Chapter Six: Venture Capital

"The Inventor, "New York City, September 2, 1861

Dearest Amelia,

I was extremely disappointed to find my letter published in the Eagle. It becomes treachery when a citizen cannot trust the United States postal system to deliver a letter to the White House! I am told a young clerk at the president's mansion sold my letter for a profit. I was about ready to leave this thankless country and return to Sweden, but then I remembered my old Auntie's saying about "an ill wind often brings good news."

My Aunt's superstitious musing came true the next day, as I was visited from Washington D.C. by a friend of mine, one Cornelius S. Bushnell, a thirty-one-year-old New Haven, Connecticut shipbuilder and former wholesale grocer. It seems he had recently secured a contract from the government to build his own ironclad, the Galena, and someone had informed him that he might consult the wisdom of an "architect," as he was doubtful if his craft could withstand the weight of iron with which he was planning to outfit his vessel. The informant had read my letter to President Lincoln in the newspaper, and I supposed he wanted to play a trick on Bushnell for some reason. So, at the Willard Hotel in Washington, this young Bushnell decided he would make the inconvenient journey out to New York to pay me a visit.

The country at war made travel very difficult. When Bushnell finally arrived, he was quite distraught, and he explained how his discomfiture was caused by the horrendous state of anarchy afoot in the countryside.

"It was quite a slow, jolting ride," he explained, sipping on one of Mrs. Hasbro's famous New England Ice Teas. "I made transfers to four, single-track lines to go between Washington and New York City. I also rode two ferries, with state taxes levied upon all passengers in New Jersey and Maryland. Can you quite imagine?"

I slowly nodded my head in sad agreement.

"Why, even the gauge of the tracks varies from line to line. It is a virtual impossibility for the same engine to travel between major East Coast cities. I am often thankful that I have thrown my investment money into shipbuilding. Thank goodness, they have yet to come up with a way to lay track on the water! Of course, Mr. Lincoln's blockade has done its share to confuse the Confederate shipping!"

"Indeed he has, sir!" I responded. "And what have you to tell me about my correspondence to the president? I am ashamed to hear you read about my venture in the newspapers. It was supposed to be privy information."

Bushnell set his mug down and stared hard at me. He has quite a penetrating gaze for a man of such early years. "Well, Captain Ericsson, I was informed by a friend staying at the Willard Hotel that you may be able to help me. He read your letter and advised me to make the trip out here to see you."

"Yes?" I again asked.

"I have garnered a contract with the government for my ship the Galena. She is an ironclad vessel of 3,296 tons, with six Dahlgren cannons and steam-driven propellers. I was planning on outfitting her with extra plating—about ten thousand pounds worth. I was wondering if you would calculate whether she could withstand the extra weight."

"I suppose she has the plating on an inward slope, so the cannon shells might ricochet off her sides?" I asked.

"Yes, you are quite astute. My friend was correct in his estimation of your architectural genius."

"Architecture? Sir, I am afraid you are mistaken. I am an engineer!"

"Ah, so you are! See, that's why I need you. I am afraid I am nothing but an old grocery man. Cannon balls and watermelons—they are all the same to me!" Bushnell slapped his knees and laughed. He then rose up and handed me the plans of his ship.

"Sir, I will calculate for you, if you could do me one favor?" I took the rolled blueprints. He cocked his head inquisitively. "I have some plans as well. They concern the letter published in the Washington news. You see, it was never delivered to Mr. Lincoln, and I am afraid I have missed the deadline for proposals to him for ironclads to meet the threat of the Confederates' skullduggery at Gosport Yard."

"So! You are attempting to gain some of the fame by meeting the challenge of those rascals? Certainly I will look at your plans."

"It's quite a good floating battery, if I do say so myself. It is absolutely impregnable to the heaviest shot and shell. I am excited about getting it into the proper hands. I recently had conversation with a Brit who is selling strong weaponry to the Rebels for a huge sum of money. We must combat this Mr. Armstrong's guns!" I was gaining momentum, and I could see by the expression on Bushnell's face that he was duly impressed with my bravado.

"Well, you have come to the right man! I happen to have had a personal audience with Secretary of the Navy, Mr. Gideon Welles, and I know that he is anxious to see any reasonable invention. Are you prepared to invest in your craft, sir? You know, the government needs a letter of credit in the bank to ensure you are stable."

I was dumbfounded. How could the government refuse to loan money when I had the only invention around that could withstand the Armstrong shells? This Bushnell craft would last five minutes against an Armstrong rifled cannon, while my Monitor would never flinch. "No, you see, I have had some hard times. Perhaps you have heard of the Princeton affair? I was mistakenly held responsible for that and in the meantime . . .”

"That's enough! Give me your plans, sir, and I will take them to my hotel room and peruse them carefully. If this craft of yours is what you claim, and you are able to help me, then there will be a letter of credit made out for your venture. Or my name isn't Cornelius S. Bushnell!"

Mr. Bushnell went on to explain that he had two other investors who wanted to back enterprising inventors like myself, and that it was their patriotic duty to see that all feasible ideas come before the president. The nation was in a state of great emergency, he explained, and we could leave no stone left unturned.

That was all I heard from Mr. Bushnell. He wanted to retire to his hotel room and look at my plans. I said I would retire soon myself. Before he left, however, I handed him the dust-covered black box, which contained my model of the Monitor prepared for Napoleon III those many years before. He took it from me and shook my hand warmly, wishing me all the best. He said I should expect a visit from him on the morrow, if a trip to Secretary Welles' home was called for. In the meanwhile, he requested that I go over the plans of his Galena. If need be, I was to send my estimate to him in Washington, and that I would be liberally compensated—would two hundred dollars be enough, he asked, arching his thick eyebrows.

"Quite proper," I said, and I saw him to the door. "I hope your trip by cab to the hotel proves more favorable than your one to the city," I put in, and he smiled as he turned to leave.

"Mark my words! We will soon be making a journey down to Virginia to knock-off that Rebel Merrimack which was pirated from under our noses! We'll show those scalawags who is boss!"

I shall be working hard to earn the money we need so you can move back here with me. Until then, please remember me!

Love always,

John