The British At New York

Before the days of dynamite and the other powerful

explosives which enable modern man to set at naught the most

rigid conditions of nature, warfare with the torpedo was

little thought of, gunpowder being a comparatively innocent

agent for this purpose. In the second period of the

Revolutionary War, when the British fleet had left Boston

and appeared in the harbor of New York, preparatory to an

attack on th latter city, the only methods devised by the

Americans for protection of the Hudson were sunken hulks in

the stream, chevaux-de-frise, composed of anchored logs,

and fire-ships prepared to float down on the foe. All these

proved of no avail. The current loosened the anchored logs,

so that they proved useless; the fire-ships did no damage;

and the batteries on shore were not able to hinder certain

ships of the enemy from running the gantlet of the city, and

ascending the Hudson to Tappan Sea, forty miles above. All

the service done by the fire-ships was to alarm the captains

of these bold cruisers, and induce them to run down the

river again, and rejoin the fleet at the Narrows.



It was at this juncture that an interesting event took

place, the first instance on record of the use of a

torpedo-vessel in warfare. A Connecticut 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

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 of the "Eagle" with his

glass. Suddenly he exclaimed, "There he is!" The top of the

"Turtle" had just emerged, in a little bay a short distance

to the left of Howe's flag-ship.



It was seen as quickly by the sentinels on the "Eagle," who

fired at the strange aquatic monster with such good aim that

Abijah popped under the water as hastily as he had emerged

from it. On board the "Eagle" confusion evidently prevailed.

This strange contrivance had apparently filled the mariners

with alarm. There were signs of a hasty effort to get under

weigh, and wings were added to this haste when a violent

explosion took place in the immediate vicinity of the fleet,

hurling up great volumes of water into the air. The machine

had been set to run an hour, and had duly gone off at its

proper time, but, for some reason yet to be explained, not

under the "Eagle." The whole fleet was not long in getting

up its anchors, setting sail, and scurrying down the bay to

a safer abiding-place below. And here they lay until the day

of the battle of Long Island, not venturing again within

reach of that naval nondescript.



As for the "Turtle," boats at once set out to Abijah's

relief and he was taken off in the vicinity of Governor's



Island. On landing and being questioned, he gave, in his own

odd way, the reasons of his failure.



"Just as I said, gen'ral," he remarked "it all failed for

the want of that cud of tobacco. You see, I am narvous

without tobacco. I got under the 'Eagle's' bottom, but

somehow the screw struck the iron bar that passes 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 sailin' short of supplies. Say,

can't you raise a cud among you now?"



There is another interesting story to tell, in connection

with the British occupation of New York, which may be fitly

given here. The battle of Long Island had been fought. The

American forces had been safely withdrawn. Washington had

moved the main body of his army, with the bulk of the

stores, from the city, leaving General Putnam behind, in

command of the rear-guard.



Putnam's position was a perilous one. The configuration of

Manhattan Island is such that the British could land a force

from the East River, throw it across the narrow width of the

island, and cut off retreat from below. The only trust lay

in the shore batteries, and they proved useless.



A British landing was made at Kip's Bay, about three miles

above the city, where were works strong enough to have kept

off the enemy for a long time, had they been well defended.

As it was, the garrison fled in a panic, on the bare

appearance of the British transports. At the same time three

ships of war moved up the Hudson to Bloomingdale, and

attacked the works there.



The flight of the Kip's Bay garrison left Putnam in the most

imminent peril. He had about three thousand men, and a

dangerous incumbrance of women, children, camp-followers,

and baggage. The weather was very hot, the roads were

narrow; everything tended to make the retreat difficult and

perilous. The instant he heard of the unlooked-for cowardice

of the Kip's Bay garrison and the landing of the enemy, he

put his men in motion, and strained every nerve to push them

past the point of danger before his channel of escape should

be closed.



Safety seemed a forlorn hope. The British had landed in

force above him. A rapid march would quickly bring them to

the Hudson. The avenue of exit would be closed. The danger

of capture was extreme. It was averted by one of those

striking incidents of which so many give interest to the

history of war. In this case it was a woman whose coolness

and quick wit proved the salvation of Putnam's imperilled

army.



Sir Henry Clinton, having fairly landed his men at Kip's

Bay, put them quickly into motion to cut off Putnam's

retreat. In his march for this object, his route lay along

the eastern side of Murray Hill, where was the residence of

Mrs. Murray, mother of Lindley Murray, the grammarian, and a

most worthy old Quaker lady. Putnam had sent her word, some

time before, of his perilous situation, begging her, if

possible, to detain General Clinton, by entertaining him and

his officers. If their march could be hindered for an hour

it would be an invaluable service.



The patriotic old lady was quick to respond. Many of the

British officers knew her, and when she appeared, with a

welcoming smile, at her door, and cordially invited them to

step in and take a friendly glass of wine, the offer was too

tempting to be refused. Exhausted with the heat and with the

labor of disembarking, they were only too glad to halt their

columns for a short rest, and follow her into her

comfortable dining-room. Here Mrs. Murray and the ladies of

her family exerted themselves to entertain their guests. The

wine proved excellent. The society and conversation of the

ladies were a delightful change from the duties of the camp.

The minutes became an hour before the guests dreamed of the

flight of time.



At length a negro servant, who had been on the lookout from

the housetop, entered the room, made a significant sign to

his mistress, and at once withdrew. Mrs. Murray now rose,

and with a meaning smile turned to her titled guest.



"Will you be kind enough to come with me, Sir Henry?" she

asked. "I have something of great interest to show you."



"With pleasure," he replied, rising with alacrity, and

following her from the room.



She led the way to the lookout in the upper story, and

pointed to the northern side of the hill, where could be

seen the American flag, proudly waving over the ranks of the

retiring army. They were marching in close array into the

open plain of Bloomingdale.



"How do you like the prospect, Sir Henry?" she calmly

inquired. "We consider the view from this side an admirable

one."



What Sir Henry replied, history has not recorded. No doubt

it lacked the quality of politeness. Down the stairs he

rushed, calling to his officers as he passed, leaped upon

his horse, and could scarcely find words in his nervous

haste to give orders for pursuit.



He was too late. The gap was closed; but nothing, except

such baggage and stores as could not be moved, remained in

the trap which, if sprung an hour earlier, would have caught

an army.



Only for Mrs. Murray's inestimable service, Putnam and his

men would probably have become prisoners of war. Her name

lives in history among those of the many heroines who so

ably played their part in the drama of American liberty, and

who should hold high rank among the makers of the American

Commonwealth.