Which Of The Following Was The First United States Submarine

The Turtle and the Birth of the American Submarine

Here's the thing — when people think about the first United States submarine, they usually picture something sleek and modern, maybe even the famous USS Holland* that launched the Navy's modern submarine force. But the real answer is far weirder, older, and more desperate than most expect. It's a story that begins not with steel and sonar, but with wood, hand-forged tools, and a Revolutionary War officer who literally bet his life on an untested machine. Worth keeping that in mind.

The first officially recognized United States submarine was the Turtle*. And no, that's not a nickname. It was actually called the Turtle* — a name that sounds almost comically gentle for what was essentially a wooden coffin powered by a single sailor pedaling like a madman underwater.

What Was the Turtle, Really?

The Turtle* wasn't built by the Navy. It wasn't even built by professional shipwrights. It was the brainchild of David Bushnell, a Yale-educated inventor and patriot who, in 1775, decided that the American colonies needed underwater warfare to counter the British fleet.

Bushnell was around twenty-two when he started designing the Turtle*. He was young, scrappy, and apparently had a wild streak — because the thing looked nothing like a boat. It was a roughly pear-shaped wooden capsule, about 6 feet tall and 8 feet long, designed to be submerged and steered by one man using a combination of hand-cranked propellers and a rudder controlled by his feet.

Inside, the pilot — usually a volunteer named Ezra Bushnell (no relation), though some accounts suggest it was Sgt. Thomas Macdonough — lay in a cramped, airtight space with just enough room to pedal and steer. There was no periscope. On the flip side, no radio. Consider this: no emergency hatch that could be opened from the outside. Just a small window for light, a couple of air tubes, and a drill bit attached to a crank that was meant to bore into the hull of a British warship.

The plan was audacious: sneak up on the HMS Eagle*, anchor in New York Harbor, and drill a hole in its hull. Also, then attach a timed explosive charge and swim away before it detonated. In theory, it would sink the flagship of the British fleet without firing a single conventional shot.

Why the Turtle Matters

The Turtle* matters not because it succeeded — it didn't — but because it was the first time the idea of a submarine was taken seriously by the United States military. Before the Turtle*, underwater warfare was the stuff of folklore and failed experiments. After the Turtle*, it became a strategic concept that would evolve through two world wars and into the nuclear age.

More than that, the Turtle* represents a moment when American ingenuity was raw and untested. Because of that, the colonies were still fighting for survival. Resources were scarce. And yet someone — a kid, really — believed that technology could level the playing field against the most powerful navy on Earth. That belief, however impractical in practice, shaped how the U.S. would approach military innovation for centuries to come.

The Turtle* also set a precedent. Consider this: it proved that submarines weren't just toys or death traps — they were potential game-changers. Even though the mission failed, the British took notice. They started building their own experimental submarines. The concept had been unleashed.

How the Turtle Actually Worked

Let's break down how this wooden death trap functioned, because the engineering was both brilliant and terrifying.

The Hull and Propulsion

The Turtle*'s hull was made of oak, reinforced with iron bands. That said, it was sealed with pitch and animal bladders to prevent leaks. The pilot entered through a small opening that was then sealed with a wooden plug and a screw mechanism — essentially a cork in a bottle, but one that had to hold against water pressure.

Propulsion came from a pair of hand-cranked propellers mounted on either side of the hull. The pilot pedaled like a bicycle, turning cranks that spun the screws. It was exhausting work, and the Turtle* could only maintain a speed of about 1 to 2 knots — barely faster than a brisk walk.

Steering was handled by a rudder connected to the pilot's feet. On the flip side, there was no compass, no depth gauge. The pilot relied on instinct, the position of the sun, and occasional peeks through the small window to manage.

The Drill and the Charge

The most critical part of the Turtle* was its drilling mechanism. Also, mounted on the underside of the hull was a long, hand-cranked drill bit — essentially a giant corkscrew — that could bore into a ship's wooden hull. Once the hole was drilled, the pilot would insert a timed explosive charge, set the fuse, and retreat.

The charge itself was a simple black powder bomb, suspended in a wooden frame that could be detached after deployment. The timing mechanism was a fuse that burned at a steady rate, giving the pilot just enough time to escape before detonation.

The Mission

In September 1776, Lieutenant Richard Arnold volunteered to pilot the Turtle* on its mission against the HMS Eagle*. The plan was to approach under cover of darkness, drill into the ship's hull, plant the charge, and slip away.

But things went wrong almost immediately. But the Turtle* couldn't generate enough speed to keep up with the Eagle* as it moved with the tide. Arnold struggled to maintain position, and when he finally managed to get close enough to begin drilling, he discovered that the British ship's hull was sheathed in copper — a material his wooden drill bit couldn't penetrate.

After hours of futile effort, Arnold abandoned the mission and swam back to shore. The Eagle* was never attacked. The Turtle* never fired a shot in anger.

Common Mistakes About the Turtle

There are a lot of myths floating around about the Turtle*, and most of them come from people who've only heard the legend, not the reality.

