The moment has come for diving. He closes up quickly overhead, lets in the water, and goes down under the ship's bottom. He now applies the screw and does all in his power to make it enter, but in vain; it will not pierce the ship's copper. Undaunted, he paddles along to a different part, hoping to find a softer place; but, in doing this, in his hurry and excitement, he manages the mechanism so that the Turtle instantly arises to the surface on the east side of the ship, and is at once exposed to the piercing light of day. Again he goes under, hoping that he has not been seen. This time his courage fails. It is getting to be day. If the ship's boats are sent after him his escape will be very difficult, well-nigh impossible, and, if he saves himself at all, it must be by rowing more than four miles. He gives up the enterprise with reluctance, and starts for New York. Governor's Island _must_ be passed by. He draws near to it, as near as he can venture, and then submerges the Turtle. Alas! something has befallen the compass. It will not guide the rowing under the sea. Every few minutes he is compelled to rise to the surface to look out from the top of the machine to guide his course, and his track grows very zig-zag through the waters. Ah! the soldiers at Governor's Island see the Turtle! Hundreds are gathering upon the parapet to watch its motions, such a curious boat as it is, with turret of brass bobbing up and down, sinking, disappearing--coming to the surface again in a manner _wholly_ unaccountable. Brave Lee knows his danger, and paddles away for dear life and love of family up in Lyme, eating breakfast quietly now he remembers, not knowing his peril. Once more he goes up to take a lookout, to see where White-hall slip lies. A glance at Governor's Island, and he sees a barge shove off laden with his enemies. Down again, and up, and he sees it making for him. _There is no escape!_ What _can_ he do! "If I must die," he thinks, "they shall die with me!" and he lets go the magazine. Nearer and nearer--the barge is _very_ close. "If they pick me up they will pick that up," thinks Lee, "and we shall all be blown to atoms together!" They are now within a hundred and fifty feet of the Turtle and they see the magazine that he has detached. "Some horrible Yankee trick!" cries a British soldier. "_Beware!_" And they do beware by turning and rowing with all speed for the island whence they came. Poor Lee looks out with amazement to see them go. He is well-nigh exhausted, _and the magazine, with its dreadful clock-work going on within it, and its hundred and fifty pounds of powder, ready to go off at a given moment_, is floating on behind him, borne by the tide. He strains every muscle to near New York. He signals the shore. Since daylight Putnam has been there keeping watch. David Bushnell has paced up and down all night, in keen anxiety. The friendly whale-boats put out to meet him.