The Fenian Ram

John Philip Holland was born in 1842 at Liscannor in County Clare, Ireland. The little town is located on Liscannor Bay, beyond which roars the Atlantic. Thus Holland was born near the sea and near a shipyard. It would seem certain that the future inventor of the first practical submarine would have followed the sea or would have entered the shipyard and there have made his plans. These, in fact, were Holland’s inclinations, but the infirmity of weak eyes prevented the fulfillment of either. The sea had no place for a near-sighted man; the shipyard rejected him also, for it could make no use of a weak-eyed mechanic.

Holland was thrown upon the only occupation then open to him-—the prosaic task of teaching. There is something pathetic in the sight of a young man filled with burning thoughts and called by the glamour of the sea and of ships, being turned to spend his life in musty classrooms, daily intoning the endless round of monotonous facts to half-interested children.

At fourteen, Holland, with the call of the sea strong within him, had successfully passed his examination in navigation, but at sixteen we find him a teacher. He remained at this profession for twenty-one years, even though his heart was not in the calling. Meantime he interested himself in invention. He invented an airship about 50 years before the Wright brothers. We have no idea today just what this machine was or what became of it. We only know that it was not successful. At seventeen, also, he drew the plans of his first submarine. But when the plans were finished, he laid them aside. He had tripped over the same stumbling block that had brought failure to Fulton, Bushnell, Bauer, and the rest of his predecessors—he could find no suitable engine for his ship. Regretfully he placed his plans in the bottom of an old trunk where they lay undisturbed for thirteen years.

Holland was thirty when he came steerage to the United States. One fateful day he went to the Boston Public Library in search of submarine literature. He found there was not a single book on the subject. On the way home he slipped and fell breaking his leg. Faced with a long period of inactivity, he turned to the old plans so long buried in his trunk. But before be found them, he conceived the idea of drawing anew his plans, and of then comparing them with the old. He did so. His dreams now seemed nearer realization, but after a weary month or more of drawing, be found that his newly completed plans were essentially the same as the old ones- He was no nearer the solution of his problems. Disappointed and discouraged be laid his old and new plans aside and turned again to teaching.

He found some consolation, however, in the fact that his plans so nearly coincided. He interpreted this as indicating that he was on the right track, as his ideas had not changed in thirteen years- This notion is the mark of an egotist or of a man of supreme courage and determination. Holland’s whole life seems to indicate that the last conclusion is correct- In 1875 we find him engaged with some associates in designing a submarine boat for the use of the United States Navy.

These new plans were for a boat about 10 feet long, to be propelled and operated by one man. The plans were submitted to the Navy Department, but they were hardly glanced at. The Navy had apparently forgotten the submarines of Fulton and Bushnell, and had learned little from the Confederate submarines of the Civil War. Possibly it was merely that they were still painfully aware of the dismal failure of the “Intelligent Whale” in 1870. In any event, the Navy Department refused to consider Holland’s plans. The department’s verdict, that the boat was '^practicable because no man in his right senses could be found to operate it, left Holland raging. But all his facts and figures could not convince the Navy Department, and the plans of another Holland submarine were laid aside with the two other musty plans in the seldom- opened trunk.

In 1877 we find him working on a submarine for a group of unnamed “Irish associates.” This time Holland worked with greater caution and with less ambitious plans. He first prepared a small model only 2½ feet long which was propelled by clockwork. In the presence of his backers Holland tested his model at Coney Island where it performed both on the surface and under it as Holland had predicted. Holland’s associates were so Well pleased that they ordered him to build a one-man submarine along the lines of his former plans.

At last Holland had secured the means to build his first submarine. He plunged into the work of construction, and the same year launched his first submarine, The “Holland No. 2.” This boat was called “No. 2” because Holland counted his plan of 1875 as “Holland No 1.” He found a suitable engine for his ship, a gasoline engine built under a new patent. All seemed well until after the launching when Holland discovered that he had been sold a steam engine in place of the gasoline engine he had ordered. It was now too late to change. A steam launch was secured and a steam hose was connected from the launch’s boiler to the submarine’s engine. With the launch trailing the submarine, Holland demonstrated that his little 10-foot craft would dive, and could operate both above and below the surface.

After many tests, Holland’s backers were satisfied on all points except one, and that was, how long could a man stay under water? Holland said, “24 hours,” and proved it by staying down that long. How he ever stood it is not known. His ship was so small that no man larger than Holland could enter it. Once inside Holland could not stand up or move about. He had to sit in one position which permitted but little movement of his arms and legs. Yet Holland remained on the bottom of the Passaic River for 24 hours and brought his boat and himself to the surface apparently none the worse for his adventure. Even in our modern submarines, the feat is seldom tried, and it always leaves the crew more or less “done up.”