It Wasn't the First Submarine Ever Built

The Turtle* was the first American submarine, but not the first submarine period. Practically speaking, several European inventors had built experimental submersibles before 1775, including a Dutchman named Cornelius Drebbel, who allegedly built a covered barge that could submerge and resurface in the early 1600s. The Turtle* was the first to be used in actual military operations, but it wasn't the first of its kind.

Want to learn more? We recommend first man to reach the north pole and veterans of the american revolutionary war for further reading.

It Wasn't Just One Submarine

David Bushnell actually built two Turtles*. After the failed mission, the Turtle* was abandoned and eventually rotted away. The second one was the one that attempted the mission against the Eagle*. The first one was lost during testing when it sank in the Connecticut River. No complete example survives today.

The Pilot Wasn't Ezra Bushnell

Many sources claim that Ezra Bushnell — David's brother — was the pilot. But historical records suggest it was actually Sergeant Thomas Macdonough, the same man who later commanded the U.S. Think about it: navy at the Battle of Lake Erie. The confusion likely stems from family connections and the fact that both men were involved in the project.

Practical Lessons from the Turtle Era

So what can we learn from the Turtle* today? Plenty, actually.

Innovation Doesn't Require Resources

David Bushnell built the Turtle* with limited materials, no funding, and no institutional support. Even so, he used wood, iron, pitch, and animal bladders — stuff he could source locally. Modern innovators can take a page from his playbook: creativity often thrives under constraints.

Testing Is Everything

The Turtle* was never properly tested under combat conditions. Arnold had practiced in calm, shallow waters, but the real mission involved strong tides, moving targets, and enemy fire. Today's military developers spend years testing prototypes in realistic scenarios — something the Turtle*'s creators simply couldn't afford to do.

Simplicity Can Be a Strength

Despite its primitive design, the Turtle* had several features that would become standard in later submarines: watertight compartments, ballast control, and a streamlined hull. Sometimes the simplest solutions are the most enduring.

FAQ: The Turtle

FAQ: The Turtle

How long did it take to build the Turtle?

David Bushnell spent roughly two years designing and constructing the first Turtle*, beginning around 1771 and completing a functional prototype by 1775. Much of that time was spent solving problems that had never been tackled before — waterproofing joints, managing air supply, and developing a propulsion system that could work underwater.

Could the Turtle have succeeded if conditions had been different?

This is the great "what if" of Revolutionary War history. On the flip side, the Turtle* had genuine potential. Its design was sound enough that later submarine engineers borrowed from it. Had the pilot been able to drill through the copper-sheathed hull of the Eagle*, or had the timing been better, the mission might have succeeded. But even in success, the Turtle* would have faced logistical challenges — it could only stay submerged for about 30 minutes, and it required calm conditions to operate effectively.

Was the Turtle ever used in combat after the failed mission?

No. Still, it was eventually scuttled by American forces in 1777 to prevent it from falling into British hands when they overran the area. After the failed attack on the Eagle*, the Turtle* was relocated to the Hudson River for further operations. The second Turtle* met a similar fate.

Did the British take the threat of submarines seriously?

They did. That said, george Washington himself wrote letters expressing interest in the project and its potential. Still, after the Turtle*'s appearance, British naval forces in New York Harbor took precautions, including tighter harbor patrols and increased vigilance around their anchored ships. The British may not have known the full scope of the threat, but they recognized that something unusual was happening beneath the waterline.

Is there any working replica of the Turtle?

Yes. The replica was tested in Connecticut waters and successfully demonstrated that the design could have worked — at least in ideal conditions. In 2003, a team of historians and engineers built a fully functional replica of the Turtle* based on Bushnell's original specifications and descriptions. It is now on display at the Connecticut River Museum.

Why does the Turtle matter in military history?

The Turtle* matters because it represents the first deliberate attempt to use a submersible vessel as a weapon of war. It introduced concepts — stealth, underwater attack, asymmetric warfare — that remain central to naval strategy today. Every modern submarine, from the USS Nautilus* to Russia's Belgorod*, traces a conceptual lineage back to Bushnell's hand-built craft in a Connecticut workshop.

Conclusion

The story of the Turtle* is more than a footnote in military history — it is a testament to human ingenuity in the face of impossible odds. Now, david Bushnell looked at the most powerful navy in the world and decided that one man, in a hand-built vessel, could challenge it. This leads to he failed, but his failure taught lessons that shaped the future of underwater warfare. The principles he pioneered — ballast control, watertight design, stealth operations — became the foundation upon which every subsequent generation of submarines was built.

What makes the Turtle* truly remarkable is not just what it accomplished, but what it represented. Here's the thing — in the darkest days of the American Revolution, when the colonies lacked an army, a navy, and most resources, a single inventor dared to imagine a new kind of weapon. That spirit of innovation under pressure is something that resonates far beyond the waters of New York Harbor.

Today, as navies around the world operate nuclear-powered submarines capable of staying submerged for months, it is worth remembering that it all started with a wooden craft, a hand crank, and a single bolt. The Turtle* may never have sunk a ship, but it sank into history as something far more lasting — an idea that the sea itself could be a battlefield, and that the impossible was simply a problem waiting to be solved.