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.”