began, I"m sure no man E"er saw so strange a battle.

The fish below swam to and fro, Attacked from every quarter.

"Why sure," thought they, "the devil"s to pay "Mong folks above the water."

From morn to night these men of might Displayed amazing courage; And when the sun was fairly down, Retired to sup their porridge.

Such feats did they perform that day, Against those wicked kegs, sir, That years to come, if they get home, They"ll make their boasts and brags, sir.

And so it went on, verse after verse, with not much poetry in it, but a good deal of fun. The British did not enjoy it, for people did not like to be laughed at then any more than now.

CHAPTER VII

CAPTAIN BARRY AND HIS ROWBOATS WIN A VICTORY OVER THE BRITISH

A GALLANT NAVAL HERO OF IRISH BLOOD

THE heroes of our navy were not all Americans born. More than one of them came from British soil, but a footprint on the green fields of America soon turned them into true-blue Yankees. There was John Paul Jones, the gallant Scotchman. And there was John Barry, a bold son of green Erin.

I have told you the story of Jones, the Scotchman, and now I must tell you that of Barry, the Irishman.

John Barry was a merchant captain who was made commander of the _Lexington_ in 1776. The next year he was appointed to the _Effingham_, a new frigate building at Philadelphia. The British captured that city before the ship was ready for sea, and the _Effingham_, the _Washington_, and some other vessels were caught in a trap. They were taken up the river to Whitehill, above the city, and there they had to stay. Captain Barry, you may be sure, was not much pleased at this, for he was one of the men who love to be where fighting is going on.

Soon orders came from the Navy Board to sink the _Effingham_. This made Barry"s Irish blood very hot. I fancy he said some hard things about the members of the board, and swore he would do nothing of the kind. If the British wanted the American ships let them come and take them. He had guns enough to give them some sport and was disposed to try it.

When the members of the Navy Board heard of what he said, they were very angry, and in the end he had to sink the ship and had to apologize for his strong language. But time proved that he was right and the Navy Board was wrong.

By this time Captain Barry was tired enough of being penned up, and he made up his mind by hook or crook to get out of his cage. He was burning for a fight, and thought that if he could get down the river he might give the British a taste of his mettle.

So, one dark night he set out with four boats and twenty-seven men. He rowed down the river past the ships in the stream and the soldiers on sh.o.r.e. Some of the soldiers saw his boats, and a few shots were fired, but they got safely past, and by daybreak were far down the broad Delaware.

Barry kept on until he reached Port Penn, down near the bay, where the Americans had a small fort. Here there was a chance for the work he wanted, for across the river he saw a large schooner flying the British flag. It was the _Alert_, carrying ten guns, and with it were four transports laden with food for the army at Philadelphia.

This was a fine opportunity for the bold Irish captain. It took courage to attack a strong English vessel with a few rowboats, but of courage Barry had a full supply.

The sun was up, and it was broad day when the American tars set out on their daring enterprise. The _Alert_ had a wide-awake name, but it must have had a sleepy crew; for before the British knew there was anything wrong, Barry and his men had rowed across the stream and were clambering over the rail, cutla.s.s and pistol in hand.

The British sailors, when they saw this "wild Irishman" and his daring tars, cutting and slashing and yelling like madmen, dropped everything and ran below in fright. All that keep them there.

In this easy fashion, twenty-eight Americans captured a British ten-gun vessel with a hundred and sixteen men on board. There had been nothing like that in all the war.

The transports had to surrender, for they were under the guns of the _Alert_, and Barry carried his five prizes triumphantly to Port Penn, where he handed his captives over to the garrison.

And now the daring captain made things lively for the foe. He sailed up and down the river and bay, and cut off supplies until the British army at Philadelphia began to suffer for food.

What was to be done? Should this Yankee wasp go on stinging the British lion? General Howe decided that this would never do, and sent a frigate and a sloop-of-war down the river to put an end to the trouble.