Holland’s backers, the mysterious “Irish associates,” were highly enthusiastic and now ordered Holland to build a larger boat. This boat was to be a weapon to sink the British Navy and free Ireland. It was not until 1879 that the plans were completed and the actual construction began. Then, when Holland was 37 years old, he gave up teaching as a profession and, after 20 years of waiting, began construction of “Holland Submarine No. 3,” or the famous and mysterious Fenian Ram.

The Fenian Society was composed of men on both sides of the Atlantic who were agitating for Irish freedom. This movement had largely centered in the United States since the Civil War and had brought thousands of Irishmen to this country to enter the Union Army with a view to gaining military experience. The disorders in Ireland from time to time had fed the fires of hate which kept the society alive. The movement was at its height about the time the society engaged Holland to build his submarine for them.

It does not appear that Holland was a Fenian, or that he engaged in their activities, but none the less the $13,000 spent on Holland’s second submarine was paid out of the Fenian Skirmishing Fund. Holland apparently had no scruples about building a ship of war for an organization whose aims so nearly coincided with his dreams and aspirations of earlier years. There is, certainly, a distinctly romantic atmosphere to the picture of the but recent quiet and studious school teacher plunged into the midst of bold and dangerous men dealing in plots and counter-plots. There is something incongruous in the thought of the once successful music master making dreams of death and destruction on the high seas come true. It was to Holland the tardy realization of long suppressed desires.

The ship was constructed with a great deal of mystery and secrecy. While no attempt was made to conceal the actual building, Holland consistently refused to grant interviews or to permit anyone to enter his tiny craft. This caused considerable animosity among the newspaper men, for news is news and must be had even if it has to be made. A reporter for the New York Sun finally decided to make some news. He wrote a story disclosing that the boat carried a torpedo tube which made it a warship; and that it was built for no government and that nothing could be learned of the owners or their intentions, and that the length of the boat was precisely 30 feet—which permitted it to be transported in an all-concealing box car. The fact that Holland’s ancestry and earlier aspirations were well known gave color to the story, and the name given the boat, the Fenian Ram, struck the popular fancy and made the boat famous.

The Fenian Ram was 30 feet long and had a diameter of 6 feet, tapering to a point at the ends. She was built by Delamater Iron Works and was driven by a single propeller by means of a gasoline engine. This engine was made by the same firm that had fooled Holland before, but was the regular article this time.

Holland clearly demonstrated that the boat was practicable. He made numerous descents to 60 feet and operated success fully on the surface and below it. He fired projectiles from his torpedo tube, the projectiles being loaned by Captain Ericsson, the designer of the Monitor. He frightened fishermen and small boating parties on Long Island Sound by sudden  appearances from beneath the waves; and a apparently thoroughly enjoyed himself with his first real submarine.

But while Holland was daily demonstrating the usefulness of his submarine, the Fenian Society was seething with internal dissension. They felt that the submarine work would progress more rapidly if taken from Holland. One dark night in 1882, a group of the society in a tug and armed with a forged order approached the dock at Bayonne where the Fenian Ram was secured. The watchman was easily fooled with the forged order, and in a few minutes the Fenian Ram was taken in toff and disappeared into the night. Holland was never to see her again.

The society took the Fenian Ram to New Haven, Connecticut, but there they discovered that they did not know how to operate her, and they could find no one to tell them. Holland was the only one who knew and he refused to help them. When he heard how his ship had been stolen he remarked, “I’ll let her rot on their hands,” and so dismissed the matter entirely.

The Fenian Society had the Fenian Ram hauled ashore and built a small shed around her. Here she remained for years, laden with dust and half covered with scrap wood and odds and ends.

The Fenian Society’s internal dissension meantime took the form of a split, and for some years there was considerable litigation over the Fenian Ram. In this disagreement Holland took no part. He was building submarines for the United States and for other governments. The Fenian Society gradually disintegrated but the Fenian Ram remained in the shed in New Haven, obscure and forgotten.

Almost 20 years of heartbreaking endeavor were to pass before Holland saw his plans finally accepted and his submarines in the service of the United States. Holland, like many inventors, lived to die a disappointed man. He was an inventor and not a promoter. He soon disagreed with the company formed to take over his patents and left the firm in 1904. His work was done and he died in 1914.

The Fenian Ram lay in its small shed in New Haven, until 1927, when, after 45 years of obscurity, she was brought to public view again. She was acquired by Mr. Edward A. Browne, a civic-minded citizen of Paterson, New Jersey, and now forms the basis of the John P. Holland Memorial in that city. You will not find her name on the bronze plaque, however. Apparently the Fenian Ram is no more and the appellation of the inquisitive newspaperman is at last forgotten.